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Post by Adelaide d'Aquitaine on Nov 5, 2010 19:51:34 GMT -6
Ada's return to her store felt a bit like a long-procrastinated homecoming. The freshness of the little mint plant thriving like the weed it was while all other plants died outside put a smile on the apothecary's face as she leaned in for a whiff, the sickle blade covered in its leather sheaf swinging free from its usual nest in her cleavage and thudding against the thick wooden counter. She tucked it back in and began sorting through the detritus Marcelline had left behind from the previous day. Piles neatly organized -- it wasn't so difficult to sort out Marcelline when she had been sorting out Jean-Claude for years now -- she entered her office and shuffled awkwardly past her desk and chair. Everything was so tightly fit, there was little room for the bookshelves, but that hadn't stopped Ada from having them built. She ran her fingers lovingly across the spines of books she had not read in years, but could instantly recall each one's contents. Benoit had been, for all his faults, a very good teacher.
She found what she was looking for and tucked it under her arm. Upstairs, all of her possessions were neatly crated and waiting to be taken to her new home. Marcelline was already asleep in the master bedroom, Genevieve not yet awake in the room next door when Ada poked her head in to check. She slept better these days, but she still had dreams that troubled Ada. She had been so careful in Genna's infancy, had always kept an eye on her when she was crawling, had cast out anything of potential hazard that a child could get her grubby hands on. There had been a time when Ada had been petrified of Genevieve burning the shop down, and she had yet to find the flint she'd hidden behind a loose stone. Yet in dreams, she could not protect Genevieve. Whatever she faced, she faced alone, with all the knowledge and fears of a very small little girl.
Adelaide would have waited with a cup of tea for Genna to rouse, but the sound of the bell downstairs made her shut the door very softly behind her. She padded back downstairs. Once, the sight of a woman like Nasrin would have scared Adelaide under the counter. She was frightfully tall, had the skin of a Moor, and wore enough fabric, Jean-Claude would be a happy man sorting through her wardrobe for exotic curtain fabrics. Yet there was something comforting and familiar about Nasrin that her husband simply did not understand. It was good to be in the company of another skilled apothecary, even if Nasrin's skills had proven considerably more broad-reaching than Adelaide's. Ada knew better not to approach Nasrin for her traditional greeting, though she still took a couple of steps before she recalled the woman distinctly hated being kissed on either cheek. She leaned on the counter instead, and offered a quiet, "Good morning."
Nasrin returned it with a small smile. She was not a woman given to dramatic facial expressions. She enjoyed her privacy, and kept her friends at arm's reach, though perhaps this French woman would be surprised to know she numbered among Nasrin's friends at all. She had grown accustomed to Adelaide's exuberance. Her enthusiasm made their often tedious work a little more amusing. Nasrin's tendency toward impatience seemed to be tempered by Ada's infinite patience. They worked well together, but given Adelaide's penchant toward tight clothing, there was a conversation the pair of them must have. These Europeans did not know much of the female body, and as wise as Adelaide was, there was a long history of Moorish sciences that had enlightened what Ada's people swept under rugs. "We should speak of your pregnancy," Nasrin said.
"It should not put a stop our work. We are so near to getting the proper dosage."
Nasrin held up a surprisingly elegant hand, the fabric of her robes spilling down as if she had been carved of stone and set within the sage's shop to bar passage. She softened the gesture with a slight shake of her head. "Medicines often carry unintended consequences for the babe that the mother remains unaware of until it is much too late. Best to keep the child safe and the mother happy. Be blessed in your marriage, Adelaide, take this time for yourself and your home."
Ada sighed. Nasrin was right, of course. Her mother had mentioned it frequently enough to the women who visited their home in the early stages of pregnancy, how they must clear their gardens of rosemary and cease using it in folk remedies. She knew there was more danger to her experiments than the sweet smells that often became trapped in the laboratory. Explosions were good for no one. "Wait here, then? I was going to wake and dress Genevieve, and take her home. You are welcome to tea. We may discuss what to do next when I am allowed back in the laboratory."
There was the inkling of a smile again, and a polite nod from Nasrin, the heavy robes shifting forward. "I would like this very much. Have you any idea what you are going to do for the next several months?"
Adelaide's grumble needed no translation. Fortunately, Nasrin spoke a rather more courtly version of French than Ada, and missed entirely the healer's response. It wasn't particularly polite. "It is a good question, my friend," Ada called over her shoulder as she went back up the stairs, picking up her skirts in her left hand to avoid tripping over them. "Perhaps it is another thing to discuss over tea."
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Post by Adelaide d'Aquitaine on Nov 5, 2010 19:53:16 GMT -6
“Master, it is only the child. This is what happens when women are pregnant.” Mouse soothed over the man’s shoulder as they sat outside the door waiting for the midwife to finish her examination, “Did she not get sick with Genna?” Mouse was an amusing little woman, who had become a staple to the house, and happily so. He was a generous man who was willing and able to offer her anything she desired for the exchange of her services. It worried her so to see him like this, but it amused her as well having been the company of many men of important power while their beloved Queens were with child. “No..not that I am aware of, but by this time she was gone.” Gone? The thought puzzled Mouse as she drew her brows together and wondered through her thoughts of reasons why Ada would leave? Her curiosity always got the better of her. “I’m sorry, did you say she was gone? Did she leave so you would not know she was with your child?” Genevieve was playing at the end of the hall with the small marble figures and singing quietly to herself, and from the distance Jean-Claude’s heart swelled as it always did that the little nose of hers was neither his nor her mother’s. This was the crossroad he felt himself hardly able to stand, but this was his child now. “No..I knew,” He started quietly seeming so worn with worry, as if his thoughts were outside his mind right now passing through the what ifs of should she leave again? He would not let her go this time, but things were different. This surprised Mouse, as how could he let her go? “The subject is sore, mon ami. Please.” Mouse would be quick to offer her apology, and bow her head at her stupidity to which Jean-Claude touched her hand. In this she saw how greatly he hurt over the entire thing, but so few knew how he lived on the ship those months they were apart not far from her. “In life there are simply some things you must let go in hopes they will return to you.” He smiled indicating that one day even she would want to leave. Mouse’s heart broke as she watched Jean-Claude’s eyes dance over the great oak doors of the Ebony Hall where his wife remained. She could see how truly worried and knowing his eyes were. Something bothered him greatly, but most of all she felt herself warm in the realization that their love was very real.
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Post by Adelaide d'Aquitaine on Nov 5, 2010 20:00:03 GMT -6
Jean-Claude: Ada had been the more frantic of the pair, a fact of which she was certain did not soothe Jean-Claude's nerves, but she had been unable to help herself. Her heart raced and her hands were as cold as ice, and her stomach churned with such miserable regularity that eating was impossible. She worried for their child, and once the doors had closed on Jean, she clung onto the bed covers until her already pale hands went white. At Ada's behest, the midwife stuck strictly to business, thoroughly going about her exam and asking questions, which Ada answered tersely -- as anyone would, in such compromised dignity. "You are certain?" Ada asked, her voice indicating she was far from it, as the midwife tugged the skirts back in place and Ada moved to the edge of the bed. "N-nothing is wrong?" Her stomach heaved, but she had nothing to give.
"I am, and I have found nothing amiss," the woman said confidently, climbing to her feet from her stool and taking the piece of furniture with her to the corner of the room, where she had found it. She was perplexed, however, at the louder than usual thump the stool made as she set it down. For at that precise moment, Adelaide, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed struggling to restrain her heaving stomach, had toppled forward onto the floor and seemed trapped in a sight the midwife, in all her years, would never forget. The angles of her fall were unnatural, with no conscious person ever assuming such a gruesome position. The wealth of dark hair obscured what happened beneath, but the midwife had the uncanny vision of things crawling in those dark curls, and the welling scream within her caught at her throat. No one would ever confuse Adelaide for a holy fool, but she certainly was having a fit.
She threw open the door, her face drained of expression -- she did not know what to think, and hardly knew what to do. But if anyone did, they could be found staring at her, or not far down the hall.
Jean-Claude: It had been horrific, the way her body was upon the floor it had made his skin turn while his heart leap from his chest. If the Master had in color in his face at all it would have drained for he felt himself run cold. For what seemed an eternity he held her while she was convulsing. The maid had said she was possessed, that only a body as filled with a demon could bend like that, but was silenced quickly by Jean-Claude's deadly glare. She could not tell if he blamed her or not in that stare, but she felt like a fool with the way it judged her as if by a higher power. "She is not possessed you ignorant fool, she is sick! Here! Hold her arms!" Genna's toys fell out from her hands at the end of the hall, but she was caught by Mouse who was quick to see her sent outside. It would be within the hour did she return, and with comforting feeling that Ada stood a chance now as her body rest. She watched as Jean-Claude touched her chin gently to open as he dabbed at her cheek whereshe had bit the inside of her cheek. He leaned over her like a spider spinning its web around its prey, but this was what separated him from the rest, "All of them are fools Mouse. Every God Damn one of them. This isle is full of idiots." He was shaking with rage, with worry, and with the rush to see her better. "So quick to blame everything on Hell, when the answer is there in before their face." Ada's elbows were bruised as well parts of her hands from the way they hit constant upon the floor, and even a few of her knuckles. Mouse would shake her head coming to Ada's side, and touching her arm gently going on about her body had been distorted. Jean-Claude closed his eyes to fight the image from his memory, "Stop it. She is not possessed."
Adelaide: There was a curious detachment as the fit took hold of her. While she was very much aware of the hard feel of wood under her, and the horrible sound of her choked voice, she could see herself from a greater distance. She felt her limbs unfolding, felt Jean take hold of her arms, but she saw him as if standing above and behind, his hair spilling over his shoulders. She could see in a sudden shift of perspectives a look that was more fierce than man himself was capable of giving, with a ferocity that reminded her of dogs, with feral eyes and a grim line for his mouth. But she must have gotten distracted in all the complexities of her lover's face, roamed off on a tangent and forgotten to rejoin her tired body, until some time later when she felt very much over-crowded. There was the taste of iron in her mouth. It was nauseating, and while her eyes fluttered for a moment, she shut them tightly until the sensation passed. Her stomach had nothing left to heave, but she would not challenge its obstinacy. "Poison," she whispered, a speck of blood on her lower lip feeling like spittle. It smelled -- she could smell her own blood. "I need -- " She forced her eyes open and pressed her lips together, ridding her lip of blood as she searched for Jean's face, but found Mouse's instead. Who would know as much, if not more, of poisons than the poisoned? Nasrin was no physician, merely an academic with a world of practical experience. Claramae? The woman's face floated through Ada's mind. She flexed her fingers and grimaced. She felt bruised all over, and exhausted. It was difficult to think, and names flashed and vanished like minnows in an Alpine stream. She should give her research over to Claramae. It was too important to let die.
Jean-Claude: "You need what, my love?" His chest heaved with the words that came to his lips without thought. A natural reaction to the way their hearts connected, and the souls seemed intertwined. Poison? His heart broke and with it his fingers came to her own, "Shhhh." He soothed over her, "Rest now." His fingers went over the lines of her lips noticing the way they were dry, it was well enough proof for him, but he didn't want to leave her. His fingers dipped into the water as he let the rag clean and soak up new clean water to dab at her lips, and his eyes went to Mouse once more, "Will you get my bag?" With a nod she moved on leaving the pair alone, and his heart sank thinking of poison. It made perfect sense and suddenly he worried greatly for not only his wife, but their child? What would he do without the both of them. Where did it come from? Was it the same as the black death that seemed to plague the valley? They looked to Jean-Claude for answers, whose time was never spent in study of poisons as much as it was the effect they had on the human mind. His consultant was here under his hands, and without her what good was he? "Of what sort, Mon chatte? You are the better one with this, not I." He smiled in his half truth, though she really was the key to all of his answers. It was her power was it not? Mouse would scurry into the streets her very basic attire seeming to blend too well save for the oversized bag of tricks she carried for the scientist now. Her objective was the woman who often helped Ada in times she was sworn to secrecy even from Jean-Claude. Mouse did not approve, but she was loyal.
Adelaide: "Ah, my life of crime comes to haunt me," she teased. Crafting draughts for the King of France had had its benefits. There had been a certain exuberant joy in knowing she was a master of it all, and if there was an area of moral ambiguity, she was assured by many it was for the safety of the Crown. She had not thought much beyond that, hoping her recipes would be sparsely but effectively used, though there never had been requests for antidotes. Ada liked to think her life since then had been a path to redemption. There was a great deal to atone for, but she would do no more harm, and she had to admit -- her rewards had been so bountiful since stepping off that boat. "It could be so many," she admitted, searching his eyes while she continued her subtle assessment for injuries. Nothing too bad. Nothing broken. Nothing leaking. "I would not know where to begin."
Nasrin: Neither would Nasrin, but there always was a beginning. There may not always be a solution, but a formula could be deduced. At the young woman's summons, Nasrin did not delay her journey to the Hall, preferring her own tools and instruments to those of these Europeans, and leaving her Mongolian guards elsewhere. They, too, were outcasts of the old Empire, too Mongol to enjoy the support of the people, but not enough to find peace eastward. Nasrin had journeyed her lifetime to find this peace; a thousand more would she journey, if sense had not found her on her way home. Here, she was silent and intimidating, but even so, had a home. She was taller than these Scots, lean, with caramel skin and strikingly blue eyes. When she arrived, she inclined her head wordlessly to Jean-Claude as she set her own surgeon's kit down on the nearby table. It was, quite possibly, the first any upon this isle had seen Nasrin with her hood down -- no monster resided within the heavy swathes of fabric, but a surprisingly real woman, approaching the zenith of her life, with perhaps too many of those years spent beneath a harsher sun. Her hair was gathered in a low knot at the nape of her neck, secured with metal pins. She pressed two of her fingers to Adelaide's neck, and indicated silence while she counted the beats. Questions were asked, and at her stern look, nothing but single words were permitted an answers, until Nasrin finally nodded, and left the room with her bag, indicating Jean-Claude should follow.
Jean-Claude: If he was amused by her joke, it did not show on his face as he had become a man of great thought going over and over the different signs of how she had been a lot more sick then the midwife had realized, and that he had far too much rage against that woman to be healthy. "Oh come now." He finally broke from his stoic character that was his mask to wear while worried, though of all who knew him she would see right through his long before any else, "You have not been that bad." He smiled a smile that seemed to crack his exterior, and even brought his attention to the woman who entered next. What was she doing here? The grip of his hold on Ada's hand tightened as if he were afraid this savage had come to take her, but he knew he was being foolish. Mouse would set Jean-Claude's heavy bag down watching at first, and then coming in beside Ada when she watched Jean-Claude refuse silently to leave her again. A small touch to his shoulder by his petite friend would have him kiss the back of Ada's knuckles before he let her go. Nasrin was tall, but so few met the Master's eyes that he was simply used to keeping his gaze lower--it felt strange to not have to strain to meet her eye. "If you tell me she will die I will call you a fool and have you arrested for a heretic, so be warned." He was serious in his threat, for his proper manners were thrown away, and the spoiled son of Aquitaine came out in a humbled roar. With that he put his hands on either side of his hips waiting for what she had to say, and already arguing it in his mind.
Adelaide: Nasrin stood silently while Jean-Claude emerged, pondering what she would say. "It is no one poison, and possesses a most delicate touch. I have seen work like this only once before in my life. By her own hand," Nasrin clarified softly, compassion in her voice when it was so often crackly from disuse. She glanced toward the doors and then back to Jean-Claude, her head canting slightly to the side as she assessed him once again. He loved this woman very much, an emotion Nasrin would have found wasteful once upon a time, but now understood. Life so very often took the resemblance of endless desert and impassable, ice-locked mountains, but hope were the lichens and stubborn plants that thrived despite. Adelaide was a tough woman. Nasrin had seen her laughing, joking, and sternly talking to the women down by the docks as she patched them up and sent them back to their brothels; she'd seen the woman wrestle sailors, occasionally smacking them across the faces when they gave her lip as she stitched them back together or swabbed cream on blazing hot tattoos. Ada could be as subtle as wearing red in church on her wedding day, but she was not delicate. "I will try."
Jean-Claude: "What do you need to be certain." He judged her, doubted her, but not for her race or sex. No, Jean-Claude hardly trusted anyone outside his closed circle, and this woman who hid behind fabrics much like a Muslim made him wonder. There was something eerie in that race of people, and how he had been so certain there was something that connected them with Hell that intrigued him. "Her hand? She learned everything from her Master who is a thousand miles away. Whose sick mind has my.." Jean-Claude would throw his hand up to gesture out the window where the valley waited, and realized today this was the first time Julian had even entered his mind. However, something triggered that thought and with it he covered his mouth with his hand. Waving his hand he would shake his head, and the thought from his mind, "We do not try here," He glared his anger boiling behind his eyes though not of her, "Tell me what you need. Ask of anything to make her well, and I shall pay you whatever it is." That was his child, and his wife he was worried of. To the guard he would be quick to stir, rousing him from his duty to have him fetch Lord General, as well to find the pirate. He needed a ship, a band of soldiers, and blood. In this state none would question him, but when he moved down the Ebony Hall to his tower they would wonder as to what sort of phantom passed in the halls, for that was not Jean-Claude..or at least the one they knew.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Nov 5, 2010 20:06:50 GMT -6
Rosalind: The guard did not know to look for Peregrine's tree, but that was the beauty of such a tree. It was secret, it was private, it was safe. But he did know, of long practice, to ask the Lady Inveryne if she knew where her husband was, and if she would be so kind as to divulge that information, or pass along a message. Rosalind answered the door still dressed for the day, though evening was not far off, and she wished to attend dinner with the rest of the castle's inhabitants. Her hair was up, plaited around her head, with all in its rightful place despite a rather hurried, busy day. She was dressed in a collection of blues, with a warm over-dress of muted cobalt that kept her warm in these drafty halls, and as a true sign of the season, she leaned a bit more heavily upon her cane for support as she stood in the doorway, listening to what the guard had to say. Her apologies were written in haste to be delivered by her maid, and the children told good night after Rosalind had negotiated with the nursemaid. She pulled on gloves and secured her cloak around her, switching slippers for sturdier boots, though she did not have the time to put on more practical garments for the woods. Still, she made all due haste for his tree, her path through his woods placed with certainty. He was there, somewhere. He would not go far, not in his mood. Foul-tempered her husband was not, but he could be sullen and moody. It was not like Peregrine to subject anyone to such grimness, and Rosalind had given up trying to tell him he could. She did not need to be protected from his realities, but he would -- and maybe she did. She would only interrupt if it was a matter of life or death, and by the unusually grave look on her face, it was clear she had not come to tell him the joke she'd heard from the fool at court today.
Peregrine: She was right, he was not foul-tempered, and often laughed still in the faces of his enemy. His mood reflected of the season, and of the heartache that fell like the leaves from the trees. He was in his tree, the large oak hundreds of years older seemed so young compared to his never fading youth, but the frown he had carried for weeks now was enough to sullen any mood. Peregrine did not remember which day it was or how long he had been within the tree. He had not moved, not once from his perch on the branch arms around the trunk of the tree watching the distant horizon. The sun had fallen to rise again, over and over before his eyes but he felt as though he had stared openly at the same place on the horizon the entire time. The world outside was so quiet, and the air so clean that even when it rained he had not felt out of place. The small sound of footsteps were the only break from reality and the forever part of his life came through where he could feel her heart beating long before he could see her. With this the world came back down, and the ache started in his shoulders as his body realized it had not once moved. Slowly he worked his body up higher in the tree, and over the long branches to sit over the path waiting for her to walk under him. The longer he was from civilization the wilder he looked, with eyes large from the adjusting light, and hair wild atop his head having dried from the rain. He looked almost mad, but really deep down--he was. Her steps were delightful, but dedicated, and as always Rosalind appeared too uptight. What better way to break the spell then finding the forest floor with his lover. In his kiss he would roll her back, hooking his arms around her to break the fall, and tumble with her across the leaves.
Rosalind: There were words she could have used to describe her appearance. Somber. Determined. Concerned. Yet they were all ruined as she fell over backwards under the wildman, whacking him with her cane while they rolled, and struggling to speak while they kissed. "Pere," she tried again, losing her grip on her cane, but using the momentum of their fall to leverage her way atop him, placing her hands on either side of his shoulders and bringing them to a halt. "Pere, you have been alone too long," she scolded, only slightly out of breath. She sat back, balancing her weight over his hips, uncaring what discomfort it might bring her as she felt at her tightly-woven hair. Strands had escaped, and she shoved them back into place if only to keep them off her neck and out of her face. "I have news for you. You are not going to like it much, but I said I would pass the message." She had missed seeing his face. Wild as he was, with matted hair and a musky scent about him that was rather on the delightful side of repugnant -- an admission Rosalind would give only upon pain of death -- it was good to see him again. It was nice to feel his warmth, to see his grin, and even to feel so thoroughly kissed, it seemed a shame not to abandon her mission. It would be a crime, though, to delay Peregrine. She knew him too well, she often thought, though she stopped herself now. They were so often the same person; her heart would break for him, and she did not wish it to break over another woman. She sighed softly. "It is Adelaide. She was poisoned, and I think Jean-Claude has need of you. Please, will you go?"
Peregrine: "Mmm," Rolling her over he pinned her on the forest floor, and laughed as he gathered up a few leaves to press in her hair, "Oh no, not the wild!" He laughed, pinching her side gently in hopes of hearing her laughter, but the news did little to break his concentration. In fact if he cared at all, it was hard to tell. He wasn't going anywhere until this wickedness escaped his wife at whom he missed very dearly. Peregrine needed this moment, needed the past few weeks like the cure to an illness. Nipping lightly at her ear he would then kiss down her neck as a hand came to her hip to keep her down, "What reason do I care if she was poisoned? Not my wife. Jean-Claude can handle it." With a deep breath he pressed his ear to her chest letting himself relax atop her rather enjoying the view of the wildlife over the top of her breast. Two of his favorite things. Life was good. However, his mood was very sinking as he sighed, "They don't need me, they need my lack of soul." Lifting his head once more he looked up at her, "Jean-Claude wouldn't have sent for me to cure her, not yet, only if he thought her close to death. He has blood on his hands, or wishes it." Narrowing his eyes he shook his head, "Doesn't talk to me for months, gets a hard on every time you are around, all the while making you turn red with his fancy words, and fancy titles." Mouth of a sailor this one, "What makes him think I'm going to come running everytime he calls. He's a big boy now." Oh the bitterness! "I've got mine, they've got theirs. She told me where my place was, and what part I had in their life. I'm sticking to it."
Rosalind: She hit his shoulder. Hard. Her eyes had narrowed as he spoke, starting out warm as she listened to him vent his spleen, and growing darker when he spoke of Jean-Claude. Their rift was worthy of ridicule, but she had held her peace, save minor encouragements to speak to him over the intervening years. "Never have I known you to be stupid, Peregrine." Still, she did not move to escape, and even tolerated the leaves in her hair. She was frankly happiest outdoors, with a bow in hand and hunting knife sheathed at her leg, bounding after whatever prey she had spooked in the woods. It gave her an escape from domesticity, which she had always craved, but gave her no challenge. It was easy, and God had cursed her with the stubborn Norman demand for difficulty. "Had you talked to him long ago, there would be no doubt as to why you do not speak now. You have let this go on for far too long, and Adelaide is not the one to suffer for your arrogance and pride. Both of you be damned for allowing her to be your olive branch." She shook her head, as if she could not contain the words that threatened to spout forth after so long holding her peace, but eventually spoke again, and with a bit more kindness as she took his face in her hands. Heavens, he would never be able to grow a beard. What she had thought was stubble was merely dirt plastered onto his face. "She is with his child, Peregrine. It is very like her to say her goodbyes when she thinks it the right thing to do, though it damn her eyes to do so." Was this why he had fled to the woods? His heart was bruised, and he had come here to mend it. Though Adelaide was so often inscrutable, she had been gracious once before, and though Rosalind thought leaving for Avaria was rather foolish, she understood bowing to defeat. "She is with his child. The situation is quite dire, for both."
Peregrine: "Olive branch? Ha!" He shook his head, "You think she is what has driven me and Jean-Claude apart?" He narrowed his eyes on her, while sitting up in the leaves, "You really think some street rat," Riff raff." is worth that fight?" He was getting nasty with this, and very angry. It wasn't like him to get so angry now was it? "No, you think back long before she came along what it was that tore us apart." He shook his head again standing up being the first to pull away, and start back on the path. "I'm nothing to them, but a free ride. He knows I'll kill whatever he wants, whenever he wants that way he can look the hero in the end. Win your affection." His voice started getting quieter as he went up the trail, "NOOO No. Peregrine go do my dirty work, while I sit around and harvest my seed. Sit on my pillow." Throwing his hands in the air he turned back to face her, "You know. When are we ever going to leave this place? Ever? Am I to be stuck here for the rest of my life? Rosalind. When your husband wants something isn't it your place to make it happen? Ok I'm tired of you taking his side. Or her side. Its my side. Ok? You don't argue with me. You went to war for your first husband, stuck under the hand of your last, but you can't give me the benefit of a doubt to this? No. Somehow its always my fault."
Rosalind: Rosalind sat up, but she did not stand. "I have taken your side before. It is an insult to memory to list how many times I have fought along your side. I will not be accused of being a poor wife, when every autumn falls, you disappear into the woods. I do not leave you when trouble befalls us, as you do. These are troubles in our marriage, Peregrine -- they are not a result of Jean-Claude. He ... " she lost her momentum for a moment, pausing as she considered how to phrase what Jean-Claude meant to her. "He reminds me of a life I might have had, once, but a life I no longer desire, nor wish to have any part in. Had I wanted it, I would now sit upon the throne of Aragon, all my needs for wealth and fancy words more than met. What I want, however, is here. This peaceful place, with our children, and my husband doing what he must to satisfy the demands of his own ambitions. I assume those ambitions are not to leave his family while Neil moves into the valley, while danger stalks through the woods and murders indiscriminately. I swore my fealty to this Crown, so I do not want to leave." He could decide if he wished to stay or go. It was always his decision to make, she could not bind him. Nor did she wish to. She climbed slowly to her feet and picked up her cane, leaves falling from her cloak, but a few sticking around. "I want to take your side. I do. I want to know your thoughts, your heart and mind, and I do not presume to know what is best for you, but what am I to think, when you disappear into your woods. I do, however, know what you must have felt once for Adelaide. If you wish to be a different man, do so. But do not punish her because you are angry with Jean-Claude. I suppose that is what I meant to say." She quirked a wry smile. "I would go to war for you, too, but you have not yet given me the opportunity."
Peregrine: "I'm being punished, Rosalind. For something it takes two to do. I didn't rape her that night in the woods. They didn't ask me how I felt about Genna taking Jean-Claude's name, or how she would grow up. No. She says I wasn't there for her when the baby was born, or when she was pregnant. Somehow its become my fault." He touched his chest, "How does that make me feel huh? She left when she was pregnant, told me when she returned it was Jean-Claude's." He knew the truth, and knew it even then. He shook his head, "I'm not ok with it. When she called me out on it, all she did was throw it back in my face. I wasn't there because she wouldn't let me, or wouldn't tell me. 'It was for the best'. Being there for her would have hurt you, and its made me hate our night." He closed the distance between them again feeling the chill of the night for the first time, "She's right though. I need you to be my wife, and me be your husband. I'll keep to my own, and them to theirs." With a sigh he would look back where the castle would be, "I can't let her die though." He wanted to laugh at himself going in circles, "Would give JC time to move in on you." He smirked, only half joking.
Rosalind: She sighed, and opened her arms to take him in again. "It was a difficult decision to make." Rosalind struggled, then, not willing to put herself in Ada's shoes, but seeing very clearly the rationality behind the hurtful choices she'd had to make. Adelaide had, after all, returned from Avaria claiming the moon the child's father. She would have stuck with the story, if rumor and hearsay had not decided for her the father was Jean-Claude. The solution was hard for Rosalind to champion, it being one that brought Peregrine and Adelaide in a room together, speaking as adults, rather than the children they had been. Rosalind had said terrible things when angry. If not for Pere's patience, she never would have learned how to make her voice heard, without destroying the person she argued with. It was her fault, and she owned it, as much as one could be accepting of their flaws. "I do not think I could love Jean-Claude, if I truly think on it. The logistics of living with him would be a nightmare. I am told he snores, and I would never survive a lifetime of matrimony to a man who spends more time at the looking glass than I do. Rest assured on that argument."
Peregrine: "It wasn't part of it, so I wouldn't know. Someday Genna will throw it back in my face like they all have. It will be my fault somehow." He closed his eyes touching her cheek with his temple as he rest his head against her shoulder, "I've got Polly right? Aldric? You. Just hurts a lot more then I thought it would." He sighed lifting his head once more to look at the path, "Come one, lets go see what he needs, though if this is something Julian could have done I'm going to run him through. Its what he purchased that brat for." Peregrine had been gone a very long time. Taking her hand he would start with her up the path. "Ada's pregnant, too...wow." Shaking his head he gave her that look that let her know he was imagining her round with child..or at least what came before it. Scoundrel.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 7, 2010 21:18:35 GMT -6
Lady Monroe & Young Master Voltaire
One week became two, and two meant fourteen days since it had happened: the loss of the child was marked by the time of recovery afterward.She could count longer, a day before, or maybe more days, when Julian was gone. He had told her fare well the morning before he went to look for clues to what he may have caused. He knew, for so long, he was slipping away. The sun was dilly-dallying on a little gold string over a thick autumn haze. "Everything is still pretty," she ventured to say to Claudio as the pair of them lingered on the back steps of some no-name house. No name for the names inside had gone, with permission granted for it to be used on behalf of those that wished it from the Crown's service. Claudio nodded, "Father says things still stay like that, and it would be the brave who dare to find it so."Janice tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, the piece hung away from the tight french braid her own hands worked in to being. Instead of another she dressed herself again, instead of nothing she at least sipped on broth with meager bits of noodle. Time changes things and rapid had always been the flucation of late for up or down. Now? She was suspended .By no means well yet seeming to let others no longer think she was days from death. Fingertips didn't linger on the place a child had been so much as in one another now as she sat in a chair for the benefit of night air. "It isn't brave. It just is, Claudio." in an educating tone, it couldn't be helped. His turn at sounding philosophical sounded half silly. What was it like to be so young again? She nearly forgot, feeling as if she'd crossed over 20 and 30 one hundred times by now. He stepped away, chuckling while she remained where she was. The chair on the back steps, the night air harkening. This small settlement of a higher breed of farmer was comfortable (d)
Comte deAquitaine
Among the bare trees the wings of the ravens seemed as though shadows only as they moved from one tree to the next. One by one they laughed, over and over again at the silly boy that had once been, now a man under the hold of another. His long well aged fingers went through the fine richly colored hair of the farmer's son, and lived in the cry that escaped the pale lips of the apprentice when he pulled his head back. "DARE YOU DEFY ME!" The Comte had little reason to look into the eyes of his true blood's son for there was nothing but sin there, and his craft was pure. His passion an obsession, that had earned him a reputation long through his some 70 years of life. The shell of what once was was naked on the stone, on his knees as he made his way through to the suffering set of punishments that followed in the wrath of what had happened on the night prior. The boy foamed at the mouth, where eyes seemed like the moon they were so blank, and only in hebrew the demon replied with words the Comte had little need to understand. Under the cloak lined in deep royal silk did the aged hands delicate in their destruction start to mark the corners and call the powers that be. In a chant he watched Julian's eyes start to drift further back into reality while his back arched off the floor. "Get him off the floor, get him dressed. I need that formula." The tip of his cane came down with a calling, and the man who stood a good foot taller then all the rest made his way back up the ebony staircase of pearlized marble, "Let him go. The spirit remains intact." His voice boomed like an owl in the night as his body soon was out of sight.
Young Master Monroe
He woke standing before the mirror, his fingers hardly able to continue to tie the ascot of a red so deep it almost looked black, but as he tucked it under the vest he realized he was home. Julian, felt as though he had woke from a dream with memories that were not his own, in clothes that he would have never picked out. The suit was black, and far too modern for the time. His hair was combed back, and his face clean shaven. Julian could hardly recognize his reflection. He looked the man of 30 with signs of wear on a face that hardly turned the year of 20. Over the room then he would turn, going over it as if at any moment he would wake, and discovering it all over again. There was her vanity, the hand mirror she had always admired from Jean's shop, and the silk robe she wore in the summer. His fingers danced over the hem catching sight of the bed from the room of windows, and the velvet dress there displayed over the perfectly made bed. It wasn't like them to keep such a clean room, for far too many distractions came by to mess it up again--he felt himself in another world. Janice would never wear this, he thought, as he smoothed over the sleeve. It was heavy, and would make her stand out, why would she want to? The colors matched his own, the style far too modern with a steal in the corset, and hoops to open the skirts along the way. Her ring..his hand took up the gold set artisan collection, how did it get here? He had hidden it nearly a month ago, and suddenly worried she wouldn't be surprised."Ja.." His voice hurt horribly as if he had not used it in years, but again he would open his lips, "Janice?" Looking through the house, he made his way down the stairs. "Janice?" He called again opening the door that lead outside. The Underdark opened up outside his door, but in Julian's crossed mind it was the Bryant Row. "Janice!" His voice echoed through the streets until finally the night opened out onto the world that was familiar. (d
Lady Monroe
"Claudio I've made a decision. I don't want to go to the Masters estate, Not yet ,I wish to sojourn at home." The boy already questioned the logic behind it before being met by a pair of eyes that never dared to look so full of venom as if they could bite him. Turning the pair of blue circles down only to lift them with emphasis still she said "Home." He could assemble the men himself or she would, at any rate with the sun quickly setting wouldn't it do to at least have her but streets away from those famous doors to clench a bird behind iron bars? At least she would be comfortable, safe. No longer looking with haunting eyes in a direction always expecting something. Maybe she would change her mind in regard to the convent if she could familiarize herself again. To make this fortnight no more than a bad dream. To make these pair of months dissolve down to only the happiest times of moving forward: Jean-Claude's wedding and the child he would have with Adelaide, what was gained to overcome what was lost. The beautiful Northampton, a fitting place for a new chapter of the Grandmaster's life. So many things to pick yet the most ardent one was a place filled with books and the objects he tinkered with. A life that would still mean something if she preserved it, to go on, and always keep a part of him preserved. Unknowing he was already at home. "You may have our trunks follow me at your leisure." Quick as a flash of lightning in a summer storm she decided she was done with it.With nothing else to do here but be the source of everyone's pity if not a small bit of their contempt for loving a now fabled mad-man, she would go to a place that never betrayed her. By the time the road finished curving the scimitar edge of the moon shown down on a place frozen in time. Turas Lan. A carriage had been found to convey her out better than she appeared, to carry what was still fragile. Oh ye of little faith, she'd whispered to Claudio. Voltaire himself would stay to attend the matters, to see Maahes wasn't made a sacrifice, and Jean-claude didn't die. Begrudingly, he sent Claudio on to contend with his duties and to obey his La Bella implicitly unless her life depended on it. Torches soon gave way to the pretty lamps hanging on posts in the Bryante Row, to encased glass, to the frost settling ove rthe lion head fountain park. To home. She found herself..not saddened to see it, but glad. So very glad. (d)
Young Master Monroe
Jean-Claude was within the Ebony Hall, his wife sick within his bed, and he worked night after night for a cure. The dramas of the apprentice had left him, despite how badly he ached for Julian's ability to remain calm. On the row then Julian would flicker a lamp to life in the nearly abandoned shop of theirs--hers. Cob webs collected in the corners, while dust was covering most of her work. It was here somewhere wasn't it? One by one he lit the candles and the neighbors would come to stand in the streets watching--puzzled greatly. Was that the Young Master? Rumor had it he had died. Janice..are you here?" No one had been here for months or so it seemed, and as he moved his hand over the covers of the leather bound books he would start to go through each page one by one as if reading it all over again. His mind was looking for something while his soul burned. Every time the name of the Holy Father was written he would scratch through the text, feeling himself grow sick with the thought. Would she dare come in? Why were the lights on anyway? (d
Young Master Voltaire and Lady Monroe
"La Bella, something is wrong." Claudio put a hand against her shoulder only to find that the woman he touched stiffened "Your father calls me that, Claudio, I would prefer if you didn't right now." The Italian accent made the words sound too familiar, as if they were meant to infer more than a simple heralding of beauty. It made her skin crawl, though, the suggestion proving right. Why were the lights on in her home? "It could be one of the Order, come to guard and another, to clean, it must be hideous." Easily justified. What of the shop, though? She gasped putting under her ribs to collect the breath in the palm of the hand. "Have my things and his taken inside, leave them in our bedroom, I will put them away." It was her duty, it always would be. Suspended between pain, anger, and the edge of the world she insisted to pull herself together. She couldn't go on this way! The way everyone looked at her, whispered his name. The way she felt unwhole without the world as it had been and her place. The creeping thought that her place wasn't with them at all but in a cloister had to be proven wrong one more time. What was it she jumbled from the chests before returning? Ah yes, the ring of keys pulled from the front apron of her dress. Nervous copper colored keys that clanged as she went to slide them in to the shop's lock. She had given Claramae a key, yes. She could have shared it with the staff. That was it. "Hello?" Would that be still a beating heart? "Who is here? I wanted to thank you for coming to see to my shop. I..am not all well of yet but soon I will be. I will do small things, I need some familiarity." She cleared the dust from her throat, winced a bit as she stepped to fast, bent too far to pick up a fallen text. Then, from the study..more light. "You needn't touch my things." her voice took on a tone of offense. How dare anyone touch her things! A little of old self rose "In fact I insist you do not, you wll ruin lord know how much I am still behind..months of..." Then she saw him. Peering down in parchment, through ink. The book in her hands fell hard on the floor. the name of the holy father would have been said but she had no words. Dressed, dressed! There! (d)
Young Master Monroe
His heart came pounding against his chest, there she was.."Baby..I have been looking everywhere for you." He acted as though he had been afraid for her, worried of her no doubt, and was quick to close the distance. She seemed so little then his mixed up memory could remember, much of her had changed, but as he held her tight he kissed her to find her again. Both hands came to cup her face, as through the years he had watched Jean-Claude kiss Adelaide like this, and realized now why for it held a good deal of a natural way to draw her closer. "My love..you are shaking, what is wrong? Where have you been?" What was going on in this world he had seemed to drift from back and forth.He had been waiting right there for her had he not? Closing his eyes he breathed her in, inhaling her scent as if taking the gold from her hair. She looked horrible, as even her hands were stressed, but when he took them he didn't want to let go. Picking her right up he perched her on the edge of her table to better see her face, and lifting at her cheek with the palm of his hand. Brushing his thumb over her cheek he wanted to better see her, but was she afraid? Of what? My love, shhhh I'm here now.." He soothed in a whisper. (d Lady Monroe
"You....looking for me? There has not been a soul that hasn't been looking for you!" She wanted to scream but it was swallowed in a kiss, one she relished and at once questioned. This was wrong. It was so wrong. For weeks he had been here, in fine clothes? "Julian...what happened?" She questioned where he would not think her crazy, look at him! Clean, the picture of health while she had lost weight, lost sleep. It was as if they had traded places. He picked her up, much to Claudio's chagrin. When she hadn't returned as quick as it pleased him he followed her steps, catching the shop door. He said nothing for now, as shocked as Janice had been only...he did not trust her husband at all. "Your wife has been very sick, we thought you dead or lost to the sickness that took the valley. It is as a town of ghosts." he all but hissed. No cover for the contempt as it came out in elegant fury "Your things were put away, lady. I will, wait. in the corner." Claudio easily surpassed Julian in weight, thin yes, but not a whippet. He glared at Julian as if not wishing him to touch a hair on Janice's head. Could he blame the young man? His duty had been to watch her, and anyone around him, come close to death. Janice steadied herself in an admirable sense of the word. "I have been worried sick.." she said, her eyes a mix of contempt and worry compounded thrice over by the love that would never be remedied for him, "Sick! You have been gone for weeks...over a fortnight if not more. I lost the baby and you left...and never returned. Where did you go..what happened?" She whispered "You left me alone. I had never wanted death so much." She pushed herself off of the table as she headed for the door and ran back to their house. (d)
Young Master Monroe
Something in him snapped and he felt the weight of the world come tumbling all at once, and watched as his hand came to grasp her wrist pulling it back, "You do NOT turn your back on me." Everything Claramae had taught him, or even this boy before him came to haunt them all as he could break her wrist within a matter of seconds if he wished. However, he would turn her around putting both of his hands on her shoulders to shake her, "I need the book from Spain. You were not supposed to get it." He hissed in a voice that was hardly his own, as rage built behind his eyes. "Where are the books from Spain!?" It had been very quick of him to see that she was not so willing to bend to the will of her husband. She had not returned his kiss, and he felt certain in her desperation she would have wanted him too. Julian however was hardly himself. "Do you want death?" His hand came to her neck squeeze as he shook her, "I'll show you death." His eyes seemed black as the stress returned around them. Claudio would come forward, but for what seemed a good long moment would remain behind be it his reason or something held him back, "Find the book." With that he would push her aside turning to face Claudio with red rimmed eyes that seemed to boil in his face. (d
Lady Monroe and Young Master Voltaire
The spell of seeing him was shattered by the contempt that had weeks to fester a wound in her heart, the wound of a woman abandoned by her husband after a seed had been planted to be ripped away. No, Janice was not willing to bend to his demented, ever-changing will! God, how she wished that she could but it would not be in any interest in Heaven to obey her husband! "what are you doing?!" She shrieked, not daring to pull away. Her limbs were like sticks to be broken for the fire in his body being fed by the demon."Let her go" Claudio barked at Julian only to find that Janice was thrown back at him. He would never forget her face! She was protesting him every step of the way, shaking her head, "No!" She cried out, knowing it wasn't him. Or if it was...she would not serve his devilsA neck too, could break. Wide eyes as large as china plates looked at him as she caught his hand before being shoved back. Claudio held Janice in his arms, pushing her behind him. "No, Janice you run. You listen to me and run..." The youth was pulling her to the door in an attempt to throw her outside. "He is taken with ungodly hosts! By others...." Others beyond the realm? She had no idea of yet how startling in assumption she would prove, and if she but knew that..perhaps it would be at an unwilling partnership she would have acted. The pair of them were held at the wrists. Janice looked halfway up to the low shelf, seeing that the one pistol she owned was there. Claudio watched as she pushed the shelf down infront of them, only to pick up the pistol in trembling hand amidst all the shower of book and loose papers, papers she already had to tenderly repair once this very year. " I will not! I will not give you anything. Not to my husband nor to it. Step away! " (d)
Young Master Monroe
"You will!" He fired back, pulling apart the fine vest, and jacket that were not of Jean-Claude's hands to expose his pale chest that was cut up like some game in the slaughter house. Before her eyes he seemed to shift, his lips pale and cracked, his eyes nearly half way down his face from the wear upon his soul, and most of his fingers broken. "Kill me. Aim for the heart. The heart that beats for you. Even now he cries for you. Can you hear him? Begging me to stop. You did this to him. YOU did this to him! Whore yourself around with this." His voice hissed."Janice..help me!" Where was the Brother? The hilt of a blade was pulled upon Claudio, from the practice sword he had kept behind the door of the shop. "Defend your new bride. Defend her, for after this only pathetic fools shall want that withered flower. Every man in this land has had their turn." He lunged at Claudio, fully ready to take his life. (d)
Young Master Voltaire
Claudio would not believe what he was seeing! Ravaged flesh was exposed by broken bones. To him, it looked as if more than Julian had been etching on himself with sharp knives. The question would be if he, like Janice, would ever live to tell that fact. A fact that could save a young man so near the edge of all matters of death. With enough evidence found, he would pay forfeit for the Valley, and no one else. The mad were mad innocents in their funerals, he'd seen it, absolutions granted during novenas or graveside vigils. All of this made him think as well that some part of this was Julian's own desire to submit to something or someone. To learn. What had he touched, where had he been? "She will not!" He barked, using enough space behind him to avoid the lunge with a forward thrust "Even mad you would always go for the kills, Monroe." Sword to sword once again, only no more playing pretend. No more Fathers to stop them. No more Masters to caution them. No Stop, no Cease. Baiting him distracted him. He wasn't a heathen yet mortal eyes are always flawed, but...how much of it really could be attributed to a thing if sickness that spread to be the plague for murder was of science. No better head for it in the young existed. . You share a love of mathematics but you are the most passionate about it. Janice loves books and language, you love science and math. We all have to adore both to some degree but that is your specialty..murderer." Tried, convicted, condemned in a sentence. He offered a hit of sword to his hit of sword, waiting once again. In the interim he spied the lowering of the gun, the creeping of a body along shelves. "You dressed so. Taking things from another. Who is the whore now, eh? Who dresses up for his pimp?" New clothes. A house in neglect meant he had not stayed, for though it was scrupulously cleaned, who had? None of their own would have left the bookstore to be such a mess, knowing how well it was loved by both of them. Did not his own little inklings start to share space here? Pity he couldn't claim to be drunk now and piss on one of the man's math papers.
Young Master Voltaire and Lady Monroe
If her husband was inside of his own body and that was a hard if to quantify, could she shoot him? A sickening fact tumbled down on Janice in as much as she was ready to pull down another one of the shelves unbolted from the original construction of the shop down to the floor. She would shoot him. In his heart, no, not unless it was that dire. An arm perhaps, a leg? His side with the hope expelled blood would bring him to sense? Jean-Claude couldn't spend his life piecing Julian back together anymore than he could her. Adelaide was his responsibility now. It would either be death or a life on unlikely terms. She lowered the gun, pondering her next move as Claudio already began his. It would be a wasted shot now to use it. She shook her head, No, but still he engaged. So young, so young and already so ready to do his duty. Hadn't she been like that too? She bit her lip until it bled. No tears now, only blood. Only sickness, blood, and anger. She knew the chance wouldn't come for long or again if it were wasted.
As the pair of them began to dance, she would pull down the shelves as she went in a seeming fit of mad angst. She cried, letting the demon think herself offended at being labeled Monroe's whore. Why be angry at what he had done by not turning in the certificate? To a Catholic, there was no common law marriage! Still, she knew the truth right down to the pit of her soul. She would always live his wife and die his wife, even if that meant she did so in a convent. That was secondary now, to what she had to do. The books he spoke of were not within the shop. No, not even in the house. She wasn't that stupid, not after seeing what the desire for meager translations had done last winter! She threw open the doors to her shop's study before shutting it fast and lowering the thick beam of wood that locked it, fixing hook pins in place around it, and bolts. What could be said? If things manifested from seeming no where all the real Julian had to do was consider where they stayed for so many years. Next, she pushed a table infront of it, before pulling at a handle under the rug of her desk. She groaned, pulling until the handle gave way to lift the door! Under it she went, yet not in a comical farce of over their heads as hey fought. Oh no, she went beyond that way to a different direction entirely. To one who had no idea where they were going it would only be an escape hatch leading back to the house. She hadn't even told Julian, she realized, of this little passage but what was to be done of it. The house had once belonged to the Grandmaster.
"Lock and key, lock and key." she mumbled to herself not trust the dark not to betray her. She fumbled around on the wall through the crawl space, wet and slick until it came to the opened mouth signifying she'd gone the right way. On the wall a torch waited for her to take, soaked in oil. Nervous hands struck up the nearby flint until it roared orange-red like the mouth of hell. How fitting to be with fire, underground. Hell, though, could go well beyond that. The Spanish books were under locks and keys, traps and locks, in ebony hall where they would remain, where she would make sure all the remainder of their inklings from inside of the apartments they shared while under guard there were also gone. Something told Janice to see them away. Who would they have gone to otherwise? She could only imagine they would be Adelaides or Margots, but she never had the chance to ask. Now she wished she would have burned them. Other things had come with them too, more than texts he'd found on his explorations but the knowledge of other damned seekers, and ancient formulas for ancient weapon.. It broke her heart to leave Claudio alone with him but she knew it was what he was trained to do, same as his father. Once, Voltaire had a sword plunged in him all for the sake of his Diamond.
Young Master Monroe
"Are you so blind, boy? Child of your mother, who burns in hell. Did you know that?" His sword was met with every blow, one by one he turned each without a single care or single drive to see what was through the space and time. "She's in hell, because of you. Shall I send you to fetch her?" Locking blades with the young warrior Monroe seemed a veteran at this, but Spain was of the only time he had fought for his life as well the ones around him. "Your mother was a whore. Now she is a dead whore." Face to face with Italian prince it was hard to understand that there was so little as he to what answered in the darkness. Julian no matter how cruel his tongue, never wanted another to suffer of his heart. It was not like him, even in his right mind to have ever pulled this from Claudio. Yet they were young blood, and a rival that was of a lesser taste. He had not wanted to hurt Claudio then, but he would dare not let him defeat him. It was his pride that had always been his downfall, and his unstable faith in himself let alone some being that he couldn't find logic reason even existed.
He was flesh of his flesh, and blood of his blood; but now he picked at the boys weakness. "So who is the murderer now?" Such a heartbreaking time to watch the Master's children devour in the hatred of the other. Somewhere Voltaire would be having a glass of wine with Jean-Claude, to soothe his nerves on his sick wife while their boys brought blood of the other. However, it would be Julian's quick hand to seal the fate of this fight, and in his desire to take the life of the other watched as the blood seeped in the floor around the leather of Claudio's boots. "You shall join your mother then." Finally, it was over, and with that Julian would kick the sword away dusting off his fine coat and making his way out the door.
Young Master Voltaire
Claudio avoided a hit by a narrow margin only to try and offer one back with no success. The swords of the two apprentices' locked steel teeth in the lamp light. Both of them moved over the destruction of a turned down shelf, carelessly on paper. A gentleman's battle. Fencing schools were still illegal in most parts of the civilized word, but the rising of its popularity in Griffin controlled London would serve as a foothold to encourage the true teachers to come out of Italy, Germany, and Spain. This was what set them apart. A lack of bulk exchanged for reflexes on bar none. "My mother was no whore," swipe, thrust,dodge. "She was the daughter of a Barone, a proud one. She die like angel, unlike you. What of you." He prodded, knowing he would deserve whatever wrath was visited on him, but he didn't care. His father was sitting with Jean-Claude even now, saying:
" I regret missing so many years of his life, but I knew it was better than he stay where he was. Diamante offered many times to take him along but not yet, not yet, I would say. When he is of a good age, when he is of an age of impression. His mother God bless her never lied to him. She would not have me though. I would have stayed with her but ah..she knew. She knew better than I my place was with St.Laurence, who could not stay in Italia. It was not good for her mind though she would not show it, nor her body as it is very fierce. I saw him on occasion throughout the years. Now I have him, all the time. A man he is now but I still see so much to polish. He must have that. He has good blood in his veins. My mother came from the Holy Empire, he a good man of station in Italy. Claudio will be....extraordinary."
"Scottish dog. Pretending to be what, English, French? Never." He laughed as a cut got his arm, giving one in return.It would end so badly! he could already calculate how and when Julian would do it, and would try to make it permanent. At least he could go to heaven and tell his mother he died in a fit of bravado. "SCOTTISH DOG! GREAT PRETENDER! Your masters, your superiors came from something. What come you from eh, poor farm. Poor frozen bastard. Blue faced, eating your chyt." It was coming to the end. At least it was a worthy fight. "You were never worthy of her, daughter of courtiers. Legends. I pity her for her love of you. You kill her everyday. You..are the murderer. Every day. Your master, her. Others you would ah yes..DOG!" Claudio yelled out in pain after as he was told it was now his time to die. Like a cokey superior he would watch the blood go around his boots, face blanching with a smile. He pointed at Julian with a rue smile, all knowing, as he came down in the puddle of his own fluids.
Master Voltaire
"You, you will have another child. I am too old for that. Bromheilde is too old for that. We have our nieces and nephews between us. She has never had a child, but never ceased to love Claudio. Ours is an old story. At any rate we will share them now eh? You claim a girl like my daughter as your sister, your wife I care for. The boy like your son now gives you a daughter who all adore. It is good that we may, old men yet, have such family.Not too long after finishing a cup of wine just as he was to pour another, one of the women came upon their gathering, her face pale, her eyes electric with fear: "Master, Master! Oh I am so sorry, it is your son, he has been found sir!" Voltaire froze, listening, "In Lady Monroe's store sir, they are bringing him now they say he is half dead.." "What was he doing there? He is supposed to be in the country! Even so close only as Northampton with the Grandmaster? Where is his charge, where is the Lady Monroe?"
The poor girl shook,"I..I don't know master..but the blade on the floor...it was Young Master Monroe's..and they did not find her neither in the house nor in the study."
For the first time in his life, Jean-Claude would see the Italian man's face reflect its age. Peregrine had seen it,pain, when he found Bromheilde cut and half dead,and Jean-Claude saw worry when Claramae would not be well. This? This was how the face of a parent looks when his child, like a limb, is cut off. "My boy? My son? MY SON!?" The cup of wine fell from his hand, left to bleed out as his boy had been left to die. "Take me to my son, tell the men to gather as they originally would have had she been here, find her. ALIVE. FIND HER. Search everywhere, everything any clue to why they could be here again." Even if they were here, would they not have come here first, or perhaps she sought to go home to rest and send word? It was not like her, nor him. It was so unlike either of them. His heart in his hands he still moved with purpose. "After I see my son have my sword ready, my pistols, my tools! What..what is going on here.."
Lady Monroe
He had come in to the hallway and as he gave instructions came to walk beyond the hall of the masters out, out in to the front of the house to look down over the high banister in the distant back to see the men and women lower themselves while some screamed at the sight of Janice, coming not through the door, nor even the wall! She came up, up from the floor as only Sorschal could have done! She was covered in dirt and mud! A pistol was in her hands. Did she even own one? "They are looking everywhere what..what are you doing?" One of the journeymen spoke to her, one of Alendral's prized few who survived those tumultous first pair of years. "The house..." she breathed "The house! We must change the passages, every one. Inside and out. They must be set again, and the traps must be prepared to be levied. Place guards within and outside of any room of value. Quickly please, Johnathan we haven't time!" "What is the matter, what should we make ready for?"
"My husband. Julian. Go hurry find anyone who has been charged with the passages I can not change them all myself!" War. To see Janice's face, he knew it was a war to be waged against one of their own. A cunning beast he had become, too, under the Raven's Wing of deAquitaine and the sharp hems of St. Laurence "She began to teach him the ways, God knows how many he knows. He can overwhelm men twice his senior. Do as she says." The maid went to find another one of the more advanced, for only so many..so precious few truly had what it took to not only memorize ways in and out, but the logic to change the puzzle box that was their house. "Send for the Grandmaster!" He called down the stairs. Looking back down the hall he was certain Jean-Claude would not be far away. As a father, some part of him cried for the Frenchmen never had a son, and Julian was it to him. Still, a greater part of him cried vengence for the fact his boy was dying. Not an adopted child. His boy. "Find the priest." If they could...perhaps at last they could..help him. If not..he could not promise the boy would be kept alive for long. Nor did he know what would come of this night. It was not as if they had not had to do away with their own before, those who thought to sell them to others that be in the early times when profit meant more. Now, now all of them had endured so much. He longed to know what had happened, what he might be after, but it was better to keep the sacred contents than to mourn for it when it was gone.
Janice instructed the woman that Bromheilde left in charge in her absence at Northampton, a trusted woman, "My notebooks, his notebooks...remember I told you they must never..get them for me. We will get them. Everything. I do not know what it is he seeks but if it is anything of Spain it will damn him all the more, crush what soul he has left. I fear too, what he might give away in this state..Hurry."
Master Aquitaine
Outside of Adelaide's room he had shared a meal with a friend, a very dear friend that Jean-Claude had felt he had known his entire life. Voltaire had become a staple in his life, and he was thankful for the Italian man who was nearing the age of his own father. He looked up to the Master, and shared many ideas with him over the years. So when the message came of his son, he felt his pain shifting into the heart of the other. "Monsieur. Bring him to me." He touched the shoulder of the man as gave signal for the woman to make ready the room across the hall from his Adelaide. Jean-Claude so rarely practiced his medicine. It was rarely needed, for Skye had a good network, but this was the hand of perfection. His education went well into the distant Universities, and books that hardly any were privy too. "Voltaire. No. Not my son." He touched the man's shoulder, black eyes darting between his own like a hawk's. "Calm yourself." He had wanted to check in on Adelaide, but the sight that came next was enough to simply bring him to his knees with Cluadio in the arms of the knight blood trailing behind them, "Quick. Cut away his clothes!' Jean-Claude shouted, as they put the boy on the table. "It is deep." Mouse was bouncing behind Jean-CLaude to pull away his hair, having become a rather wonderful assistant. "Stay with us son." He spoke in Italian to the youth. It was Julian's cut, he knew by the way it was so clean, and his chest ached with missing him dearly.
Through the hours of the night he continued to work on the son of the Italian until finally the last stitch was sewn with perfect care until the boy slept in peace, "He will live. Somewhere inside my son he was easy to not hit vital organs." He believed this even if he was the only one, and looking to Voltaire he shook his head, "I am so sorry." They started in how to find Julian, but Jean-Claude held up his hand. Never had he looked so old, or so careful in his apprehension of the entire subject, "I must check on Adelaide."
"But Master..what if they kill, Julian?"
"I need to be left alone!!" He shouted closing the door behind him to retreat
Did they forget, that his wife was in the room across the hall dying while his boy was killing everything else he held dear in his life. His Unborn still rest there inside her body, but for how long. Jean-Claude was covered in the blood of another, waging war with each step as he finally perched himself back beside the bed of his beloved. Taking up her hand, he needed her to wake up, but dare not undo her rest. She looked so weak, her color so pale. Where was the sun kissed skin, and the flush she seemed always with? It had been two days since the last she was awake, and it scared him to death.
"Adelaide.." He whispered, kissing the back of her hand before pressing it to his salty wet cheek as he closed his eyes, she had always been the steady rock in his life. He needed her to wake up more then ever, to tell him he was being radical, and needed to take a step back to walk it all over again. In the end he would find it, but for now he was so tired. He pulled her arm over his shoulder as he rest his head on the side of the bed. His face buried into her exposed side while his hand went to touch the bump there beneath the covers of their unborn. Sleep that had forgotten him suddenly overpowered him, and memories found their way before his eyes as if somewhere her soul knew even now how to comfort him.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 7, 2010 22:36:05 GMT -6
14 Years in the Past...[/color]
No one would listen, no one but her, heard as an outcast hears. Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude, I learned to listen, in my dark, my heart heard music. I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world, no one would listen, I alone could hear the music Then at last, a voice in the gloom Seemed to cry "I hear you...
I. A Second Meeting The Apprentice Adelaide
A year had passed since Adelaide's arrival in Paris, and the city had yet to recover. Benoit's newest apprentice thrived under the attention, though she hardly ever left her shop. Rumors of her beauty reached far and wide, and her customers often had more in store for her than a demand for a diagnosis. Benoit, to his credit, lurked in the shadows of the back room's door frame, arms folded across his chest and curious green eyes peering out of the dark interior toward where his assistant leaned on the broad wood counter, perhaps only too aware of what a pleasant view it made from the front in her low-cut bodice -- and completely unaware of the lovely shape her rear made beneath fabric that had needed replacing for a few months now. It was soiled with her hand prints, dust, and days upon days of use without decent laundring, but she were the sacrifices of near poverty. She would put herself through these hard days for knowledge she had been promised, begging the terms of her contract outside his window before she starved to death. The terms, she figured now, were perhaps not fair, but she had a roof over her head and threadworn clothes on her back, a less than desirable co-apprentice and a beaten old mattress to lie upon at night, and a wealth of books to decipher long into the time she should have been sleeping. The girl from Embrun had an easy grace of moving about the shop. When she was told to run errands down the street, she blended in with all the other street rats, pushing and shoving her way out of the harbor market toward whatever apothecary Benoit had favors with, perhaps pilfering a few coins here and there along the way. She had to eat, after all, and Benoit's wages were a pittance. It was on one such balmy, late spring day she found herself sprung from the shop, laughing at the sheer wonderment of seeing daylight not filtered through the decrepit old window half-boarded against the stench of day-old fish. Tattooed sailors whistled as she walked past, and between bites of her loaf of bread, she offered crude gestures in return. They were starting to look out for the petite woman as one of their own, more than a few of them having been stitched back together by her delicate hands in the past year. She was a fair sight prettier to look at, too, than Gauthier. She stopped by the pub for a tankard of ale, filling up her mug until the head nearly spilled over the sides, and letting the barman have a friendly grope in exchange for payment. She always sent the sailors his way, it all came out in the barman's favor, and Ada emerged into the daylight moments later licking foam from her lips. So absorbed in the midday treat, she failed to notice the team of horses ploughing through the masses, heedless of how many lowly peasants they might churn under their hooves. *
Young Master Aquitaine
So few days were spent alone, and even less of the night. This world was his, and the laughter that spilled from his thin lips was reason enough to own such a statement. "I am sorry. That is ridiculous." He spoke to the woman at his side, her candy lips painted in a rich shade of red, and her title worn proudly around her neck. This was reason enough to keep his head high in crowds as this, careless and without morals, for they all were living in sin. He just happened to be doing so with nearly any lady of certain class."You remember, until I came along the only thing that University was full of was balding fat priests who named me a man of lunacy." With that their was a small bit of laughter as the small crowd gathered in the wake of the pair. Shoulder length hair was kept back with ties that seemed to always match, and his own house proudly displayed upon his hand. "They will burn you, Jean-Claude." The woman spoke so seriously, her golden strands pinned back from her face in fine pearls, and her eyes rolled as her words would only bring laughter to his lips once more. "Then we they are blind idiotic fools!" His company went quiet, turning small gasps over the back of their hands. Jean-Claude turned to face them, in the streets as busy as he imagined the sewers, for the people here were all rats no matter what rank their birth, or what title they held. "You grow quiet why?" His voice carried then over the square, "Because you have been oppressed. Because you have only been taught one way. You do not know better." Suddenly he spoke to everyone. "We live in fear of this church because of what? God? Something that none have ever touched. A man that has never been seen? Yes. Artists have painted him through the years, but who knows this true higher being? What I give you is proof. Proof that God can exist through science." "But you have no evidence." "No. Mon Ami, not yet." They thought him crazy, some thought him brave, but at least they thought about him, "and I would have it much faster if someone kept the doors locked at night." (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
The barman pulled her back, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her and she shoved free, losing a bit of her ale in the process, but at least her life was intact. "You know you could never handle me," she sniffed. "I am too much woman for you!" "Not a woman, a girl!" he called back, as she gave him a rather effective Gallic wave of the hand, crossing the street toward all the racket. The nobility never came down here, unless they meant to mock, or perhaps to receive a shipment. It smelled and their delicate noses could not be satisfied with weak pomanders. Their jewels could be removed with a few deft flicks of the fingers, coins pocketed with even less effort, and all while they went on with their heretical, self-righteous talking. Ada leaned against the corner of a building with her ale, taking sips here and there as if to punctuate Jean-Claude's sentences. He was going to get himself killed. She could feel the tension rising among these God-fearing folks. They may be plain and simple, but they relied upon Church as they did on weather for their livelihoods. Ada watched the faces of those gathered, some muttering in low voices and others less enthusiastic, waving off the whole show as they continued along toward the docks. Ada thought the wisest path was to go along with them, disappearing back into the crowd, arriving back at her shop unmissed by Benoit, who likely already had another errand in mind. She was frightening when locked up inside the shop for weeks on end, and Benoit was getting on in years. He couldn't lift everything by himself, nor weave through the crowds as deftly as Ada. And Gauthier? The boy was incompetent. She rolled her eyes at the thought of him trying to navigate through this rabbit warren in anything resembling haste. Crazed, courageous, Ada thought both of the man. Ever since their first meeting, and she was nearly confident he had already forgotten of her, he'd filled her dreams. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair in a way that made her blush, but something of his opinions intrigued her, as much as moth to fire. It was not her place to speak up, but she wondered if she might ask after the nobleman. Benoit was sure to know a few things. *
Young Master d'AquitaineBy the end of his speech there was a small round of cheers, though mostly they would jest with the scientist who by now had finished his first round of schooling, and worked upon his second. "Really, it is not so hard to imagine. Think of it as this. Something had to start it all." This life had often bored so many, having lived it nearly his entire life there wasn't much of anything left to surprise him, but sometimes it did bother him they all thought him simply a fool. No one took him serious, and often he watched his father looking back at them through his eyes. There is nothing in this world that is not absolute. Without proof, Jean-Claude, you are simply a boy with an idea. Had been the last thing he would remember about his father in the ride to the Paris. Yet, he knew the man half right, for he had many ideas.They got their laughs out of him, and he was happy to give them conversation at dinners. This was part of the mask he wore, letting them think it was all simply some idiots idea for lack of better conversation, but in truth he was beyond serious with his appetite for the idea that there wasn't anything as an absolute faith. The fair haired Lady would leave his arm, from one flower to another she preyed on them like a bee from a hive, but just like in the summer months there was always another buzzing about his ear right after she left. Dark midnight colored eyes would move through the crowd, with a fake smile that seemed constant, but warmed even so as he would spot the young mistress from weeks before. She was something, with her dark eyes and dark hair, perhaps even family if she was but a bit taller. Knowing she was looking he mused to her as jesting hand went to his breast pocket as if something was missing, and then started to search each one until the gold circlet of his namesake was found again. A mime this one-- acting relieved to find it, with an overly dramatic gesture, but more so he was headstrong to never let her live that day down. It wasn't like his type to even look at her twice unless he was in need of something to warm his bed, but it was certainly less like his type to have let her even keep her hand after it had went in his pocket not in search of his manhood. Though..she did have nice hands. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
And had she not been so hungry, it would not have been out of the realm of possibility. Ada had a temper as sweet as a spring day, and in his position -- as unimaginable as it was! -- she would not have let her live it down, either. Catching his eye, she raised both of her hands and wiggled her fingers. Empty. Not that she could pawn such a thing. She would have been taken into the town square and locked in the stocks, untold horrors done to her had she tried, but luckily her target had a heart, or -- well, she couldn't decipher Jean-Claude, save that he still seemed to creep into her daytime thoughts whenever she lapsed in duties. He was distracting. He was wonderful. Who knew what he was, and Ada wouldn't waste any more of her time trying to figure it out. People like her did not revel in the glory of people like him. She was dirt under his shoe, and she was rather happy with her place. Soon, Benoit would see her fit to go off into the world, wherever that may be. She would know all his secrets and some of her own, and forge a path entirely different from the road she had taken to Paris. It would all be different, and she was excited for that day. She could not let herself be distracted, and perhaps, romance was not for her. Blinking, she looked back toward Benoit's shop. Gauthier stood outside the front door, a broom in his hands. He wasn't moving, but he wasn't looking her direction either. Was she missed? She wasn't certain she wished to go back to find out. Caught between wanting that future and not wanting to put in all the hard work, she lingered a bit longer, threading her way through the crowd.Perhaps she could sneak into the University, find a spot in the shadows, where no one would notice a person as innately feminine as Ada passing in a profession that required a bit more masculinity. Perhaps Jean-Claude would let her in. But would he even talk to her? Could she even form a cogent sentence, much less ask him to sneak her in? Stars, he was a handsome man. And tall! *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
His was an intelligent mind, one that could patch through the places her eyes darted in his attempt to figure her out. Was she hiding from something? Stolen from another perhaps? She didn't look as starved as she once had, but still he met her half way. She would not get a bow, or a nod of his head, nor any polite greeting by way his kind sorted through the beginnings of a conversation. This woman was next in line to the servants that polished his shoes at home, or made his bed. She was of common blood, the river that flowed into the sea. However, he would offer her his arm as if to away from this place. Her hands were dirty he would wager, but it was Spring after all--his hem was ruined. It was nothing he couldn't buy later on. The crowd he had gathered with had always thought him something, but they had always loved him. Jean-Claude could charm the pants of either sex (not that he tried) and could win an argument just like his father at court. He was the spitting image of his Lord Father, and the heir of his mother's nobility. They would listen to him for hours, simply to suck face, and kiss his ass. Though he was not the only rich bachelor in Paris, he was one of the few that was not so round women had to stretch before bed. "It appears my escort has found other prey." He spoke of the lady with fair hair who now glared at the petite woman in rags, "May I escort you to dinner?" They all stared at her, though eyes were quick to jump to Jean-Claude praying he was only teasing her, but it was not his sort of humor.Warwick would stare back, amused. It was part of their game after all, though he doubted her a virgin. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
Was he teasing her? She might die. Her dark eyes darted a glance toward the fair-haired woman, and seeing true malice, decided he was not. He had not meant her harm when he truly could have exacted justice on her. In fact, he had been as gentlemanly as any could, considering she had just tried to thieve from him. She allowed her arm in his. Her clothes were not the cleanest, and bore patches and semi-competent needlework. She sewed in the dark, mending clothes long after the men were asleep, squinting into candlelight. Talented with a needle she was, with an eye for where flesh should be mended, and how scars would form, but her skills were limited by the flickering candle's glow, and her nerves shot from the possibility that Benoit would not take kindly to the occasional noise of her chair legs hitting the floor, or her foot absently tapping a tattoo into the table leg. She wanted so desperately to please Benoit. She must return on his investment in her. She must impress him as more than some street rat, half-starved shouting at his windows at ungodly hours of the morning. The memory was still too recent to let her sleep in peace. At least her herbal concoctions and after-hours studies were more cohesive than her hems. And at least he had taught her the basics of hygiene, learned from forbidden texts and reviled foreigners. Her hands were clean, and her nails were even perfectly shaped, if short. "I...I think dinner would be ... delightful," she offered, trying to gain her usual confidence and failing miserably.She shot a look over her shoulder at the other gentleman. Was there a rivalry between the pair? She smirked, and immediately felt much better about her situation. She even tightened her grip on Jean-Claude's arm. "Tell me about your studies, please? I want to know everything. My master is teaching me the fundamentals of philosophy, and critical debate. I have none of my caliber in which to engage in arguments; I am afraid my cohort is quite simple, and prone to anger when challenged." *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
She quickly became the joke of the group, teased behind her back and to her face though it was missed by his ears or rather he didn't give it a second thought. However, as quickly as he came, the attention left him as the fair hair maiden would once again make a joke that would simply draw attention to her rounded breast in a low cut bodice or flash the rings on each finger. The lead of the small pack would as well start in on his trips to Berber nation, and they all were tangled in his web of lies. It was placed then, his wager in quiet auction to Warwick, who looked her over like cattle from behind. "Ah. She is suddenly interested in more then what is in my pockets, but my mind. Charming." He was used to it. They all were aspiring great minds were they not? "In arguments you say." He would ponder through a topic, while shuffling placing his hand behind his back for Warwick to slip a bit of coin there to start the bet, and Jean-Claude put it in his breast pocket. Rivalry? Hardly. She was sheep simply needing a shepherd was she not? Ha. "Then you are not asking the right sort of questions in your answer. You see the key is to give an answer with a question, don't you agree? It gets them thinking on your answer and how they are to reply, and then the constant loop starts no?" He wasn't interested in her, or the conversation then as wagon full of Berber nation trades went by. Events like this were a waste of his time, but he did it to humor both himself and the court. Already his mind slipped from the group going over his latest discovery, and how that contraption that just passed would have been key to seeing it through. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
It nearly crushed her to have lost his attention so easily. Even as he spoke, she could tell he was no longer interested. Expected present opened, he wore her for show and would discard her when the whispers died. She sighed a bit, and glanced over her shoulder at the other gentleman. No doubt he would do the same, but she was not as horribly tempted to sneak her hand into his pocket to see what ticked as she was Jean-Claude. She pressed her lips together and feigned interest in what he observed, recognizing she could spend a bit more time pretending interest in the priests' sermons, and less time learning bawdy behavior from whores and their sailors. She didn't even learn from the best whores -- the greatest bordellos in the city were accessible only by carriage, and even the finest of madames could not afford a perfume to hide the stench of the docks. "I try this," Ada admitted. "It angers him. My master invariably calls our lessons to an end after he has completed insulting my mother's mother for indecent acts with turnips." She smiled. Adelaide could have been nobility. Her features were refined, nearly those of a wood sprite, and though she was not tall, she carried herself with surprisingly more grace than women born far higher in society. She seemed not to care where she stepped, but had a certain rhythm to where she set her feet that seemed to place her in constant, fluid motion. Her curves were lovely to watch, and though she was very young, she had always been older than her years suggested. She did not care that they whispered about her. She wished to be renowned, for what? She had yet to decide. Still, even infamy was better than dying a street rat. "Would you go?" Ada asked, now following his gaze to the traders. "To some exotic, distant land? Must you experience it yourself, or is reading about it enough?" *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
It was not she who lost his attention, no, but simply their actions. He was glad she did not put of a fight, and somewhere he had to know they all looked upon her only as a whore. Though, he at least now thought of her as thief too, but the idea of her being so hungry bothered him greatly. "Reading about it is enough." He spoke nearly out of no where, "I do not travel well, and besides. It takes the fun out trying to figure it out on your own." The way he had looked at that contraption had been the sort of connection that only souls had, for he felt his tell a story about it. "I'm not like them, really." Lowering his voice to whisper, "Nothing they do is new. Nothing they do suits me." He was much older then he appeared as well, though no where near his 30's yet. When they passed the church, the guards there tensed and Jean-Claude mused over it as their eyes bore down upon him..or was it her? It would have to be him, as she was but a common thief was she not? "I read many things, and will save you the boring details." For what woman wanted to hear of such? Their job was to paint tables, and sew up cushions right? "So this is what you do then? Take lessons from your Master on how to pick a fine man's pocket?" Still he whispered, not wanting to alarm the rest. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
"Then do what you wish, and damn them for ignorant fools," Ada said simply, her own voice pitched low. She knew discretion, and happily obliged. "Do something new. Be exciting. You can afford to be different, and the world is for the taking." She quirked a smile, but didn't seem to be entirely joking. Minds like Jean-Claude's were best put to use. It was a crime to keep them locked away in petty court games, though he did seem to run circles around them. "They think by looking at me that I will pleasure a man for coin or some favor, but what is inside is very much different, and I desire so much more than a man's affection." There was a little laugh at that, one she would have let loose had they been alone, but they were not, nor ever would be, so long as they walked in public. She puffed air upward, fluttering the curls framing her face. "As I am sure you desire so much more than the court's. Certainly you know by now I am smarter than the average courtesan, and pickier than the most discerning of thieves. I chose your pocket, did I not? Have a bit of faith in me, m'lord, I beg you. There is something redeeming in all of us, be we men of science or women of ill repute." Which she did not claim to be, but such was Ada -- she never committed to anything unless pressed, and even then, seemed resistant to most forms of coercion. He was, of course, welcome to try.She coughed lightly. "I was not in my master's employ when I tried your pocket, m'lord, so it is an insult to his intelligence to think he would advise me to thieve yours. No, my master is a man of science and philosophy, the renowned Benoit. I am learning his craft." She spoke the words softly, but there was pride in her voice. She didn't know what a woman did with this knowledge once gained, but that did not seem to hamper her enthusiasm for learning. She wanted to know. Everything. *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
"Ah, is that so." He smiled and laughed lightly, never at her of course, but it was a musical sound that struck him deeply--it was a real laugh, one that he enjoyed so very much. "I quite agree, and my what a perfect tutor this Benoit. I hope he has been kind. Appeasing your pleasures and all."The Devil really. For what seemed a good half hour they walked, and the time went by too quickly. However, the streets soon turned from the rougher end to the polished pressed stones of the finer side of town. The small band of nobles would soon turn to wait on him as he had slowed their walk into dragging steps that had not wanted to part. However, she was not dressed for where they were going, and perhaps it was all part of a cruel game. Every well defined brow, and painted lash would glare at her as if dirt under their nails. It would be the men that would have tolerated her presence, but they were forced under the thumb of their lady. The walk was narrow as it lead up the small incline, and on it Jean-Claude would turn to face her amused to no end. He would perch his hands on his hips as he would look her over with a smirk, "And I thank you for the company." Was she hungry? Was he ready to part from her? "I would invite you to dinner, but you know how they are." Impatient.
The Apprentice Adelaide
Their walk put a smile on Ada's face, but such an expression was never far for the petite woman. Her eyes were warm with good humor, and she kept up with his words with far better tolerance for his arrogance than his colleagues. Ada's nature was easy-going, and perhaps this would be her downfall -- her balance was precarious on the line between giving and generous, and it seemed men lived to take advantage of what was offered, until there was nothing left to give. Still, what pleasant minutes to while away, toward a part of town that smelled far better than her part of the Seine, and a peek at a life she had not been born to. He turned about and started bidding his farewells, to which Ada responded by carefully placing her hands on her hips. "Thank me for my company, ah? Would invite me for dinner, yes? A fine gentleman you are, m'lord, inviting a wench to dinner and reneging upon your word but a few streets later. My company likely wasn't so charming, eh?" She gave a typical, carefree Gallic wave of her hands, as if pushing him back to his people, but before she left, she seemed to have a few more words for his ears.So she stepped a bit closer. To the rest of them, it looked as though she had pressed against him in a farewell to remember her by, as if she might entice him back to her part of town by curves alone, and not out of any innate desire of his to make heretical statements in a place no one minded heresy. But she actually refrained, only the fabric of her skirts brushing against his legs, and the spicy floral lavender of her fragrance mixing with the green, herbal scents of her trade catching in the fresher air. "What care you what they think, m'lord? Are you so dependent upon them for approval, that you beg and cater to their every whim? I'd mistaken you for an original thinker, a man who challenges convention, not lives in fear of convention's tyranny." With that, she gave a little hmph and walked away. Difficult man, with his difficulty ideas -- he did not even know who he was! She smiled, though, thinking she'd rather like to be there when he sorted himself out. *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
"No no, ma petite, I did not ask you to dinner, I asked you to escort me to dinner." He held up a finger that had dirt under his nails..look at that. How he had changed over the years. He was amused to no end with her, but she was still like all of the rest. Yet, he did hate to watch her walk away.The rest of the group had left them alone, to go in a the dining hall that held more gold on the door then perhaps half of the households on the East side. "I did not think you would find much amusement in being torn about by tigers. Ah..but look, how you tear at me like one. It does sting so." He teased. She could hold her own, he had no doubt, and with a look over his shoulder to the group now gone he came upon the realization that she was right. She was such an old soul was she not, in such a young body. Really, he was rather intrigued and it was hard to hide it. "Pardon!" He called out after her raising his hand as if to flag a coach, "But you are going the wrong way." From inside the doors a team of men came to dress him putting on a more elaborate dinner jacket, "Dinner is this way. If you dare." Was she aware of what was on the other side of the door, but for the fact he was being dressed in the street it was something of great importance. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
She turned around to glare at him. "What a kind distinction, m'lord, I shall take pains to listen more closely in the future to avoid such embarassment." She gave an ironic curtsey and continued on her way, shaking her head slowly as she went. She was an impudent child from Embrun, speaking to the nobility as she did. No doubt she deserved to be beaten with a cane for such lip, but Ada seemed capable of getting away with murder. Or at least, thievery. He stopped her again and she sighed, making her way back to him. "Do you think I come unarmed? The difference between your kind and mine is very simple, I think. Yours veil insults behind kind words, and make dispersions of character seem like compliments. Mine do not hesitate to call a spade a spade." She grinned suddenly, her own barbs failing to sting, as long as her dark eyes glittered with such mirth. She was not dressed for the occasion, but Ada was always prepared. He did not know her well -- not yet -- but certainly, she left lasting impressions. This would be the last time this gentleman was mistaken in making promises he could not keep, or thinking he could win a game with one who perpetually cheated her way through life. "Somewhere in between the two should meet, and a devastating courtier born. I rue the day. Mmm, you clean up well, m'lord, if I do say." *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
Jean-Claude would grin, one that spoke volumes of the act she promised, but he returned her smile. "Can you not think of a better way to spend your evening? Locked in a room full of venomous spiders, and my Lord Father? Really, I do not even know your name. To think they have come to see my hand married to one of those 'spades' as you say. Do you still think me such a vial creature knowing this now? Your kind are a dime a dozen, and the very thorn in my Lady Mother's side. You will be ridiculed and spat at for she is as well venomous though more a snake." He tied up his ascot by his own having pressed away the other men, "Or perhaps we shall call you a kidnapper, and we both shall be spared." Was he pleading? Pulling the ribbon from his hair he gave it a shake, brushing fingers through the shoulder length strands to tame them, as he was far too wrapped up in his work to have cared how they dried. He was horrible with bows, ribbons and all the sort, hating it all as well his life. "I have a secret lab in the clock tower. (shhh my imagination)" He started to whisper as he tied his hair once more this time catching all the strands, "A very dire secret best kept, I trust in you now. Will you meet me there at half past 7?" Shuffling through his pocket, he heard his name called by a much more petite blonde this time who looked dead like him though her coloring was polar opposite. "Coming!" He called back placing the key inside her hand, "If you go around back of the garden there in the courtyard of the cemetery, to the stone angel that is without a head this will unlock the door inside the tomb, that will lead you underground and to the secret entrance of the cellar." Perhaps he should have drawn her a map. "From there climb straight up and be quiet about it." As well the wager placed on her he would place it in her hands, "For dinner..." He parted from her rather quickly though came right back, "And..you may look, but I beg you be careful and don't touch anything." (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
"For being an elite, God-chosen few, your kind look all alike to me," Ada said quietly, her eyes narrowed slightly, but warming when they regarded him. He did not wish to go in. She could sympathize. How much of life was doing what was expected? They could not all buck convention as she did and wander off toward a new life. Perhaps she expected more of this man. She took the key in any event, and slid it down her bodice. The men had all been looking, she did not mind playing her part. "Oh, I think I will enjoy putting my hands on your things," Ada mused, just to see his reaction. She had no such intentions, already formulating a plan to observe whatever occupied this man's surfaces. She needed to know in a way that made her heart beat a bit faster, and were it not for some semblance of manners, she would have run away toward the entrance already. She smiled quickly. "Adelaide," she supplied, and had already spun around on her foot back toward Benoit's shop.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 8, 2010 11:44:07 GMT -6
"I hear your fears, Your torment and your tears." She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness No one would listen, no one but her, heard as the outcast hears
II. The Belltower
The Apprentice Adelaide
She took off at a sprint, dodging back into the crowds and navigating her way through the warren of streets. Benoit was waiting for her, of course, her break having expired long ago. She apologized for being so easily distracted, promised she would never do so again, took her punishment of impenetrable Greek to parse by next morning's lessons, and ran out of the shop again before Gauthier could beg permission first. He lost, Ada thought uncharitably, flinging herself back into the crowds. There were jokes to exchange, an odd dance of tangling with favored men and women for brief moments until she begged her leave, their stunned expressions alerting Ada she had a few more apologies to offer in the morning, but she would stop for no one, following his directions to the letter. That is, until a pair of rather unfamiliar hands took hold of her. "You," Ghislain d'Armagnac said, towering over the young woman. He had such perfectly carved features, Ada observed, ever a student of the absurd and beautiful. Of which Ghislain was both. "You are Benoit's girl. The one they say is a whore." Ada squared her shoulders for a fight, looking ever so much like a bird with her feathers ruffled. Ghislain's smile flickered. "It suits our purposes. This address. Tomorrow night. Your master will be recompensed." He held out a piece of paper between two fingers, as if afraid it might stink. She took it slowly, and did not bother to read it before slipping it into her bodice. Everyone knew who the prince's man was -- he would make his master King of France, it was said, and d'Armagnac his most successful knight. Ada watched him go with her mouth hanging open. Then she ran a hand through her hair, wondering if tonight could get any more bizarre. She turned toward the cemetery, and decided to find out. *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
"No no, ma petite, I did not ask you to dinner, I asked you to escort me to dinner." He held up a finger that had dirt under his nails..look at that. How he had changed over the years. He was amused to no end with her, but she was still like all of the rest. Yet, he did hate to watch her walk away.The rest of the group had left them alone, to go in a the dining hall that held more gold on the door then perhaps half of the households on the East side. "I did not think you would find much amusement in being torn about by tigers. Ah..but look, how you tear at me like one. It does sting so." He teased. She could hold her own, he had no doubt, and with a look over his shoulder to the group now gone he came upon the realization that she was right. She was such an old soul was she not, in such a young body. Really, he was rather intrigued and it was hard to hide it. "Pardon!" He called out after her raising his hand as if to flag a coach, "But you are going the wrong way." From inside the doors a team of men came to dress him putting on a more elaborate dinner jacket, "Dinner is this way. If you dare." Was she aware of what was on the other side of the door, but for the fact he was being dressed in the street it was something of great importance. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
She turned around to glare at him. "What a kind distinction, m'lord, I shall take pains to listen more closely in the future to avoid such embarassment." She gave an ironic curtsey and continued on her way, shaking her head slowly as she went. She was an impudent child from Embrun, speaking to the nobility as she did. No doubt she deserved to be beaten with a cane for such lip, but Ada seemed capable of getting away with murder. Or at least, thievery.He stopped her again and she sighed, making her way back to him. "Do you think I come unarmed? The difference between your kind and mine is very simple, I think. Yours veil insults behind kind words, and make dispersions of character seem like compliments. Mine do not hesitate to call a spade a spade." She grinned suddenly, her own barbs failing to sting, as long as her dark eyes glittered with such mirth. She was not dressed for the occasion, but Ada was always prepared. He did not know her well -- not yet -- but certainly, she left lasting impressions. This would be the last time this gentleman was mistaken in making promises he could not keep, or thinking he could win a game with one who perpetually cheated her way through life. "Somewhere in between the two should meet, and a devastating courtier born. I rue the day. Mmm, you clean up well, m'lord, if I do say." *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
Jean-Claude would grin, one that spoke volumes of the act she promised, but he returned her smile. "Can you not think of a better way to spend your evening? Locked in a room full of venomous spiders, and my Lord Father? Really, I do not even know your name. To think they have come to see my hand married to one of those 'spades' as you say. Do you still think me such a vial creature knowing this now? Your kind are a dime a dozen, and the very thorn in my Lady Mother's side. You will be ridiculed and spat at for she is as well venomous though more a snake." He tied up his ascot by his own having pressed away the other men, "Or perhaps we shall call you a kidnapper, and we both shall be spared." Was he pleading? Pulling the ribbon from his hair he gave it a shake, brushing fingers through the shoulder length strands to tame them, as he was far too wrapped up in his work to have cared how they dried. He was horrible with bows, ribbons and all the sort, hating it all as well his life. "I have a secret lab in the clock tower. (shhh my imagination)" He started to whisper as he tied his hair once more this time catching all the strands, "A very dire secret best kept, I trust in you now. Will you meet me there at half past 7?" Shuffling through his pocket, he heard his name called by a much more petite blonde this time who looked dead like him though her coloring was polar opposite. "Coming!" He called back placing the key inside her hand,"If you go around back of the garden there in the courtyard of the cemetery, to the stone angel that is without a head this will unlock the door inside the tomb, that will lead you underground and to the secret entrance of the cellar." Perhaps he should have drawn her a map. "From there climb straight up and be quiet about it." As well the wager placed on her he would place it in her hands, "For dinner..." He parted from her rather quickly though came right back, "And..you may look, but I beg you be careful and don't touch anything." (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
"For being an elite, God-chosen few, your kind look all alike to me," Ada said quietly, her eyes narrowed slightly, but warming when they regarded him. He did not wish to go in. She could sympathize. How much of life was doing what was expected? They could not all buck convention as she did and wander off toward a new life. Perhaps she expected more of this man. She took the key in any event, and slid it down her bodice. The men had all been looking, she did not mind playing her part. "Oh, I think I will enjoy putting my hands on your things," Ada mused, just to see his reaction. She had no such intentions, already formulating a plan to observe whatever occupied this man's surfaces. She needed to know in a way that made her heart beat a bit faster, and were it not for some semblance of manners, she would have run away toward the entrance already. She smiled quickly. "Adelaide," she supplied, and had already spun around on her foot back toward Benoit's shop. She took off at a sprint, dodging back into the crowds and navigating her way through the warren of streets.:Benoit was waiting for her, of course, her break having expired long ago. She apologized for being so easily distracted, promised she would never do so again, took her punishment of impenetrable Greek to parse by next morning's lessons, and ran out of the shop again before Gauthier could beg permission first. He lost, Ada thought uncharitably, flinging herself back into the crowds. There were jokes to exchange, an odd dance of tangling with favored men and women for brief moments until she begged her leave, their stunned expressions alerting Ada she had a few more apologies to offer in the morning, but she would stop for no one, following his directions to the letter. That is, until a pair of rather unfamiliar hands took hold of her. "You," Ghislain d'Armagnac said, towering over the young woman. He had such perfectly carved features, Ada observed, ever a student of the absurd and beautiful. Of which Ghislain was both. "You are Benoit's girl. The one they say is a whore." Ada squared her shoulders for a fight, looking ever so much like a bird with her feathers ruffled. Ghislain's smile flickered. "It suits our purposes. This address. Tomorrow night. Your master will be recompensed." He held out a piece of paper between two fingers, as if afraid it might stink. She took it slowly, and did not bother to read it before slipping it into her bodice. Everyone knew who the prince's man was -- he would make his master King of France, it was said, and d'Armagnac his most successful knight. Ada watched him go with her mouth hanging open. Then she ran a hand through her hair, wondering if tonight could get any more bizarre. She turned toward the cemetary, and decided to find out. *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
The clocktower was not much, having never been finished in the wake of the war, but he had purchased it on a short order for very little, and was thankful it was there. He could see the city while he worked, and be left alone. It was very empty for a man who had everything, but there was a few signs he had even slept here on occasion. The time would not chime, nor would the bells be pulled on by the grave keeper below. No Paris had many bells to be rang, and with the great cathedral starting what reason was there to even start. A few cages lined the walls, mostly empty save for a few rats, and a falcon that had broke its wing. The poor bird had pulled out most of its feathers that now grew back in odd shaped spurs. Tables were mostly empty save for a few parchments and jars with various body parts on preserve. A human hand was cut cleanly down the middle and pinned on the paper beneath it marking all the points in a drawing there next to it that would see Jean-Claude straight to hell. The hour grew late and the sun was setting, and still there was no sign of the Comte's son who was known to have a new flavor each week. Did he bring them all here? Hardly. There wasn't much of a place to take a lady save for the small bedding in the floor, but even he had standards. This was simply a start to his life here, the rest was in the University where the real work began. Closer to 9 the door finally opened, and in his hand a lantern that burned brightly, "Forgive me." He seemed rather defeated, his face still red from the argument, and that smile broken. This was a clear sign his parents were in town for sure. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
She had plenty of time to look over his belongings, spending an inordinate amount of time conversing with the falcon. She hadn't seen one of his sort since leaving her village, and was surprised at the realization that she hadn't seen much wildlife of any kind since her arrival. Save wild dogs, cats, rats, and the seabirds, there wasn't much in the way of diversity in the city. "Suppose you're lonely," she mused. "Difficult being one of a kind these parts." She had time to ponder his drawings and the splayed hand, marveling at the detail of the muscles, and flexing her own hand in response. Is that was happened? Is that how each of the joints worked? There were books with such drawings she had seen on Benoit's shelf, but he had forbidden them to her. In time, he said. In time she would learn what he knew, but she needed foundations first. Ignorant country child, she started far behind most boys in these regards, having just recently learned the letters of her native tongue, never mind those of another. There was so much to know before she could even begin learning! Ada vented some of that frustration out on the bird, rolling her eyes as she happily delved into subjects Benoit had been avoiding for months now. She had no concept of the time, until the door opened and she realized she must have been here for some time. She'd already lit most of the candles, swept the floors, put order to the disordered, and still found time to take a seat at the edge of his bed, pathetic thing that it was, with her knees on her elbows, and head balanced in her hands. "I thought I would be late for certain, you do not know the sorts of strange men that hang about cemeteries at night," Ada exclaimed with a smile. "How do you feed your falcon?" *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
"Oh but I do, my friend. I happen to be one of them." He was quiet then as he moved past her to the cage that kept the bird, his hand gesturing to another that held smaller rats, and liberated one from the cage to place in the same with the falcon. A nasty hissing sound came before the bird would remove the head, and feast away upon the rat. He was very serious in the way he held himself together, much like the man she would come to love later on, as a good part of his youth was slowly dying away, "You were not hurt were you?" A true concern, though he hardly showed it save for the way he would look her over. She cleaned..she didn't have to do that, but he would pay her for that as well. Jean-Claude came to take a seat at the table capturing a small trinket between his hands he made his mind busy with it so to distract him from dinner, but it was more a cause of concern that came then to his thoughts, "I have heard a rumor about your Master, Adelaide. On this night." In fact it was shouted at him, "They cast him a man of craft tonight, and will seek his end as soon as they have proof." How did he know? He was warned he was not far from that list. He didn't care, and tonight made him realize this."You should go to him. Have him pack everything and leave tonight." With that he finally meet her eyes, though it would be the next couple of months before anyone would do anything, there was always time. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
"No, though he gave me an address. It is a nice house, I have walked past it before. Roses out in front." She rose from the mattress and took a seat opposite him at the table. "There are always rumors of my master, m'lord, as they're true. He'll go underground for a month or two, until it's all died down. We might take a venture in the countryside, which I must admit, might be some fun." Though it would tear her away from books, and she had most of the knowledge she wanted from plants. The weather was warming and the flowers blooming, it was a good time, even Ada must admit. He looked tired, though, bothered by something he was not telling her. How had he been accused of the craft? Nothing of this room spoke of what Benoit was meant to teach her. She almost laughed at the realization that the hand she had been pondering was the reason. Heresy, except the Moors didn't deem it heretical to see how man worked. It was to see God's design, and to understand how He had formed His proudest creation. There was nothing heretical about it, Ada decided, if one started thinking along those lines -- which she rarely did. And the Moors were ahead of Christendom by leaps and bounds in the sciences -- it was all there in those books Benoit wouldn't let her read. "What of you? You'll leave, too, no doubt." He had to. Certainly there was a place for him somewhere. If there was for old Benoit, there must be for Jean-Claude. *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
He shook his head, "No. I will not leave. Why would I? Everything I have been working so hard on, would be in ruin. I do not get deemed a witch, but there are many who see me dead right now. If they come to take me. I will go, and I will die. You see.." He put his hand down on the table, "This is the difference between they and I. I have nothing to hide. I do not seek fame or riches. I simply want to them to be corrected, or at least enlightened." Sitting back in the chair it was known then of his careless nature, that perhaps he would get more done if he would simply keep quiet. "My colleagues and I do not believe in hiding, or running for that matter." It was stupid of him, but he felt himself right in this."If I die then it will be in the comfort of my passions. For I have everything I have ever needed and wanted." He waved off the thought, "My Father always comes to clean things up. It is his way, but this will be his last. I feel as though I have sealed my fate, but I am ready." He sounded nervous when he said that, "Does that make me a fool? To be so uncaring and ungrateful of what was given to me by my birth rank, that I will throw it all away for my own selfish passions?" He was very serious when he asked her, repeating the very words his mother had gone on about over dinner. An arrogant sneer passed his face as he sat back once more, "She wants grandchildren, for me to settle into the estate. The life they have made for me, but I have f**ked everything that is of any worth in this town, and I am not amused. What life is that to be lived?" An anger started inside him as he leaned forward on the table, "Why are you here? Why did you come this night?" Good questions, "What do you want from me?" He was in one of his moods. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
Ada settled into her chair -- never one to sit in a chair properly, she spun it around first. She folded her arms on its back, the wealth of her hair spilling down giving her face the startling appearance of floating above her bare arms, dominated by a pair of large dark eyes, and full, sensuous lips. "You do not seek fame or riches. You would die a happy man to have been right all along." She smirked. "I think it is selfish and foolish, but not for your mother's reasons, no. I think you are depriving the world of a great mind. You are maybe passionate, but you are also maybe a bit of a self-righteous fool. Perhaps you have not even reached the peak of your genius, m'lord. What discoveries might we never know, without you to show us the way?" When in doubt, appeal to the man's vanity. She lifted her fingers and examined her nails. Then she looked up at him. "What of the rest of us? Maybe we are not worthy to the likes of you." How careless he was of his insults! It broke her heart a bit to realize he'd never think of her as anything more than a pretty distraction. She dropped her hand. "I am here because I thought I had something to learn from you. Perhaps you wished to show an inquiring mind a thing or two. One who critiques when critique is owed, but who will listen nevertheless with an open mind. I want to know. It almost hurts sometimes, being so in the dark, and understanding this so profoundly. Perhaps...." She couldn't meet his eyes now. Benoit had said no so many times before. This man could say no, too, but it would be a thousand times worse. A million times worse! "Perhaps I might keep your notes for you, if...if I could hear you give lecture one night. They ... won't let me into the University. Or anywhere, really." *
Young Master d'Aquitaine
"I have often wondered of the trials women go through. There is only one woman who I can proudly say could out match me. She is threatened by the priests nightly and is attacked often. More so then you dealing with the devil, you are brave venturing into a man's world. How many times do you get told a night, your place is between the sheets with your knees back to your ears. You have a reputation on the streets, forgive me. I figured that was what you were here for." He moved from his seat to undo his jacket, going over the wall that had a map of sorts. It was the stars, upon closer look, and he mapped them out much like a sailor. Yet, it was when his eyes went distant would she be privy to his true self. There were ideas born from looks like that, where his gaze seemed to connect with some other world. "I would welcome you to any of my lectures, and just as you have heard. I would fight to keep you there. If this is what you wish, then let it be so." Closing the distance between them he would take her jaw in his hand gently to tip her face up, his way of keeping her attention, "Just so long as keep true to yourself, and never change." She was far too delightful to see the madness ruin her. (d
The Apprentice Adelaide
Reputation? Pfft. She puffed air upward, fluttering the curls framing her face. However had she gained such a thing? Certainly not by her current ladylike posture in his chair. Well, she was not in the habit of defending reputations, her own or others. By the time they were gossiped about, they were past salvation, though she was highly amused they spoke of a whore in his high circles. Maybe there was hope for her yet. She chuckled as she watched him turn back to the map of the stars, and wondered where his mind went. Would surprise him, she would be willing to wager, that there was nothing amiss with her reputation whatsoever. She smiled again, though, as he turned back toward her. The smile went a bit uncertain as he reached out for her jaw, and disappeared entirely when she was no longer able to avoid direct eye contact. Flushing, she backed out of the chair, batting her skirts into some semblance of respectability, and started inching toward the door. "I very much look forward to them, then. The lectures. Ah, taking your notes. I will enjoy it, I know I will. And I will tell Benoit." Ooh, she felt hot. Amazing in itself, as she was wearing so little clothing to begin with. "Thank you, m'lord, must be going now, farewell." She was already at the door, minx, planning on never washing her chin again. *
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Nov 12, 2010 9:49:58 GMT -6
Comte de Aquitaine: Here's the mirror, Behind there is a screen. Turn around, on both ways you can get in. The experience of survival. Look around just people, can you hear their voice, find the one who'll guide you to the limits of your choice. The experience/ of survival, try to think about it.."For your safety." His words boomed though quiet as if criticizing everything about her in that small statement, "Brought here, or carried your way in the pocket of highly trained assassins." With a sweep of his hand the cloak he wore of fine thin fabric revealed beneath its red lining as with a whip it would be hung over the hook. He was not as eccentric as Jean-Claude, or as pleasing to the eye. However, it was easy to see where the son of a mighty power in France learned his manners. They shared the same governess, who died when Jean-Claude had just reached his adulthood, but her legacy lived on now and forever in the scowl of the Comte. His face was solid though broken, cracked as the years wore away on the stone. Carved from marble had appeared in his youth, with dark granite eyes, and fingers that moved slowly like the legs of spider as the beckoned her closer. "For many years you had me fooled, all of us Laurent. Tell me.." Upon his chair he sat like a miserable King who for too long watched his kingdom suffer. Aquitaine no matter what rule it was pressed under always remained just the same. Come spring their was not a more beautiful countryside, and the economy was in a high so what would cause a man as this to frown so."Do you still believe you had nothing to do with your husbands death?" The echo carried through the halls of how this man's voice commanded the very air of the night, and it was no wonder those who went against him in debate very rarely won. (d Lady Margot:Margot approached when he seated himself, leaning in until her nose was mere inches from his, and she quirked the corner of her mouth upward in the semblance of a smile. Yet the coldness in her dark eyes could match that of his own; she, too, seemed not to care that her soul had been misplaced over the years. They were now both too far removed from their homelands to go in search of such intangible things, and Margot's confidence never wavered as she did what those with far more breeding were unable to do. She looked him dead on, and refused to flinch despite the chill in his voice. "Does it matter how I was brought here? There was no protection for me in Spain, this you must know. Death waits me in France. I would be a fool to return, had I anywhere I might go." He had found her in a brothel a good many years ago, but she had quickly put to rest any ideas she might be one of those fancy ladies who pleased the nobility. She'd very nearly thrown her bucket of ash on him, and her attitude had certainly grown no more pleasant over the intervening years. Stubborn, temperamental, and bitter, she had been happy to say farewell to that child when she crossed into Aragon, to start a new life with a man who knew nothing of Paris. She stepped back then, wiping the palm of her hand across her forehead as she crossed the room to the window. She lifted a heavy curtain to feel the breeze on her face and turned back to him. "I did not kill him." She made her way rapidly across the room again and rejoined him, sitting on the arm of his chair, as only a madwoman would do. "Do you know," she asked quietly, her voice rising from its hiss, "where my sons are?" * Comte de Aquitaine: "Death waits for you in Spain as well." He met her eyes though with little amusement in her being so close, and thankful she had given up that idea long ago of him sorting any pleasure through her. She couldn't get it up if she wanted. All of him was closed from any heat, and he shared only the bed of his wife--and this only twice. She served her purpose. His nostrils flared as the very scent of her insulted him, but in truth she was not all that bad. "If I did, what good would it do you. You would only interrupt their mindset, and confuse them both. You couldn't offer them any sort of life. You would only disappoint them." The air outside was so cold now that the sky seemed so clear through the opening in the roof of the half torn home. Their fire was warm, but all that lived outside the double doors would shiver in the night. "Now..tell me the real reason you are here, and perhaps we can make a truce." He motioned for her to take a seat, and he was being generous in it. The foot rest was a perfect perch for her was it not? All women were better looked upon where a man should put their feet. The large red stone polished smooth over the black lion fit his hand well, and in the fire it appeared dark shadows danced beneath the surface. "Tell me how Benoit is doing, I was disappointed I did not get to see him during my short time in Spain." (d Lady Margot:"Death waits for me everywhere." She took a seat where he indicated. "I am dangerous to some, yet of use to others, I would rather take my chances here. Maybe it is not ideal." Margot missed the dry weather and desert heat. She despised every aspect of Scottish weather, and had seen more forms of precipitation than she cared to be familiar with. "What truce? I have no powers of bargaining."There was a flicker of a smile as she recognized that was not the sort of bargain that defined their relationship. It might be with others. Margot kept to herself, and had remained quiet on matters of the heart since the day her husband was murdered. "What do you want, your lordship? How may I be of service?" Was there irony in those words? Possibly. Margot's face remained unchanged, even as she eased herself back on the foot rest, observing him patiently. She had few other places to be, and none to note her absence. "Benoit is well," Margot said with a light shrug. "Tending toward senility in his years, but I enjoyed caring for him while I was able. I do not doubt he has the ability to fend for himself. He would rather have had me preparing dinner, however." She sighed, and folded her hands in her lap. "You believe they are alive, at least?" * Comte de Aquitaine: He would sneer, and then shiver, "But it is miserable here." He hissed, "Cold, and wet. Even the women here are lacking of talent. What a weak nation, one so easily succumbed to a few little tricks. The boy..stupid." He motioned to where the shadow of Julian slept, though taken by how the fire reflected in her hair. She held a warmth to her that no doubt any man of his mindset couldn't stand to be without. Nothing interested a man who had everything, and in truth he wasn't even certain if he could feel desire anymore. "They live horrible lives here, Margot." His accent true most when it was the truth he spoke of, "Even my son feels this, but he has stumbled upon something very grand within it all." He would dare say something very real indeed, "I wish not to be known here, as my time is nearly through. You see fate has been a fine quick line for the soul I picked to belong to someone very real to me. I had to see for myself." In that instant a raven came to land upon the fallen wall of the home, its call so quick and shrill through the night that all stirred in the wake of the sound. "I can not stay much longer. You can offer me this, your ears and eyes, your good looks are not lost to you. You can charm your way in, and coax them home. The passage to France will be secured, and perhaps somewhere along that way you will see your sons again." It wasn't much to ask, now was it? (d Lady Margot:"Perhaps is not good enough," Margot said, rising to her feet. She stared at him, but then shook her head. "I do not want to charm. I do not want to sneak in. I watch and I listen, but it is what any could do -- they are so free to speak here, so uncautious with their words. I need more than 'perhaps.'" She wasn't certain anymore what she owed him, or if even respect was deserved. She was uncertain about Jean-Claude, envious of Adelaide, and she pitied Julian. She wanted her sons back, and she would figure things out from there. Too long had she lived waiting on information passed covertly from one hand to another, and she had learned just enough of kindness to know what was desired of her life once those boys were returned to her.It wasn't in France. It wasn't with Benoit. She didn't care anymore who had killed her husband or the men of Villena. She wasn't concerned with justice or retribution, claiming what was hers, or struggling to gain what was not. The only payment she was willing to take was very real information -- not vague promises and unsubstantiated hope that those boys were even breathing. She folded her arms under her chest, and waited patiently. * Comte de Aquitaine: "Such fate that twists the hands of time, pushes them from you and pulls them back in. Their fate suffered indeed." He stood to rise, with far too much still to do he would give her the truth. Latin words that left his lips, clicking from his tongue in a voice that seemed to call the ages as every watcher called to their towers, and spirits of the damned came to life in the coughing of the apprentice. "You will find a way. In this. I. give. you. your. answer." The stage then set for the son of Munro to rise from his slumber with eyes rolled to the back of his head. Young Master Monroe:"They are in here now." His voice was a raspy chilled sound as he stared right at her without any direction in his gaze. "They died alone and cold, beaten and bruised." Julian laughed then as his head fell back with it, "Suffering the same fate together, they were subject to ritual strung from their feet, and arms spread on black wings. "He knew this in Spain." Taking his hands on either side of the laces of his shirt he tore it right down the middle as steps closed up the stairs where Margot would be, "This boy inside me. He knew they were dead. He found that out for you. Letters. So many letters."Was it lies? The Devil was known for his untruth of every matter, his word spread like fire in each heart that turned further from the light. "To every contact, in every country until one came back." Julian slowly returned to what was normal, his eyes the color of ice, and his voice soft spoken but not so harsh, "I tried to tell you, but I couldn't." Nothing here was every what it seemed. (d Lady Margot:"He is lying," Margot said, sounding betrayed. It reduced to rage, pure fury as she launched herself at Aquitaine, but not before picking up a vase on a nearby table and smashing it to a conveniently sharp shard of pottery. "Why is he lying to me? What do you expect me to do, Aquitaine, what bargain do you hope to strike by making me think they are dead? You are nothing to me, he is nothing to me, I wish to be left alone. You," she thrusted the shard at him, hardly realizing she had cut herself in the process and blood now streamed freely down her hand, dripping onto the floor, "you will let me be. Do not involve me in your schemes, I shall find out for myself where they are. And when they are found whole and unharmed, pray you expire sooner rather than later, you soulless whoreson, afore I do more than threaten you with broken pottery."She slammed the shard down between their feet, and kicked the scattered pieces at him. She felt a strange emptiness as whatever fire had burned in her seemed instantly extinguished, the dull swansong in the wake of the hideous, raucous clamor of brass. It left her dizzy, momentarily struggling for balance, yet she turned away from Aquitaine and grabbed Julian's arm. "Come, we must go. Please, Julian, let me take care of you tonight." She slowly pulled him toward her, wishing suddenly and fervently things had gone much different starting with their meeting in the garden while she stayed as a guest of the Aragon court. All the poor choices they had made, all the opportunities that had had to speak, yet chosen to remain silent. They haunted her. * Comte de Aquitaine: "I DO NOT BARGAIN ANYTHING WITH YOU." He shouted creating an over all silence in the night, "What reason have *I* of your pathetic worthless life, other then what has been denied." He closed the distance between them to take up her wrist as if to shake her hand at her, "You are nothing with these. They bind you. They take all your power." That he could almost feel pulsing beneath his fingertips, pulling her arm he found himself suddenly taken back by the hand of another. The apprentice was quick to land a right hook into the face of the Comte, that would have him stumble back upon the floor, and everything about this man spoke of how this had been the first time he had ever touched the common ground. Julian stood their panting from the struggle, each breath labored by forced through. Young Master Monroe:"Don't touch her.." He hissed, standing between them now. "Don't listen to him Margot. I did send out letters, but came up with nothing." This was the most himself he had been in nearly three months. He felt pity for the Comte as his aged came through, nearing 70 was hard on a body, that had met its prime long ago. A small cry left his lips as his mouth opened and head fell back while nails dug at his skin scratching until blood filled his fingernails, "Run." Was all he could manage, as anything and everything glass started to burst around them. (d Lady Margot:Margot tensed when he grasped her, but she did not fight back. She stared hard at him, her eyes darkening as rage began to eat at her vision. "Maybe I did kill all those men at Villena. There are not many who know the story. Perhaps I did take them apart limb by limb. Perhaps I did shove my hand into my husband's chest and rip out his heart. You are terrified of what might be, Aquitaine. Were I braver, I would take myself to the blacksmith, and resolve this puzzle myself." He was gone in a moment, standing before her and then teetering back from the force of Julian's blow. She stumbled backward, blood roaring in her ears, and was halfway to the door before glass began shattering around her."Julian!" She felt her breath seize in her chest, but forced cool air in, and ran out the door and down the decrepit steps. Air would not enter her lungs, and when it finally did, the short bursts were not nearly enough to sustain her. She'd never cried, not for her husband's death or the long road she'd run since then, and she didn't cry now -- but certainly, she felt something in her heart breaking and wasn't certain why. She took a deep breath and then another, and started running out of the Underdark. Toward where -- it was always the question. She had no one. * *** Peregrine the Pirate:The dark night had been careless as the center of the city burned, a large pit that called to the goblins of the Underdark and pulled them from the lives they lived in shadow. Masks from wood, carved scary beasts adorned their heads, with horns that could spear the night. It was the eve of all souls, and the ship with Scarlet Sails returned to the shores of Skye once more--its captain dancing among them as their king. Peregrine was half naked, with pants that were torn at the hem and hung far too low on his bare waist, with only the ribbons of his mask to brush his back. The sound of drums and pan pipes filled the air as they strung the old man by his hands to get answers from him that none knew on this isle. What happened in Spain? What part of this did he have, and most importantly, What can save Adelaide. "Look." He hissed, his half covered face couldn't conceal his grin if the mask was full, "Do you see into my eyes." Benoit was not alone in this world, staring into a man who rivaled the trees in spirit. "Look further hmm?" He laughed, raising his hand to see to it he was hoisted higher, the ropes pulling tight. "You will die here tonight!" Silence broke out over the crowd of every criminal in Skye, but they knew he only spoke to Benoit. "Until every last secret is betrayed." He wanted to know everything. (d The Old Master Benoit: "Oh, I hope not. I've lived far too long -- " he gasped, his breath rattling in his ribcage as he was yanked higher. "As it is." He was old, and aging rapidly. His death was nearly upon him, even Margot knew this -- and the woman was singularly untalented in realms of the human body. His Adelaide would have known upon first examination, pulling his eyelids back, placing her ear over his heart, going about her business in clinical fashion in a way that was both scandalous and fascinating to the nobility of Paris. It had caught Ghislain's attention. That fop, that panderer, he would have placed anything beautiful in the king's menagerie, begging attention from the prince he had brought to the throne despite far more legitimate contenders.Benoit's silvery hair was usually worn close-cropped, and he usually carried a careless elegance to his manners. He blended in well, going by this name or that for the better part of his years, but now he seemed at a disadvantage to those dressed up in horns and masks. He did not believe in hell, but perhaps this was the best way to go. He did believe in receiving what one deserved, and even in madness, Benoit knew fire was a far kinder fate than he deserved. He smiled slowly, twisting slowly in his ropes until he came to face the pirate. "I have a lot of secrets," he whispered, then flashed a white-toothed grin. * Peregrine the Pirate:The blue eyes the color of the ocean seemed crazed on this night as he brought his face next to the old man's inhaling his scent, speaking in a language that so few understood. The words were slow and careful, like the wind through the trees it seemed to moan, and often Rosalind's would not be far behind it. He loved to please her, almost as much as he loved to cause this man pain. His hand came up to touch the fingers around Benoit's neck, and he threatened, "Kon del tut o nai shai dela tut wi o vast.." (He who gives a finger, will give his whole hand)It was a chant, that he started, freeing the man's wrist to hold it up to the crowd, "Kon del tut! O nai shai dela tut! Wi o Vast!" Again and again until the last was hissed and the entire crowd called out for his hand. Pulling the blade from its hold he held it up too and the cheers would start.Men would bring an empty table, small enough for the wrist to break under the blade, but large enough to keep it flat. Peregrine would lower his voice, and turn to smile to the man. "I would start with the most important..they are a wanting crowd." Benoit's pinker finger was pulled back to near breaking as if to prepare it for the cut. "Start with what you know of poisons, and end with possessions." Pushing the man's wrist down he held the knife there. (d The Old Master Benoit:Fire ran down his arm as it was released, and the shot of pain as his little finger was drawn back made him laugh manically. He was not terrified. He was not even a bit scared. Perhaps he had been preparing his entire life for an end such as this, and certainly, the man must know torture only yielded doubtful information at best. "If you wish fingers, take the one from about my neck. Doubtless you wished to know to whom it belonged back in Paris, eh? I am certain you did. You put your arm around my Adelaide's waist and claimed her as your own. She loves so many, out of fear of losing the one." Benoit leveled a critical eye on this knife-wielding devil."It's not you. Never has been you." He coughed briefly, feeling that odd, fleeting beat of his heart as the dry, hacking sounds waned. He spat the results toward the man's feet, having no care for manners with his finger nearing the breaking point, and his hand about to be given in sacrifice. "Poison? Someone you know suffering? Perhaps I can be of assistance. Allow me to examine the patient, and give my diagnosis. I am an expert in my field, you know." Another cough that sounded more like a laugh, and resolved with a genuinely puzzled look on Benoit's face. "Let us start with autumn crocus..." * Peregrine the Pirate:Peregrine turned the blade in his hand to grasp the hilt tightly as he rolled it in his palm to curl his fingers around it as he struck the man. The punch was swift, one that only sailors could keep with the upper body in full swing. "She's the one dying you pig." He spit back, clearly unnerved by this man, "And no. I can't claim her." Maybe that was cause for another hit, "But the one who can sent me to get answers out of you can, and does." He took the knife and put it to Benoit's throat, "What did you do to the Apprentice? What has he done to Ada." Their was a desperation in his voice that was masked by his anger, but it was very clear he would cut out this man's tongue if he kept quiet. "Speak now. You will not survive if Jean-Claude gets to you." Another hit for the sake of luck, for it should all come in threes. Was that for his own pleasure or because it was loyalty to Jean. This was proof enough he didn't wish to be reminded of who her heart was loyal to, but it was as well all that he could do to keep from gutting this man like a fish. (d The Old Master Benoit:Benoit reeled backward, his eyes rolling up into his head. Perhaps his nose was broken. He couldn't feel it. Blood, however, had a very distinctive taste that he wish he was unfamiliar with. If he could not smell it, he would know it for blood even deaf, dumb, and blind. "Adelaide? No, she can't be." His ears were ringing. Had he heard the man correctly? He bowed his chin to his chest, and carefully tested wrinkling his nose. It was indeed broken, and he ceased his self-diagnosis at the intense stab of pain."She knows better. I taught her better." He seemed more upset by this news than the blade at his throat. "For years. I taught her. What it tastes like. What it smells like. You do not send a woman like her to court without -- " he stopped, hoping the man would not hit him again. "--preparing her. She was ... a delight. She did everything ... everything I could not." They had dramatically different ways of advancing through the scientific circles, however. Benoit could claim prowess in many talents, but Adelaide had him beat as far as the king was concerned."App -- apprentice?" He coughed to clear his throat. "Julian. The boy Margot brought to my home. I have done nothing; he came to me cursed." * Peregrine the Pirate:"And now she's dying. Her husband sent me to get you. All of this because of you." He wanted to spit in the man's face, but would simply hit him again with this time his knuckles burning with the blow to the mouth. Collecting the man by the fabric of his neck he held up his hand. The fires cast strange shadows, and as he took the knife to the man's hand the blood was of a cut of his knuckle and not the displaced finger. However, Peregrine would take one from the man's neck to act as though he took from Benoit. He would then bind his wrist back with his hand keeping it from the rest as he would lead Benoit through the streets. "You better pray you can heal her, and that Jean believes you. Have you ever met her husband?" Peregrine would smirk, pulling away his mask. (d The Old Master Benoit:He sincerely wished this man would stop hitting him. It took more than a few moments to recover from the blow, at which point, Ada's father's finger had been removed, and his own hand was bleeding. They entered the streets, Benoit's legs moving mechanically. "He was an occasional visitor of my shop, enabler of my best student, yes, I know him. Thought he was dead for a good many years, suppose it is going around. I was dead, too." The grin was startlingly scary with blood smeared across his teeth."I'll want my finger back, when this is all done with. I took it. It is mine." If Adelaide was really so ill, he did not want her to see the finger again. He had been cruel to show it to her, but he had thought she would be happy to know her father was paying his dues. She had an odd sense of justice, and apologized far too often for her health and sanity. She never fought for herself. She sat in trees and laughed as the world burned around her. Stars, he did miss her. He missed Gauthier a little less, but thinking of those days past was to think of the pair of them, constantly bickering, Gauthier pretending Benoit did not see him pinching, tripping, and kicking Ada. * Peregrine the Pirate:"You are a funny man to make such demands. I think I'll keep it. I'll put it to rest in the trees..you've had it long enough." He could feel the heat of the cold dead thing as he slid it in his pocket, praying he remembered to take it out when Rosie went to wash his clothes. "What do you mean he came to you cursed?" Once they were free from the crowd who moved on to the next to finish their trial he would release the man to let him walk on his own, and it was proof he was done hitting the old man.He liked to hear of Ada as a child, though was still so hurt by their argument that it was hard to enjoy the memories. He would wager her to be a wild one, and could almost wonder how she managed to make it through life alive. (d The Old Master Benoit:"I met him in a tavern. He kept drawing this symbol -- same one, over and over -- wait. Give me my finger back, and maybe I will tell you more." He thought about his demand for a moment, then shook his head. "Keep it. Do not let Adelaide see it. I hope you did not kill the man I had chained in the other room." Odd admission, but it did not seem odd at all coming from Benoit. The old man had strange ideas, but usually passed in sanity due to his formerly great reputation. When had he begun entertaining such dark thoughts, and then acting upon them?Perhaps the entirety of his life. "I'll get more," he muttered darkly. "He's got a few left, anyway." * Peregrine the Pirate:He stopped suddenly his eyes open to the man as he removed his mask, "What do you mean he's got a few more. This finger belonged to Ada's father. She told me this. You are saying he is alive?" It felt wrong to be asking, wrong to want to know anything more, but he cared about her too much damn it. This changed everything, and he paused. Looking back to the harbor he would rub his neck for a moment pondering the outcome of it all as he didn't kill the man no, never would he kill for no reason. He was on the ship. (d The Old Master Benoit:"Fingers. He's got a few more fingers. I didn't cut them all off." He seemed vaguely irritated at having to explain such a simple concept. "Vengeance should be slow and sweet, even if Adelaide does not take it for herself, I rather revel in the prospect of delivering it on her behalf. You never did question her, why she looked so terrified, and yet so intrigued, when we met in Paris." He smiled faintly, even offered a low humming sound. He wished to return to his work, but he also looked forward to seeing Adelaide again. Even if she was sick, they had spent too many years apart, and he missed her.She looked exactly like her mother. "He is alive. Much as can be expected, doubt he speaks much. He made it through a few rounds of prolonged questioning, but seemed to have lost the ability to speak over the last few months. Just as well for me, I grew tired of his circuitous logic. He may be madder than me. Might we stop off for something to eat first?" Benoit asked, switching topics without much concern for Peregrine. "Don't tell Adelaide." * Peregrine the Pirate:Turning he would make a fist to blacken Benoit's vision, and watch as he fell to the ground. (d
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 12, 2010 10:20:10 GMT -6
Claramae: 2 Corinthians 4: 8-9: We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; The puzzle box was locked against curious fingers that would want to pry it open while the outside world was ever-ignorant of the treasure inside. It always was. The contents of human make shuffled in anxious coils but wore stone faces so the world only saw semi-precious perfection that glowed in the autumn light. Opals swirled with the shades of omniscient eyes as they glinted in the Grandmasters ears, her throat. She pulled away the gloves from her hands to reveal a signet ring crafted from red jade on the fingers of her right hand. Claramae had not in months ridden on a horse, but that was how she came to the inner sanctum. It was said that with different places from the Mother that what held Masters were akin to children of this opulent design by a mad illusionist who played the game so well, perhaps he baffled himself. Inside of the Grand Dame of homes, the Grand Dame of mystery looked on all the little perplexities. "The passages have been set first, everything from the aquaducts to below? Good. The gardens. Good. The walls are nearly completed." Now in Northampton the original architect had left considerable room for development, given the estate was to be served as an award to a Black Talon member. Where else would she derive inspiration, but here, home to a piece of ever exploit? Little autumn wars were waged here while all the world knew was the manifest of the physical. But bodies were buried, the valley had near emptied, and the world waited for snow on the fields. For now? Autumn winds pulled at the last straggling leaves, and velvet whispered to uncover the voice in marble floors saying We've missed your silence. Stay, stay like the others are. (d)
Jean-Claude: The others had waited all day, having never once left her side it was all Mouse could do to bring the Master a bath for she knew him to be wasting away beneath all the fine fabrics of a French man. His chest came and fell in incomplete breaths as he worried so dearly over his beloved that he had never once noticed the little hands that undressed him, "Forgive me." He sat forward to finish what Mouse's hands started, "I must be a sight." It was not until the water spilled over him did he realize that it was in fact a new day, a week M'lord. "My god.."The soaps were lathered, a fresh shirt was pressed between the hot stones, and Jean-Claude came to life again within the cool air. Winter was coming..He could feel it in the way his bones ached horribly. "I must walk." He wouldn't do up the lace of his shirt, or even let her comb through his wet hair. No on this day he was well beyond the comforts of familiarity for the hurt deeply. Dinner was to be served soon, a once happy occasion in the Hall of Black Talons, but it was hard to even come together as a family with half of it missing. (d
Claramae: "Start to turn the mechanisms windershins. In an hour I will come to look at them, right now there are others to see." A wave of hand to shadow bled in those emerging from it. What a strange sort of family that would come together. Still, it was family. Whispers began to move in like the high-tide of how the countryside agreed with the Master when others died. It only agreed with the face. Mind was troubled at news of Adelaide's sickness and Jean-Claude's worry. Her heart gripped at an apprentice gone mad and another who spoke only when it pertained to stopping whom she loved. She shook her head, shininig though it was, a picture of health in a dying world. "We are repeating what our masters warned us of, in our own ways, age after age. We have become in every way what they loved, what they feared, what they tried like parents to shelter us from while feeding us on the allure of it all." She said this to Bromhielde, who pulled back the hood of her own cloak. "Let us go see the deAquitaines, and then Lady Voltaire I will leave you to this house. I see that even with your selection of chatelaine, it lacks your firmness." The strange mixture of Barvarian staunch and Italian enriched indifference rolled behind the scene just as much as opulence and French humor was at the fore. She could have waited till dinner, but there was no point. Ever so gently she knocked on the door that served to house the pair. (d)
Rosalind: It seemed a lonely place, these days. Rosalind was far more involved in the court and her young, active family than in subversion and grand schemes. Peregrine had come home, and though he hardly said anything, he'd changed; there was something distinctly different about her husband, constance when he had been anything but, and sobriety lurking behind boyish grins. The Inverynes were always very happy living their lives independently from others' demands, having low prioritization for obligations if they interfered with the terms they had set. Yet friends proved an exception to the rule, and so Rosalind set out on her own, arriving, divesting of her cloak and other garments, and walking slowly through the hall to stretch her own legs, which seemed to suffer greatly for not moving frequently.It was this weather; infernally cold and wet, it disagreed with badly-knit bones, and though Rosalind's temper was fairly sweet these days, there was a grimness in her lips she was unaware of, save her growing reputation for fierce attitude among the newer courtiers. Her cane met ground soundlessly, as did another set of feet approaching. She almost failed to recognize him, so disheveled was he in appearance. Yet few others had his height, and few more still the wealth of dark hair. "Jean-Claude?" There was brief hesitation in her voice, as if afraid to disturb him. *
Jean-Claude: He was quick to close the door behind him as he came to greet the few that gathered in the hall. He wished not to let them see Adelaide for fear they carried something that made her worse. She was not well, and needed her peace. This, was his madness that kept him, and the proof there around his eyes as he seemed to have aged again. Was it disturbing to not be greeted with one of his smiles or open greeting. There wasn't much of him left by way of warmth. The bitterness swept over Claramae first before his dark gaze shifted to Rosalind. "Lady Inveryne, Master. Good evening." In the hall the dance would start, of avoiding true questions as he would answer nothing about his apprentice or his beloved, nor would he take anything offered to him.The color so dark in his hair under the light in the hall it appeared to be strands of spun silk, or solid oil that strung over his shoulders in a bit of curl. "Is there something I can do for you?" He sounded as though even if there were he wouldn't touch it. (d
Claramae: "It is what can be done for you, not you us." An emotive, factual statement. The darkness come from his head was not as thick as the matte despair with a flat, sheenless quality in his eyes. What color, what sparkle there came from his desire to live. It was all weak now, teetering on the edge. Not even his blood infection, she thought, had done him so much harm as grasping at the frayed edges of a life he controlled with such elegance. To marry only to watch a love of years wither with the fruit of consumation inside of her. To take from the world a boy to make a man, only to watch him betray all he was taught. To have friends whom he might see now as enemies. Was it her fault, the Master's, did she push too hard? Blame was a thing to lash out like a beast. "What do you need?" The heart it was fabled she recieved only after being shot (so the story went) broke in many ways to see him this way, even to see Rosalind this way. It could never be a meager visit could it? Never a supper or a chance to sit for wine without an alterior motive. They were too old for this, too old to have nothing to return to, nothing that wouldn't fade to dust. " I hope that all is well with you, Inveryne," said with a resonate gentility amidst the layers of paid formality. She stepped closer, looking, studying. Eyes upturned in the halls notice where the nothing. Good. It was supposed to be that way. (d)
Rosalind: "No, not for us, certainly not," Rosalind said softly, greeting Claramae with a slight smile and nod of her head. She was dressed sensibly for the weather, in brocade and wool, heavy fabrics that moved stiffly, but were nevertheless beautiful in their rigidity. Berry hues and woven black threads, hems edged in black piping and smooth, delicate lines despite the severity of the colors, and her hair rolled up and pinned in place at the nape of her neck in a simple but effective design, a clip of intriguing make nestled within the mohogany strands. If Jean-Claude would answer nothing of his apprentice or his lady wife, it certainly could not be prevented in asking -- yet Rosalind seemed to understand his need to leave it behind closed doors. In vulnerability, they took strength in what little could be controlled. Rosalind, an intensely private person herself, would not do Jean an indignity by violating what little privacy he had, nor by making light of a situation that had no positives. It left little topic for discussion, but Rosalind navigated to one without much effort. "My husband has taken to sea. You tolerate the Bedouin woman more than I. The time for change and regression is upon us, and I am in need of your fine wine, Madam." *
Jean-Claude: So it was done then. Peregrine had gone after Benoit. There was a flicker in Jean-CLaude's eyes that was very primal for he would soon have the man strung in his lab crying out the cure should he refuse it. There was only one who knew how to heal his wife, but those secrets would be spilled as they would mix with Benoit's blood on his floor. Jean-Claude was tired of playing games. To take his apprentice was one thing, Julian had always had a weak mind, but his Ada..was playing with fire. What did he need? That man's head on a plate, a sword to cut out his spine. "I need to eat. I feel faint." It was the truth though even his body would not admit it, "I really am in not a proper state of mind for company, forgive me if I come off as a bit harsh." He near muttered as he made his way down the hall, pressing past them, but calling back over his shoulder, "Claudio. Does he live?" Wine sounded..like a trap, Rosalind knew how to relax him even if it was not her intentions. He would not let it be. (d
Claramae: "Ylu look as if you will faint. I will have dinner sent for us. You should not walk far, supper perhaps in the neighboring parlor. Do not worry over how you look for company, we have all seen one another undone by now?" A question with an obvious answer. Uncovered heads spoke perhaps of unlaced, untied, unkept and near death. Not a single curve could Jean-Claude not account for on both women in his presence, and not a single state of array or disarray had both not seen him in. At every bedside, in every mass knelt in prayer. That was what it meant to be family far and away. "Claudio lives, yes. By the skin of his teeth but I am assure he will survive after a few weeks of recovery." They followed Jean-Claude, who hardly seemed fit to do any leading. "You will do more than drink wine, Inveryne, you will tell me how things are with you. Your life your children, your husband. Above all else though I ask you, if Master Peregrine becomes curious..not this time." She gently touched the walls as an indicator before doing something unprecident. Looping an arm gently throgh Rosalind's, almost in a sisterly fashion. Stories proved true: Gottschalk, England, and a gunshot. All of that had altered her to some degree. "The transfigurations were calculated by Janice." Which meant that the rate of error was nill, and the chance of death was guaranteed. If only it were a world to find Peregrine curled up in a secret door, a world where they could laugh at it. To think of Adelaide in pain hurt her. The woman had always been at her bedside, making her laugh, seeing her well. So much kept behind so many closed doors. So much to preserve. Adelaide on the brink. A house set against its own apprentice, and another..well. "She sends her love, and her prayers for Adelaide and all of you." But could not be coaxed out of her rooms in Northampton where she was reciting verbatim hour after hour things to memorize (d)
Rosalind: Rosalind and Jean-Claude still maintained a bit of modesty with one another, though one wondered how, when he had birthed her child. She smiled, though, at the idea of calling them all family. It was true, though. By sheer will, she had attempted to keep her personal affairs distinct from theirs, but time twined them together, and now it seemed there were few distinctions left anymore. She briefly patted Claramae's arm, and held onto it as they crossed after Jean-Claude into the parlor. "I am glad to hear of Claudio's progress." There was some light, after all. Some hope."Ah, but you know Peregrine's aversion to being told what to do. I believe he has already visited." He'd said nothing, but there were few reasons he would climb out of bed at night. Rosalind had stopped wondering where he went. "There is something amiss between the two of them," Rosalind commented absently as she seated herself, curious, but not to the point of upsetting herself. What was between Peregrine and Adelaide was none of her concern. Pere's words stayed with her, and she wished she could have gone with him, if the practicalities of seasickness and their family did not give her good reason to stay home. "Ah, my family is well. Polly and Aldric have re-united with their friends, and all is right in their world. And yours?" *
Jean-Claude: "Good. Then Voltaire will not be so quick to kill my own." It hit him, that his thoughts of Julian had not been often until now as he took up a glass of wine and found his way to the window. It was the sight of any Lord or King, to watch upon the world beneath them in wonder of kingdoms come, and lives undone. Yet, he could not so easily follow through with his own desire to burn it all the ground. Jean-Claude was in a dark foul mood, one that was not fitting of the company, and dangerous with the mixture of alcohol. He was after all half naked before them, chest hair exposed and all...dear God. "Peregrine, has come and gone, but he did not do so through the passages. He is a fool, but not an idiot. One glass down, another taken up and without food it would not take him long to glaze, "What of the Angel? Does she live?" He felt as though he had been living inside a machine that had stopped time within the rooms, but outside so much has passed. What else had he missed? (d
Claramae: "Claudio's recovery will occupy him for now. It will soften him." By a mild degree. Stall him for but a little. The greater threat was that a trained product of years of tutelage had gone awry, by whatever means, and could mean dangerous liability to all of them. Every secret, every trick, he could dispense with at his leisure. If the seed that planted the wickedness stayed, God forbid. She said nothing more on the matter, nor on the fact that Voltaire's prized journeymen who'd endured since the Order's inception were trained marksmen. He had used his own capital to outfit them with muskets that fired not one round, but two shots one after the other. What scragglers of madness from roads they found, foaming from the drug were killed. Silent, a boom amidst cannons fired already said to clear the surrounding air. Another sound lost in the melee of living. "I am pleased to here Peregrine has stayed out of the walls. To reward him perhaps he might ponder Northampton's spaces as the designs are being finished, it will take time yet." Plenty of chances to romp to say what was penetrable and what was not. Of all knowledge she'd trust his, the man who lived in trees, laughed at what wsa supposed to keep him out. "As I am also pleased to hear of your children, Rosalind. They look to have grown well, and beautifully. The court will benefit from your presence. None molds them as you. It is my understanding that the Lady Eirian will be arriving within the day, your children may have more playfellows. As for Janice she is alive, at Northampton, she has been seeing to the household and to a project of personal importance to her that as years have gone by has become important to anything Sorschal built. It keeps her intact. I would not call it living, but she is intact, sweet girl." (d)
Rosalind: Rosalind reached to cut a slice of brown bread, and buttered it liberally. She rose from her seat and joined Jean-Claude, placing the item in his unoccupied hand. "The kitchens have outdone themselves on the bread, do try some." In the way that the court knew nothing Rosalind said was ever a suggestion, her tone now implied the same. Adelaide would have asked the same thing of Jean-Claude. He was misguided to think his wife would approve of the worry that gutted him to the point of weight loss, though Rosalind could not judge. What would she do in his shoes? Hardly much better; Peregrine had become her life, insinuating himself in her affairs until she could no longer tear him apart. He was her heart. He kept it beating. A fool, perhaps, but he had good company, and she supposed most lovers must feel the same. She picked up her own cup and held it, contemplating its contents, and thought to Janice. She should have made an effort to see Janice more often in the wake of the young woman's loss. She still had advice to impart for her former student, though she wished she did not, and that Janice had no need of it "Finish your meal, my friend," she told him quietly. "I will keep watch over her until that Bedouin woman returns. You should sleep in a bed, keep after your own health." She finished the contents of the cup, and inclined her head politely in farewell to Claramae. "I will be about later this evening." Then she was gone, leaving before Jean-Claude could bar her, her cane tapping along until it came to a halt before Adelaide's door. *
Jean-Claude: He couldn't eat it, for every time he tried he would simply return it later. His stomach ached with the wine already, and he worried of ulcers. "If she dies." He shook his head, letting it fall as he pressed into it bowing for the moon Ada worshipped so much. "The Lord will regret the day he takes Ada from me." He was angry? Turning to Claramae he shook his head, "I have grown too dependent on her, Claramae I can not even dress myself. For the first time in three years I have wanted to return to the Underdark and finish with the plans to destroy this entire damn Isle." He was talking treason to the one person who could in fact put him under."Just for the blood." Not a single hint of sadness crept over him, not his was all rage--the horrifying sort. He seemed insane shifting to lean then over the table where she was perched, "I have done everything. Everything I have ever learned has failed. She gets worse. If the Lord has done this, he will regret it. If Julian..I will tear him limb by limb." Spoken with a growl, "They have until night fall of tomorrow to capture him, or the hunt is on. Let him die!" Slamming the cup into the wall he felt the release invigorating as he closed up again, one arm crossing over the other while a hand came to clasp his head. "I do not even know where Genevieve is. Pray tell me she is taken care of." He whispered then, exhausted from his outburst.He wouldn't ask for forgiveness, though he should have. Everyone knew him in this hall as the one who smiled while their Lady kept a constant vision of fear. It terrified them to see the Master this way, but it was a reminder of those years gone when he first came to the Isle. If Ada were able to say something, it would have been a reminder of the man she first met--arrogant, and careless. (d
Claramae: Once upon a dark time ago, of wolves and alchemy, she visited him at the aqueducts. At the mouth of ice-water flowing down through the hall as blood through veins, she found him with questions to have answered. Correction was not offered him, as if he were a morally lost child. She didn't shake as he threw his glass, as the world under him became unsteady. Instead when he was done she placed her own wine on the table. Some would have seen that as brazen, as if daring him to knock it over, but they were those who whispered unknowing among themselves. With Rosalind gone the room felt different. She was a woman she should have known better in these last few years, the woman whom she trusted her own master's daughter with. Family does injustices to one another so they could make amends later. It had taken so many years to let Adelaide in. Now to think of each of them near the other, without Peregrine or Jean-Claude to seperate them. Family makes odd peace treaties. She rose to be beside him, sit in the curve of the window as only she could do. It was window ledges for her now with cat-like grace. No more rooftops. "She is here within the hall, with a bevy of nurses. None but the best for al of you. Even you. I would not deny you your hunt, but you can not go out in your condition. Your place is with your wife, for if she were to awaken to your peril what then? For all of this, for her illness and the world as we see it now, I am sorry. Whatever will come of it, you will not face it alone." Poor Julian - poor boy trapped inside of himself by some other force - did the real him know what waited for him? God pray the priest would have something of a body left to save if he was taken a hold of. "Though of hunting, one may think. No one faults you, Jean-Claude. That is your life within that room and none doubt it. So too, are you hers." The world he'd destroy would have part of her in it. Did that stop him from doing it? It would kill them all if they had to hurt him. With him this way she had no one to share details with, or thoughts. It seemed wrong to do it. Not even Voltaire, he was too consumed in his own works and best to leave him so. "I have done my own thoughts, and long ones." Perhaps Rosalind. Yes. When all was said and done. Rosalind. (d)
Nasrin: Days were long and nights longer still, with Nasrin spending long hours evaluating Adelaide, and longer hours still concocting solutions for the poisons that ravaged her body. Nasrin emerged now, tired, her face drawn, and met the waiting arms of her husband. Few knew of the man, and those who did, were rightfully petrified, the Ilkhanate contingent being an opaque sort, unwilling to divest information unless pressed, but they had not yet been pressed, and so they bided. They waited. Even Nasrin did not know for what news they waited, but they could no sooner move from Scotland unless they carried a death wish.Nasrin's height and heavy, impenetrable garments made her a rarity on this isle, where women moved freely, unescorted, unhindered by dress or seeming modesty. Her husband was as much an oddity as she, maintaining his tribal wools, his long hair in braids, brightly dyed feathers at striking contrast with his Central Asian coloring. They fit in the embrace, Nasrin silent as she inhaled the scent of him. Though the laundries had long since processed his clothing, she swore she could still smell yak butter, and her chuckle was a near-hysterical non sequitur in the silent hall. They parted, without word, and Nasrin pulled her hood back over her brow, rubbing her hands together to return warmth to them. They were stained with medicines and charcoal. The voices she heard attracted her to the parlor, and she entered only after surveying the room's occupants for a few moments, from the vantage of the shadowed doorway. *
Jean-Claude: "I've given up on Julian, Claramae, and I should not. He would be so disappointed, but even he knows where my heart is. I do not have all the power in this world, I am still a man. How do you face that? I pray that the Brother can help him, but they must catch him first. We trained him too well. It is selfish of me to think this way, to put Ada's life first. I only thing of Genevieve, and the life she would have without her mother. "You must find him, get him to the priest. Get him away from whatever evil." He would shake his head though she was right when speaking of Ada. The very conversation made his heart ache to be with her, and he felt guilty for being away so long. It was then he would rise to move from the room only stopping as he watched Nasrin step in. In that he wanted to bolt from the room, to run to her bedside to make sure her still breathing, but he knew this woman only brought with her matters of great importance. (d
Claramae: "No, you should not be. You love him as a father but as a Master you understand like we all do, like you had seen repeating of what happened to Sorschal and I..over the years. You place your value in the right place, it does not mean you love him any less but if he is beyond help he is beyond help. I will not right him off just yet, I promise you. His misgivings are easy enough to attribute of yet to the wide world, a case in which people have killed people may hardly be pinned upon one. Yet as genius as the boy is, and beset by..something..I wonder if this is all too much. Even for him. He is still young. Some aspects of this are too controlled, and it exploits his lack of control. Almost dogmatic, and he is stil too erratic. I had thought, though in sharing this you I fear I worry you too much, to look in to matters deeper myself. Being this is no more just a task of science, it seems rational to believe that while the source you sought to answer the question of Julian's way home can not track Julian, the Lady evidently touched and could see..whatever ..is rooting." This was incredibly hard to say. They sounded like zealots, the lot of them, branded zealots believing in ghost stories. "So it stands to reason that if she can..see...the cause, she might be able to trace the cause to where it moves. Which would mean a rather exploitive use of the Artisan and though she is Talion's Queen, I am hardly above such. It seems he is not either. You had not heard of the..house the ventured to. People were pulled from the road, murdered on behalf of the deity but the King, of all heathens, believed in the evil he saw and according to report, took hold of his wife and all but dragged her from the home. I ascertained this having my brother followed, lest Percival get in to trouble. At any rate..it leads me to think that the..source..both.scientific and...different." Demon. Spare her now. She believed but spare her.."moves. If you can trace the origin of the compounds in the beset people...then likewise you can...draw from a mind..a thing. This is most intangible case with tangible parts. At any rate I will do what I can to find your son." Even if it meant begging the Artisan's pardon and exploiting what should be a point of fiction. Nasrin's appearance drew her to silence she'd seenso little of the woman since England (d)
Nasrin: "I am sorry, I was told you had gone to supper," Nasrin said, bowing. It was an awkward gesture, made elegant only by the lovely fabric of her robes. "I do not wish to interrupt, but I thought you would wish a report of her progress." Nasrin gazed quietly at Claramae. She knew so few here upon this isle, but it did not seem to bother the Ilkhanate woman. She had her own people, and was content to be among them. Adelaide had been her closest friend, and it was in absence of that chatter that she realized how isolated her people were here. "She must wake to eat, or we will lose the child. There is a risk she will have more fits, but I hope...." She sighed. "I do very much believe the last dose of charcoal she received took most of the toxins with her. I am of the opinion this is not a complex, exotic poison, but rather a combination of readily available items, none particularly potent on its own, or it would have been distinctive in smell or taste when consumed. She would have known had it been nightshade. We will know tonight if the cure has taken." She went quiet, then, observing the pair of them; the atmosphere in the room was thick enough that Nasrin knew she had interrupted great matters, but none were greater for Jean-Claude than his wife, that much had been made perfectly clear when she first blackmailed him in Paris. *
Jean-Claude: He was quiet for a moment listening to Claramae speak what nearly everyone had been telling him, but hearing now for the first time, "That is not my Julian, or I would have you burned right here for I would think you crazy." He spoke rather quietly, and if he was joking it didn't show. Sitting in his chair like a king now, Jean-Claude was the poster of wealth, nobility, and politics so polished that he could perhaps talk a nation from war. "Use whatever you wish, even if we must use the Angel as bait. He needs to be brought down. The streets are in terror, the country living nightmares. I want it known that if it means his life, so be it." He would send word to the clan. Nasrin would enter then and the air would leave his lungs. He hated to see her come, but by the end was relieved to watch her leave. Why? That was Nasrin's fault, for she should have known behind women like Adelaide were men like him. She should not have gambled on the life of his wife. Through the years there had been so many stories told over fires of this man. Did they simply think him a fool to have fallen in love? Had it softened him? No. He would just as much see this woman hang from chains from his tower over any of the other who dare fail him now. It was a nightmare to try and pick just one poison over the other, but we will lose the child went right through him. "The baby could be the very reason she does not heal." He seemed to speak out of no where, breaking from thoughts too twisted to be real, "What if it is the child?" He looked to Nasrin then before passing a glance to Claramae, and sitting forward to explain himself."When a woman carries, the entire body produces for this child. It would be like Ada to only heal the baby, and protect it." He went quiet for a moment, "If the cure does not take then we will force a miscarriage." Controversy there that would last through out all of history. "I thank you for your time, Nasrin. You have been kind to stay for so long. This will make us even." For? Blackmail. "Now, excuse me. The Heavenly Father and I have some words." WIth that he would rise, and press past the group long without any formal good-bye..not his style at all. (d
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Post by Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont on Nov 14, 2010 19:16:00 GMT -6
Janice: Once upon a dark night a carriage rolled away to be picked apart by little sparks, a laughing jest represented by fire gutting gilded crafts to shells. Now the shadows grew longer far too soon, but such as it was in the time twixt autumn and winter. Little pricks of light fought for a chance to come out of the thick clouds. Would it rain? No one talked anymore, but it didn't mean there wasn't anything to hear. Janice found that words worked a way through the Northampton walls and doors, assaulted the windows to become a part of what she tried to internalize. "It has been awhile." She peered down at the streets veering off to no-man's land. Was the jester there, or in the safe confines of Griffin Castle high there set on the hill? He was everywhere he wanted to be. Eternal child, mischief wild.
Claramae: She was laced tight inside of the brocade gown, wrapped in wools lined in furs. Her ward was the same yet the hood of the girl's cloaked was tipped back to welcome the breathe from down below, from the dragon. She put a hand against her shoulder as the two of them stood between infamy and glory. "Yes. But, to answer questions, your idea is correct. I am not presenting you to Jean-Claude right now, and of yet, I hope he will allow us soon to visit Adelaide but until the errand of mercy, we must do something practical. They say at times he has returned to here. Or is it that you merely want to disappear."
Janice: "Everything, everyone..feels so divided. As if no one trusts the other. For all of it, Peregrine does not choose sides, Master Peregrine chooses what fascinates him and remains loyal to his own beliefs, which happens to include those he cares for. I do not know if I am even of any matter..but. There are things that I want to end." With that she walked down,followed by her Master whom held the lantern. (d)
Peregrine: "To End..Dear child.. Is to begin again." From behind her he stood, with that smile written on his lips like one would draw a finger through the sand, or cut away at the moon until only the Cheshire's grin remained. In a single stance he could have answered every question they asked about him, but the scent of the fire still remained, mixing with the salty sea air, and the rich deep wood smell that was the pirate's musk. The mask still remained though hanging from around his neck between his shoulder blades it rest like a wayward skull of what had happened the night before, and the blood still fresh upon the walk. A man had his heart strung from the very line he drew from the sky, and Peregrine danced with the wildest of them all. He wore a cloak of deep hunter green that had been his embrace since his childhood, but beneath it only the pant that rest far too low on his hip, and the buck skin shoes of the Roma. He was as Rosalind would point out often, never very fond of shirts. She never seemed to mind, and would have been first to explore what was hidden away beneath the cloak. The courts were curious about the pair, her reputation would clash with his own, but they were hardly silent lovers--hidden beneath stairs, or in closets better kept from brooms. "I was just coming to see you." How strange to meet him half way, "Do we go back or should you come down?" A wicked grin when he asked, looking between the two with mischief written all over his face. (d
Janice: "Beginning and ending sir mean nothing for me now, but there are things of this world to be ended. Down." He looked a part of everything she had thrown herself away from in the walls of the Master's country home. He was wild, free, everything an unspoken part of her still craved in the world. He was unadulterated life; beautiful, brazen, and living with traits that were envied. Janice offered a curt nod before moving down the incline to his world.
Claramae: The Grand Master watched in a world ermine lined beside his hunger green countenance. Each the embodiment of one world or other, Claramae couldn't account for where Janice belonged. "Below. The season keeps you well I see." He smelled of sea salt where not far beyond she smelled the ice strength of the aquaduct touching with bits of forgotten. Below the steps behind the grate, she'd met the Frenchmen when he was but an associate of the man in the Green. "You've been keeping yourself entertained during your family's sojourn in the court. Old habits are hard to kill? Said the one who had all but sunk away from Ebony Hall only to now walk down in to a place black as pitch with no sense of fear (d)
Peregrine: "Mmm." He purred brushing past Claramae to correct her with a whisper, "Old habits are easy to kill, it is the new ones that I find difficult." Moving his eyes to Janice, his heart broke for her, though it would be a cold day in hell before he let it show, "Little one, you will see, that their is life outside this cocoon." Taking up her hands he kissed them both, and lacing his fingers into one of her own to hold her close. "Claramae, why have you come here? Can it not wait til tomorrow? That I might perhaps take the Angel and show her my Kingdom?" She was still the Angel, and would forever--the irony of it her husband the night to her day. He seemed drunk though no trace of ale filled his breath, but his eyes were crazed blurred sharply with the outcome of what came forth. He had a hard time keeping them on one person at a time, and as he moved behind Janice once more he would whisper against the back of her neck, "Do you ever get tired of the dark? This cold and dismal hell you now belong to." Reaching up to brush a strand of her hair from her flesh, his fingers touched lightly the back of her neck, "Where are you when you are not here?" Peregrine spoke in metaphors while others dreamed in them, for nothing was ever what it seemed. (d
Claramae: "The new ones, what are those, all of the legality of family and and being a husband? You seem to have managed these last few years. So long as you do not order your clan to war or kill any heirs without reason you seem to manage. You have no doubt a letter of marque to pillage all you desire when you are out at sea on behalf of policing the lanes of trade hmm?" She watched him move like a cat stalking little mice only for the sheer delight of watching them squeak, toying with them to watch tails curl in his fingertips. It made her smile a little, a half sort of affair as she watched Janice move a few paces ahead of them only to be caught up to by the Goblin King.
Janice: "The Master gave me leave so it wouldn't wait till morning." She turned to look at him, uncovered head revealed to him all the gold that was no hair coloring of Adelaide's. Once she wanted to,but it seemed God did it for her. The young woman he auctioned off seemed to come in to her own after the time. A pity, such coin he could have made! Granted her eyes were sore from lack of sleep, her person smaller than it ought be for want of food but filled? My, my. She turned one man's head from books long enough to make a child only to be cast away for the devil. "There is a life beyond...I do not know if I want it anymore. Come the winter I may return to the convent, you may never be bothered by me again..." He touched her hair, close enough to smell roses. Dust from books. Ink. Powder. She smelled of all the places he loathed yet with the window open. "I wake to hell, I sleep to hell, so this might as well be heaven." He was given a haunted little smile. A glorious little macabre thing. "When I am not here...well I can not tell you in the open even though to many this place would be closed. Take us somewhere closed and I will open to you."(d)
Peregrine: With a look over Janice's shoulder to Claramae, he would shake his head, "I have never been a man to pillage. My passions are in the hunt. A hired hand to do the bidding, and the latest coin from the Master's hand for a man from Spain who goes by the name Benoit." Who wore fingers around his neck that belonged to a man that was very dear to Ada's heart, even though she hated him so. "I have letters of all sorts, for it is amazing what Rosalind will sign when she is glowing." He smirked knowing if she were here she would smack him. With his fingers still laced with hers he would pull her on, holding a hand for Claramae to remain behind as this day would soon be theirs, and the streets started down closer to the sea. "This. Is not heaven." He shook his head, "No, Child, this is purgatory. Where the souls wait for either side to win the battle that goes on for the gamble of life. Janice..can I show you heaven?" He stopped to ease her steps, "Let me take you away." (d
Janice: "Benoit is here?" She paused in her step for a moment as he told his tale with indifference. Benoit made her think on things that could have been, the possiblity of sitting at his feet as a small child while he held discourse with her parents. Danielle had been full of life, he said. Like all bright lights in the sky he was only a nova, a star unknowing of its own death. Peregrine probably helped make him very keen of that fact. Claramae did not remain behind but gave distance in mere footfalls. "It is neither heaven or purgtory, for beautiful places have become hell. What is heaven to you, Master Peregrine? I used to tell you that you were damned, now look." She traced her fingers across the top of his hand. Strange to draw comfort from the ever-child, the sea stalker, the man at one with trees. She curled in the side of his body, feeling a mild wamrth as the halo of light from the lantern Claramae held was cast on her. What did she wear under the wool cloak? "Now I am quite damned myself. Indeed. I played with fire, held it, and it burned away from my keeping. A little spell unknowing cast, a little thing that did not last. A bit of my heart given out, a bit of it choked on and given back. It all reads like a maudlin little rhyme, a poem to cast a spell from one of the books my husband seemed to devour.No one will tell me anything, Master Peregrine.Jean-Claude has given permission for Claramae to do what must be done, but what is that with only half a puzzle? What have you seen...what do you know? I am not asking you out of spite or malice, but merely asking. I am only half suprised Julian hasn't tried to kill me, like he tried to do Claudio, but it may well come to that. Where could you take me away that would make me forget. I might let you." (d)
Peregrine: He was half surprised Julian hadn't tried to kill her, but there was much still to be learned of the fates of the few who came before them. Closing his eyes he walked the path on memory as he tried to remember her as she once was when first they came through the winding streets of the down hill stone that lead to the open sea. She had been so young then, half clothed and shivering flushing at the sight of his bare chest, and now she held close to it. "So this is what you are asking? To forget?" He shook his head letting it fall back to where the sky finally opened again as the sand swept over their feet, and the roots of the trees along the bank grew in the dark sand. The waves came up to chase along their heels but not once catching them as they appeared to step atop the line perfectly. It was realization now as to why they asked him to take her, why she seemed to always come to him when times were worst and she needed a hand. He would give her the truth, and nothing else, "Then Jean-Claude has sealed the boys fate. What must be done to save so many lives is he must be killed, a blade through his heart, or his head on a stick." Maybe the nuns were not so bad for Janice. It was then the world around them fell silent upon first entering of the wood, and Peregrine would take the lantern from her to give her free use of her hands, he worried for her fingers getting cold. The autumn was frozen beneath the pale moon, with leaves yellow clinging on to their branches without a wind to knock them down. The frost of the fallen night clung to each of them as if already painted with the white winter to come, but this was the beauty in it--this was his favorite part of autumn; when it died. "You speak of Heaven, Angel, like you have fallen from it. That you have no where else to go but Hell? Why is that? What wrong have you done to deserve such treatment?" Looking at her then he lived in the moment of how the lantern light lit up her hair like strands of gold. (d
Janice: "The Reverand Mother is going to write in order to secure papal absolution for what it is that I have done in marrying such a man, that I might fufill my vows until the world is left behind, and what is going to be done." She reached down in to her cloak for gloves, but didn't pull them on her hands. Instead she flexed her fingers in the frost produced from the speech. Yellow leaf clung to the brach just so. The moon lit up its veins all dried up with want of the sun to produce food for it. "Peregrine I am going to kill my husband if I must, yet it can not be so dire.It must be with a priest of strong enough will, Brother Diarmuid still must pull whatever is within him out, so it can not take another. If necessary, I have decided I will pull the trigger. A musket. The shots will be far more final that a blade, my husband has a very thick hide despite apppearences." She looked at the little ring on her hand before covering it up. "I love him, Peregrine." The forest looked so sad, so naked. Bitter beauty waited for her as she reached out to touch it. Claramae was lingering near the trunk of one of the ancient trees, looking like a sentinel that had lived a thousand years. Peregrine looked older by far. "He choked me, he came to the shop looking for something..for the books from spain. I do not have all of them, but I have enough of his own work that he can not have it. If he wants it, he will have to torment me first. Do you know?" Of course he didn't know. She walked around the tree, inspired to remove her cloak. It fell at her feet. The cold air, the frost kiss of winter coming made her feel alive. "Every little secret, every little history. I have read until it can be recited and its original contents burned. He would kill me for that alone, burning his precious journals. It was scarilege, nearly..for it was my own too. I love him, I still love him and always will but if he will not turn away, it is not entirely possession. It is seduction. It is want. He always loved knowledge." She never wore red but did so tonight, pomegranite infact. A little Persphone in the dark wood (d)
Peregrine: "Julian holds his own. He always has. Of all on this isle I know to not underestimate those of smaller size." He stood eye level with most of the women on this isle, and had to look up to every man. Was a wondrous world it was to have to look up to someone to talk down to them. For a moment he let himself fall quiet, listening to her, listening to the world around them, until her thoughts broke through the quiet nature of the world, and he would shake his head, "This world is not sad, though they may appear to be. This..is the death of the dying period, and when all sleep to start anew. I brought you here so that you could do the same." He stopped her in the midst of it all, taking her face between his palms he would do nothing but smile as he spoke, "You are far too precious to be like this. Look at you..Janice..if you could but see this pitiful lamb before me withered and worn. When was the last you slept? You ate? When was the last time you looked onto the world as one of sound mind? Angel..come, climb with me." They were at the base of the oldest oak tree in the forest. The leaves matched the ones seemed inked in his skin, the sepia tone perhaps more of a burn on the underside of his wrist. Marked by a Dryad they say, he married one--she devil spirit of the tree, til she left him to be one with her tree. It was not so far from the truth.With a single sweep he took her in his arms, held her tightly as he climbed to the peak of the tallest tree that was carved out by natural rain water, and boards as thick as the tree's trunk that created an enclosed home. A bear skin stolen from Ada was over the floor of the room, with little burnt candles and books written in a language even she would not know. This was his true home, and for as long as he lived on this Isle he would keep it so. "Here." He put her down, "Now..answer my questions, while looking out to the moon." They were so close to it, "Tell her your troubles." (d
Janice: "Julian is made for greatness, it is only hard to see which way he would go. Now we know." Janice was used to being looked down upon. She was the average height of women on the island, though she was by all reckoning still beneath the demure stature of Claramae, still above Adelaide or Eirian, yet no where as tall as the imposing Rosalind Inveryne. She listened to him talk of the world not being sad but in a point of transition. That she had, like the world, gone in to a thick shell only awaiting the right season to emerge. Janice never wanted to emerge from the shell again in the outer world. With hands on the tree she began to climb it, implanting her boots in the notches, hands to branch. Her own weight was a burden carried well but still the tree man held her anyway. "I have eaten, I can not eat thick fare. I sleep but it is filled with dreams that are signs of God or the wants of a mind to know itself before it puts itself away, in the abbey. Have you been to the abbey where the poor Claires call home? It is tucked between mists, tall trees like this, away back as if it was never meant to be seen. They float like ghosts, smiling sweet ones.Brushing the world with good tidings before vanishing." She talked of them in the way a child talks of an idol they yearn to emulate, a task to take up. The tree house was part of the child still inside her, the enchanted little girl. She actually smiled here..looking about. Unbelieving as her feet touched the floor. "Alright..I..will answer. Do you really stay here?" She began with a question before settling down on the bear rug (d)
Peregrine: He would seat himself behind her, letting her face the outside while he spoke gently to her, and his fingers started to take down her hair. "Every night almost. This is where Ada and I met most nights we both could not sleep. Its easy to talk to the mother here. Neither of our others are much for the outdoors, this is our time to get away. The moon cradle rocking back and forth, when the wind blows the tree cries out as it sways..tis music." The room was hardly very big, big enough for two to sleep, but not much more. He had a collection of shiny objects hanging from ribbons, and a few small world trinkets that were a tinker's private collection. This was very much Peregrine, or what was once the man before the sea."Wants like what? What is it your mind wants? Before it puts it away as you so put it, this is now three times you have mentioned the Abbey..is your mind made up? You do not wish to know the outcome? Or is it because you feel yourself damned?" (d
Janice: "It is because I know that my time in this world is done. I came out of it, experienced it, and I am done." Hands went up to touch his hands as they pulled at pins, untwisted the twists so that the strings of gold were little playthings in the moonlight. "You're right..it is like music...like the voice of angels.." She wanted to lean back, and almost couldn't help reclining against his hands. Claramae was at the bottom in the ring of light, sitting with an ever silent Voltaire. Above them the Angel talked with the Tree Keeper. "Wants..to have known love, or marriage. To be a good ward to those who kept me only to be a daughter. To know of other things like.. fruits I heard of, what did they taste like, sugar..in marzipan. To wear a pretty dress or move about the world. Then there were things I remembered like what it was to see you all the first time. Remembering..what it was to think of knowing love and only in knowing it...it is even worse than having been lied to in the recieving in it. Do you know, peregrine, when Marius left I fainted..and clipped my eye upon the stair and could not see from it for so very long, now the scar.." she worried at it now.."remains. But with Julian I nearly bled to death, I have been clipped with swords you know but it was worth it then. Climbed dark mountains, lived among hot hills. I lived, sucked the marrow from the bones and now..now they are choked on. It is only under the Masters care my hair will not fall out now, but grow. She says I could have whatever I desire, she would still give of me her beautiful estates, my dowry for my own keeping. I could run to the continent and be lost for years..but..I only want to go where I know. I may have known fear among the nuns for my dreams..but I knew purpose too, safety, love. To love god unequivocaly. I miss the others. Adelaide is so ill, but Jean-Claude will not let anyone by her except perhaps Rosalind. I think he may blame me." She leaned backwards so she was against his naked chest, looking at the moon " I will know the outcome if it is God's will, for God willing I will see this to an end so I might retire of the world in peace. It is no easy thing..but I will put a hole in his chest and in his head." She turned on her side, avoiding the moon, the large eye "Afterall, he will not be restrained when he sees me again.Had I not left Claudio, I could have pulled the trigger then. Do not think I do not love him, but I love him enough to try to save whatever may be left of his immortal soul." (d)
Peregrine: For the longest time he let her speak, listening without little to say, and pressing her back when the desire was there to hold her. Peregrine didn't have a hair on his chest, and couldn't grow it if he tried--was the fate of those that at once knew the rules of flight. Yet, his skin was warm filtered with the relief of the vibrant sun that had been hidden from the day, but lived through him. Even in the winter he hardly grew cold, "Could you go back Janice? To the life without pretty dresses and strange little boys? It is only natural to want and feel as you do." The backs of his fingers went over her sleeve as he spoke, gently rounding over her shoulder, "Look at you." He whispered lowering his lips to her neck as he closed his eyes for a moment, "I think I would take death over going to an abbey." He laughed then nuzzling her hair, "I couldn't take being so alone all the time, but let me tell you this." He whispered then against her ear, "You can get it all back, Janice." Squeezing her arms gently to reassure her his actions were innocent. "Take it back. I have watched you wither away, but will you go without a fight?" (d
Janice: She emptied out her thoughts as water pouring out over the rocks. Rushing, twisting and curving went the words washing over him under the light of the moon. Little stolen affection would have been swatted away once. Could he tell how lonely, how starved? "Take it all back," she whispered with half shut eyes, nuzzling the air between them with a sigh "I am going to take it back, Peregrine. My love of God, the safety of everything that is dear. Everyone thinks of me as the Order's little slave. It's little obdient slave. It isn't that. I have read every work of it, every piece too of my father. That book they all so coveted, that masterwork of the age? I am that now. It is all memorized, and his original writings in a place none could ever get them. All of the work of the Grandmaster now who is my master, your exploits, Jean-Claudes..those of Adelaides and Rosalinds as they crossed path with yours or.. the coming and going of people, their histories..no one asked it of me, I simply did, I simply did after the masterwork was so desired. I see why it was. I became what I wanted to be.I live. I lived through others and lived myself. It..doesn't hurt me. " She turned her eyes to look up at him, blue eyes filled with something...wanting to be lit again but very cold. "So now I am his work, his life, his memories. He would kill me to know I have read his journal I have all of my husband, his best and his worst, all of you will live very well for me, in me, always I think. But before that day, it has to be stopped. If it is unleashed in the city.. it is crowded, it could be shut in. It could be worse than the seige. I remember that..from my window watching fire fall until they shut the doors and all we could do was pray. I want you to take me with you, Peregrine. I am not as I look. I am fast, yes. I am a messanger above all else..but I do have a keen aim." (d)
Peregrine: "Then take it. Damn it Janice, you of all know you can't be handed everything. If you want it so bad take it. Take what you can while you can get it. Look at you, Janice. Have you ever lived for yourself? You went from the confines of your unworldly life to the Hall. Then from there you were swept away by a knight in shinning armor suppressed to live as he wanted. Then from there you carried the weight of Spain, and on your way home? Picked up the heart of a cursed soul. Benoit said he was damned from the start, and I fear of what Jean-Claude will do to him.Janice..think about this. Think about your freedom. To let your hair down, and live this life as you want. Look." He motioned to the world around them, "Do you think this is all that is here? I have a ship that knows the waters all over the world, and their are no boundaries. A man can sail the rest of their life and never see it all. Are you so set on ending it all now?" He needed an answer, for it would greatly be weight to his next gamble on her life. (d
Janice: "Why do you for ever think that none of this is my own want?" She rolled to her knees, looking up at him. With her hair down she looked a little younger now. In the trees she had found a little bit of peace in a world not on the ground. "I wanted to learn to live and did, it was my own idea to auction myself, for my Order yes...but the world around it to me...is everything. The gerat libraries peregrine, the infinite stores of knowledge,": which she too was seduced by "the streets of this city, the time I took of my own home and shop. Traveling this island, and plans made beyond all else to..see the world. True it has not gone as planned but my vocation allows me places where people must kill to reach.The sacred, the secret, that is my elysium, Peregrine. To master the mind is to master all elements, and oh God made such a wonderous machine. Julian spent his time here in love with me, he merely said nothing. I have made mistakes and made victories but I can not tell you how beautiful Spain was! The regions, the way spanish is spoken differently everywhere, the moorish touches of the old age, the arabic. Being so close to the North of Africa, I went there on the way home! Oh Peregrine I have lived. My freedom...my world?" She opened her arms " This is vast to me Peregrine! I could go on to your boat, Peregrine, and you could take me but how much of me would you change. I would see all the world. All I wish is this now. Help me to restore myself enough..to do this. I have my master's permission. I am going to kill Julian if it comes down to that. Benoit may know something..and if Jean-Claude..has not asked him what it is..well you know he will kill him first. I wonder if he might tell me. I can not be for sure. He seemed an odd man." She crawled over to the window to look closer at the moon, chin to the tops of hands. "When I was in spain, I killed. I prayed about it very often..but it was necessary, self defense. I still marveled that I could but..I am not without my resources." (d)
Peregrine: "You would give all of this up? Because of one boy? This world there is pain, yes, but there is so much more. Look at Rosalind and myself? Both of failed marriages, ones that ended in death and suffering. By now you of all people know of her last husband, how he treated her. Then we found each other." Stretching out on the skin he would lay on his back watching the sky pass by with each sway, he had many secrets and ones that he couldn't trust even with his wife not to tell about this whole thing, but.."Its not Benoit. Jean-Claude thinks it is Benoit who started this, who infected Julian, but in truth." Looking over to Janice he couldn't bring himself to admit it, "I have a speculation, but I will not know until proof." He shook his head, "I would change nothing of you, it would all be your doing. I just..need bait to draw out the answers." As always, was it to be a repeat of their last event? "But you've gone back and forth on the subject. One hand you wish to give in, the other you talk of fighting..Do you really love him? Love him enough to die?" (d
Janice: "Giving up the world to enter another of sancity, in order to know what world in the walls you have to go beyond the walls." She smiled back at him before turning to see the moon seducing her though she never said it outloud. Her eyes all full of moonglow, she slid away form the window ledge to lay on her sotmach not far from him . "So, you need bait and I want a part of the finish. So here we are again, and I am twenty one, to be twenty two should I live to the next year. I have not gone back and forth. You can kill those that you love, dying for them is the ultimate sign of love, as would be undoing them if they were beyond redemption. So sayeth John that there are none so noble as would lay their lives down for friends. So yes, I am willing to kill, and if it is God's will to die. My intention however is to live. If there is a way to save my husband you must know it, but I think.. of this: Brother Diarmuid exorcise whatever is in him, and you have your theories it is not Benoit, can you save Benoit long enough to prove your theories? Heaven only knows that Jean-Claude must wish him for other reasons. My master has devised a theory herself. When the master took my husband to see the seer, she could not see much of his life..but she could see the thing. With that being in order to find Julian you must find teh thing, to find the thing may be to see all around him, if he is being controlled by another. Much of this everyone agrees is too sophisticated for Julian alone.." She layed down on her back, looking up at him "Do you wish to auction me again? I do not think it should be so elaborate, there is no reason for it. It isn't as before when they thought me part of some ritual to raise a bit of lore. Unless you think that some part of Julian would still come out for the simple part of it being me. " (d)
Peregrine: Peregrine worried over his lip, and took a deep breath as she pegged it, "Janice.." He whispered folding his hands over his bare chest, "I have a secret that I've not told anyone on this island, and I'm not going to tell you." Looking over to her, "There is someone else, please don't ask me who, but all we need to do is pry him apart. We can't catch him, even I can not. This Brother no doubt could heal your husband, return him to you, but how is it you tie him down when he is uncommonly fast. Janice..I need you to have a clear head in this. You are key to everything, but one little slip up can be deadly to you and him both." He shook his head worrying once again, "And you can't tell Claramae or Jean-Claude..especially Jean-Claude." (d
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Post by Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont on Nov 14, 2010 19:39:47 GMT -6
Janice: "So many ask what you are asking, a secret never to tell. Do you know what I tell them?" Like making snow angels in the moondust, the angel incarnate crafted namesake pattern with fluid raising and lowering of her arm before she turned to her side. In doing so she'd look at him. He was handsome yes, but there was something pure about peregrine. Beautiful. In mischief or pleasure he was pure witth whatever he did, however it turned out, all the way to the end. He was honest even when he wasn't trying to be honest. You could always know his intentions could be duplicitious instead of people with straight and narrow patterns that deviated. "My word is my vow, my vow is my life. Whatever you tell me it won't leave my mouth. Especially now. Now I know that as all are together, they are also on their own, if they have elected a bond that bond will not change anytime soon. What do you know, tree spirit, ocean wanderer? King of the Labyrinth?" Her finger drew a line between them on the floor, in a squiggle though as if to erase the idea of a line, of anything barring, blocking. "You won't tell me one thing but you will another, you are no different than me that way." In the mind of Lady Monroe you could live forever treasured or what you said could die under beautiful silver frost, frozen. She looked, ready and patient. Something childlike still lingered, was it in her eyes? The rest of her seemed far too knowing. It was innocence that made men believe in angels, in redemption (d)
Peregrine: He would stretch out there before her, face to face he would rest with her on his chest propping himself up on his elbows he would study her for a moment, wondering what it was like to touch her hair, to brush her lips with a kiss, and to stretch out there beside her. This was a part of his life that he seemed to never be able to let go of, but as quick as the thoughts entered his mind they raced out with the night he spent with Rosalind. So many hardly understood the two of them. She was so bent on the rules, and he always broke them--but if they only knew what happened behind closed doors. Closing his eyes for a moment he thought for certain he felt Rosie's hand brush the back of his shoulders as she often did when she came to bed, but he knew better--Rosalind didn't do trees. Rosalind's feet were best on the ground. Next to her ear his face was close, and he would touch a strand of her hair to press it back from her face, "I know where your husband is." He whispered this for he knew even the trees had ears that could not stand the talk of the damned, "I know he's unwell, but I feel if we can separate him from his captor we can get him well again. Would you like that?" He almost spoke to her like a child, but in truth he simply spoke easily so not to damage this calm she has about her. She was at peace here. (d
Janice: Round and round went the world. She had never looked at Peregrine so close before, never studied his physical countenance as much as the thoughts playing in his mind. He was beautiful. Even tempting, she admitted. But the strange thing with temptation is when the heat cools, when all you are left with is flat mercury after a rise what then? He was made differently than Julian. Most every man was. Where they were broad of chest his was caved in. If they were thin like a dancer he was a practical twig. His shoulders managed to be spaced in a long line, the blades jutted out around his newly formed Spanish muscle. Self inflicted cuts, battle scars of proving. Peregrine's mouth looked like it would be nice but the beauty of Julians was like her he had tried to kiss so few, and only really kissed her. No, wait. She sighed there, thoughts of Margot dancing in her head. He may have kissed her, too. Still, she didn't hold it against him. He didn't hold her past up as a hurt when he was well. "My true heart, my soul cries every night for him, even as angry as it is that he is taken by the devil, that when he was lucid he wouldnot believe..it cries for him. If there can truly be a cure, truly. If we can redeem him and cure his ailments...if there is a way I owe him that long before I owe him the pleasure of death by the hands of his own wife. We would kill one another, you see. Isn't that terrifying.." She bit in to her lip yet it curved in to a smile, she shut her eyes, "But you would have to see, to know how we love one another the same. The same ferocity for which he goes dark he also loves, he lets me to want for nothing as he would want for nothing with me. He holds me close, he guards me from any eyes. He would even from yours, you know. He committed murder in Spain for the same principle. He guards my modesty as much as he desires me as a man should a wife. I could live curled in his brain, a spirit, if nothing else. If we may save him, yes Peregrine I would like this. I am resolved to both ends." She opened her eyes "You don't want me to go to the abbey, do you?" Not asked as if he pitied her so he made up a story, but out of his own genuine want. She curled a little of his hair around her finger. "We are laying here, whispering as if we are brother and sister. Julian and I were never meant to be that. You could be like an uncle, but your heart is too young. You are like a brother with a secret castle in trees. You always were like something in a kalidescope to me." Where her heart went to the dark to the little maudlins like Jean-Claude and ultimately matured with his apprentice, because the dark needs light, and the light needs to know the solace of a shadow. (d)
Peregrine: "Of course I do not want you to go." He laughed, and leaned in to kiss her temple, "You are like a kid sister yes." He teased, "And somewhere..maybe.." Peregrine tried to think of Julian has a brother, but only laughed, "I used to give him hell, and would tease him a lot about you. Jean-Claude would have to separate us like children and threaten the day he would be the one picking, and now look." He shook his head looking then to the world outside, and dreading these next words. "He's being held captive by a man..a very important man, a new threat to this nation." He didn't have the heart to even admit to himself who it was. "I need you to get him out, Janice, there is more then just possession..this man is a master of the mind, a magician much like Alex, but he can make people do things. Julian has never believed, not once about a higher power, and this man feeds of minds like that. It is an easy in, and that deposited doubt made him like this." With his legs beneath him he would settle his hands in his lap and pull the cloak around his shoulders, "I need you to walk in there, and if we can get him out. If we can pull Julian out if only for a moment then we can get him to a man of faith. They can drive it out of him, and you can go back to smiling." His fingers brushed through her hair as she remained on the floor, and he would pull the bear skin over her shoulders. "I'm not as young as I look." He admitted, but what did that even mean. "My heart is old, but this life is too young to watch people like you suffer." Rosalind would kill him if she knew the plan, but no more so then what was once before. "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone, Janice, and this isn't going to be easy. The man you are going against is the combination of all of those from the auction." Raoul was a man of medicine, and none knew how powerful for while his son, Jean-Claude, specialized in the inner workings of the brain, his specialty was the bending of a mind. (d
Janice: In spite of it all she chuckled with a warmth he may have forgotten, rippling up inside that frozen little chest to thaw the heart. "Sister to the Goblin King, to the man on the right hand of Inveryne, how we live such strange lives. It is a pity we have never given ourselves to acting, we would be naturally very good at it." No finer people to ever walk across a stage being so naturally trained as they! Then he became serious which made Janice push herself up, holding her cloak around her tight, taking solace in the wool. Fingers brused the edges of fur while he spoke of who the man was, what he embodied. It was not to be sold but to lure out against everything that would have wanted her once and more. She thought of her distant self on that auction block,and before in the Cat's Eye. Of the eyes in Spain of courtiers, or the way DeGarza or DeVareux looked. "Pain is a horrible way in which to age, are we aging you? I am sorry." Rosalind? Inveryne would string her up alongside, a tempting little bit of what to put with another piece of who all potent enough to endanger her husband. Why did she allow it, hadn't she learned? Reasons such as him seeking her were the same as why she sought him: In Peregrine she could ask for the unacceptable with it to be made as common, as simple as breathing. "You have my word no one will no. Whether I come out with my husband or do not, it will all remain on my lips. Though how should I go to him, simply go as if to say I have found you at last, looking so long? I can not see him as I am now..or he would never come, he would only fret of worry, and the part of him that would fear wouldn't touch me. Mm. I will have to go as what will invoke him out the most, I dare even say if he is as the auction men...maybe even hold the man of the mind that holds him so it will serve a fitting distraction. " Her mind began to work, "This will not be as elaborate as that time was but..I need to be as he would best remember, yet no less than a courtier. Help me, Peregrine." She whispered with a weak laugh before sighing, "You have all the clues, not I. I can not put the puzzle together. Make no mistake I am ready for this, come what may. It is strange though, how all of my ventures thus far have pitted wit to wit, and with the most obvious weapon being the first of choice," her face. (d)
Peregrine: "I..." He took a deep breath, "Don't want you to go to Julian, Janice." That admission was a strange one indeed, "I need you to go to his captor. I need you to distract him. Together they have all of my Underdark bewitched by his manipulation of the mind. He can make people do things that are cruel, and wicked. Even I'm powerless. His name is not as important as his title. He is a French Lord as well as one of the Counts of the Poitiers, and must always be called so. Comte Guyenne..at all times." He prayed that in her midst of drama she would forget her geography and know that Guyenne was simply the name for Aquitaine. There was no doubt she would discover the truth, and keep it as burden for the rest of her life. "I can't get in with him seeing me. There would be much lost if I did. Lives outside of Julian's that are important to me, Janice. A child. A child's life could die if any knew the truth, so this must be swift. I'm only asking you because you hold a ground in this game. You hold a card closer then any heart. You have the ace, your grace. I want you to seduce him, distract him, with your mind, with your body. He's got a hold of my underworld with an iron fist, and I'm powerless. I can take this to Claramae, but it would start a war, and...." Jean-Claude would know the truth. "For years I've kept this secret, and you have to believe me its for the best. So many people will be hurt, much like Ada." No one had been in Jean-Claude's shop for months, and though the ladies kept it going there was much that needed done. "Know that I don't ask this because I don't want to lose one of my own, I do this because I know his taste in women. Rosalind is too old, even though he's nearly 70, and Adelaide is not well." He felt himself unwell even asking, but Janice loved her husband enough to risk her own life. This was a chance he couldn't risk taking without someone who held stock in the gamble. (d
Janice: "You..do not want me to go to Julian..ah. I should have seen it. You wish me to go to his captor." A bit of ice crept up around a stone in her throat, the part of her that was for an instant disgusted with playing pretend again. All around the birdies flew wanting to land in the Janice-tree, sup of the fruit, swoon in the scent of the blossoms. All around the people made ring after ring forcing her to make roots. She gave a nod of her head. It was serious. If all of the Underdark was bewitched it would not bode well: murders could be vile, or at the worst with manipulation of the mind they wouldn't believe Peregrine. The contacts could turn, and what information they could give! "You should have at least told Claramae about the Underdark, if he twists them enough, nothing under the sun he will not know, he could exploit above and below to his advantage. That would be precarious. I know you aren't much for politics, Peregrine, but those that are friends of Skye are fast friends, those who tarry on the edge of knife endanger us all. What if he has power?" She said without applying her sense of geography to what he said outright, if she had, she might have paled. "I feared for that everyday in Spain, what if lines were crossed, this little island holds too many precious heads, too many throats, all that are more precious to us than they will ever be to another. I must think.." She chewed into her lip, standing, and pacing. Grace in her steps accentuated the bit of height time had given her, the curve of the body.Was this truly enough to entice a Comte? "I know you care far more than most give you credit for, the years have done that to you, what have they done to us all...everything you know of him, Peregrine. Everything, his past times, his habits, his education. I may apply a sense of geography for such I suppose I will return to the hall and my shop to access my thing. He obviously speaks french, Comte. I would lie to say that I do not know how to ..entice a man. It seems an in born thing." To bask in, caress, or devour the light? Quite. In that little tree house she felt her life shorten. In the abbey at least she'd have been alive, but this was a chance to save him whether she lived or not. "Then we must make sure to draw Julian away from him first if he sees me and is himself.. he will kill us both. When he asked me to distract DeGarza, it was all he could do not to shoot him prematurely. This time it ..may require that which I have not had to enact on..if it comes down to it." If she did live she may well have to break her wedding vows..her heart in this tore. But what was another tear? (d)
Peregrine: "He's a lot like DeGarza actually," Peregrine knew? "He's got connections everywhere, and with nearly every King of importance to him. He is part of something bigger then simply courts and royals. He has a beautiful daughter who I loved very dearly, and we have a son. So you see now why this is so important his identity is kept secret, and that you must keep this to yourself. He'll kill the boy, and that boy is very important to the entire empire the Comte has created." Taking up her hand he kissed it gently, and would look towards the open night, "We need Diarmuid's help. Lets go wake him up hmm? I have a confession I need to make anyway." With a smirk he would tease her and they would start their way out into the night. (d
Janice: "Peregrine I hope you are done with royal beds save that which you have married. We could connect every place in Europe simply by the trail of hearts alone." It was a light bit for a dark telling. If anything Peregrine was never heartless when it came to children. He was fiercly guarded over his own and forever abducting the Artisan's children from their windows. Whomever his son was she had no doubt that now with some of age softening his morality to be recognized, he thought of him. She consented by folding her hand full in his, following wherever he would go. "Poor Brother. This must be why Claramae elected to take him, he was good about being so put upon." (d)
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Post by Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont on Nov 15, 2010 8:01:07 GMT -6
Peregrine Lamont: The pirate was the sort of man who believed in everything, that way he would always be prepared should something come around the corner to take his life. It was the way of his people to be so involved in the world around them, but this time it was not simply the world around him--but all that he cared about. He loved Jean-Claude like a brother, Julian like a son, but there was more at stake now then simply an eye for an eye. A deeper dark made its way from the Underdark, the father of their Scientist, and a secret that needed to be kept.Through the halls the pirate his way to where the Brother was kept at night, or so he felt. With a knock to the door, the half dressed bare chested man with a mask hanging around the back of his spine would call out, "Brother. I need to make a confession." (d
Brother Diarmuid: It seemed that in all things, that the darkness of the night was a time when the devil was free to gallivant and play like never before. Or, perhaps, that was simply the melancholy mind set of the Augustinian. When it had finally been impressed upon him to leave, he had done so -- at the falling of night. There had been something chilling, to watch the darkness fall and to know that death and madness had run rampant in the Valley. Had the falling darkness of that night so many months ago, be the shadow of the Devil falling completely over the Valley? But tonight - this night - was much lighter. It had to be. Here, at least, was some veneer of order -- and the massed assets of the Crown, the Church, the local reeve -- and, perhaps, most fearsomly -- the Ebon Hall. As Pere drew close, he would hear familiar words on the good brother's lips. "...Mea culpa...mea culpa...me maxima culpa...." What was his fault? The Valley, consumed in fear and bloodshed. There was a pause, as he heard Peregrine. He rose, opening door. There was an arch of an eyebrow, a soft smile, "Ah, Pere.... you are, perhaps, the next to last person I expected to come calling." Ever. Who was the last? Julian. "What can I do for you? ....aside from confession." (D)
Peregrine Lamont: Leaning in the frame of the door he would smirk as the man asked the question that seemed to be on everyones mind, "Brother. I've been alone with women half crazed and completely naked..not much you could do for me now, but.." He couldn't stand this. His heart couldn't take much more, and he came to the one man he knew could help. "I know where Julian is. I know who is behind it." He breathed heavy and he took a deep breath to try and catch up as he made his way into the door pressing it closed behind him. "These things are private right? You burn in hell if you tell anyone?" (d
Brother Diarmuid: In a few short words, Peregrine had the Augustinian's full attention. Quietly, he narrowed his eyes at Peregrine. In it? A question that was even now forming in the good brother's mind. He took a breath, before saying, "It is a heavy thing to ask... especially for something kept secret for so long?" There was a cant of his head. Brother Diarmuid did not ask why Peregrine had not come forward before. It was not only Julian's life that was at stake, but his soul....and so much as well. Another question came to his mind: why must it be kept secret? They very well might have to call upon either the full strength of the Ebon Talon -- or the shire reeve's forces to quell whatever deviltry was afoot. There was a moment's pause, before he said, "...and, yes. It is so. It is the Rite of Confession, after all." But long ago, Brother Diarmuid had asked a wise and learned abbot -- one who had introduced him to the teachings of Aristotle -- 'If a petitioner comes to the confessional, and says he plans on murdering a man at a certain time on a certain day -- what is our duty?' The abbot had considered it and then said, 'News of the plot must reach the worthy person .... without it being known how the information came to light.' (D)
Peregrine Lamont: God, where did he start? With a heavy sigh, Peregrine let himself in moving to a chair by the fireplace and taking up the good man's wine, was he eating anything? He was starved. "So a long time ago my father raped my mother, who happened to be a queen of pure blood, and in that kingdom you couldn't be anything less or you would be a slave. My father who was a Fae passed on his traits to me," Rolling his hair behind his ear he would point out the slightly tipped portion of it, "Well she ran with me, into an enchanted woods and dropped me on the doorstep of one of the men in the village of this world." For a moment Pere was so serious in his recollection of his childhood until he could not stand it any longer, and smiled. Was it really the right time tell stories? "And you see Brother ever since I've been having painfully great sex. I mean passionate hungry wild driven love that starts from the inside, and moves out. You know what I mean?" No..he didn't, "The kind you can't get enough of, and its an every night thing. Hell, there for a while there were two women in my bed at once. Can you imagine?" He put his hand on the Brother's shoulder, "My life has been hell." He would sigh, "Can you help me?" With a cant of his head he would motion to the little lost Angel at the door who was found somewhere under the moon, "Oh, and Janice and I are going to drive the rats out of the Underdark on a secret mission to save her husband's soul, and we need your help." Just so long as his priorities were straight right? (d
Janice Monroe: Janice had agreed to a venture that by all accounts would have had every other master harping at her. But, you see, Peregrine wasn't every other master. It was for that reason both of them tended to gravitate toward the other in times like this: One would have something the other needed to utlize, the other could be what one could not. Obviously Peregrine was anything but virginal. Her ears burned at the lengthy discourse of sin given to the priest for flippant absolution or as a keepsake ornament to frame Peregrine's woe begotten mind. A faery? Indeed, for one to have intercourse as if her were Bacchus! Her breathe was the only sound from her mouth as she sepped forward in to view, the darkness departing with the cloak's hood pushed backward. Oh dear, what had Peregrine taken to dangle in front of his tricks now? Diarmuid would die to find her willing. "Good evening Brother, it has been a little." peace came with Peregrine in the trees. Her face was softer, gentler, but she was still far too thin. Far too tired. Sharp as a tack though. (d)
Brother Diarmuid: Poor Peregrine, he was liable to get a shock! The good brother sighed, and - in Irish Gaelic - said, ".....Go back to the story about you being one the half-breed Sidhe." Gasp! Not only did he speak Irish Gaelic, he also spoke the full name of the Goodly Neighbors! There was a shake of his head, returning to common English, "And you are denied absolution. You must be contrite before God and honestly repent your sins ... something you left out of your story." There was an arch of an eyebrow, "But if you truly seek my help... I can put you in touch with a certain worthy gentleman of Itlian birth -- I hear he is looking for a singer... a castrati." A priest should not be so apt at wearing such a devilish smile! Still, he would rise at seeing Janice come in. There was a half-bow to her. "Good evening to you as well, m'lady." There ws a soft smile. If Pere was of sharp eye, he would see that there was something missing from the good brother's rope belt: his rosary. There was a pause, as he looked to Pere, "Is it ti be just us three on this adventure?" (D)
Peregrine Lamont: He was surprised, greatly to hear the words leave the man's lips, but it was hard to tell what came out upon a man of the faith at night. Perhaps, Brother Diarmuid was like him as well--believed in anything so he was prepared for it all. "The sickness has spread into the Underdark, and I fear it might move onto the streets. I can't get close enough to this man to figure out his motives, but I believe Janice can. I'm not going to send her down as a whore, but as a wife desperate enough to get her husband back. With a nod he would notice the man was missing his rosary..strange, "It is just the three of us for now. I'd like to try this without those of the hall finding out. I fear if we do not play our cards right then we might be missing a few. Jean-Claude can not know, not with the state of Adelaide." He was afraid he would not survive it. "I just wanted to ask if there was anything I needed for this? I also need to make sure you can get it out of him. You'll need a cross of some sort right?" He motioned to the empty place on the man's belt, "Not losing your faith are you brother? Cause you know the confession about the women and all, two at once is nice..but it can hurt your back. Now would really be a good time to stay pure." (d
Janice Monroe: Yes, Brother, it will be the three of us for now. Peregrine is right. Adelaide is sick, and Jean-Claude is undone. While my own master is in every way of sound mind the last thing that needs to be done is to put her before a man who would try to break every part of her in half, it would be a failed experiment in survival. For all of them really. None of them have barely recovered from the likes of England or their own adventures in France, and now this. I am commited. OH..and Peregrine.." She lifted her wrist, wound up from inside of her pocket was the friar's rosary,"He has not lost his faith, like your secrets I keep that close too. Though Brother diarmuid hardly needs me to keep his faith for him." She looked over at Diarmuid again with a nod "From Peregrine's descriptions..I am just as the man in question would desire. I hope it does not offend your sensibilities. But in these sorts of things I am either delivering letters, translating them, or distracting a source. It seems to be like letters, an inborn gift. You will help us, won't you? This may be our only chance to save my husband, Jean'Claude's son..one of us. In either instance this can not be failed at. That man..holds the key." She held the cross in her hand " The underdark compromised is dangerous. The city would be on its knees. I am still prepared either way. To save him or to die, sir. If need be I had already resolved to shoot my husband." Peregrine hadn't said that. No doubt he could hardly still believe it himself. (d)
Brother Diarmuid: They would find Brother Diarmuid quiet for a few minutes, the great wheels and gears of his mind once more turning behind his eyes. As he studied the fire, he was not oblivious to what both Peregrine and the Lady Janice were saying. There was a soft smile, as Janice produced his rosary - truly, hers now for he had gifted it to her - when Peregrine had thought to question the friar's faith. At last, he would say, "...would that were not solely the three of us alone upon this endeavor....." There was a slow shake of his head. Could they not muster some of Lord Voltaire's soldiery? Or perhaps they could rouse some of the city rat-catchers to aide them in the quest? There was another moment of quiet, as he studied the fire. At last there was a soft, "...It cannot be helped, I suppose...." Then he would give a grim nod to both Janice and Pere, "I am with you. If you would, kindly allow me a few moments to prepare?" As he asked, he would rise from his seat before heading over toward a humble chest at the foot of the bed and unlocked it. It would surely come as a shock - perhaps to Peregrine - at what he removed from it. One to his bed, he laid out an arming doublet, a hauberk of black enameled mail, a buckler bearing the Almafi cross upon it, and his sword. There was a pause, "...and as for winning back Young Master Monroe? I fear that our journey in to the Underdark shall only be the begining...for the light of the surface world is not the light of Christ." (D)
Peregrine Lamont: "If you have not heard Julian took out Voltaire's son, he rests as well on his death bed. We are alone in this." He would throw up his hands, "We do not need to go this night, but the next perhaps? Janice needs to bathe, and rest. She needs to be outfitted in something nice, and most of all she needs to be herself. Look at her Brother..she's exhausted." Reaching out he touched the cross with a smile, "No wonder none of my charms worked on you, carrying a sword like that."Turning to listen to Diarmuid he would shake his head, as he would never understand the ways of the Lord. It was a young faith, but one that was stout and right in this world. "This just can't go anywhere. You have given me your word, and Janice her life. I just can't..let him go down like this. Even though he was a spoiled brat." (d
Janice Monroe: "I simply wish it that his soul be spared, and he come home to me," she whispered with a small smile "Or if not, at least he may have a life beyond evil even if the abbey should be my calling.I can not simply shoot him without knowing his soul and his choice, is that far gone. And Peregrine is right, again. Claudio has been hurt by Julian. Voltaire already exhausts himself, the man is nearly sixty years old. With Jean-Claude as he is, his journeymen are being worked like horses that will soon tire. He does everything in his power not to utlize the Grandmaster unless he abseloutly must, she is still younger than him. Even so..let us be frank. One more excursion as the last few years have wrought. These years have been the most..intense, of the Masters' careers. For any of them it could mean their death. It is simply not their time. But you, Brother Diarmuid, you go where they can not. Be it by age, or skill, or faith. Like Peregrine, like myself. As the Masters would say we are all well suited for the quandry at hand." Claramae couldn't have said it better herself. She did settle herself in a nearby tree. Climbing trees and moving did make one tired. (d)
Brother Diarmuid: There was a quiet nod of his head. "Then let the Lord God see that our cause is good -- so that he might favor us in this task." The friar crossed himself as he spoke. Then he would nod, "As you say, Master Peregrine..... we not journey out this night. But I am loathe to wait very much longer. The longer we tarry, the forces that oppose us should only grow more powerful." There was a pause, as he looked over his arms and armor. In his mind he added spear or pike and an storm lantern to the list of supplies that they would need. Fighting a man possessed was dangerous all its own -- but fighting one in the sewers? Was a whole new level of danger. "Many are often surprised to see it...." And he would unsheathe his blade, carefully passing it to Peregrine. "For they take me only as a healer and a priest -- and not as a true solider of God. My Order is a crusading one... same as the Templars." There was one oddity to the blade that would surely strike Peregrine... for the blade was made of Damocles steel. (It was one of the last swords forged by the famed weapon smith Morgan O'Conner -- it was rumored that the former Lord-Governor of Ireland and Sir Faolian O'Conner possessed the last two swords that she had made). (D)
Peregrine Lamont: "So then let it be done. Janice..rest tonight, Brother. Rest as well. Tomorrow we will move in." He hoped they were ready for this. WIth that he would gather his cloak pull it over his bare shoulders once again and turn for the door, to stop only at Janice already imagining what she was to wear, and wondering if he should find blinders for the Brother. (d
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 22, 2010 11:28:44 GMT -6
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 24, 2010 8:00:01 GMT -6
Madam Adelaide d'Aquitaine: Night. What a perfect time to be about. Ada seemed to have no qualms about her travels, though an occasional maid gave her a strange look or two as she traveled, dressed to go out, but remaining indoors. Her hair, as ever, was unbound and undressed, but clean -- if slightly bedraggled as it hung down to her hips in wild clouds of black curls, framing a narrow, ill-looking face with eyes now far too large for the razor-sharp bone structure revealed through sickness. Her clothing was clean, and few could expect better -- she was, after all, the wife of Aquitaine, and he kept her in a manner to which she was frankly unaccustomed to, but rarely found fault with, having adapted to luxuries like a fish to water. Silk sheets, imported rugs so that her feet never touched bare floor, robes of richer fabrics still, gloves edged in mink, and more lace adorning the hems of skirts, bodices, and accessories than all the nunneries in all of Europe could produce in a year. She played with the hem now as she walked, the glove's laced edges fluttering until she held them still, like holding a butterfly's wings before removing them entirely -- except her butterfly's wings had holes, and as she played with the article, the hole increased -- to her heartbreak. Jean. He would know how to fix this. But where, oh where, was her husband? *
Master Jean-Claude of Aquitaine: "Your entrance is through the gate, there upon the side." He motioned to the small stairs of sun washed stone that seemed gold under the light of the lanterns that were lit in the midst of this winter's night, "Here below, is my shop. I would suspect you would wish to earn a keep, this can be done if you report to the Lady Harper each morning, but.." Turning over his shoulder, the tall thin frame of the man dressed in black seemed as though a ghost moving over the path, and a vision of the future in his gothic victorian attire. Was it any wonder his silk sewn hands worked magic along the lace of every gown in Skye? His business now an empire with shops all over the world, it was no wonder the Aquitaine would forever survive no matter what rule did keep them under. The back door would swing open and the cold draft was quick to chill as the stairs split on two levels, down a few would lead into the showroom, and up the first flight to the second story. However, climbing still the lantern filled the night, and he would keep the Dove close to his side. She would be privy to where many women were envious, and he would keep her hand tucked in the bend of his arm. At the end of the hall, the room held a large door that would swing open with the turning of the key, and what was beyond often took the breath of those who would follow. The walls were completely glass, a marvel in the medieval world, but everything this man touched turned to an idea of something more.Even the ceilings were clear, and no amount of drape could hide the world behind the heavens. There was hardly anything in the large room, but a single bed, a small night stand, and a work space where at once he had occupied the room--then his apprentice, Julian. The pain of it all hurt greatly, and over the dressing area still a few of his son's clothes remained. "I'll have Harper box these up, if you would I would ask you not touch them for now. I am afraid of what you might find." Going about the room then he would light the stove to warm the room, and the wicks inside the lanterns to light the room around them. It was hard to see into the streets, but the figures down below were enough to cause his heart to ache again. "Adelaide's shop is there across the way, if you are in need of any medicine or solution for any problem her assistant is a wonderful woman." (d
Mademoiselle Raelin O'Neill: Everything about this place.. From what little even still she had known thus far was filled with a certain depth of intrigue and wonder. It was also in that moment that she began to feel the suffocating pulse of the people and there beloved call. Dark hair danced around the swell of slender shoulders while sparkling blues mirrored the image of moving about in the night. This isle was equally as beautiful in twilight. Sun fading from the high sky and left in it's place was the ever shining brilliance of the moon. Wrapped in a smooth navy silken hooded cloak the weight of her hair was, for the most part contained yet even still as she steadily moved in rhythm with the intricate man uneven strands spilled out in the wind. Tall as she might have been there was also an air of geniality about her timid perhaps even. Arm curved as she accepted the intimate hold Julian possessed over her yet her attention was not focused upon him at the moment.. In stead cerulean blues were trained upon the white, snow covered steps and then beyond as he moved with her upon the final level. Against the hue of the wintry night her face almost appeared to be transparent. Adoring the hall as she made the climb and turned into the small room, chosen to be designed for herself. Thin lips quaked into a small smile as she stepped away from him and eased her lithe form upon the edge of the comfortable mattress. "You have a son?" Oh this made the Dove smile as her eyes fell upon the box.. But she would indeed obey his wishes and a nod followed out of confirmation. "Thank you, Jean... For ever you kindness." She would indeed inquire service with the Lady Harper in the morning. Probably for the best to make herself useful. She was observant enough to notice the look of longing upon his smooth, ageless face.. Her head even tilted in tender askance yet she would keep it simply in thought.
Madam Adelaide d'Aquitaine: His shop. It was where he went when he was not in his laboratory. Stars knew how, but she was soon upon the streets, walking alone in the dark, and seeming very much a part of it. Black, it must be noted, did not disappear entirely in the night; for this, one must wear the deep blue cloak that Ada often favored when he finally forced her into sensible and seasonally-appropriate clothing. Only her hair occasionally shone in the gleam of candle light from the windows as she made her way toward their street. She remembered when he had purchased the shop within sight of her own, but no smile appeared on her lips as she saw its lights now blazing forth from the windows. She let herself in with no pretenses of remaining quiet, and began sorting through the first floor in search of a needle and matching thread. But it was difficult to discern in the firelight which precise shade matched her glove, and any spool she thought unworthy, she threw across the room where it bounced delightfully off a wall.Only then did she smile, though it faded quickly as she rattled through the kit for the next spool, turning it slowly between her fingers, as if she could feel its smoothness through the fabric of her glove. She finally found one worthy and peeled her gloves free, then took a seat on the wide sewing table, crossing her legs in a most undignified but utterly Ada-like fashion at the knees, propping the glove up on one of them, while she angled her body toward the light, and began threading her needle. The heavy, but fascinatingly beautiful jewelry clasped in its utterly incomprehensible manner about her wrists gleamed in the light, sparking on the corners of elegant script, the fire dying when she moved into shadow, lending the cuffs a bit of normalcy they had not earned. *
Master Jean-Claude of Aquitaine: "I did, perhaps still do should we ever find him. Though he is not of my own blood, we share a bond like Father and Son. He is about your age with eyes almost your color," reaching out to touch her chin gently he would tip her head just enough to catch them better in the light, "More blue, but close." It pained him to speak about it, but Skye was in a world of darkness and it was because of his boy. "He is a bit sharp of the tongue, but could recite mathematics without second thought." There was a great pride there, "My wife and I have a daughter, who has gone to live outside the city until the sickness passes, and we are expecting a.." He would stop as the air left the room, and the bitter chill chased his breath from his chest. What was that noise downstairs? The shop was closed, Harper didn't like to walk home in the dark so she closed early in the winter, and for now she was the only tending to the work. Even the hired hands to sew the garments up had all but fled in the reach of the brittle fear that struck the city. Only the brave remained now, "Shhh." Everything about him pulled together as if a master puppeteer soon pulled tight the strings of the marionette. "Something is downstairs." With all the illness around, it turned people into mindless fools with dark sunk in eyes and dried out lips. In a quick motion Jean-Claude slipped from the room, leaving the door open to descend the stairs slowly, and for a man closer to 50 then 40 it was no easy task yet in this moment he appeared to have been drifting from one dream to another as each step was soundless beneath his boots. He became part of the shadow, and like a dark veil it pulled from him as he stepped from the stairwell and into the light, "May I help you?" If Raelin would follow there would be in his gloved hand a blade that sprang to life from the cuff of his sleeve with three clicks of his wrist. (d
Mademoiselle Raelin O'Neill: Slightly caught off guard as she felt her smooth chin caught up by the palm of the man's cold hand. A bang flopped carelessly over her right eye during the act. Yet her smile would rather drastically fade as the man painfully began the tale of his son.. Thoughtfulness and concern doted in the light of her eyes as she watched him.. Studied him.. He and his wife were expecting....Oh! Instantly a knowing grin hesitantly coiled upon the edges of her lips and she would have even spoke... Had not the man sharply turned away to lend an ear upon the sudden noise. Times were tough here she was well aware.. Yet she hoped to one day become at least the cause of smiles and ease of mind and heart. As fluidly as the man entered behind her... He was gone in such an instant and she... Well she decided to stand and follow.. Not out of childish fright of the dark but merely out of the innocence of curiosity. Right hand raised gradually upward to coil long fingers against the banister of the walls edge while her free hand fisted her heavy gown to rid her from drastically tumbling down the stairs. She lost him in the shadows yet she felt his presence and even bended upon the knees to keep herself wisely blended. Then her eyes focused upon the unsheath of his soundless blade and her lips cracked open to offer up complaint.. But words were sucked straight out of her lungs and now she simply watched the scene unfold.
Madam Adelaide d'Aquitaine: Ada watched him descend, but said nothing. She uncrossed her legs and let them swing gently to and fro off the edge of the table, and set the needle, thread, and glove down. The spool, however, remained cupped in her hand. She would throw it at him, and hard, if he thought to approach her with that hidden blade. Her aim was good enough, though nearly everyone in her life assumed her incapable of defense. Ada seemed happiest swaying through the markets in the heat of summer, her hair hanging free and a smile constantly upon her lips, tossing retorts at unseemly compliments, setting her band of street urchins out on this errand or that with nothing more than the promise of a few coins or a hot meal. They would have done anything for their mistress, though it had been some time since she'd last resided at the shop down the way, with its brightly painted blue doors and shuttered windows, and the angry redheaded wench Ada, in all seriousness, called her apprentice. Her favorite, Jack, was never far away though. Ada had thrown open a window and Jack now peered through, pressing his face right up to glass few other shop owners could afford, his body distorted in the panes. But when he saw the man in black descend, Jack left his post at the window and began shaking the doorknob. Finding it barred, he began slamming his hands on the wood. He'd grown into a fine young man since Ada had plucked him up off the street, and he was crafty, to boot -- yet he didn't think to break in the Master's windows, as in all the productive years of his life, he'd never be able to pay for their repairs. Jean-Claude would kill him, he would, if Ada died in his own damned shop -- Jack gave a stubborn kick to the door, and within the shop, all went quiet. Ada canted her head toward Jean, and quirked the corner of her mouth into a smile. She wasn't so unrecognizable he'd stab her, was she? Perhaps she should stop taking his fashion advice, if this is the greeting to be expected. *
Master Jean-Claude of Aquitaine: "Mon chatte?" His dark brows knitted together as he took her in, on guard as ever but concerned greatly, "How are you feeling?" She had been sick for so long perhaps this was a fit of what the mind could no longer take. Through his own memory he pulled every lecture he had ever done on the human mind, wishing through it his steady hand once again of his youth, for he had known this look in her eye once. "Adelaide...come here." He put the knife down rather then returning it to his holster, and would open his palm to her. "I have someone I would like to introduce you too." Why was Jack trying to beat down his door, did he not know that paint on the front was expensive? One day he would see that boy groomed, but now was hesitant to take anymore to take anymore off the street. He wanted to keep talking, to pull his wife from this place she had gone, for he now thought her possessed--she never wore lace. Hardly even to the bedroom would she flaunt it so, and more so she wouldn't even repair it--but blame the fabric for being unpractical. "Mon amour, viennent ici. Qu'y a-t-il ? Pourquoi êtes-vous hors de lit ?" He switched to the language of their homeland in hope of pulling her from this angry place that held his heart so, and suddenly found himself drawing on the image of killing every guard that let her pass. They should not have let her out of bed, nor out the door..not int his cold, and dressed like that. (d
Mademoiselle Raelin O'Neill: Head tilted to the side while tentative concern consumed her.. Who was this other woman of whom Jean so tenderly accepted? Ah.. That must be his wife! It simply could be no other.. For in Raelin's eyes she was equally as beautiful as the Queen herself. Yet even still she would not step from the stair and into the dim candle light. The silhouette of her tall, lithe frame ebbed within the sculpture of the shadow. She founded distraction however in the persistent wrapping upon the door.. A thin brow craned upward in curiosity yet she felt herself frozen in place. Adelaide appeared to be the aggressive sort yet even still the Dove could only see goodness in her soul. Blues refocused upon her and, in that moment she noticed the woman was heavy with child. Like a sister would lovely accept a new sibling she pressed closer to the pair. Then they spoke in a dialect that stayed her steps quickly brought her unease.. Elegant as it was she did not have the keen ear to understand.
Madam Adelaide d'Aquitaine: Ada slid down from the table, her boots hitting the floor with a solid click. She glanced at the tall woman, but said nothing. She then turned her gaze to Jean-Claude's hand, and after a moment of contemplation, placed the spool of thread in his open palm. To the door next, opening it wide to expose a thoroughly defeated Jack. Seeing that all was well within, Jack muttered something unpleasant, offered a crude gesture around Ada toward the room's occupants, and then shuffled off into the night. Ada gently closed the door after him, though she lingered at the crack, watching the night. Her absence, apparently, had been noted. They made slow progress after her, but walked with purpose, aimed toward the only street in town Ada would ever venture to, with Jean-Claude absent from his laboratory. She shut the door again and turned back to the pair of them, her hands apparently pushing the door shut even as she leaned upon it, though she seemed to recall something and left her perch for the sewing table. Her glove. She held it out to Jean-Claude to mend. She was terrible with lace, but could do a fair job on skin. She lacked his delicacy, being a far more pragmatic soul in many respects. Even the bedroom -- of course she loathed wearing lace to bed. She would only be parted with it in moments. Her lips parted for a breath of time, only to close with the next sober knock upon the door. The Order had come to collect her. Disappointment settled on her face, but she still made no move to join Jean-Claude, nor to greet the woman with anything more than another curious glance. Perhaps she was used to her husband giving his roof to strange women. *
Master Jean-Claude of Aquitaine: "Mon chatte...?" His heart was wild in his chest, breaking and beating so fierce that he worried it would come through. Taking her glove in his hand he would smile, "Of course I will." Closing his fingers around it he would place it over the table's surface as he followed her to the door, taking then within his hand her own. "Adelaide..Ada." He hardly ever used her short name, though she often cried his in intimate nights together. This was a show of dominance, or a plot to bring her back but his hand would settle on her side while the other brought her knuckles to be kissed. Some fierce tiger he was.Lowering his voice to a whisper, he spoke to her softly as he always did when she was ill, and it was a rare side to him. "We have a guest, Mon cher..look." He would again motion to the stairs, "She will rent out the apartment, you will be neighbors." Meaning they lived close? "Perhaps you will show her some of your mixtures?" Something was terribly wrong, in all their years of knowing each other there had not been a time she did not smile at him--Ask of his health, if he was eating, or when the last time his eyes had closed for more then an hours time. Where was his beloved she-cat? (chatte) (d
Mademoiselle Raelin O'Neill: She sensed something amiss about the other woman.. Even without even knowing her it simply did not seem natural or common for the beauty of her features. As such the Dove was reluctant even still to move into the light. But, upon introduction she did. "Tis very nice tae meet ye, Lady Adelaide" Gracefully side stepping beside Jean she eyed the other woman and bowed down her head in respectful formality. "I would be honored tae learn from ye iffen ye agree" Bottom lip sucked inward as she briefly chewed her gum in mild awkwardness. Blues shifted over to JEan and nostrils flexed as she breathed a slow sigh. "I promise I will nae be in yer way.." Just in case the other woman was territorial.
Madam Adelaide d'Aquitaine: Ada's eyes went from Jean-Claude to the woman, then back again. Rather than the stupid, senseless madness one might expect from a woman being addressed in such a way, there was something purely calculating in Ada's gaze, a slight narrowing of her eyes that only seemed to accentuate the cold marble shape of her face. Honed to perfection and lacking softness, with high cheekbones and a sharp, pert nose, she could have been as noble of birth as her husband. Dressed the part, it was difficult to imagine her anything less, though they were both quite aware of her more humble beginnings. Earn her temper, and it wouldn't be long before the truth would out. She swore like a street rat, no matter how much lace remained on her gloves. There was a moment of conflict as she let her hand fall into his. The weight of the metal cuff added to her suddenly strong grip of his hand was the first sight he would have into whatever had become of her, but it was gone in a moment -- Ada released him, and then went to answer the door for the second time that night. The very guards Jean-Claude had wished to murder had finally arrived, the very tall and imposing figure of Nasrin buried amid them, entirely swathed -- as per her usual -- in heavy robes that obscured her face, shadows all that peered out where only a handful knew of the striking blue eyes looking with concern at the scene within the shop. *
Master Jean-Claude of Aquitaine: "She is not well, Mademoiselle O'Neill, in her right state she would answer. Please..forgive me, I must see to my wife." The guards would not have any struggle from him, and he would lead her away. He wanted to get her back to the lab as quickly as possible to test her vitals. The Captain from before would smile to Raelin, and give his bow as the rest all cleared out. The door would need locking, and the lanterns turned down. Raelin was home now. (d
Mademoiselle Raelin O'Neill: Like the comparison of night and day the two women as such were seemingly as drastically different in personality. Not to say Ada was a cruel and cold woman but where her face seemingly remained detatched the taller woman issued quite enough emotion for both of them.. Through and through it was her nature to behave as such. But when Jean issued his apology she was quick to deny it.. Left hand slowly gave rise as she offered him a warming smile. Understanding perfectly his new found desire to see to his wife. " There is no need.. Please.. See to her and be well this night" Soft pitch of serene comfort and then she back stepped toward the stair case.. Halting only as the cold wood met with the back of her leg.. It was also in that moment that her friend, the caring Captain arrived and issued her that friendly smile. Lashes fluttered and, though labored her lips twitched upward and she bowed her head.. Only then would she turned back and head up stairs to her room.. Home.. As strange as that may have seemed she was slightly frightened.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Nov 25, 2010 8:49:38 GMT -6
Peregrine: Of all the privileges the sea could give, it was his time on the land that he valued the most. Sailors didn't read, hardly wrote, and there wasn't a time that families came first. His ship had been a ship of fools who turned into phantoms in the background haunting the city, and longing for their time again to the addiction. However, the ship with the scarlet sails was curled into the cove of the eastern side of the Isle without any reason to find her way in the wintry waters. Their captain through his fit of the autumn had left the living to join the mother, but now roamed the halls of their castle keep with his daughter asleep against his chest. She missed the tree outside her window, the sway of the wind through the bare branches, and most of all the quiet peaceful nature of their country home--he did too. The castle was so active, her days were spent with constant stimulation by night the eve became a constant fight to still her mind, and each night he walked her until she finally closed her eyes. This night her fist was closed so tightly around a lock of his hair that her knuckles turned white, and her cheeks were moist from the tears that had fallen from puffy bloodshot eyes. Had she pulled out his hair? Bare-feet carried them both over the cold stone as it wasn't winter on his skin, and they started on the path he prayed his wife would be.
Rosalind: It had turned cold -- so cold! While Aldric could sleep through nearly anything, Rosalind's sleep was troubled by terrible dreams. She missed the natural quiet of their home. This stifling, preternatural calm punctuated by the shuffle of a maid's feet was unnerving with all that occured day by day in Skye. She worried for Julian; their last encounter had made her blood run cold, but she had faith in Jean-Claude. And Jean-Claude -- she worried about him, too, though admittedly no more than was appropriate. His situation was dire, and she found nothing about it as ghoulishly romantic as his followers, whom she heard on a nearly daily basis recounting rumor and hearsay about his wife's progress. She roused from bed to check on Aldric. The lad was nearly eight now, but often stood a head above boys a few years older. His hair had grown a bit too long since their move to the castle, and caught in the half-light of her flickering candle, she could have sworn he looked identical to Colban. It was always a disconcerting experience, until he smiled; that expression, though rarely seen on Rosalind, was entirely his mother's. He slept soundly, so she drew the door nearly shut, lest Sax feel the need to get up and roam, and took her candle out into the drawing room. She pulled on a heavier robe, pulling the buttons closed, and walked out into the corridor. She nearly collided with Murtagh, who barely came up to her chin, and it was here that the terrible news of another dead met Rosalind's ears. She normally wasn't privy to this news unless she asked, but the family name of the young woman was a Lamont one -- Mary Luck. Rosalind's grim expression turned to one of utter dismay, and Murtagh awkwardly settled a hand on her arm to steady her. "My Elspeth's Mary? The nanny's sister?" "Aye," Murtagh replied, and then shuffled off into the deep dark of the corridor. Rosalind shook her head slowly, and started off down the hall to walk off this bit of bad news, so disconcerted, she'd left her cane back in their suite.
Peregrine: He wondered where the fates were every time news came of Adelaide, and what had happened to when he could carry the nation out of their hard times by a simple game of cards--he did love to play. If nothing else the staff loved him for it, their nerves unsettled each visit the Lamont Clan paid upon the nobles. This winter would be a long one, and with each of the horrible news he felt for certain the very foundation of the castle would fall. This was his heart now, and here the very flesh and blood of all he held close to chest; and he loved them dearly. However, it didn't feel real when they spoke of the times around him, nor did he worry of Ada. In his heart of hearts he knew she would pull through despite the rumors he heard as well. The rumors that spread of the Master had startled him at first, and only did he check upon him when one of the maids commented about how handsome he was with a beard. Jean-Claude had never in his life had one. Returning to their apartment the nursemaid was quick to take Polly, and speak of the Lady's actions as strange--his heart sank. It was only when his name was called out again did he realize the nanny was holding Rosalind's cane. She had left without it? "Rosie?" He called out to a figure he expected to be her, distant now in the vacant halls. "Rosalind. Stop."
Rosalind: She turned around, the candlelight coming with her, and walked slowly back toward him. "Pere." He'd been back long enough to feel like he was home again, but she still smiled whenever she saw him, glad to have him with her again. She realized she was without her cane, and went to collect it after giving Peregrine a kiss to his cheek. Back out in the hall, she tried warming her hands with the cane leaning against her, rubbing them briskly until the blood had returned. "What are you doing up so late? Let us go for a walk?" She needed to move again. The castle felt like a crypt, but she always did her best thinking alone, in the darkest halls, emerging into the moonlight only when she had achieved some clarity. She'd earned a reputation for doing so, but Rosalind never minded. She held out her hand for him to take, and as they started off again, she told him the message Murtagh had delivered. "It's Elspeth's sister. I'll tell her in the morning, there's nothing to be done now. But she was found ... well, she was found in Neil's bed. At the monastery." The scandal was almost enough to topple Rosalind from favored fireside ghost stories. Almost.
Peregrine: The air was a bitter cold with the fresh scent of the crisp fires burning in the hearths, but he felt it pull from him in an instant. His breath was taken from his chest when she broke the news, but it was more from the shock of the bed--not her death. His steps stilled as he would regard her lightly testing the waters of what was right, and wrong. Was she surprised? Truly? Rosalind was so hard to read, her life often could have passed before her eyes and he would have never known she was so cold. The court spoke of her as harsh, but when he squeezed her hand there was an entire new person there beside him. He loved this woman greatly, and with her heart the people that collected under her hands. "The monastery?" He shook his head surprised by this, were they not the ones that broke that rule first? "Was she naked? Was it forced? Did they.." Perhaps he shouldn't be asking, but for as long as he knew about Neil he wished a reason to gut the man. He waited for that moment to force Rosalind's opinion on the otherside of what was right for her clan, and what was reasonable. This man would die at the edge of blade soon enough, but with the look on her face he wondered if it wouldn't be of her own. "Rosie.." Pulling her steps to standstill he tugged on her hand and touched her chin, "I wish I could read your mind." From one eye to the other he searched for the authorization to call that blow, "Is it time?"
Rosalind: "Murtagh didn't say." He never did say much. Rosalind stopped, pulling close to him, and resting her chin on his shoulder for a moment while she put her thoughts together. She did not often make rash decisions. She never jumped into anything blindly. If she was three moves ahead in a game of chess, she was already behind. This was the woman he had married. Peregrine was a master strategist himself, but where Rosalind faltered when her plans went awry, he gracefully altered course and emerged unscathed. They were right for one another, pondering alternatives until there was nothing left to consider, moving through the darkness of these corridors until they reached moonlight once again. She pulled back momentarily and met his gaze. "Murtagh said he and his men were delivering more game to the larders. They overnighted due to the weather, and Neil's screams woke everyone up. He was sitting bolt upright in bed, covered in her blood. His Grace, the Bishop, was in residence, and he wouldn't allow the girl to be examined, and Neil won't talk to anyone. I do not know, Pere. He might have killed her. She is a Lamont, and he is angry with me for being so ... " she cleared her throat briefly. "Charitable. There are so many Campbell men about, and the monks; the weather was bad. Who would have been able to sneak in? But you know the condition of the valley. Neil -- Perhaps this is the moment I have prayed for." She pitched her voice low at the last sentence, and not wishing to plot such darkness with the candle burning brightly in her other hand, tilted her head and puffed out the little flame, then placed the candle in the niche behind Peregrine. "Will you ride with me to the monastery tomorrow? Perhaps I can convince His Grace to let me look over the girl."
Peregrine: In the moment his world came to life, and the shifting of the spinning globe about them was quick to still all in the same moment. She was whispering sins in his ear, while gambling with her own reputation and life. He knew he married this woman for something. "Rosalind.." He whispered pulling into her a little closer, "Are you aware of what you are saying? Moment you have prayed for?" Like some sick fetish he wanted her to say it, but crystalline eyes were very aware of what went on inside her head. He could read into that, and watch it pull over face like a blush. Rosalind was thinking of murder, and it was beautiful. Running his hand over the swell of her hip he laughed quietly,"We should go tonight, your grace, why wait until the morning? Come. I have a fast horse." He did? Kissing her knuckles he shook his head, coming back to reality, "I can't have you doing this. Stop." For the first time in his life he would put his children first. "This could go very wrong, very fast, and I'm willing to do anything. But..Rosie." Canting his head lightly he brushed his hand over her cheek, "This isn't like you."
Rosalind: "This isn't like me?" She laughed softly. "No, I suppose not. And I suppose I should stay as far from this as I can manage." She placed both hands on the head of her cane, and contemplated his offer. No, the monastery was the last place she should go, and their children would be without their nanny, once she heard the scandalous way in which her sister had died. Elspeth and Mary were nice girls, from a nice family. The scandal would wreck the peace in that village. If there was anywhere Rosalind should go, it should be there -- once the dust had settled, and before the funeral. She sighed. "We must sometimes live with our demons. That he once made himself my adversary does not mean he always will be; nor does it mean he will not continue to be, for all the rest of the days of our lives. I could bear it, Peregrine. I thought I could. But I do not like the games he plays in Campbell politics. I do not like that he makes claims of kinship to Aldric, or presumes to know what I will or will not do in the coming years. He took unwarranted action upon my clan once before, and I have no trust for him. For the men and women who died that day, for all the other tragedies that occured as a result, I do not think he will regain it. Could I bear it if he attacked again, for an equally foolish reason? Could Kendrew? No. This is an opportunity. We may be free of him without blood upon our hands, and no guilt upon our consciences. What if he did murder her? What if he murdered others?"
Peregrine: "Guilt?" He would smile curling into her as he laughed again, "You would have blood on your hands Rosalind, it would be your own, but this would not be the first time no?" Sounding strangely French it was almost unnatural had he not been standing so still perfectly on any land he wished. He loved to mock her, loved to hear that sweet ring of her carefully placed words. She did everything so exactly, and was content with her life the way it moved from one point to the other. However, this was unlike her, and it scared him greatly. "Rosalind..let me look into it first. Don't get ambitious." He kissed her knuckles seeing them so white it always frightened him, and suddenly he wished he could wrap around her and shield her from this--but she was right, it was either now or never. Jean-Claude, would know what to do, but getting him to think of anything else was a selfish suggestion. It was wrong to think of how he would simply drop from his wife to help with his. "You won't do anything without talking to me first..I know this, but it still..its exciting is it not?" He would smile then, "To think of all your grief will pay off?" He shook his head not certain if he truly felt this was right or not. Kissing her cheek he would watch the guard walk correcting his stance so that her image wouldn't be tainted, and he was amused at the rumors that once turned the castle upside down how she was making a gentleman out of him. However, there was once a sophisticated gentleman inside him.
Rosalind: "No, we will take our time. We will do this right." He knew she would die first before allowing her children to become another of Neil's victims. Her plans often fell apart, but of anyone, Peregrine knew how she held onto their frayed edges with a steely, inhuman strength. She reached past the hand he held up to his lips. Their hands fell between them, and she kissed him lightly upon the mouth. "I have none on my hands that can be proven," she teased darkly. His reservations did not go without consideration. They would discuss this at length once he returned, of course, but she worried all the same. Was she asking too much of him? What value would they place upon Neil's death? It was odd for Pere to take the conservative approach, but Rosalind agreed. She wished to see Neil hang almost as much as Kendrew, but it must be right. It must be just. And their names must be nowhere near his in his conviction. "Give me something else to think about, Pere? Will you spend the night? I hate to think of you traveling out in this, it is so cold." With such an invitation, it would be utterly unlike her husband to depart, no matter what awaited him at the monastery. They slowly walked back to the Lamont suite, Rosalind greeting the guard at the door, and Peregrine leading the way within so that Rosalind would not have to fiddle with it, the candle, and her cane.
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Nov 29, 2010 7:56:16 GMT -6
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. ~Andrew Wyeth
Young Master Monroe: The first snow had come and gone leaving behind the icy world of winter, and with it the birth of a new season. The city lights glittered over the snow covered hills as the distant fires burned like stars, and the Young Master Monroe found himself on the path where so few had tread. His feet sank in the snow, though not far enough for his steps to be struggled, but his limp was from each forced step as the distant house came into view. His face was red from the cold, hands as blue as the sky, and lips the same. Julian had always kept his hair combed over one eye, but now his locks of brown were a mess over his head as they skimmed the top of his shoulders. Jean-Claude's apprentice followed in his fashion, but now the damned soul held hardly anything against his skin. The night had been quiet until now, and the road without tread of any tracks. Was that wolves howling in the distance? (d Chief Bailiff Malory: "Can I get you anything My Lady?" Maggie asked at Ealora shoulder and Ealora head barely turned. "No, thank you Maggie. I may not cook but I can boil water if the need arises. Get you to bed, you look tired" Ealora's lips pulled into a grin. The book on her lap was open halfway but she had stopped reading at least an hour before, instead her gaze was out into the peering black. For many, the darkness was hard to see through, for Ealora it was as clear as day but this notion was always a secret and she preferred it that way. The house had such an appeal, from the first moment she had seen it, it seemed meant for her even though it had been built years before she had even been born. The lady selling it had lived here her whole life as that of her family before her but with her husband gone from this world, she moved now to live with one of her children and it reminded Ealora so of her own father that she had paid triple the asking price just to help the woman and her family on their way. The window seat in the sitting room was one of Ealora's favorite spots since moving in, here she could sit for hours without bother or when the kids were there, she could sit inside while they played in the yard outside. Her attention flickered away from Maggie as a figure in the long distance caught her attention. It was not uncommon for people to move through the lands, there was a town a distance from Blah Bheinn, Ealora home but the figure was moving closer to her home then on a journey through the lands to the town. Closing the book on her lap, her attention turned to find Maggie all ready gone and so Ealora moved to the front door on her own shrugging on her jacket as she went. With a past as her own, figured in the darkness no longer scared her.* Young Master Monroe: There was nothing like the frozen winter to seem so very quiet in all its wrath, and the ice that kept around his fingers was torture. He would have died out here had it not been for this home, but even now he felt it to be some tortured amusement of God playing ticks on his soul. Julian could hardly remember anything, and when he woke on the forest floor half naked he realized that he did not remember getting there. His knock on the door spoke of his desperation as he shivered heavily under the thin fabric of his coat. His voice had always been a quiet one, often without compassion or any sort of feeling. However, when he parted his lips to speak he could not find his voice as his eyes met that of the Lady Sailor whose name he could not remember, but her face..how could anyone forget that face? Her eyes were the color of legend, as rare as the ruby his Master curled under his hand each time he used his cane. (d Chief Bailiff Malory: Her hand was on the handle when the knock came. The lock was turned, the handle twisted and she pulled the door inward before he could get another knock in. The icy wind bit into her cheeks as it rushed inward and she wondered how the young man on her doorstep had made it in the snow this long without collapsing. "You look like the dead" She commented as she reached to take his arm and pull him inward. The house was warm with the hearth ablaze with life. It was likely a welcome to a frozen body as she shut the door against the cold. "How long where you out there? What where you doing out there?" She asked as her hand at his arm now curled about his waist least he fall and she guided him towards the sitting room and to a deep seated chair. Shoulders wiggled to shrug the coat off her body and cover it over his shoulders before she was moving across the room to find a blanket in the cupboard.* Young Master Monroe: He was the picture of youth, but far too thin. Julian's cheekbones sank in and outlined his jaw while the blue in his eyes reflected much of the light in the midst of the fire, but there was a sort of emptiness to them. He didn't know what he was doing out there, but he wasn't afraid. His was the face that welcomed death, and the blood on his hands was proof it would not have been far behind. He smelled of winter, the cold forest floor, and the snow. His chest was cut in strange symbols that seemed to read together, and his arms held lashes from a thin whip. Icy blue eyes raised to hers as if searching for something..the answer perhaps? "I don't remember," He shivered in the coat as if feeling the cold for the first time. "I..kn..know..th..th..that." He sucked in a breath as the pain then of fingers thawing and the toes that seemed to have forgotten they were part of his body. He made his way to the hearth, "Who are you?" (d Chief Bailiff Malory: For all the warmth in the room, Ealora felt a chill run through her body when she looked upon the youth, it was like looking into a mirror back at the madness she had fought so hard to escape. The cupboard door clicked closed and she turned to make her way back to him. She left her coat around him and opened the blanket and threw it over his shoulders. More warmth. She curled the blanket over his chest and then kneeled. "Here...give me your hands..." She soothed in a gentle breath while reaching out to take her hands into his own. His hands were as ice and Ealora inhaled a quick breath as she took them into her own hands. Furiously she rubbed her hands over his for a few minutes and then she dipped still holding his hands between her own to blow warm air against them before the process was repeated. What had happened to him? She had such a strange feeling that she knew this young man and the glimpse of the markings on his chest and the lashes against his arms made her heart beat all the faster, quite a feat when her heart beat much faster then most peoples did. Celadon eyes moved to his face as he asked who she was. She had been wondering the same of him. "Ealora...my name is Ealora." She let out a sigh and went back to rubbing his hands between her own. "So, you don't know how you got out there, do you know who you are?" A simple enough question and a logical one by all accounts. "Do you want something hot to drink?" She let go of his hands to stand. "Let me get you some slippers for your feet too. I have a pair that will fit you...or might, they were my husbands...well once..." She made to turn and then stopped. "Are you hungry? I have some beef stew still left over."* Young Master Monroe: Somewhere in all the world that was at war inside him he felt that her name suited her. He would have repeated it, but the wind that pressed at the door of the dawning storm made his heart race, and icy eyes dart to the fixture. Was he afraid of something following him? It was apparent when she asked of his name he didn't know it though he searched deeply for it, he searched through every memory he had, but all he could remember was the small little charm that once was around his neck. Closing his eyes he shut them tight letting his head fall, and the brown strands of his hair started to dry from the fire, "I don't..I don't remember my name, or where I'm from..or how I got here." Opening his eyes again he would try to focus, "I was looking for something..that is all I can remember." His soul perhaps? He wouldn't answer her about the food or the drink though his was in dire need of both, but instead sank into the blanket to shiver. He knew pride, and this was his Master in him all over. Jean-Claude didn't show weakness, though..he wouldn't hide under a blanket to escape it. When she started for the door he would stand again, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders to beg her to stay, "Please don't leave." Bloodshot eyes would tell the story of how he was afraid to fall asleep. What if it happened again? (d Chief Bailiff Malory: She followed his gaze to the door and then brought them back upon him. How her heart ached for him. Once, not very long ago, she had known this look his face, not the of the fear, well partly of the fear but the unknowing of where you had been or who you were. "Don't worry, you are safe here" Her hand rose and begged him to sit, she even moved back and directed him to the hearth and back down in front of it. "Sit before you fall over, in the morning I will summon a physician to take a look at you. I am not very skilled past winter colds and scrapped knees of children." She sighed and kneeled down on the rug beside him. "You are not alone, not to long ago, I woke in a strange place with no knowledge how I got there or who I was." She pressed her lips together and sighed. She didn't know what else to say. "Don't worry, it will come to you in time, for now, you are safe here. Please, let me go get you something to eat and drink." She pushed against the floor to stand again. "I won't be long, the kitchen is just down the hall. I won't be long, call if you have need of me, but please, for now, rest" She nodded her head as if that solidified everything and then she was gone, long strides for long legs drew her out of the sitting room and down the hall where sounds soon came from the kitchen of utensils and things being moved around.* Young Master Monroe: "There is a storm coming." He whispered, knowing well it snowed more here then he had ever known it anywhere, and with the city so far he was certain they would never come. Most of the families this far out moved into the city during the winter, but she was close to a village was she not? Taking his seat again he took the moment of solitude to look around, noticing her house, and how it appeared to still be in process of making it her own. She spoke of a husband in paste tense but there wasn't any sign of a memorial. Could he have left? He put his head in his hands as a pain shot behind his eyes as memories came and went like flashes of light, "I am part of something important." Blinking the pain eased, and he placed his chin over his knees. He wanted to hear more about her, but most of all he simply wanted to hear her voice. "Is there a town near by?" He would ask when she returned again, "I can go there. I don't want to intrude." (d Chief Bailiff Malory: "Winter is definitely here" She spoke as she returned with a steaming cup of soup and steaming bowl of stew which she set down beside him before coming to sit across from him on the rug. "Everyone is apart of something important, it depends on you what that importance is" She gave a lazy roll of her shoulders in a shrug. "There is a town nearby but its fine, you are not intruding. My children are with their father this week so the house is quiet" She let out a laugh and shook her head "To quiet for my tastes, I actually miss the constant chaos of having them around all the time. It takes time to adapt to something different, I am still adapting. You may stay as long as you like." Hands crossed at her knees pulling them towards her chest and the fingers of one hand closed around her other wrist to keep her arms locked around her legs. "Like I said, once, not very long ago, I knew what you feel now, not knowing who you are and if I had not been helped, if someone had not shown me kindness, I would not be sitting here now. I have a guest room, you are welcome to it. No one is going to harm you here, no one would dare, not with the former pirate queen here." Her shoulders rolled back as if in pride but the laugh said she was teasing while her eyes said enough that such a title had been true but not lived anymore.* Young Master Monroe: The food felt so strange when it hit his stomach, but the water cooled it. He was starved, parched, and beyond exhausted. Yet, all he could think about was how thankful he was for her. So he was not dead..this husband of hers, "Children?" Did he have any? "How many do you have?" He was eager to know about her, for the sake of simply coming to conclusion that he wasn't alone, "How did you remember?" Running a hand through his hair he closed his eyes, "I..lets not talk about it anymore." His sleeve was torn, his hems were rags, and whatever this boy went through it was enough to rattle him to the bone. The wind moaned through the branches outside and he let his eyes part from her to watch the shadow of them across the floor. His chest came with a heavy rise and fall as he thumbed the hem of his sleeve, and the infection that surrounded the wounds on his arm. He had been through war, but in his own body. It was far from over, and he admired this pirate queen for she knew not what she invited in this house. (d Chief Bailiff Malory: Her chin lay against her arm, she simply watched him eat, watched him drink and thought nothing past it. She smiled though when he asked of her children. "Yep, I have six of them; three girls and three boys" She waited for him to cringe, most people did and things such as that, did not bother her, not anymore. "Their father and I are divorced, we share weeks, they are with him this week, me the next." She stopped letting out a hum as she sighed and her head turned on her arm to look at the fire. "I don't know really, how I remembered, I had visions every once in a while, of people I knew but I was walking down the isle, about to marry the Governor of Barbados and...it just hit me, everything came flooding back to me. I guess I was ready to know what I had forgotten, sometimes it takes loosing yourself to appreciate what you had, to know what you didn't before so when you regain yourself and everything clicks into place, you know yourself better then you ever would before." She stopped when he asked it be over, she wasn't going to push it. Her head turned on her arm to look at him again but he was watching the shadows on the floor and it was then she noticed the wounds did not look well. "Let me see that.." It was still a gentle hum of voice but no less command as she let go of her knees and slid closer to him on the floor to take his arm. The rags of his shirt were pushed upward. Now she could smell the infection and her nose wrinkled as she let out a huff of breath through her nose. "Don't pick at it..." She commanded as she lifted off the floor again only to disappear into the hall again.* Young Master Monroe: "It would be pointless for you to stop there." He undid the button of his shirt to expose his chest where the pentagram still remained with carved symbols into his skin that had started to scab over. It was clear he was part of a greater plan, or the obstacle to something else. Was it a cruel pagan spell, or a Wiccan curse that caused him to forget? His face flushed with color almost ashamed to even show her, but he knew they needed to be seen or at least washed. He was in dire need of a bath. What had come to Ealora's doorstep? Did she ever feel cursed herself? "Six children..must keep you busy." Did she enjoy the weeks alone up here? She was an artist, he knew this much from the way she held her hands. He was too in many ways, but his art form was in numbers. However, even that was all a blur. "If there is anything I can do to repay you." If there was anything in her home that needed fixing, this was the boy to do it. Sorchal's greatest inventions were often taken apart by these thin hands to simply be put back together again. "When will they return?..your children?" He would try to be gone by then. (d Chief Bailiff Malory: Ealora was again, not gone long, she balanced a bowl on one arm that sloshed as she moved. A towel was on her other arm while she carried a roll of bandages and a brown bottle in hand. Slowly she lowered putting down the bandages an bottle first and then balanced the bowl of soapy water in her hands to the floor. Once again she lowered her knees to the rug and then sat her bottom back on her heels. Ealora had often thought herself cursed, how could she not having inflicted so much ill will on the people she loved. "God in heaven" She breathed in seeing his chest now completely. This time she did not laugh at the comment of six children. Her eyes rose to meet his, there was so much pity there for him. "When they are here, yes it keeps me busy but God has blessed me with them, I would of had more, would have more, if it was in the future. It is a blessing amongst the curse of my life. To live such darkness only to be awarded so much light as children is unthinkable and yet, I have been blessed with it." She shrugged again as she worked to take the tattered shirt from his body, moving it slowly as to not cause him more pain. She threw the shirt into a chair and then she was off again, in one swift movement she was up and gone but just as quickly as she had gone she was back with a nightshirt and a pair of slacks. Once more she lowered to the ground and this time she dipped the towel into the soapy water and then gingerly began to wash the wounds without warning it might hurt, anything right now would cause him pain, this she knew. "Um, week after next, this way they can spend the holidays with him and I will get them afterwards." She shook the thought off and sighed. "I need no repayment. If one day you show someone kindness as this, should that event ever arise, then it will be payment enough." She managed a smile though when he blushed. "You blush, do not feel ashamed, the body is nothing to be ashamed of, it is God made. Besides, I have seen a man more naked this then before" She hummed in a laugh giving him a wink in the hopes to lighten his mood as she tended the wounds on his chest as tenderly as she could. They were pagan were they not? What sick ritual had he been used for.* Young Master Monroe: He gave a shy smile, but adverted his eyes regardless watching her hands tend to him, and he wouldn't show any pain if he felt any. It was actually rather soothing and took the burn away. "That is generous of you. You seem to be willing to keep peace between you both." Under the fresh cuts that were really just little lashes there were deep ugly scars across his wrist where he had bled himself in his youth to end his life. Conflicted little youth this one. "You have seen a man more naked then this at least 6 times?" He smiled at his little jest, but was quick to quip his lips shut to watch her again. Wherever Jean-Claude was he would have died to hear Julian speak so openly of another's sex life, and somehow put blame on the pirate. However, his face would darken rather quickly when the mention of God came once more, and when he looked into her eyes again there was an icy chill to them, "You speak so openly about God. Three times now." (d Chief Bailiff Malory: When his chest was washed, she put the towel in the water and then pulled the plug from the bottle, the new towel was used to pour some of the brown liquid against the towel and then the mixture, whatever it was, was dabbed against his wounds, no doubt this one would hurt worse then water, no doubt this one would sting and burn all in one. she laughed when he teased about seeing a man at least six times naked and nodded her head. "Well more then six times but shh, don't tell anyone, I prefer them to think me fertile enough to conceive so with each time. It will keep men at bay don't you think?" She winked at him again while her lips curled into a wide smile. The smile was quick to disappear though as she sighed now setting the towel aside and unrolling the bandages which were then rolled around his chest and back to protect the wounds and keep the brown mixture upon them. Her body moving close, her arms wrapping around him in order to wind the bandages around him. "I..." She started and stopped shaking her head. "Despite the divorce, I love my husband still, a part of me always will I guess, so yes I wish to keep the peace between us. There is no reason we should not be friends, we are forever bound by our children as it is." She sat back tucking the ends of the bandage in so it would not unravel and then took to washing his arms of their wounds with the soapy water so that she did not see how his eyes chilled over. "I was raised to believe in God by my father and also secretly taught of the Egyptian Gods of my mother and her family by my mother. I respect all religions and the Gods that govern them. I give them respect because they deserve it, who am I to say they do not exist and believing in God, however small or minimal it is, helps me through rough times. I am sure he does not mind that I am not devout and could never be such."* Young Master Monroe: She would not have far to reach for his body was perhaps thinner then her own (and that was not a play on her weight). He would smile, "Ealora.." It was wonderful to say her name, but more so speaking to another human. "I do not think that alone will keep men at bay." This was his youth coming through, hormones that were out of control having hardly just left his teen years. Old enough to be a man, but not enough so to own into it. His pulse would quicken under her touch, until he took her wrist in his hand to pull her own away, "God doesn't care about us." In an instant the air was pulled from the room enough to slam the doors that were open through the house, and that startled him from his stare. Julian would let her go, having never had a very hard hold on her. As if nothing never happened he took the warm drink up in his hands once more and asked, "Did you really mean that about being a pirate?" (d Chief Bailiff Malory: She let out a laugh again. So six children would not keep men at bay. That sucked. She shrugged to the comment but would say more. She could smell the heat rising from his skin, she could hear his heart quicken in her touch of him but she would keep a smile from touching her lips then least it embarrass him. As he took her wrist in his hand, her own hand tightened on the wet towel making the water dribble onto the floor and down her arm. Her body tensed as the doors open in the house slammed shut as if thrown closed by hand or wind and yet there was none, the air was gone from the room. Ealora had known ghosts in her life, they inhabited her fathers house still. This was not ghosts an for once Ealora questioned the danger in this youth alone. The hold loosened and fell away and still her arm sat posed for a moment and then she went back to washing his wounds as if it had not happened. Ealora could always be counted on to be a bad judge of character and situation but it did not mean she was not still on alert, she just was not letting on to it. "I see" She commented simply and shrugged. "Some don't believe in God, who am I to judge? I am perhaps one person on earth who should never judge another human being on their beliefs or practices" She paused to ring out the rag and soap it up again to wash the other arm. "Its interesting to meet someone who has no knowledge of me, but yes, I was once a pirate and what many would call a pirate queen but that was.."She inhaled and let out a long sigh before continuing "very long ago. I carried the title even when I stopped actually being a pirate in order to hunt pirates." She paused to laugh. "Do you really want to know all this?"*
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Nov 29, 2010 22:14:03 GMT -6
Each small crystal cluster fell one by one in thousands around them, and in the moment Jean-Claude felt himself desire nothing more of this winter. One week from its mark he felt the world outside their window dark, and lonely. Their house had been given a single set of weeks before the shades were drawn closed, and the door locked behind despair. Adelaide brought life to their lives, and a light to his eyes—but now all that remained was the glassy black orbs that seemed reflecting of her own.
Candles lit up the room softening the dark of the night outside, and their reflections shifting over the deep pool of water that was heated in the copper tub. Ripples caused by the tips of his fingers would rise over her skin as he bathed her. It was here, his heart studied her until it could no longer beat, but his eyes dare not leave her own for fear she would return to her deathbed—a fear that could not be put to ease even now as she moved through this life as if in a state of dreaming. In a series of days he didn’t part from her following behind her crazed path like a child who searched for what was within. He needed her love, like an infant to a mother, but more so he wished upon her happy return. When the days did come he spoke to her, living in the moment she seemed to understand, but dying the second her pout returned with nothing. However, it was the quiet night that tortured him so with little shadows of doubt that spread like infection into his own tormented soul; here without her. Adelaide, his Adelaide was there, and he could feel it. Talk to me..I need to hear your voice.
“It is snowing again, Mon Chatte,” His voice was quiet a deep whisper from his lips could rival the very surface of the clear water’s calm as he lifted the sea sponge over her shoulders. Always did he start with her hair first, wetting her oil black curls he washed them with such care before he would capture them with a clasp to clear her shoulders, and expose her back, “Genevieve will be wanting to decorate the Yule tree soon. She has already picked out the ribbon.” In his mind she answered him, laughing as to how it would all match magically by his hands when she went to sleep at night, and how she would have to blame it on the fae. “Our first in our home.” That didn’t feel much like a home without her. Beads of water would trail her spine, while his own would outline his face as he dangerously reached his breaking point.
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Dec 14, 2010 11:06:33 GMT -6
Part I.A Friend In The Darkness
Julian: I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. ~Andrew Wyeth The first snow had come and gone leaving behind the icy world of winter, and with it the birth of a new season. The city lights glittered over the snow covered hills as the distant fires burned like stars, and the Young Master Monroe found himself on the path where so few had tread. His feet sank in the snow, though not far enough for his steps to be struggled, but his limp was from each forced step as the distant house came into view. His face was red from the cold, hands as blue as the sky, and lips the same. Julian had always kept his hair combed over one eye, but now his locks of brown were a mess over his head as they skimmed the top of his shoulders. Jean-Claude's apprentice followed in his fashion, but now the damned soul held hardly anything against his skin. The night had been quiet until now, and the road without tread of any tracks. Was that wolves howling in the distance? (d Ealora:"Can I get you anything My Lady?" Maggie asked at Ealora shoulder and Ealora head barely turned. "No, thank you Maggie. I may not cook but I can boil water if the need arises. Get you to bed, you look tired" Ealora's lips pulled into a grin. The book on her lap was open halfway but she had stopped reading at least an hour before, instead her gaze was out into the peering black. For many, the darkness was hard to see through, for Ealora it was as clear as day but this notion was always a secret and she preferred it that way. The house had such an appeal, from the first moment she had seen it, it seemed meant for her even though it had been built years before she had even been born. The lady selling it had lived here her whole life as that of her family before her but with her husband gone from this world, she moved now to live with one of her children and it reminded Ealora so of her own father that she had paid triple the asking price just to help the woman and her family on their way. The window seat in the sitting room was one of Ealora's favorite spots since moving in, here she could sit for hours without bother or when the kids were there, she could sit inside while they played in the yard outside. Her attention flickered away from Maggie as a figure in the long distance caught her attention. It was not uncommon for people to move through the lands, there was a town a distance from Blah Bheinn, Ealora home but the figure was moving closer to her home then on a journey through the lands to the town. Closing the book on her lap, her attention turned to find Maggie all ready gone and so Ealora moved to the front door on her own shrugging on her jacket as she went. With a past as her own, figured in the darkness no longer scared her.* Julian: There was nothing like the frozen winter to seem so very quiet in all its wrath, and the ice that kept around his fingers was torture. He would have died out here had it not been for this home, but even now he felt it to be some tortured amusement of God playing ticks on his soul. Julian could hardly remember anything, and when he woke on the forest floor half naked he realized that he did not remember getting there. His knock on the door spoke of his desperation as he shivered heavily under the thin fabric of his coat. His voice had always been a quiet one, often without compassion or any sort of feeling. However, when he parted his lips to speak he could not find his voice as his eyes met that of the Lady Sailor whose name he could not remember, but her face..how could anyone forget that face? Her eyes were the color of legend, as rare as the ruby his Master curled under his hand each time he used his cane. (d Ealora: Her hand was on the handle when the knock came. The lock was turned, the handle twisted and she pulled the door inward before he could get another knock in. The icy wind bit into her cheeks as it rushed inward and she wondered how the young man on her doorstep had made it in the snow this long without collapsing. "You look like the dead" She commented as she reached to take his arm and pull him inward. The house was warm with the hearth ablaze with life. It was likely a welcome to a frozen body as she shut the door against the cold. "How long where you out there? What where you doing out there?" She asked as her hand at his arm now curled about his waist least he fall and she guided him towards the sitting room and to a deep seated chair. Shoulders wiggled to shrug the coat off her body and cover it over his shoulders before she was moving across the room to find a blanket in the cupboard.* Julian: He was the picture of youth, but far too thin. Julian's cheekbones sank in and outlined his jaw while the blue in his eyes reflected much of the light in the midst of the fire, but there was a sort of emptiness to them. He didn't know what he was doing out there, but he wasn't afraid. His was the face that welcomed death, and the blood on his hands was proof it would not have been far behind. He smelled of winter, the cold forest floor, and the snow. His chest was cut in strange symbols that seemed to read together, and his arms held lashes from a thin whip. Icy blue eyes raised to hers as if searching for something..the answer perhaps? "I don't remember," He shivered in the coat as if feeling the cold for the first time. "I..kn..know..th..th..that." He sucked in a breath as the pain then of fingers thawing and the toes that seemed to have forgotten they were part of his body. He made his way to the hearth, "Who are you?" (d Ealora: For all the warmth in the room, Ealora felt a chill run through her body when she looked upon the youth, it was like looking into a mirror back at the madness she had fought so hard to escape. The cupboard door clicked closed and she turned to make her way back to him. She left her coat around him and opened the blanket and threw it over his shoulders. More warmth. She curled the blanket over his chest and then kneeled. "Here...give me your hands..." She soothed in a gentle breath while reaching out to take her hands into his own. His hands were as ice and Ealora inhaled a quick breath as she took them into her own hands. Furiously she rubbed her hands over his for a few minutes and then she dipped still holding his hands between her own to blow warm air against them before the process was repeated. What had happened to him? She had such a strange feeling that she knew this young man and the glimpse of the markings on his chest and the lashes against his arms made her heart beat all the faster, quite a feat when her heart beat much faster then most peoples did. Celadon eyes moved to his face as he asked who she was. She had been wondering the same of him. "Ealora...my name is Ealora." She let out a sigh and went back to rubbing his hands between her own. "So, you don't know how you got out there, do you know who you are?" A simple enough question and a logical one by all accounts. "Do you want something hot to drink?" She let go of his hands to stand. "Let me get you some slippers for your feet too. I have a pair that will fit you...or might, they were my husbands...well once..." She made to turn and then stopped. "Are you hungry? I have some beef stew still left over."* Julian: Somewhere in all the world that was at war inside him he felt that her name suited her. He would have repeated it, but the wind that pressed at the door of the dawning storm made his heart race, and icy eyes dart to the fixture. Was he afraid of something following him? It was apparent when she asked of his name he didn't know it though he searched deeply for it, he searched through every memory he had, but all he could remember was the small little charm that once was around his neck. Closing his eyes he shut them tight letting his head fall, and the brown strands of his hair started to dry from the fire, "I don't..I don't remember my name, or where I'm from..or how I got here." Opening his eyes again he would try to focus, "I was looking for something..that is all I can remember." His soul perhaps? He wouldn't answer her about the food or the drink though his was in dire need of both, but instead sank into the blanket to shiver. He knew pride, and this was his Master in him all over. Jean-Claude didn't show weakness, though..he wouldn't hide under a blanket to escape it. When she started for the door he would stand again, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders to beg her to stay, "Please don't leave." Bloodshot eyes would tell the story of how he was afraid to fall asleep. What if it happened again? (d Ealora: She followed his gaze to the door and then brought them back upon him. How her heart ached for him. Once, not very long ago, she had known this look his face, not the of the fear, well partly of the fear but the unknowing of where you had been or who you were. "Don't worry, you are safe here" Her hand rose and begged him to sit, she even moved back and directed him to the hearth and back down in front of it. "Sit before you fall over, in the morning I will summon a physician to take a look at you. I am not very skilled past winter colds and scrapped knees of children." She sighed and kneeled down on the rug beside him. "You are not alone, not to long ago, I woke in a strange place with no knowledge how I got there or who I was." She pressed her lips together and sighed. She didn't know what else to say. "Don't worry, it will come to you in time, for now, you are safe here. Please, let me go get you something to eat and drink." She pushed against the floor to stand again. "I won't be long, the kitchen is just down the hall. I won't be long, call if you have need of me, but please, for now, rest" She nodded her head as if that solidified everything and then she was gone, long strides for long legs drew her out of the sitting room and down the hall where sounds soon came from the kitchen of utensils and things being moved around.* Julian: "There is a storm coming." He whispered, knowing well it snowed more here then he had ever known it anywhere, and with the city so far he was certain they would never come. Most of the families this far out moved into the city during the winter, but she was close to a village was she not? Taking his seat again he took the moment of solitude to look around, noticing her house, and how it appeared to still be in process of making it her own. She spoke of a husband in paste tense but there wasn't any sign of a memorial. Could he have left? He put his head in his hands as a pain shot behind his eyes as memories came and went like flashes of light, "I am part of something important." Blinking the pain eased, and he placed his chin over his knees. He wanted to hear more about her, but most of all he simply wanted to hear her voice. "Is there a town near by?" He would ask when she returned again, "I can go there. I don't want to intrude." (d Ealora: "Winter is definitely here" She spoke as she returned with a steaming cup of soup and steaming bowl of stew which she set down beside him before coming to sit across from him on the rug. "Everyone is apart of something important, it depends on you what that importance is" She gave a lazy roll of her shoulders in a shrug. "There is a town nearby but its fine, you are not intruding. My children are with their father this week so the house is quiet" She let out a laugh and shook her head "To quiet for my tastes, I actually miss the constant chaos of having them around all the time. It takes time to adapt to something different, I am still adapting. You may stay as long as you like." Hands crossed at her knees pulling them towards her chest and the fingers of one hand closed around her other wrist to keep her arms locked around her legs. "Like I said, once, not very long ago, I knew what you feel now, not knowing who you are and if I had not been helped, if someone had not shown me kindness, I would not be sitting here now. I have a guest room, you are welcome to it. No one is going to harm you here, no one would dare, not with the former pirate queen here." Her shoulders rolled back as if in pride but the laugh said she was teasing while her eyes said enough that such a title had been true but not lived anymore.* Julian: The food felt so strange when it hit his stomach, but the water cooled it. He was starved, parched, and beyond exhausted. Yet, all he could think about was how thankful he was for her. So he was not dead..this husband of hers, "Children?" Did he have any? "How many do you have?" He was eager to know about her, for the sake of simply coming to conclusion that he wasn't alone, "How did you remember?" Running a hand through his hair he closed his eyes, "I..lets not talk about it anymore." His sleeve was torn, his hems were rags, and whatever this boy went through it was enough to rattle him to the bone. The wind moaned through the branches outside and he let his eyes part from her to watch the shadow of them across the floor. His chest came with a heavy rise and fall as he thumbed the hem of his sleeve, and the infection that surrounded the wounds on his arm. He had been through war, but in his own body. It was far from over, and he admired this pirate queen for she knew not what she invited in this house. (d Ealora: Her chin lay against her arm, she simply watched him eat, watched him drink and thought nothing past it. She smiled though when he asked of her children. "Yep, I have six of them; three girls and three boys" She waited for him to cringe, most people did and things such as that, did not bother her, not anymore. "Their father and I are divorced, we share weeks, they are with him this week, me the next." She stopped letting out a hum as she sighed and her head turned on her arm to look at the fire. "I don't know really, how I remembered, I had visions every once in a while, of people I knew but I was walking down the isle, about to marry the Governor of Barbados and...it just hit me, everything came flooding back to me. I guess I was ready to know what I had forgotten, sometimes it takes loosing yourself to appreciate what you had, to know what you didn't before so when you regain yourself and everything clicks into place, you know yourself better then you ever would before." She stopped when he asked it be over, she wasn't going to push it. Her head turned on her arm to look at him again but he was watching the shadows on the floor and it was then she noticed the wounds did not look well. "Let me see that.." It was still a gentle hum of voice but no less command as she let go of her knees and slid closer to him on the floor to take his arm. The rags of his shirt were pushed upward. Now she could smell the infection and her nose wrinkled as she let out a huff of breath through her nose. "Don't pick at it..." She commanded as she lifted off the floor again only to disappear into the hall again.* Julian: "It would be pointless for you to stop there." He undid the button of his shirt to expose his chest where the pentagram still remained with carved symbols into his skin that had started to scab over. It was clear he was part of a greater plan, or the obstacle to something else. Was it a cruel pagan spell, or a Wiccan curse that caused him to forget? His face flushed with color almost ashamed to even show her, but he knew they needed to be seen or at least washed. He was in dire need of a bath. What had come to Ealora's doorstep? Did she ever feel cursed herself? "Six children..must keep you busy." Did she enjoy the weeks alone up here? She was an artist, he knew this much from the way she held her hands. He was too in many ways, but his art form was in numbers. However, even that was all a blur. "If there is anything I can do to repay you." If there was anything in her home that needed fixing, this was the boy to do it. Sorchal's greatest inventions were often taken apart by these thin hands to simply be put back together again. "When will they return?..your children?" He would try to be gone by then. (d Ealora: Ealora was again, not gone long, she balanced a bowl on one arm that sloshed as she moved. A towel was on her other arm while she carried a roll of bandages and a brown bottle in hand. Slowly she lowered putting down the bandages an bottle first and then balanced the bowl of soapy water in her hands to the floor. Once again she lowered her knees to the rug and then sat her bottom back on her heels. Ealora had often thought herself cursed, how could she not having inflicted so much ill will on the people she loved. "God in heaven" She breathed in seeing his chest now completely. This time she did not laugh at the comment of six children. Her eyes rose to meet his, there was so much pity there for him. "When they are here, yes it keeps me busy but God has blessed me with them, I would of had more, would have more, if it was in the future. It is a blessing amongst the curse of my life. To live such darkness only to be awarded so much light as children is unthinkable and yet, I have been blessed with it." She shrugged again as she worked to take the tattered shirt from his body, moving it slowly as to not cause him more pain. She threw the shirt into a chair and then she was off again, in one swift movement she was up and gone but just as quickly as she had gone she was back with a nightshirt and a pair of slacks. Once more she lowered to the ground and this time she dipped the towel into the soapy water and then gingerly began to wash the wounds without warning it might hurt, anything right now would cause him pain, this she knew. "Um, week after next, this way they can spend the holidays with him and I will get them afterwards." She shook the thought off and sighed. "I need no repayment. If one day you show someone kindness as this, should that event ever arise, then it will be payment enough." She managed a smile though when he blushed. "You blush, do not feel ashamed, the body is nothing to be ashamed of, it is God made. Besides, I have seen a man more naked this then before" She hummed in a laugh giving him a wink in the hopes to lighten his mood as she tended the wounds on his chest as tenderly as she could. They were pagan were they not? What sick ritual had he been used for.* Julian: He gave a shy smile, but adverted his eyes regardless watching her hands tend to him, and he wouldn't show any pain if he felt any. It was actually rather soothing and took the burn away. "That is generous of you. You seem to be willing to keep peace between you both." Under the fresh cuts that were really just little lashes there were deep ugly scars across his wrist where he had bled himself in his youth to end his life. Conflicted little youth this one. "You have seen a man more naked then this at least 6 times?" He smiled at his little jest, but was quick to quip his lips shut to watch her again. Wherever Jean-Claude was he would have died to hear Julian speak so openly of another's sex life, and somehow put blame on the pirate. However, his face would darken rather quickly when the mention of God came once more, and when he looked into her eyes again there was an icy chill to them, "You speak so openly about God. Three times now." (d Ealora: When his chest was washed, she put the towel in the water and then pulled the plug from the bottle, the new towel was used to pour some of the brown liquid against the towel and then the mixture, whatever it was, was dabbed against his wounds, no doubt this one would hurt worse then water, no doubt this one would sting and burn all in one. she laughed when he teased about seeing a man at least six times naked and nodded her head. "Well more then six times but shh, don't tell anyone, I prefer them to think me fertile enough to conceive so with each time. It will keep men at bay don't you think?" She winked at him again while her lips curled into a wide smile. The smile was quick to disappear though as she sighed now setting the towel aside and unrolling the bandages which were then rolled around his chest and back to protect the wounds and keep the brown mixture upon them. Her body moving close, her arms wrapping around him in order to wind the bandages around him. "I..." She started and stopped shaking her head. "Despite the divorce, I love my husband still, a part of me always will I guess, so yes I wish to keep the peace between us. There is no reason we should not be friends, we are forever bound by our children as it is." She sat back tucking the ends of the bandage in so it would not unravel and then took to washing his arms of their wounds with the soapy water so that she did not see how his eyes chilled over. "I was raised to believe in God by my father and also secretly taught of the Egyptian Gods of my mother and her family by my mother. I respect all religions and the Gods that govern them. I give them respect because they deserve it, who am I to say they do not exist and believing in God, however small or minimal it is, helps me through rough times. I am sure he does not mind that I am not devout and could never be such."* Julian: She would not have far to reach for his body was perhaps thinner then her own (and that was not a play on her weight). He would smile, "Ealora.." It was wonderful to say her name, but more so speaking to another human. "I do not think that alone will keep men at bay." This was his youth coming through, hormones that were out of control having hardly just left his teen years. Old enough to be a man, but not enough so to own into it. His pulse would quicken under her touch, until he took her wrist in his hand to pull her own away, "God doesn't care about us." In an instant the air was pulled from the room enough to slam the doors that were open through the house, and that startled him from his stare. Julian would let her go, having never had a very hard hold on her. As if nothing never happened he took the warm drink up in his hands once more and asked, "Did you really mean that about being a pirate?" (d Ealora: She let out a laugh again. So six children would not keep men at bay. That sucked. She shrugged to the comment but would say more. She could smell the heat rising from his skin, she could hear his heart quicken in her touch of him but she would keep a smile from touching her lips then least it embarrass him. As he took her wrist in his hand, her own hand tightened on the wet towel making the water dribble onto the floor and down her arm. Her body tensed as the doors open in the house slammed shut as if thrown closed by hand or wind and yet there was none, the air was gone from the room. Ealora had known ghosts in her life, they inhabited her fathers house still. This was not ghosts an for once Ealora questioned the danger in this youth alone. The hold loosened and fell away and still her arm sat posed for a moment and then she went back to washing his wounds as if it had not happened. Ealora could always be counted on to be a bad judge of character and situation but it did not mean she was not still on alert, she just was not letting on to it. "I see" She commented simply and shrugged. "Some don't believe in God, who am I to judge? I am perhaps one person on earth who should never judge another human being on their beliefs or practices" She paused to ring out the rag and soap it up again to wash the other arm. "Its interesting to meet someone who has no knowledge of me, but yes, I was once a pirate and what many would call a pirate queen but that was.."She inhaled and let out a long sigh before continuing "very long ago. I carried the title even when I stopped actually being a pirate in order to hunt pirates." She paused to laugh. "Do you really want to know all this?"*
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Dec 14, 2010 11:09:12 GMT -6
II. I've Been There
Julian: For hours he had left himself, sleeping in a deep dreamless state that moved his soul, and relaxed his mind. Julian found himself awake, and did not remember falling asleep--he didn't remember much at all. Their talk of her life as a pirate had not once left him bored, but the lull of her voice pulled him to rest, and he could only assume somehow the woman in the estate had made him a bed. Had he been bathed? His clothes had been changed, that much he could tell, but his skin felt fresh. Everything about his world right now was foreign, but being in another man's clothes felt so very strange--they were huge, and hung off him like sails. However, they were comfortable, and he liked the way the sleeves went nearly to his fingertips. If any from his past were to see him now they would have been shocked, as his hair had grown past its amount he kept it, and brushed his shoulders in wild strands that smelled sweet. Yeah..someone must have washed him. The thought made him blush. The world outside the windows was dark, but he could not tell if the shade belonged to the night or the day as they all ran together. Yet, strangely he felt himself not wishing to leave, and with the snow falling outside so heavily it appeared that wouldn't be anytime soon. (d Ealora: It seemed such an easy thing to relate to him tales of her wild past for it was such a deep past that she could talk for hours without realizing it. None generally asked such fevered questions especially about pirates and definitely not her involvement with them. It was welcomed for once to talk about it, and pleasing to feel no squeeze of displeasure about speaking about it. By the time she finished cleaning his wounds rounding out a tale, he was asleep. The question that needed asking was how had he gotten upstairs? Was the former pirate queen as strong as to carry a man even sans half is weight up the stairs? Who was to know would perhaps remain a mystery but that he awoke clean and in fresh clothes. It seemed perfect timing that his door would open when he awoke and Ealora, bright eyed and seemingly well rested, gave him a wide smile. "Oh, so you are awake. Are you hungry?" The door was pushed open wider as she took a step in and then another as her arms crossed over her chest. "I am sorry the clothing is so ill fitted, my husband, he was...is...a large man. I guess that's how I like them though" She hummed in a small laugh seeming to be in a good mood though in truth she had slept so light a pin drop would of made her bolt out of bed, blame that on having strange company in the house. He had done nothing short of a dark and icy stare when speaking of God but had been no other threat, it was not that she did not trust him...well perhaps a little bit but he still deserved some kindness in the hopes it would be returned sometime in the future to another. Even if it wasn't, well, this was her leaf to turn over, ill will now turned to a better woman then the pirate she had regaled last night.* Julian: In all truths he felt as though he were a new man--rested, full, and content. He felt home here, and the way the quiet world was so still outside the windows was welcoming. There were no voices, no dreams, not even the pains of hunger that seemed to haunt him everywhere he went. Quickly giving her a small smile he would shake his head, before standing straighter with a bow of his head, "I'm grateful, Ealora." Her name rolled from his lips remarkable, the dialect flawless of either English or possibly French heritage. "I'm very comfortable..thank you." He smiled keeping a bit of distance between them, but his hands coming up to collect the back of the chair. "I feel much better. I could leave at first light." And go where, Julian? Really? Studying her for a moment he couldn't pin if she were married or if she wasn't. She spoke of this man back and forth as if he were both, but he lived down the road. It was a complex situation, but in his mind he could almost see the shadowy figure of whom she spoke. "Will he be upset?" Holding out the fabric, he really did look a bit comical, but they were rather comfortable. Though...he couldn't help but seem to recall someone somewhere would be rather upset he wasn't put together. (d Ealora: Arms folded over her chest, her back foot slid back as she jerked back if surprised by the way he seemed to straighten himself and bow his head at her. Something in the way he did such an action screamed out to her of familiarity. As if he copied someone she knew. But who? At present she could not place it. She seemed to correct her surprise quickly and offered him a wider smile as if somehow comically pleased by the action now. "As I have said before, you are quite welcome...and welcome here" She let her arms loosen and fall to her sides swinging idly for a moment before clasping behind her back. "You slept the night and the day away. Unfortunately I have to say you cannot leave anytime soon, even if you wanted to. There is a storm out there. The snow is rising by the hour." She nodded her head to the window and casually strolled to it and paused before it. Her shoulders seemed to tighten at the mention of 'he' and then relaxed as she sighed. "No" She answered and turned from the winter wonderland outside to stare at the young man. "I rather doubt he knows I have them. Fortunate for you, when I packed the townhouse, I forgot to send his clothing back to him." She seemed to know that look on his face and gave him a smile that fell as quickly as it had come. "We are divorced." To answer his unasked question. Arms were once again folded this time under her breasts pushing them up and outward. "Have you remembered your name yet? I shall have to think of something to call you otherwise, seeing as you so graciously and thankfully call me by my name." Change of subject, yes she was forcing the subject on to him this time.* Julian: "I did not think that legal." He commented rather out of turn still clutching the back of the chair as if it were a shield to protect him from the cold chill that soon chased him when she asked of his name. No. He did not. A very large part of him didn't want to either. "Its a very nice home that you have. You have built a nice life. Forgive my rudeness and pushy questions." He was curious as to what she would call him, but had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, like.."Do you still have your ship?" The child in him wanted to know for what little boy did not dream of sailing. The idea brought a memory to him, that he had in fact as well be on the sea at least once in his life, and if he recalled it right it was not a happy experience. He hadn't gotten sick, but was simply upset on the very idea of sailing away. The outside world was beautiful, but he could almost still feel his entire body ache from the cold. "The crew?" He smiled warmly, "Have you traded them for children?" (d Ealora: "What do you mean in that you do not think it legal?" A slender brow rose in curiousity. The King himself had decreed it so, did that not make it legal? She had never been married before Maahes so she had no cause to know the legality of divorce. "Thank you" She hummed in a laugh, her mood shortly returned. Again though she heaved a sigh and moved to stoke the fire in the fireplace, it having died down since last she had checked on him when he had been sleeping. "No, my ship sank...I wish I could give you a grand story of its death, but I still do not remember all of it." She lifted from stoking the fire and moved to lean against one of the poles of the four poster bed. One hand uncurled from underneath her breast to point at a portrait on the wall of a ship in the middle of endless blue. "That's the Shadow Storm." Her hand returned to underneath her breast and elbow. "Most of the crew died in the death of the Shadow Storm, or at least I think so. My first, Taylor, he survived. I don't mind your questions." While she talked she tossed names around in her head for him, nothing seemed to fit, English, french or otherwise. He reminded her somewhat of Jean Claude but even that seemed somehow off. Perhaps John in honor of her memory of JC, and sort of like John Doe. "How do you feel about the name John?" She would ask of him in turn to all the questions of her as she pushed off the bed and motioned him to follow her. "Lets get some hot cocoa or tea perhaps? I think proper people would feel it quite indecent for a man and woman to be in a room alone and not married to one another." She gave him a wink, teasing him as it were as she lead him down to the kitchens. Though she could not cook, it was one of her favorite rooms in the house.* Julian: "I didn't think a man and wife could separate. At least not that I have read, unless the church grants it..or a King." He hated to hear of the ships departure from this world, but somehow thought it fitting. The painting was beautiful, it took his breath away. John was fine with him, but when she mentioned of how proper it wouldn't be, his face turned a few shades of red. "I...well..huh." Following in behind her, "John is fine." He would follow her from room to room, like a cat purring around her feet starved of attention, but more so not so willing to be alone. "So you live here alone? With your children sometimes, but then..what is next?" What was next for Ealora? "Why did you split apart? It seems so unnecessary when you have children." In his right mind, Julian would judge her, but for now he was unable. How could he every think her unwilling to make a life for herself. "Will you simply live here in the hills all your life? Are you done with traveling?" Without her ship could she still? "I....have.." He stilled in his steps remembering something, somewhere, "I have been somewhere. It was the first time I've ever been far from home. Spain. I've been to Spain." Sitting in the chair of the table, he tried to remember why he went. (d Ealora: "Well truth be told, in Egypt, a man and wife cannot separate. Even in the Christian religion, a husband is true until death, to remarry another would be like a slap in the face to God who you vowed to love only one man." She gave a shrug of her shoulders as she lead him from the room down the hall to the stairs that winded slightly to the left as it curled down to the lower floor. "Personally I don't think I've slapped God in the face, I don't intend to ever fall in love again." She paused to swallow, remember first he didn't really like the talk of God and secondly, she was going on to a subject she didn't want to visit, not yet. Clearing her throat, she offering him a smile at his reddened face. "I was teasing you...John" She offered him a wink before waving her hand at a seat for him while she went to fetch pot and milk to make cocoa. "My maid Maggie is here, and so are you, so I am not really alone." She let out a chuckle knowing he meant differently. "But yes, besides Maggie and sometimes the children, yes I am alone. I don't know what happens next but I am rather enjoying not knowing. When I was a pirate, it was always pillaging and looting and then when I became a hunter of pirates, it was seeking justice, dealing it to those I had once served with and as a wife...well I knew what was coming each day, to a point. I am rather content not to know right now, to live sort of like you do, one day at a time, not knowing what is going to happen next." Slowly she added shaved chocolate to the heated milk stirring as she went to mix it, the white mixture slowly turning brown in the pot. When All in One Mind: he asked why they split, she stopped stirring. "I.." and she stopped shaking her head. Instead of answering that she moved on to the next. "I am very pleased to be leaving the sea behind" Though she paused a moment, shuddering at the thought of the sea which at this time, terrified her. She couldn't return now even if she had wanted to. She poured the cocoa into two mugs and brought one to him before sliding down in a chair, one foot hitched onto the end of the seat. "I have been many wonderful places but no where, not even native Egypt has brought me such joy and warmth as Skye has. So yes, I am done with traveling." Her cup rose to her lips and then stopped. "You remember sailing to Spain?" Her lips curled into a smile. "This is a good sign. Tell me more of it. What do you remember of it?"* Julian: "I became a man in Spain. I remember riding horses through the mountains...the river how cold it was, and the festivals. I remember a girl in the market." Looking up to her that distant sort of lost look escaped his icy eyes, "I think it was a lot like Egypt. There was much sand, and everyone had such dark skin, and dark hair save...well..there was this girl." Closing his eyes he tried to remember her, "Her haired glowed like that of an Angel, and she wore a little silver bird around her neck." He smiled, opening his eyes, and enjoying the drink--more then she would ever know, it was amazing. Though her story of the sea broke his heart he could not imagine ever wanting to sail again, "Maybe when I am well again. I will help you find your way as you are me." The wind pressed against the door, and turned objects over in the yard as the storm seemed enough to kill a man. Yet..there was a knock? Was someone knocking on the door? Startled he stood, and reluctantly let the warm cup go. His body as if it were on a string pulled ready to fight if need be, and his eyes darted about for weapons. (d Ealora: "Oh you become a man in Spain huh" Ealora slender eyebrows wiggled up and down in suggestion before she let out a peeling laugh at the tease. When her laughter died, she took a sip of cocoa enjoying the feeling of warm liquid soothing down her throat. "Sounds like an amazing memory." She grinned over the rim of her mug at him as she pulled her other leg up onto the seat of the chair with her. The wind outside did not bother her, it rather soothed her. She did not need to feel on edge of a storm over land, though it could do damage, a house was not a ship and would not roll over uneasy with such strong wind and topple all onboard over into an unforgiving and cold endless water. "Thank you John, but I must find my own way, much as the help would be appreciated, my whole journey thus far as taught me, I must learn who I am on my own." The wind pushed harder and keen hearing could tell items were being knocked over in the yard. As he startled, she sat up in her chair. "It's all right" She soothed as she set her own cup on the table but had that been a knock? Who the hell would be out in this storm? She held up a hand signaling wordlessly he should wait there as she went to check the door and see if someone was there.*
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Dec 14, 2010 11:18:06 GMT -6
III. Almost Home
Julian: It was very clear he was afraid, nervous for what was behind the door, "What if it is them?" They who? His heart was pounding in his chest as he took his bottom lip between his teeth. The youth in his heart was clear then, wanting to hide behind her as if she were his mother. Julian was hardly 20, though in his right mind his mind put him well beyond even Jean-Claude's closer to 50 then 40 (though he'd never admit it) "Ignore it. Perhaps it was just the wind." Dark eyes followed her, praying that it was just that, and when the door would part it was in fact empty of any single person save for the shadow of storm. The snow was falling so heavily that it was nearly impossible to see the path, and already the distant city was out of sight. Red wall had been empty since the harvest, so they truly were alone. (d Ealora: Ealora heart all ready beat rapidly in her breast, always far quicker then a mere persons all ready did. for once though his heartbeat seemed to echo her own and she gave another downward pat of her hand that he should stay put and as if wordlessly saying it way ok. slowly and carefully she slipped out into the hall and into the foyer. chances were it was just the storm but could she rightly refuse a person entrance if in fact it was a person out in this type of weather. She pulled the door open feeling the harsh icy slap of the wind in her face, the snowflakes kissing her cheeks melted as quickly as they touched the warm flesh. Nothing. There was nothing there. It had been the storm and she shoved the door closed again and bolted it not even willing to admit it even as she sighed in relief that no one was in fact there. "It's no one" She called even as she left the door and moved back through the halls to the kitchen. "The storm. You were right see" She offered him a smile in the hopes it would ease his fear as she searched for a rag to clean up the mess from his dropped mug. "What did you mean when you said 'what if it is them'?" She stooped down to mop up the brown liquid on the floor while turning her attention to him.* Julian: The sound came again from the back, a heavier rapid pounding came that sounded as though there was a rather angry force behind the door. Julian's heart leapt again, "I don't know...I don't remember. All I remember is running for my life. I can't ask anymore of you, but I can't be seen here. Please. Tell whoever it is to go away, don't tell them I was here." He bit his lip again as he made his way upstairs to wait, listening--he trusted her. The muffled sound of a man's voice on the other end cursed as he came around to the front once more, turning the knob only to realize it was locked. The shadow of the man had to be over 7 feet tall, and appeared to be a monster from any child's nightmare. His head seemed far too large, an image of what the Lord General had been before his hair had been cut away, but upon closer look it was simply the hood of the heavy furs that wrapped around the broad shoulders of the Arabic father to her children. Snow clung to the long alpaca that feathered around his face, as the snow collected on his beard. "Ealora!" Maahes shouted, pounding once more. There wasn't any sign of a horse. Did he walk this entire way? (d Ealora: Despite the house still needing work to make it completely hers, it could not be said that the house was messy, any boxes not unpacked were in the attic so a spilled cup of cocoa was wiped up as quickly as any other mess that was immediate. Despite all her changes she was still a clean freak. One hand clung to the table to balance as the mess was soaked up and then the rag was thrown across the room and landed squarely in the sink. At least the mug had not shattered and that was picked up and taken to the sink. Her attention turned to him again at his explanation, short for he remembered nothing and she felt her chest squeeze in pain for him. Had 'they' given him those wounds she hadso carefully attended? She had no time to linger on the question as a harsher knock sounded at the back. Her attention swung towards the back and then to him. Her mouth opened then closed as she gave a nod of her head. When finally Maahes voice broke over the wind outside and rattled the windows she gave a gruff sigh "Oh Fraggle Rock!" She hissed under her breath, wanting to curse really but she was trying to be good in all things. Her footsteps quickened to the front door again and the latch was pulled back, the wind itself seeming to push the door open without her effort to even pull it open. "Maahes, what are you doing here? Come inside before you freeze to death!" A hand clutched his coat and she jerked him in before shutting the door to stave off a further chill creeping into the house.* Maahes: With the way the winter clung to him it would appear that age would be kind to him, as even his brows were white for the moment before turning into wet. "What am I doing here?! What are you doing here? It is not safe." Shaking his shoulders he froze to the bone, but daring not step inside any further for fear of tracking water all over her floors--some things never changed, and he wasn't so willing to ignore her requests now. "It is too dangerous." The storm? Redwall had seen worse before. "I heard rumor you were still here. The children worry. Anu, is sick. He run from his nose." Maahes made a face, just a cold, but still. "You will die up here. Are you stocked? Do you not fear the devil in the woods?" Did she forget about that? "We could use you in the castle. Go. Pack." He would simply stand there in the doorway and drip. (d Ealora: For a moment the look of him was quite comical and Ealora's lips twitched into a smile that faded and came and faded and came again only to fade as he barked back at her as she had to him. Arms folded under her breasts, her feet spread in the familiarity of defiance. Some things indeed never changed. "I have braved storms before." She bit back and then relaxed her arms to let them pull through her hair. "I am very well stocked and I fear no devils Maahes, I'm not pregnant this time so can defend myself quite well."She let her arms swing down from her hair to her sides. "Come inside, have a cup of cocoa, you must be frozen." She waved him down the hall into the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" Wasn't that always a common question between them. "Anubis has a cold again?" she took a glance at him before moving around to mix more cocoa. "Have Nora boil slices of onion till they soften then wrap them in cheese cloth, let them cool enough to put them on his skin then put it on his chest, this will open up his airways, and make sure to keep him wrapped up and his feet warm." She stopped what she was doing to turn to look at him, leaning against one counter with arms folded again. "Why am I needed at the castle?"* Maahes: "Because you do not fear devils. This land is plagued with them. So much so even the Fruit is not well." Meaning Jean-Claude of course, who else did he call that? "And I'm not good when they are sick. The children. They need their mother, and.." He would sigh as he pulled his shoulders back to release this confession. He felt judged on high for even admitting it, for his pride did him in sometimes, but it was the truth, "I worry about you out here when I am not close." Amber eyes were cold compared to the warmth they always held, "My woman is not the same mother you are." Lord Maahes...go from one extreme to the other. His woman? Julian listened at the top of the stairs, placing a name to this face--he knew that must be her ex, and he suddenly felt guilty for listening. (d Ealora: Her chest inflated as she took a breath in and for a long several seconds it stayed that way until she let out a deep sigh. "I am sorry Jean Claude is unwell and that the children miss me. The storm should pass in a day, if you want to bring them here after it has passed, I will not object to it." She pushed off the counter as she let out a laugh. "You worry about me out here without you and yet your woman is not the same mother I am?" She let out another laugh as she gave a shake of her head. She wouldn't show nor admit hurt that he had seemed to more on so quickly from her but could she blame him? Of course not. "I hope, you and your woman...are very happy together but of course who ever she may be, is not the same mother I am. I am their mother and I will be frank and true in saying, if I ever catch her trying to get the children to call her mommy, I will rip out her heart and feed it to her. They have one mother, still very much alive and who fought devils of her own to return to them." Arms folded under her breasts again as she moved around the kitchen to put space between them. "I cannot tell you not to worry, its in your nature an just because we are divorced doesn't mean...."she stopped and shook her head again. "Never mind, listen I appreciate your worry for me, and I appreciate that you journeyed all the way out here for me, just for the children but I have obligations out here that I can't leave, not yet." Arms once again were unfolded as she went to the pot on the stove again. "You know you really shouldn't journey back out in the storm tonight, its getting worse by the hour. I don't want there to be a frozen Maahes statue out there in the morning." She mixed chocolate into the bubbling milk then poured it into a mug and took it over to him. "Here...drink this, it will warm you."* Maahes: With the added furs he seemed nearly 7 feet tall, and the buckskin boots went well past his knees made it appear there was added weight that was not needed one bit. His pride had once been in his body, a well oiled machine that could kill hundreds at once, was not far too worn, and the cold weather was never kind. However, he was young compared to most others his rank, though far more experienced. Listening to her rant about the women in his life he didn't protest, nor strike against her words, though she was mistaken. It was when she came close to the man that had once shared a roof with her, and now stood refusing to give away his place at the door--did he make an attempt to correct her, "I am talking of the handmaid, Ealora." He spoke quietly, taking the warm cup between his gloved hands. "You think I move on so easy? Ha. I miss.." He stopped hearing the weight under the wood at the bottom of the stairs to see a boy in...his clothes? Instantly, EVERYTHING about him shifted, and the quiet spoken Beast made it very clear he was going to cut that other. "Who is this?" In my clothes? Coming from upstairs? Looking between them, he pressed past her to take the scrawny little man by the neck, once he got a hold of him."You touch her?!" What!?!?! Run, Julian. Run. He was going to die. That was the largest man he has ever seen and clearly about to meet his fate. A small game of cat and mouse would follow before Julian ran behind Ealora and in the light now Maahes stopped, narrowing his eyes as he searched the boy's face. "You are sleeping with the devil?!" He motioned to Julian but spoke to Ealora, "The entire Kingdom is looking for him, and is this your obligation?" Lord...did they not know how to fight or what? (d Ealora: "The....handmaid?"she asked confused and then burst out laughing. A hand rose to push through her hair. "I'm sorry, ok..I..."she shook her head. "I..." she stopped and shook her head again. Yes for a moment she had thought he had moved on. Why should she doubt it? The Lord General was a good catch, not just for title but he was a good man. A good woman would nab him quickly if they knew what was good for them. The floorboards creaking made her heart sink. Oh chyt ran through her mind even as Maahes spied John, in his clothing no less. "Maahes, wait...stop!" She jerked forward even as Maahes brushed past her in his long and powerful strides and took John by the throat. "Maahes stop it!" She hissed bearing her teeth at him as she pulled at his tree trunk like arms. "Oh Jesus Christ Maahes, he's a bit young to be laying his hands on me don't you think?! Let him down!" As Julian dropped to the ground and the two began playing a game of cat and mouse, Ealora followed seeming to dance around the floor. "Will you..." she growled and hissed after them. "Wait...one moment.." dance dance, hop skip. "ok stop this!" Julian darted behind her, one hand instinctively curled behind her around him to protect him before joining the other to keep the raging bull at bay. In this moment, this split second of time, it was comical again but only for a split moment. "Stop right there, Bull" It had been years she had called him that. "The devil? This boy is hardly the devil, and I am not sleeping with him. He found the house in the snow about a day ago and I took him in. You would think all most six years of our marriage you would realize I like my man tall and big muscled!" She barked back at him taking a step back and then another to put some space between her and Maahes and some space between Maahes and Julian as she pushed the boy backward. "What do you mean the whole Kingdom is looking for him? "* Maahes: "The one who is killing Ada, and killed half of our villages." He narrowed his eyes on Julian who wasn't so surprised anymore, but returned the look. "He is not who you think he is. It is a game. Step aside, or I will have you arrested for coming in between the law. There is a warrant out for him, dead or alive." Ealora was like a hellcat when it came to being a mother, and he could see in this moment it was much the same. She was sheltering him from the storm, from the beast, and from the hands that would wait. "Julian. Jean-Claude's boy, do you not remember from his store? The one who threatened to cut Eppie's hair if she didn't stop touching the fabrics?" Was she not there for that? Much of the boy had changed, he was weathered and the face was hardly his own, he couldn't doubt Ealora for not realizing it. Julian would look to the ground clearly not realizing anything or remembering, but he put his head between his hands as he fell to his knees rocking as he tried to remember. That startled Maahes, greatly and everything about him seemed to calm. They say he's possessed Ealora..you have seen the marks. Amber eyes met her own as he spoke, without saying a single thing. He needs help. (d Ealora: "He is the one who has been hurt, how could he murder half of our village?" She shook her head, not wanting to believe it, unwilling to believe it. "Maahes, not knowing yourself is not a game. If anyone knows this, I do" She continued to keep her hand out to keep him at bay but he was a big man, if this could keep him at bay then they were all in trouble in war. It was an unspoken request for him to stay a step back and not strangle the boy to death for Maahes knew clearly she wouldn't allow that to happen, motherly instincts. "You threatened to cut my daughters hair off?" She turned a look on Julian and then back to Maahes. "Oh my God, that's it, I knew I knew you...Jean Claude shop, I had forgotten." As Julian dropped to his knees Ealora stooped down to wrap her arms around him. "You cannot arrest me Maahes, I am the Crown's Bailiff, I am impeding no investigation and as I live in Cullen Hills may in turn start an investigation of my own into Julian's actions thereby stalling your own while we butt heads over facts. Do you really want that?" Her arms wrapped around Julian and she began to rock in time with his movements. "It's all right...it's all right. Don't force remembrance, just let it come. Don't fret" She soothed at his ear. I have seen them. I heard such rumors of a possessed person. Poor boy. Her head turned to meet Maahes eye. I know he does, I was once lost like him. Not possessed but lost. Her attention turned from Maahes back to Julian. "I promised it, and I do not intend to break that promise, you are safe here, Julian."*
Maahes: "There is nothing that can be done tonight." He spoke as he slowly lowered beside them both, his body nearly giving out with the action. "You won't be hurt, but there are many who can help you." He brushed back Julian's hair to get a better look of his eyes as they were half closed now, and his skin felt hot to the touch. "Little One is beside herself worried of you, your Father is too." There wasn't anything they could do in the snow, and with prayer the morning would fare better weather. Julian would excuse himself once again, speaking of how he needed sleep, and the Beast understood. There were many things in his pack that would help, but even now he knew wasn't the time. Beads of moisture clung to Maahes's forehead from the fire and still wrapped in the heavy fur coats. He was tired too, but knew he would never sleep knowing that boy was under the same roof. He prayed it would hold him. Falling back on his knees he would take a deep breath, "I pray this is almost over." He missed his bed, his house, his chair. Her. (d Ealora: She was slightly reluctant to let him go but finally she did, offering him a smile of comfort as he disappeared upstairs. "Sleep well, Julian" She called after him and then sat back on her ankles letting out a sigh as a hand pressed through the russet locks of her hair again. "What this madness of the world Maahes?" She turned her head slightly to look at him as she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "There is always going to be something happening. The world can never know true peace, its not within humanity to know utopia. We most have darkness as much as we need light. That is the balance of life and that is how it will always be." When had she gotten so smart or rather so scientific about the world. One side of her mouth tipped up into a smile then fell. "First you brave a blizzard to come check up on me, now you threaten dehydration." She shifted on her ankles and began to unlace and pull the coat off of him without thought. "It's quite warm in here, you can take this off you know." Slowly she worked the coat off his arms and then tossed it over one of the kitchen chairs. "You look exhausted, unfortunately none of the other guestrooms in the house are finished. You may take my bed if you wish." She rocked back and forth and then rose in one fluid motion to her feet. "Are you hungry? I have some left over stew and some bread...my cook is not as good as Nora but it is nourishment." She turned a half cokeed smile at him as she began moving around the kitchen. She wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight either.*
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Dec 14, 2010 11:27:48 GMT -6
Master Aquitaine: Once upon a December, his voice carried through the halls, as the day came to pass with the sun that could not melt away the snow, but still warm their hearts. In the great library he read to the little roses, Rosalind's youngest and brightest students. Daughters of Dukes, and Nieces of Royals--the bankers daughter--the merchants little hands; all sat before the Master listening as each painted page told stories of towers, and princesses lost--dragons, and brave knights. This was a lesson as well as a treat, for he taught them to listen, kept them poised and perfected as they sat like ladies, and corrected each mistaken outburst of what was to come next. "It is important to listen, all good things come to those who wait." His gloved hand came to tap the nose of Apollonia who was her father's spitting images save for her mother's grace. With their hair done up in curls, with ribbons and lace it was nice to see Genna with the young ladies and enjoying her time here. This was a quiet time that both of them enjoyed while the rest of the world remained in the bitter world outside their windows. School would only be in session for a few more short weeks, and then they too would break. The children kept him young, and in their lessons he lived his childhood over again. The little Roses were no older then 5 and hardly 4, but still how they were aware of the world around them. Each day the sound of the walking stick would cause them to turn open eyes to the door, and live in the moment they saw the Master Aquitaine--pout when it was the Lady Inveryne, for she was rather serious in everything she did--perfected in her art. Of course..Jean-Claude never told her that. When the book would close he would rub his eyes cross from reading such fine print, and the one permitted to hold his cane would return it to him with a gracious curtsey. "Merci." (d
The Duchess: Dancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember: and a song that someone sings once upon a December. Winter songs were given notation in the frost ridden window panes. It was crafted to perfection by little fingers tracing on the luxury of glass only for Jack Frost to play with them by making his own design superior in eternal child's whimsy. Winter was a capricious season, but Scotland was a capricious country. Snow couldn't be undone by sun but it could be melted by the rains that would freeze to ice sheets on the cobble stones. To make sense of all that was un-sense was an artform that not too unlike winter writing in cold places was appreciated, if not perfected, by unusual minds. Claramae had to witness for herself the arrival of such young, precious life. A part of her bawked at the idea of allowing the hall to be used in this way, but was it not already for those far older? The other half laughed at how gentle hearted she really was. A part of her enjoyed the fact the minds so anxious to learn were neither broken, bent, or jaded. It brought a spirit of redemption to a place in need of forgiveness. "You are not the youngest anymore," she told the son of the one eyed swordsmen, "Nor is Bromheilde's niece. What say you to this?" Claudio adopted a casual, humerous indifference to life. He smiled, a bit of it mildly extended by way of where scars fell on his face, but not too the point of madness. He was still handsome, and a jester. "I say, Madame, that it is good. It is good for the Masters to have humor, and a purpose. It is a quiet season. That is not so bad, either. Though I doubt it's complete silence." He smiled, looking to Claramae being escorted by his father up the grand staircase. It had been too long, too many weeks! Now, to the right of him was his own escort. So surreal. So strange. Yet it was as if he missed no beat either. "Though your apprentice, she is silent." Silence came in the form of a woman young of face, but not in the mind. No, not anymore. Not so light, but not so dark. Indeed she'd earned the name iron butterfly for her sense of resolve. "DeAquitaine will not believe his eyes, to see La Bella with us again." (d)
Master Aquitaine: They say they were rumored to be the first to court, followed on the defined skirt tails of those who were veterans at it on distant shores. Rumor had it the Princesses lived in the Castle's towers, and through the minds of the youth would someday come down. Rosalind and he perhaps were starting an army of well dressed courtiers who would kill in their sleep, and the thought amused him to no end. However, for once he was happy to be free of the blood and let secrets remain. "We are only borrowing the hall. Until something is built to my standards." Another Hall of course. One just as this one is, but of course he was dreaming was he not. Where would the funds come from, and more important where would they put it? At the door he would smile dropping in on the conversation as the sea of fluttering little skirts came around his knees, giggling as they saw Claramae, and it really made him feel all warm inside watching her. Was she ever this way? It was hard to imagine what the Duchess would have been like, though he didn't see her the type to be so open about her flattery. Now..the Angel? He had one picked out that she reminded him of her. A little quiet one with hair the color of gold, braided behind her back she always wore pale blue as it was her favorite, the sky..the sky..She was fascinated with the colors of the world around her, but more so each story he told. Even when there were dinners to attend she never spoke much. "Mademoiselles..how do we great the Duchesse mm?" In perfect choirs they sang their praises of the afternoon, and bobbed their head in greeting while the old Master would raise a dark brow for her approval--amused to no end. He really did need other hobbies..tormenting old souls at night in his tower, and raising tomorrow's future to be respectful to all around them--really Aquitaine? (d
The Duchess: Claramae rose one eyebrow to indicate her utter appraisal of the situation as quite droll: the man who pulled apart criminals for lack of anything better to do was the same who no doubt busied the hands in his shop to adorn the cherubs before her to match a Frenchman's view of heaven on earth. She canted her head to the little women, bidding them good afternoon. Approval? It was the glitter in the corner of her eye proving to the foundation for expression in this the late summer of her own life. No, it was not a dream he was having unless his hallucinations moved like she did, no doubt they had sound where Claramae's step always had none. "Ah, I see. Until then you may continue on as you please, it is an honor to have such families within the halls." She had no list to qualify but it was evident that if such children were here the blood was old and quite blue, well monied or well mannered. Claudio watched as some of them moved away fromthe gathering, only to watch the little sky adorned child look long at the woman on his arm --
Young Master Monroe: The silence of the abbey had not harmed the soul. Instead, it took the boisterous, unseen edges still needing to be smoothed and did so in a way that shone with the work of her other mentors. A quiet smile was given the girl, who afforded Janice one in return. One could want to aspire to what Janice had become: to the age where secrets were anything beyond the obvious, any dazzling, spellbinding possbility, she was only an elegant woman with a tall milk- peach throat, polished, doe like eyes and impossible amounts of golden hair all twisted and twined around a gold hair comb. She might be the Duchess' daughter or her niece, so like them had undergone the same cultivation. What waited for them, if it was this, made the lessons seem worthwhile. From the girl she turned her eyes up to Jean-Claude, lowering herself as well as her eyes to bid him good afternoon with a curtsy and soft French. (d)
Master Aquitaine: He would in turn offer them all his affection, stopping to touch the face of Claudio to what would look to be a pleasing well wish, but in truth Jean-Claude would test the color of his skin--the pigment in his eyes, and the reaction time they had to the light. He was mending rather well, and it was for certain a happier time for all would have fallen had the young Italian die. However, it was what was on his arm that had enchanted him, always would--always will. "Mon ange de la soirée..How wonderful it is to see you. How are you feeling?" It was a question perhaps asked too much of her, but never did they dig any further. It was a name that did not need be spoken for the very soul did plague his own, but it had been nearly a month since last story told of the boy who was not his own did make the news. It was time to move on. From across the hall the Lady Inveryne would release the young suitors shaking her head as she would call to the young mistresses and be off to continue on with the lessons. Even Genna was happy to go on, with children her age, and see the city as the grown ups did. It was pleasing to know that somewhere there was a bit of hope for them yet; Adelaide has not changed much, but Jean-Claude didn't speak of it in public. "On the arm of a brave Knight, Dear flower look how you have blossomed. Spring has come at last." He smiled kissing the back of her hand before tucking it in the bend of his own arm, and raising his brow for Claudio to release his hold--privilege of a Master indeed. "Walk with me. I could use a bit of enlightenment on your work..adult conversation that does not involved princesses locked away in towers." (d
Young Master Monroe: Claudio was a testament to his father's robust health or the rumor that some part of Voltaire really was feline thus resulting in one of nine lives used. He smiled to his master, proving in features that his health returned if not in the presentation of form. All of the young girls brought his father to whisper in his ear that one might become a fitting wife for him in fifteen ten to twelve years, to which Claudio only shook his head. Humor never left this house. It only slept like a large bear in the deep of the woods. Janice looked around, finding a bit of herself in the exuberance of the young while recalling that the new mint shine of living still lurked somewhere inside. A part that never grew up even as she did another year. Within a month, Mon Ange would be twenty-two. "A flower so cultivated by the abbey and given back to those who understand rare things. Let it be spring then." Janice nodded to say that it was fine. He didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but the place he had for Janice in it was as wide as the place she had for him: fastest of friends, ever and always. He did think of her as the sister he must strive to protect! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Footsteps to footsteps over the beloved terrain. Why, even the stride of her step had changed, it had taken even that extra year, but there was truly no sign of the maiden any longer. The woman had dimples though as she smiled to him "Oh? What would you wish to know? I have been away from the convent now long enough to emass a body of recent work though have done some within the abbey as well. But ask and it is yours. I missed you, you know. My aunt, the Reverand Mother, can still only appreciate the work of my father and uncle so far, while you embody it. I do not blame her. It is an acquired taste, and she is a nun." (d)
Master Aquitaine: "I have missed everything about you, Janice Olivia. The view from my window has been rather lonely, with Adelaide still so very ill. I have been beside myself with the want and desire of company. Let it be Spring then, though there is a Holiday coming up, with festivals and dances. Perhaps you will accompany me, be my partner unless the Young Master has asked you?" Looking over his shoulder to Claudio who watched them still, he was a fine catch indeed and would make a very devoted husband. Though something told him his precious flower would stick to her studies. "Is there anything new to translate? Anything on modern science or theory? What of philosophy?" He would scoff at her telling of her days at the abby and shake his head, "My darling you were born to fly free from that life the moment I first let eyes on you, do you not remember? Your place is not there, never has been. It is not such a shame to like pretty things, or feeling beautiful in something other then..nuns." He would wave his hand of it--more lace there then perhaps her entire dress. (d
Young Master Monroe: "You are everything, you all are. I was close to retiring within the world to where you say I do not belong, but you see there I disagree with you. I belong in that world as much as here, or any truly. It is an aspect of silence, patience, grace, and knowledge in all worlds that is my keeping. The Abbey restored parts of me that could not be mended otherwise, and when it was done God willed me away. My aunt is very sad of it, but we have one another again so this matters most. We are blood her and I. I am not the only one anymore, nor is she." She wrapped her other hand over the corresponding arm of his "I have prayed for Adelaide, and still will so. Should you ever wish another pair of hands to help you, I am my masters living lexicon." She smiled, with such a pride as to be the masterwork the shame was damn near sinful. Pretty impertinence, that. As they walked on she nodded to the idea of parties "There is to be an outing on sleds in the country, you should come with me. It would be an honor, and you should know that Julian has not asked me. He has not written, nor inquired, but I do not despair of it.I love him no less, but if he comes from wherever hence he has gone he will see me living. He will see I am still Janice Olivia Monroe, and he may speak his peace on the matter. There is no shame, Jean in pretty things, or knowledge. Such knowledge. If you could only see the careful texts being selected for residence in Northampton, things the Master has saved over years, her collection...between estates now moves here. Some of the prize of her tapestries alone, the silver in the candlesticks enough to fill a mine. That woman was not lying when she said she had carefully distributed coffers. It is still the knowledge I like best. I have been translating a work of Roman government, it is a dual task really .The translation and the..'human translating' if you will of one of his sons, the human translation for once was a little shorter than the writing. I am not even ashamed of darker aspects of my person anymore. God creates and makes no errors, it only took me many years to understand all of it. Some things will never change though, my love for you..or the others. Even Julian, but again, I refuse to weep in to my pillows for days and nights." (d)
Master Aquitaine: For a long moment he was quiet, not wanting to give into his confession, but.."I was not talking of Julian, Mon cher.." With a heavy sigh, she was the first to mention his name around the Master. Who all but held himself together with strings as it was--his stitch was strong, but the name was as sharp as a blade. "None have heard from him, Janice. There hasn't been any talk of any sort of movement in the Underdark, and my resources have come with hands empty." His entire body tightened to hold in the outburst of emotion that pooled in his very being. He had yet to let any know that he had already made the preparations for the dire, that his widow would be handed the trust in their self-made empire built a stitch at a time.There was a truth to the entire thing, missed at the dinner table that last they all gathered, when he was pulled aside by the General and Jean-Claude asked of the sparrow there now tied in his hair with the other little bells and beads, he couldn't bring himself to admit it to himself more or less his son's wife, "Julian will not be coming back." His proof was that. He would as well decline her invitation not willing to leave Adelaide, but thought the idea wonderful. She would need this new start. "You are so very strong Janice. I admire that in you. I always have." (d
Young Master Monroe: "Mmm. It is the answer I am still so used to giving, often myself is not seperate from the experiences of others near me, especially him. Now? There is too much life not to live it, not after the last year in which two men's wife I have been. It was God's will, whatever has been." The peace was astonishing, a level of wisdom with the acceptance. Where was her own little sparrow? It became the bracelet on her hand instead of the binding tie at her throat where a gold cross hung instead. The wedding band became the links holding the ribbon and chain together. Ingenius, that. He was not an all together bad memory, but she would not be defined by it."You are strong, too. You have been through much, too, and God willing by the New Year more will come to counter what has befallen already. I believe it will. I am going to build my own green house in Northampton as well, the Master has given me a sizeable portion of her garden, for I can house more than along the Row. Though I have enertained selling my house, purchasing another better suited to an eecentric scholar." The idea lit up her face as she walked with him more, coming to the balcony where she looked over the entirity of the world. Claudio watched them both at a respectful distance, to which she teased with Jean-Claude at a tone the Italian couldn't hear. "If he stares any harder his eyes shall cross and then be stuck. His honor keeps him well behaved. He has not been here long but he is far too accomplished with the local women. We have too much respect between us, that and I believe he is afraid I would make him not breathe if he tried anything." She put her hand up to laugh behind it, though Claudio was right. Just because she was far more gentle in how far her cheek turned than the others, he never wished to be around for the transition. He'd seen her recent plant induced handiwork! (d)
Master Aquitaine: "Oh..I am not so strong. There are many times in the night I wake to the memory of his voice, when he was young he would run from his room with an accomplishment, and when he grew into that young man I was sad the day he stopped. I keep waiting to hear his steps, the light things that they were up the path, cursing under his breath of the snow." He sucked in a breath turning his back on the Young Master so that he would not see the struggle the older man gave, his reputation would be ruined--Claudio need not see him in such a state. He fought the tears by closing his eyes, and the single drop that slid down his cheek was rumored to turn to stone, much like that of Claramae. "I need your strength right now." He finally smiled after he gathered himself."With Adelaide not in her right mind I fear she is next, and I can not live without her." In French he would excuse himself, raising his hand to protect her from his moment of weakness, and he would laugh as he pinched the bridge of his nose to shield from the pain of holding back, "The only other person to know how to fix this is dead." He would only fix it by knowing how to calm his Master. Shaking his head he would look towards the sun in hopes to dry his eyes and mask what just happened. "Now. You were saying about sleighs?" (d
Young Master Monroe: Janice tilted her head to watch the progress of emotion fight with his flesh for display. What would win? It was a draw between both, between the human show and self control. She wasn't there for a little, fading in to the tapestry and shadow as even her breathe slowed for him to give him the space he needed to open, to speak what his mind was burdened with. Gently she touched his hands, squeezing them. Kissing his cheek she let the moment of heartache pass. She emphasized her shared love, her thoughts, worries for him and Adelaide with her smile. A face that could say a thousand things was as indicative as the silence of all of them where they guessed what had to be conveyed. "There will be a sleight ride, all day and evening in to the country, and a bonfire. I am going to go, I have a few friends, there are some courtiers from Flanders." Courtiers, friends? Had he gone to sleep only to find the impossible occurred in some instances. "They are very interested, but they are not so keen at speaking English just yet." Whatever he wanted of her, he could have. Janice for her part believed Julian still might return one day, it was merely how that illicited the most thought from her. Insain or lucid? Wasn't he already insane before he'd cracked? By this point the love she felt for him was tempered by a pragmatic mixture of anger, resignation, and a profound want to slap him for all he had caused with no reconciliation. No matter how much she loved him, she knew that some small fraction of his imprisoned self merged with his madness, the part of him fed by knowledge. Not that he was looking for her anyhow, she had dreams now and again, still. That he had come for her at the convent. Maybe it was the best part of him coming for the part that would remember him the most to treasure (d)
Master Aquitaine: He smiled returning to her, the sort that was forced and she above all would know it. This was his face for the world, and he knew that if he ever found peace again it would be somewhere warm and tropical alone with Adelaide on a beach. "Ah to be young again. A sleigh ride through the snow." He looked out the window again, "Its safe again, and would do well to put color on your cheeks, but I will have to meet these..." He sneered, "Boys from Flanders." Lord God save him now. He couldn't stomach it, "Claudio, will escort you no? I'll send along a few of the Talons." He held up his finger to stop her protest, "You are our Princess, a very wealthy young woman. Don't you forget that intentions are not always the best." (d
Young Master Monroe: "They are female courtiers, Jean-Claude, all of them are well recieved Dutch or French descendents, must you always assume they are male? Well, one of them is male but he is with his sister, and but a year or so older than Claudio.I have no interest in men other than cohorts or intelligent discourse!" She laughed at how things never changed in some regards, not at all! "A princess? What will you do put me in a tower with your little ones? They are very pretty, you are swimming in lace and ribbons. Yes, I am quite wealthy, which is why for that alone if nothing else amidst myriads of reasons I will be wed in name alone. Truly. The Duchess has begun to divy assets as promised for my benefit. I need no higher station, well cared for, well read. I think being a curio among women suits me!" Frankly she was excited about it,a little peace in books for all her life? She had no desire to love, tend, or burden another man or be burdened by a nobleman's want for heirs. Twice married was twice too much (d)
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Post by Julian Luke Monroe on Dec 15, 2010 8:46:52 GMT -6
IV. Wake Up
Ealora: When he becokened her to come sit, she turned from the window leaving the coldness seeping slowly from the panes as she crossed the floor. Her lips were turned up into a smile for the way he had said she was a good mother. It didn't seem like such a big thing to the rest of the world but coming from the Lord General and her former husband, it meant a lot to her but she wasn't going to be quick admit it past a "Thank You" she uttered as she fell into the cushions beside him. What was on her mind? This question she shook her head to. She was thinking a million things. "We've had months of silence between us Maahes, its not so easy to turn it around. After what we have been through, what we have seen and done, I am not surprised by the distance, saddened, yes but not surprised, couples break sometimes I just never though...." She stopped. I just never dreamed we wouldn't mend it. After all this silence, he seemed to still be able to read her mind, as she his. They could speak to one another without words. Bonds like that just couldn't be broken even when hearts were it seemed. Her knees were curled to her chest, arms about her shoulders. Now that he had said it, she was feeling what he said she looked, tired. She had slept but not well, constantly aware of her surroundings past the veil of darkness in sleep. "I'm thinking a million things Maahes, I always do now, about the past, about the children, about what the future could mean. To tell you all of it would take the rest of our lifetime." Her lips curled upward into grin as lids slid closed over her eyes in a moments pause, a second of rest. "We used to do this, do you remember? Sit up all night talking until we practically fell over for want of sleep." She inhaled and let out a deep sigh. "I do not mind the company Maahes, I could protest it but it would do no good, I know you." She let her head lean back against the cushions of the couch. "You could of died walking all the way here" Here she grinned wider. "I know you, you hate horses and I saw no horse outside" Her smile faltered a bit. "You could of died just to walk here. Why did you come here Maahes? Why did you risk your life to come here tonight?"* Maahes:/ Rolling his arm back over the couch he would without thinking move it behind her as they sat there before the fire. A world apart there was such a space between them, that no amount of couch could keep apart. He was without reason to be so close, and in truth it wasn't correct manners. However, they were one of few on the hill so who would be there to judge him. The bitter chill swept down the fireplace in a heavy sigh, but only caused the flames to burn. "I did not mind the walk." He finally spoke after a moment of silence, trying his hardest to remember when they were up all night talking--he was normally just listening, or pretending to really. For a long moment he was quiet, the emotion pooling in his simple mind that so few understood was in fact a deep complex valley from one idea to the next. "You are alone here. It worries me..I have reason now." He motioned for the stairs were the quiet labored breathing of the apprentice could be heard as he slept soundly in Ealora's bed. "You share your bed with another man." He teased, "One I can squash of course." Leaning forward a moment to set his cup down on the floor the look of worry of breaking her glass crossed him and he moved to put it on the side table. "You know me?" He smirked looking back to her with the very fire reflecting in his eyes, and the long strings of his black hair curling now as it dried. "What do you know of me?" (d Ealora: Across whatever distance there was between them, there was still some type of connection that went beyond that of creating children that carried both their bloodlines. His arm curled close to her and instinctively she leaned towards him before catching himself and playing it off as resituating herself on the couch to face him a bit more. She let out a humph of a laugh, half hearted as he motioned to the stairs. She could hear Julian deep breathing and she cokeed her head back to look towards the stairs as if he would walk down the steps sleep walking before turning her attention back to Maahes. "Yeah right" She laughed at his tease that she shared her bed with another man. "The only problem with that statement is sharing my bed implies actually being in it too and that is completely not happening." Shifting on the couch again, she lay her elbow onto the back of the couch near his arm and let her head fall into her open hand, her fingers stroking through her hair like a comb. "Oh is that a challenge General?" Slender eyebrows wiggled in his direction as her lips curled into a grin. "You asked me this question once before you know, when we were fighting out feelings for once another. I know you because despite whatever distances between us whether miles or continents, we are still the storm Maahes and you are still the other half of my soul. Divorce cannot change that, will never change that." She had a hard time admitting this but it flowed so sweetly and pretty from her lips that it was hard to tell such a thing. "You are a good man Maahes, willing to fight and die for your country, for your family. "She let out a hum of a laugh. "But you melt for children. You are a hard man, in muscle and in emotions but you love fiercely, you love more fiercely then you even know." Slowly her head fell from her hand to rest against her arm using her limb as a pillow now."Do you want me to go on?" Her lips curled upward into a tease but there was fire in her eyes that spoke of truth in all of this.* Maahes:/ He lost his memory when he lost his thoughts, listening to her, but hardly hearing what it was she was saying. Idle fingers would raise from the perch on the couch to capture the ends of her hair, and he would brush his thumb over the smooth surfaces of her neck. That was a habit he could no longer help, and it was part of who they were. "I do want you to go on. It has been so long since I've been reminded that I'm not such a bad man." Looking to her then he didn't let her hair go, or let his hand fall away from the back of her neck. Yet he would still his fingers, "I feel like a failure. When you left I was defeated. I have not lost a battle yet, but I lost this one." Letting his head fall forward just a bit the black oil colored hair would fall away from his shoulder, "My homeland, we only cut our hair when we are defeated." The sounds of the beads hitting one another was musical in nature, and the little silver bird once again shimmered in the light. "I let you down, and I let our family down." (d Ealora: It could not be helped, they had habits that were hard to break. Law said they were divorced, it did not mean that their habits would suddenly die away if ever they did. When he touched her hair, she had to smile, he was always addicted to her hair but when his fingers found her neck, she sighed a low sound that was not disappointed but wanting, as if she had been waiting for it all along. She could not help it any more then he could. His touch still set her flesh to fire were he touched it and lids closed marveling at the feeling. When his fingers stilled, her eyes opened to look at him. In instinct and an act of true caring, her hand lifted and touched at his cheek even as his head fell forward. "Oh Maahes" She breathed and then let out a sigh again, this time deep and full of guilt. "You should never doubt that you are a good man." Her other hand came up to capture his face between his hands and for a moment she was reminded of a time when he hated to be touched and yet had welcomed hers and hers alone. "Sometimes we must loose the battle, in order to know what we have lost and what we have gained." She felt his flesh move under her fingers as his head fell back and his beads sang as they hit one another. Tightening her fingers, she pulled his face back up so that he might look at her. "You are not a failure Maahes, we are essentially human, prone to letting the ones we love down, I have let you down, and I cannot lie, yes in some ways you let me down but this is life but it does not mean you have failed. I am sorry, for the pain I have caused you, for making you feel defeated and a failure. Neither of us did anything wrong, we both had to follow our own path, for once it wasn't a road we could travel together but it does not mean we are defeated nor failures." She let out a sigh once more pressed her lips together, trying to find the courage to say what was on her mind. "I love you Maahes, I always have. Laws aside, divorce is just a statement, a king or queen saying 'you are now separate', it doesn't change my vows that I gave to you before God. You will always remain my one true husband." Her thumbs stroked at his cheeks for a moment, feeling the tickle of his beard on her thumbs before slowly she let go. "So you see, you have not failed me, nor our family, not in my eyes and surely, not in Gods."* Maahes:/ Maahes closed his eyes as he let his head fall slightly forward as he listened to her, leaning into her touch as if at any moment he too would start to purr like the kittens that lived in the barn. This was a large part of him that no one else would see, and for once he didn't have a fight to give her. He was tired of fighting, and tired of it all, "Don't." He suddenly snapped taking her wrist as she started to pull away, and would replace her hand to his face as he opened his eyes. It was his advance that would perhaps catch many off guard, for the hunter was King in his land, but she was Queen. He towered over her in every way, a large man that had once been afraid of breaking her, and now was afraid of letting her go. His hand came to capture her hip, as the other her cheek to pull her into his embrace, and into his kiss. (d Ealora: Her mouth was open at first as his hand snapped to capture her wrist and pull it back towards his face. Her lips suddenly turned into a grin as her fingers hesitated a mere inch from his face and then slowly lay against the heated tanned flesh. She hummed in a note like a laugh as if she had won a battle between them and yet there had been none, both tired of fighting. She did not fight it as his hand found her hip and the other her cheek. Her lips opened to the coming of his own as she let out a gasp just before their lips met her fingers tightening against his face and her hips rolled into the pull of his hand as her knees pushed against the cushions of her to push her forward and into his lap her body melting into his was familiar and electrifying that crossed any distance that had been between them and united them once more.* Maahes:/ The fire suddenly burned his skin, and he wished for the cool winter to act as the water when the fever runs high. It was not his way to take her not as his wife, but it had been so long since they have been together he had to control everything about his motions. The air forced through the flames once more until the fire breathed its last breath and the hearth went cold. In that force she pressed against him he fell with her back on the couch, but the suddenly dark room had him still in their passion as amber eyes moved to confirm what happened. Was it the storm? The air turned so cold so fast that his panting form puffed mist from his lips as he sat up slowly to try and look around her. "My sword." He whispered slowly easing her off him, and the confirmation it was not the storm would come in the form of shattering glass from the upstairs windows. (d Ealora: It had been so long since he had held her, kissed her. It had been so long since she had wanted either but now she found herself pressed against him. The fire of a thousand desert sands of their births flaming between them. He was being careful while she was throwing abandon to the winds. It seemed the wind of the storms were acting as a block to what both of them were headed to as they fell to lay on the couch. It was then Ealora realized it was not the storm that had doused the fires out in both the hearth and their flesh. Her lips pulled from his as she pushed her body to sit back up as he came with her. Eyes blinked into the darkness as he set her onto the floor. It was freezing in the house, as if all warmth had been sucked from it. Even in the pitch blackness she could see her own breath. Bare feet padded across the floor to where his sword had been propped by the door when the windows upstairs shattered. Her body jolted in shock as she ducked to the floor as pieces of glass clinked down the stairs. "Maahes!" She hissed into the darkness as she straightened again and quicker steps found her back into the darkness of the living room, her body hitting his own, she gripped his arm with her free hand as she passed the hilt of his sword into his hand. "Julian?" Was she asking if this was his doing or if the boy was ok, who knew.* Maahes:/ Maahes would tuck Ealora behind him, rolling the hilt in his hand to position the blade, and the action was labored as he was well weathered now. "He is unwell Ealora," Her name always sounded so rich on his lips, but when her name was whispered in an icy tone from the form that soon made its way down the stairs, even Maahes's skin would chill. Julian held in his hand a shard of the glass, that cut deep blending with his own blood the wounds had been cut open once again and bled through the fabric of his attire. As if they were not there, the soulless form of the apprentice moved about the room cutting away at the walls, the fabrics, speaking in a language that Maahes only knew from his life in the sands. Hebrew. Jews. When the youth would come close he would tighten his hold on her, and release again when Julian would walk away. It was when Julian opened the door, the storm would die outside, and all would be quiet if only for a moment, "Your father is burning in hell." Icy eyes of the Apprentice met her own, "He wanted me to tell you." (d Ealora: "I noticed that" she whispered back. Any other time it would of been humorous. His arm curled her behind him and for once she did not fight him so that she could fight on her own. Her hand stayed upon him moving upward to his shoulder. Her feet pressed hard upon the floor as she lifted herself up to see beyond his shoulder. She was so short next to him. Her hearing and sense of smell were impeccable, she could hear him moving down the stairs and smell the blood of his open wounds long before she could see him. She let out a small gasp which she muffled against Maahes shoulder as her hand tightened on him which only grew as Julian began using the glass to scratch at the cloth and wood of her walls. In this moment she thanked God the children had not been stayed with her. She felt Maahes hold tighten on her as Julian made a loop around them then went for the door. Instinct made her reach out for him but instinct also held her back from touching him as she came around Maahes form but recoiled back into him as Julian turned towards her. Her face fell, eyes opened wide as saucers as he spoke of her father. Ealora father had meant everything to her, his words though perhaps untrue, cut deep. "That..."She swallowed a lump in her throat to continue. "Is not true..." Her lips pulled back into a sneer. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?"* Julian:/ In Hebrew he would answer her canting his head as he spoke, made him appear as though his neck would snap right off, "He's in hell, Ealora. Listen.." A boney finger that appeared sank in would point to the open woods where the screams would begin, of a man's voice and the voice of her mother. "Listen, and you will hear." Shaking his head, he would pull on the skin of his face as if mocking her, "You took such good care of this body. It was dying before you, but it is all you can care about. Do you love him?" Pointing to Maahes with the glass, it was strange to see the Beast so recoiled in himself, but this whole thing startled him greatly. He would take Julian's head off if he hurt her, but when it came to answers he had none. "He'll burn too, just..Mmm." Running the shard of glass up his arm he would moan with the agony of it, as if he got pleasure from it, and the open shirt would expose his chest as if fingers were pushing from the inside out trying to be free. (d Ealora: This time it was her hand that came back where once she had been behind, now she was in front. It seemed she was protecting Maahes from Julian but she was protecting Julian from Maahes as well. She knew her husband, she knew what he could do and what he would do if the situation arose, if she was hurt. It's not him, please. Don't hurt him, please, its not Julian. She seemed to speak without her lips moving. Celadon eyes brimmed with tears at the noises coming from the woods. It reminded her of the prison Maahes had been in Avaria, when he had needed rescuing. It couldn't be real but that did not stop her eyes from swimming with tears even as Julian's demon taunted her. "Yes I love him.." She admitted readily in the face of evil. As the glass was dragged up his arm, she let out a gasp and lunched forward. "Stop!" She screamed reaching for the glass in his hand. "Julian, don't do this to him. Stop it! Julian, please let me help you!" Yet it was the fingers coming out of his chest that shocked her the most and she jumped back. "God in heaven" She breathed in a whisper shaking her head as if that would make such a scene disappear.*
Maahes:/ Snapping from his thoughts, Maahes rejoined the world ashamed that he had ever left it, but Ealora's voice was quick to bring him back down. How could he let this continue? There was much that could be said by way of what happened next, that the blade in his hand didn't press through the chest of the boy to release what was inside. This body was already dead, or so he felt. Moving then put a hold on the demonized apprentice the Arabic left his lips like a chant, far too harsh to be a prayer. You will stop this. You will NOT do this. Maahes barked as the hold only tightened, and the blood of the boy raced upon the floor. Julian's pulse was so weak, that Maahes would look up to Ealora. "He's going to die. This thing is killing him. Can you stop it long enough to get to Godman?" Like some religious super hero, Maahes looked to the Brother as a great man. Ealora was not a healer, but he knew well that she was what Peregrine was. He had brought her back to him once. The shell of the soul inside the Beast's arms laughed a quiet weak laugh as the body that held him was in fact dying, as no mortal man could survive this. "If he dies so too does the demon." Julian was too weak to fight anymore, "But if he lives..will it? We have to get him to Brother."
Ealora worked her magic, and before long the night would open up to the pair that came down the mountain side on horseback to race towards the city in the midst of the night, and land upon the Hall where the Brother would be--or so he hoped. "Open in the name of Lord General!" Maahes shouted, "Wake up, the Brother!"
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Dec 21, 2010 17:27:34 GMT -6
Adelaide: There was enough of her left to make him grieve what was absent. Enough to cause him the sort of misery she had never intended to bring down upon him, though she was the only capable of doing so. Day by day, he grew all the more haggard, speaking to her in a voice low, the sound of a man lingering as much on the precipice as his wife. Though his hands tenderly rubbed her dark curls clean, they were never further apart. Upon different ledges they stood, the wind howling across those desolate Scottish hills.
It was not so far from winter's start, but it had already settled on the land. Freezing rain and uncertain flakes of snow, whistling and forlorn winds that screamed in from the north, ice making every walkway slick and dangerous, and now the boughs of pine wrapping down the banisters of her new home. He would sometimes find her there, her hands buried in the green, the fresh and sharp pine scent burning her nose. She had a good vantage of the central hearth, where a fire constantly burned low, the peaty scent wafting through the house. Despite the clothes she wore, and the bed covers that trailed behind her, draped over her shoulders, she never could get quite warm enough.
Did a part of her yearn still to warm him as he slept restlessly beside her? It was not present, not as she slept upon her side, bolstered by pillows, the new metal jewelry glinting through frosted panes of glass. Through her soundless dance they went, a macabre routine of Adelaide moving through life without presence, of Jean-Claude tending to her as if she were not pregnant but infirm, while her soulless eyes gazed about her changing world, comprehension flickering low, but a flame nonetheless. She couldn't remove the bands, though she tried; staring at them in her reflection for long hours as she stood over the basin of water was how he often found her, though she just as frequently wandered off when she found herself observed.
Yule neared. It was one of her favorite holidays, but she hardly minded as their home transformed for the season, and they were visited irregularly -- met at the door with stern disapproval from their maid, her arms folded across her chest, jowls shaking no. That is, until one crystalline morning when Margot stood at the door, wrapped heavily in furs, refusing to take the maid's answer and return to whatever darkness she had just emerged from. There was a cut along her cheek and a hand-sized bruise to accompany it, but she seemed oblivious. She was never irreverent, but she was never so firmly rejected, and stood her ground until the maid stepped back, at which point she seized her moment and pushed into the house before the maid could slam the door shut while she went to inquire with the master over his rather solid guest policy.
She flew up the stairs before any had a chance to catch her, and discovered Ada standing over the bowl of water. Here, Margot's hesitation almost ruined them both, as she stood with her mouth open, horrified by what had become of Adelaide. What had been a boon to her was a curse upon this woman. Benoit would never forgive her for what she'd done, though he had asked her to do so. His fury at discovering what had become of Adelaide, and Margot's involvement, was the reason for her puffy, discolored cheek -- but he had asked her to do this. He had asked her to bring Adelaide to safety, lest any come seeking the woman's remarkable talents. Her heart struggled to start once again, and she grasped the woman's hand before Ada could move away. There were a series of catches worked into the elaborate designs upon the cuffs, hidden machinery that required a precise touch to release. Margot removed the cuff in less time than it took to blink, and though she seemed prepared to face a number of possibilities now, she seemed unready for what actually happened.
Adelaide's eyes pinned upon Margot's. Pairs of the same color and shape, such a dark brown as to appear black, one fringed in ombre and the other in gold; though Margot's remained observant, Ada's flickered with emotions uncommon to Margot's face. She failed to understand them, though they appeared to be her own staring back at her, and was so caught up in that pure moment of recognition that she failed to see Ada begin to list to her side, and eventually crumple to the floor. Here, a lifetime of uncertainty and terror seemed to catch up with the young woman who had returned from Spain with Julian; here, for the first time ever, she lacked the knowledge of what to do or say, as the door swung wide behind her, the maid's hand upon the wood while the Master Aquitaine all but pushed Margot aside to arrive at Ada's side.
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Post by Janice Olivia Monroe on Dec 21, 2010 17:52:30 GMT -6
The Business of Living Beyond Horror: I Master deAquitaineOnce upon a December, his voice carried through the halls, as the day came to pass with the sun that could not melt away the snow, but still warm their hearts. In the great library he read to the little roses, Rosalind's youngest and brightest students. Daughters of Dukes, and Nieces of Royals--the bankers daughter--the merchants little hands; all sat before the Master listening as each painted page told stories of towers, and princesses lost--dragons, and brave knights. This was a lesson as well as a treat, for he taught them to listen, kept them poised and perfected as they sat like ladies, and corrected each mistaken outburst of what was to come next. "It is important to listen, all good things come to those who wait." His gloved hand came to tap the nose of Apollonia who was her father's spitting images save for her mother's grace. With their hair done up in curls, with ribbons and lace it was nice to see Genna with the young ladies and enjoying her time here. This was a quiet time that both of them enjoyed while the rest of the world remained in the bitter world outside their windows. School would only be in session for a few more short weeks, and then they too would break. The children kept him young, and in their lessons he lived his childhood over again. The little Roses were no older then 5 and hardly 4, but still how they were aware of the world around them. Each day the sound of the walking stick would cause them to turn open eyes to the door, and live in the moment they saw the Master Aquitaine--pout when it was the Lady Inveryne, for she was rather serious in everything she did--perfected in her art. Of course..Jean-Claude never told her that. When the book would close he would rub his eyes cross from reading such fine print, and the one permitted to hold his cane would return it to him with a gracious curtsey. "Merci." (d Duchess Vincere St. LaurenceDancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember: and a song that someone sings once upon a December. Winter songs were given notation in the frost ridden window panes. It was crafted to perfection by little fingers tracing on the luxury of glass only for Jack Frost to play with them by making his own design superior in eternal child's whimsy. Winter was a capricious season, but Scotland was a capricious country. Snow couldn't be undone by sun but it could be melted by the rains that would freeze to ice sheets on the cobble stones. To make sense of all that was un-sense was an artform that not too unlike winter writing in cold places was appreciated, if not perfected, by unusual minds. Claramae had to witness for herself the arrival of such young, precious life. A part of her bawked at the idea of allowing the hall to be used in this way, but was it not already for those far older? The other half laughed at how gentle hearted she really was. A part of her enjoyed the fact the minds so anxious to learn were neither broken, bent, or jaded. It brought a spirit of redemption to a place in need of forgiveness. "You are not the youngest anymore," she told the son of the one eyed swordsmen, "Nor is Bromheilde's niece. What say you to this?" Claudio adopted a casual, humerous indifference to life. He smiled, a bit of it mildly extended by way of where scars fell on his face, but not too the point of madness. He was still handsome, and a jester. "I say, Madame, that it is good. It is good for the Masters to have humor, and a purpose. It is a quiet season. That is not so bad, either. Though I doubt it's complete silence." He smiled, looking to Claramae being escorted by his father up the grand staircase. It had been too long, too many weeks! Now, to the right of him was his own escort. So surreal. So strange. Yet it was as if he missed no beat either. "Though your apprentice, she is silent." Silence came in the form of a woman young of face, but not in the mind. No, not anymore. Not so light, but not so dark. Indeed she'd earned the name iron butterfly for her sense of resolve. "DeAquitaine will not believe his eyes, to see La Bella with us again." (d) Master deAquitaine They say they were rumored to be the first to court, followed on the defined skirt tails of those who were veterans at it on distant shores. Rumor had it the Princesses lived in the Castle's towers, and through the minds of the youth would someday come down. Rosalind and he perhaps were starting an army of well dressed courtiers who would kill in their sleep, and the thought amused him to no end. However, for once he was happy to be free of the blood and let secrets remain. "We are only borrowing the hall. Until something is built to my standards." Another Hall of course. One just as this one is, but of course he was dreaming was he not. Where would the funds come from, and more important where would they put it? At the door he would smile dropping in on the conversation as the sea of fluttering little skirts came around his knees, giggling as they saw Claramae, and it really made him feel all warm inside watching her. Was she ever this way? It was hard to imagine what the Duchess would have been like, though he didn't see her the type to be so open about her flattery. Now..the Angel? He had one picked out that she reminded him of her. A little quiet one with hair the color of gold, braided behind her back she always wore pale blue as it was her favorite,the sky..the sky..She was fascinated with the colors of the world around her, but more so each story he told. Even when there were dinners to attend she never spoke much. "Mademoiselles..how do we great the Duchesse mm?" In perfect choirs they sang their praises of the afternoon, and bobbed their head in greeting while the old Master would raise a dark brow for her approval--amused to no end. He really did need other hobbies..tormenting old souls at night in his tower, and raising tomorrow's future to be respectful to all around them--really Aquitaine? (d Duchess Vincere St. LaurenceClaramae rose one eyebrow to indicate her utter appraisal of the situation as quite droll: the man who pulled apart criminals for lack of anything better to do was the same who no doubt busied the hands in his shop to adorn the cherubs before her to match a Frenchman's view of heaven on earth. She canted her head to the little women, bidding them good afternoon. Approval? It was the glitter in the corner of her eye proving to the foundation for expression in this the late summer of her own life. No, it was not a dream he was having unless his hallucinations moved like she did, no doubt they had sound where Claramae's step always had none. "Ah, I see. Until then you may continue on as you please, it is an honor to have such families within the halls." She had no list to qualify but it was evident that if such children were here the blood was old and quite blue, well monied or well mannered. Claudio watched as some of them moved away from the gathering, only to watch the little sky adorned child look long at the woman on his arm -- Lady MonroeThe silence of the abbey had not harmed the soul. Instead, it took the boisterous, unseen edges still needing to be smoothed and did so in a way that shone with the work of her other mentors. A quiet smile was given the girl, who afforded Janice one in return. One could want to aspire to what Janice had become: to the age where secrets were anything beyond the obvious, any dazzling, spellbinding possbility, she was only an elegant woman with a tall milk-peach throat, polished, doe like eyes and impossible amounts of golden hair all twisted and twined around a gold hair comb. She might be the Duchess' daughter or her niece, so like them had undergone the same cultivation. What waited for them, if it was this, made the lessons seem worthwhile. From the girl she turned her eyes up to Jean-Claude, lowering herself as well as her eyes to bid him good afternoon with a curtsy and soft French. (d) Master deAquitaine He would in turn offer them all his affection, stopping to touch the face of Claudio to what would look to be a pleasing well wish, but in truth Jean-Claude would test the color of his skin--the pigment in his eyes, and the reaction time they had to the light. He was mending rather well, and it was for certain a happier time for all would have fallen had the young Italian die. However, it was what was on his arm that had enchanted him, always would--always will. "Mon ange de la soirée..How wonderful it is to see you. How are you feeling?" It was a question perhaps asked too much of her, but never did they dig any further. It was a name that did not need be spoken for the very soul did plague his own, but it had been nearly a month since last story told of the boy who was not his own did make the news. It was time to move on. From across the hall the Lady Inveryne would release the young suitors shaking her head as she would call to the young mistresses and be off to continue on with the lessons. Even Genna was happy to go on, with children her age, and see the city as the grown ups did. It was pleasing to know that somewhere there was a bit of hope for them yet; Adelaide has not changed much, but Jean-Claude didn't speak of it in public."On the arm of a brave Knight, Dear flower look how you have blossomed. Spring has come at last." He smiled kissing the back of her hand before tucking it in the bend of his own arm, and raising his brow for Claudio to release his hold--privilege of a Master indeed. "Walk with me. I could use a bit of enlightenment on your work..adult conversation that does not involved princesses locked away in towers." (d Lady Monroe Claudio was a testament to his father's robust health or the rumor that some part of Voltaire really was feline thus resulting in one of nine lives used. He smiled to his master, proving in features that his health returned if not in the presentation of form. All of the young girls brought his father to whisper in his ear that one might become a fitting wife for him in fifteen ten to twelve years, to which Claudio only shook his head. Humor never left this house. It only slept like a large bear in the deep of the woods. Janice looked around, finding a bit of herself in the exuberance of the young while recalling that the new mint shine of living still lurked somewhere inside. A part that never grew up even as she did another year. Within a month, Mon Ange would be twenty-two. "A flower so cultivated by the abbey and given back to those who understand rare things. Let it be spring then." Janice nodded to say that it was fine. He didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but the place he had for Janice in it was as wide as the place she had for him: fastest of friends, ever and always. He did think of her as the sister he must strive to protect! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Footsteps to footsteps over the beloved terrain. Why, even the stride of her step had changed, it had taken even that extra year, but there was truly no sign of the maiden any longer. The woman had dimples though as she smiled to him "Oh? What would you wish to know? I have been away from the convent now long enough to emass a body of recent work though have done some within the abbey as well. But ask and it is yours. I missed you, you know. My aunt, the Reverand Mother, can still only appreciate the work of my father and uncle so far, while you embody it. I do not blame her. It is an acquired taste, and she is a nun." (d) Master deAquitaine" I have been rather lonely, with Adelaide still so very ill. I have been beside myself with the want and desire of company. Let it be Spring then, though there is a Holiday coming up, with festivals and dances. Perhaps you will accompany me, be my partner unless the Young Master has asked you?" Looking over his shoulder to Claudio who watched them still, he was a fine catch indeed and would make a very devoted husband. Though something told him his precious flower would stick to her studies. "Is there anything new to translate? Anything on modern science or theory? What of philosophy?" He would scoff at her telling of her days at the abby and shake his head, "My darling you were born to fly free from that life the moment I first let eyes on you, do you not remember? Your place is not there, never has been. It is not such a shame to like pretty things, or feeling beautiful in something other then..nuns." He would wave his hand of it--more lace there then perhaps her entire dress. (d Lady Monroe "You are everything, you all are. I was close to retiring within the world to where you say I do not belong, but you see there I disagree with you. I belong in that world as much as here, or any truly. It is an aspect of silence, patience, grace, and knowledge in all worlds that is my keeping. The Abbey restored parts of me that could not be mended otherwise, and when it was done God willed me away. My aunt is very sad of it, but we have one another again so this matters most. We are blood her and I. I am not the only one anymore, nor is she." She wrapped her other hand over the corresponding arm of his "I have prayed for Adelaide, and still will so. Should you ever wish another pair of hands to help you, I am my masters living lexicon." She smiled, with such a pride as to be the masterwork the shame was damn near sinful. Pretty impertinence, that. As they walked on she nodded to the idea of parties "There is to be an outing on sleds in the country, you should come with me. It would be an honor, and you should know that Julian has not asked me. He has not written, nor inquired, but I do not despair of it.I love him no less, but if he comes from wherever hence he has gone he will see me living. He will see I am still Janice Olivia Monroe, and he may speak his peace on the matter. There is no shame, Jean in pretty things, or knowledge. Such knowledge. If you could only see the careful texts being selected for residence in Northampton, things the Master has saved over years, her collection...between estates now moves here. Some of the prize of her tapestries alone, the silver in the candlesticks enough to fill a mine. That woman was not lying when she said she had carefully distributed coffers. It is still the knowledge I like best. I have been translating a work of Roman government, it is a dual task really .The translation and the..'human translating' if you will of one of his sons, the human translation for once was a little shorter than the writing. I am not even ashamed of darker aspects of my person anymore. God creates and makes no errors, it only took me many years to understand all of it. Some things will never change though, my love for you..or the others. Even Julian, but again, I refuse to weep in to my pillows for days and nights." (d) Master deAquitaine For a long moment he was quiet, not wanting to give into his confession, but.."I was not talking of Julian, Mon cher.." With a heavy sigh, she was the first to mention his name around the Master. Who all but held himself together with strings as it was--his stitch was strong, but the name was as sharp as a blade. "None have heard from him, Janice. There hasn't been any talk of any sort of movement in the Underdark, and my resources have come with hands empty." His entire body tightened to hold in the outburst of emotion that pooled in his very being. He had yet to let any know that he had already made the preparations for the dire, that his widow would be handed the trust in their self-made empire built a stitch at a time.There was a truth to the entire thing, missed at the dinner table that last they all gathered, when he was pulled aside by the General and Jean-Claude asked of the sparrow there now tied in his hair with the other little bells and beads, he couldn't bring himself to admit it to himself more or less his son's wife, "Julian will not be coming back." His proof was that. He would as well decline her invitation not willing to leave Adelaide, but thought the idea wonderful. She would need this new start. "You are so very strong Janice. I admire that in you. I always have." (d Lady Monroe "Mmm. It is the answer I am still so used to giving, often myself is not separate from the experiences of others near me, especially him. Now? There is too much life not to live it, not after the last year in which two men'swife I have been. It was God's will, whatever has been." The peace was astonishing, a level of wisdom with the acceptance. Where was her own little sparrow? It became the bracelet on her hand instead of the binding tie at her throat where a gold cross hung instead. The wedding band became the links holding the ribbon and chain together. Ingenius, that. He was not an all together bad memory, but she would not be defined by it. "You are strong, too. You have been through much, too, and God willing by the New Year more will come to counter what has befallen already. I believe it will. I am going to build my own green house in Northampton as well, the Master has given me a sizeable portion of her garden, for I can house more than along the Row. Though I have enertained selling my house, purchasing another better suited to an eecentric scholar." The idea lit up her face as she walked with him more, coming to the balcony where she looked over the entirity of the world. Claudio watched them both at a respectful distance, to which she teased with Jean-Claude at a tone the Italian couldn't hear. "If he stares any harder his eyes shall cross and then be stuck. His honor keeps him well behaved. He has not been here long but he is far too accomplished with the local women. We have too much respect between us, that and I believe he is afraid I would make him not breathe if he tried anything." She put her hand up to laugh behind it, though Claudio was right. Just because she was far more gentle in how far her cheek turned than the others, he never wished to be around for the transition. He'd seen her recent plant induced handiwork! (d) Master deAquitaine "Oh..I am not so strong. There are many times in the night I wake to the memory of his voice, when he was young he would run from his room with an accomplishment, and when he grew into that young man I was sad the day he stopped. I keep waiting to hear his steps, the light things that they were up the path, cursing under his breath of the snow." He sucked in a breath turning his back on the Young Master so that he would not see the struggle the older man gave, his reputation would be ruined--Claudio need not see him in such a state. He fought the tears by closing his eyes, and the single drop that slid down his cheek was rumored to turn to stone, much like that of Claramae. "I need your strength right now." He finally smiled after he gathered himself. "With Adelaide not in her right mind I fear she is next, and I can not live without her." In French he would excuse himself, raising his hand to protect her from his moment of weakness, and he would laugh as he pinched the bridge of his nose to shield from the pain of holding back, "The only other person to know how to fix this is dead." He would only fix it by knowing how to calm his Master. Shaking his head he would look towards the sun in hopes to dry his eyes and mask what just happened. "Now. You were saying about sleighs?" (d Lady Monroe Janice tilted her head to watch the progress of emotion fight with his flesh for display. What would win? It was a draw between both, between the human show and self control. She wasn't there for a little, fading in to the tapestry and shadow as even her breathe slowed for him to give him the space he needed to open, to speak what his mind was burdened with. Gently she touched his hands, squeezing them. Kissing his cheek she let the moment of heartache pass. She emphasized her shared love, her thoughts, worries for him and Adelaide with her smile. A face that could say a thousand things was as indicative as the silence of all of them where they guessed what had to be conveyed. "There will be a sleight ride, all day and evening in to the country, and a bonfire. I am going to go, I have a few friends, there are some courtiers from Flanders." Courtiers, friends? Had he gone to sleep only to find the impossible occurred in some instances. "They are very interested, but they are not so keen at speaking English just yet." Whatever he wanted of her, he could have. Janice for her part believed Julian still might return one day, it was merely how that illicited the most thought from her. Insain or lucid? Wasn't he already insane before he'd cracked? By this point the love she felt for him was tempered by a pragmatic mixture of anger, resignation, and a profound want to slap him for all he had caused with no reconciliation. No matter how much she loved him, she knew that some small fraction of his imprisoned self merged with his madness, the part of him fed by knowledge. Not that he was looking for her anyhow, she had dreams now and again, still. That he had come for her at the convent. Maybe it was the best part of him coming for the part that would remember him the most to treasure (d) Master deAquitaine He smiled returning to her, the sort that was forced and she above all would know it. This was his face for the world, and he knew that if he ever found peace again it would be somewhere warm and tropical alone with Adelaide on a beach. "Ah to be young again. A sleigh ride through the snow." He looked out the window again, "Its safe again, and would do well to put color on your cheeks, but I will have to meet these..." He sneered, "Boys from Flanders." Lord God save him now. He couldn't stomach it, "Claudio, will escort you no? I'll send along a few of the Talons." He held up his finger to stop her protest, "You are our Princess, a very wealthy young woman. Don't you forget that intentions are not always the best." (d Lady Monroe "They are female courtiers, Jean-Claude, all of them are well received Dutch or French descendents, must you always assume they are male? Well, one of them is male but he is with his sister, and but a year or so older than Claudio. I have no interest in men other than cohorts or intelligent discourse!" She laughed at how things never changed in some regards, not at all! "A princess? What will you do put me in a tower with your little ones? They are very pretty, you are swimming in lace and ribbons. Yes, I am quite wealthy, which is why for that alone if nothing else amidst myriads of reasons I will be wed in name alone. Truly. The Duchess has begun to divy assets as promised for my benefit. I need no higher station, well cared for, well read. I think being a curio among women suits me!" Frankly she was excited about it,a little peace in books for all her life? She had no desire to love, tend, or burden another man or be burdened by a nobleman's want for heirs. Twice married was twice too much (d) and she was learning to live well: To Live
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Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Dec 21, 2010 18:05:09 GMT -6
The Business of Living Beyond Horror II
The Duchess
Take me with you, Mon Diamant.. the Duchess looked over her shoulder to the silent Frenchmen . The words were whispered so low, they could have not been heard at all by the plain hearing. Uncommon had the advantage of deciphering speech in sound meant to be thrown away, nonchalant in a corner. If she hadn't heard, he might not have cared otherwise. Merely his spirit venting, then done with it, his mind could returned to the little place he constructed for himself. Claramae placed her gloved hands over one of the carved busts in the corridor baring no particular name. Her other smoothed over the huge nob of the jet walking stick, now topped with emerald and ruby combined. "Of course." Distinct, only audible to him reply might catch his steps but her hand did for sure, gently turning him about. That would be how the adventure began. Was it an adventure? It wasn't the caliber of past exploits; floors changed not, walls opened not for the time being, no one died. Only old selves they could see in the snow of the wild open fields as the Duchess' carriage left the city gates. For once, it was them again. It had been a long time since it was only two in the silence of a season. War had no banners to wave at them, no generals to command. Idle chit chat wasn't wasted for the sake of sound either. Delicious silence permeated the interior of the carriage while a steady rocking could nearly lull them to sleep. No more than four miles perhaps beyond the city if only a little more the peaks of the estate rose through the foggy sunset. "Northampton." Her reward for service could be be his momentary retreat, and together could be the time for each to continue this odd thing called a 'beginning'. A boot covered foot was produced to walk down the set of steps lowered before her, the velvet in her gown would show him the way. It was new by the looks of the vibrant navy dye. The Duke had taken pains to spoil her. (d)
Master deAquitaine
He would never have asked if she did not persist, his wife who now spoke again to him with her eyes open the world that revolved around him, and he too could rejoin the stars as they circled around her. Adelaide needed this time to heal, and now he could continue his investigation upon the matters at hand that plagued him so. Jean-Claude lived in this season again, and if only for a moment. The holidays had always been a cherished event, as even as a child the great Estate would decorate its halls like that of the lady's hand--her son's polished silver buttons, and he kept the tradition alive. What had withered of the man was masked well beneath the fine French fabrics, and the decorative lace trim--he was nothing but hardened stone. "Son merveilleux..Diamant." He spoke in one breath living in the glory of it all, her estate was lovely. His gloved hands came to clasp the top of his cane as the carriage would draw to a close, and what could not be seen beneath the black leather was how white his knuckles had become with the very thought of moving again after such a ride. The winter was the enemy of his bones, but the life-force of his soul. None could master it as he, "I am surprised you have not held more events here." Replacing the silk brimmed hat atop his head as he would help her down, his black orbs couldn't help but look about in wonder. "Beautiful." Tucking her hand within the bend of his arm, he would cast her a rather important look of, and where is my room? (d
The Duchess
Winter was the paradox of seeing beauty through the veil of white-death. A child of may, Claramae would always be bound to the season of the cold, a time when things were never as they seemed. Silence teeming with noise. A blossom on a withered vine. She embraced what was the most juxtaposed in life as much as she embraced her new state. Though she had healed enough to ride a horse, a cold day such as today wreaked havoc on the otherwise marveled ability of the body's repairs. In every broken bone the wind whistled, in every bent sinew was the only fire that howled. She placed the tip of her cane down along the packed earth pathway beyond the great gates. "Actually," she deffered her eye,the tip of her cane to point off to the side of the home to the place just behind the front. "My ballroom will have its use, I have offered as the place for the dancing, the bonfires of the woods will burn in the woods just there. Her Majesty was quite pleased with the offering." She slid her arm in to his without much to-do, it was expected after all. The footmen assisted the driver along with the otherstable hands to gather the the team of Freesians back to the stables. The door that opened for them was tall wood, imported from England. Lion's heads opened great mouths to hold rings of iron that were pulled away to reveal the households interior. "The estate covers twelve acres, and was designed by Joseph Paxton. I am quite admiring of Mr. Paxton's works, the Griffin Palace on the mainland is exceptional. It was built with Loggias between places, in the Italian fashion. It must have been fate do you not agree? Our own beloved hall has the loggia style to Sorschal Greco-Roman favor, but this is merely an estate home. It has my own personal touches now by way of her furnishings, though it is well supplied, " A family banner hung over their heads, whilst off to the side the household livery color was assigned of ivy on large red/white places, where the unicorn pranced with the Ducal coronet. The gifted tapestries must have included one of an ancient coronation, dating perhaps to the year of 800, given the fashion. Well preserved. Servants set about lighting the silver candle sticks, and one of the overhead chandeliers who's iron facade was softened with the use of hanging crystal pieces. "Come, let the servant have you coat, we will to a fire before we tour. I can not fathom to walk any less purposeful step." Admitting of age with a wry little grin? Why not. The winds howled outside though it sounded akin to a symphony. Stone floors clicked under canes until they came to walk on a long Turkish confection. (d)
Master deAquitaine
"You speak of these names as if I should know them, Master Laurence, but you remember I'm a scientist." He teased as the servant would help shed away his coat, the hand amazed at how much lace was in fact tucked under the vest acting as his ascot. The careful placement of his cane would follow before the click of his shoes as the leather soles brushed the surface of the stone. "Mmm, it is missing something." A quirk of his own lips as he went over the detail of it all, and clasped his hands behind his back with his cane tucked in the bend of his arm. "All of the young ladies are keeping Lady Harper, and Dear Sweet Raelin with preparations for this event, even Janice is bursting at the seams about it." He went quiet then, giving her a chance to catch up, before he continued. busy with preparations* "Business is alive, so much so that by the new year there will be enough to retire the entire trust into the foundation of the school. I had the papers drawn up that would include Janice's name in them as the soul heir. She may do with it what she wishes, and throw it away for all I care. Though.." Looking up at the paintings he grew quiet, "I had hoped to see her move along." (d
The Duchess
"You should know them," she chided with a sly smile "Mr. Paxton is exquisite, he will bring much artistry to the islands, a great sense of...culture with his work. I think I may inquire of him to enact my ideas upon the hall, or some such recommended entity, for beautiful arbors and fountains for the hall garden. His selection of masonry, you will see when we reach the gardens." Business was alive, a sign that indeed things were living. She gave nod of the head as he watched the paintings come to life in a style with more definition to person that the medieval-favored of the tapestry, work of those who favored truth in form, depth in colors. Bold, spectacular. Beside the portrait of the Duchess and her husband, there was one of the aforementioned Lady Monroe. It had been no easy task convincing her to pose, but she looked as if she had always been aristorcratic by the way of it. "Janice has taken it upon herself to lend her suggestions to the ball room, as it so delights her so I see no reason to say no. She has developed an exquisite taste for one so plain. She moves along quite well, I would say the abbey had done her well, she has emerged from it filled with vigor, a spark erupting to light. Come Spring's warmth she shall take a tour of Europe. I have given her the portions of funds allotted her as promised, and some of my estates as gifts. She shall to the Papal states, after France, then to Spain once more. The Germanic states, Cologne, as it is a trade route city though I could not so part with that estate, Michael is fond of it given it is where we met again. She has spoken of selling her cottage and purchasing another along the row, or converting it ot an extension of her book shoppe, which does very well. She is most sought after in matters of intelligence and in other matters..well, I am still amazed. Many of our local 'problems' shall never be so again, and so quietly done. I do say I am bursting at the seams as the expression says with pride." Or sitting upright in chair beside fire with a placid face, it was the same thing. She touched his leg as the servants stirred up the fire, revealing the extensive bits of world delight. These were treasures, he could tell. More so than in ebony hall which held some personal things, but many were purchased new, but here? Here she had truly laid down to make roots. A collection of venetian carnival masks and florentine needlework hung on a nearby wall (d)
Master deAquitaine
Sitting back in his own chair he would look to her with a smile--one that was as giving as it was happy to receive her in such a state, "Look at you so at home, so at peace. Goodness Claramae what is next? Perhaps you shall be the next to Foster? There is only ever one Apprentice, but think of it. Of all the ladies of this nation that could use your steady hand. There is much to learn from you. I put my own through the fire, and still he never came home to me as tired as he did here." Did he put the blame on her? He tried not to. This unearthly incident was that of poor timing he was sure. With a heavy breath he let go for a moment, happy to have the moment to rest, and ready to confess. "Adelaide and I are talking of moving back to France." octurneSansFin: Looking to her then he would gauge her for a reaction, would she miss him as much as he would her? "My Father is very old, I doubt him to live through the next year, and I am the only heir." Leaning in he would rest his chin atop his hand with a smile, as he whispered, "And we don't fit in here. Well I do not, she..could fit anywhere I suppose." He would almost snort with a bit of laughter seeing the face his mother would make when he did finally bring her home. "They should have retired years ago. If the child inside my wife lives after her illness, and it is a son. I will have to, My sister never did marry." He would shake his head as he started to adjust his collar, "Think of it, a woman from Aquitaine not married." That news surprised him the most, Cosette was beautiful. Letting his head finally fall into the wing of his chair he would cast her a look of a defeated tease, "Foster a son for me?" (d
The Duchess
The chairs each sat in were twins, and all the way from France. Years old by now, they had been lovingly cared for in order to come here. Made without cushions as was the style of the period, the ones under their legs and up to the middle of their backs were thick indeed, the padding under the arms were tied on with gold cordings. "This is my mother's favorite chair, and you sit in its twin, my father's. Each sat in it for many hours in perfect stillness, we with our needles, and he merely looking to us, or the fire." It was not only for death, the silence. A precious memory, a favored state. She caressed the would with more affection that he had ever seen, save that which was reserved for her family, for him. Janice, Julian, even Adelaide had all benefited from the fingers that could claim to embrace as much as kill. "It is important to belong. You are like you're Adelaide, you could fit in where you pleased. You do not even fit in with these years, you're mind is..from another place. All of the noviates beleive we have come from times not yet known to others, our souls come backwards to impart some lesson to the deserving. Maybe it is true, though if France calls you must answer. Heaven only knows how much I will miss you. What ever will I do with my hours when there is nothing to do," it could arise, that possibility with a life like this, "I will have to make visitations naturally, before the winter and the fall, for lord above..moving!" Hands thrown up, she winced, only to fall back in a flurry of laughter. Building a tent with her fingers she propped both hands together, listening. Duty was something the true nobility have bred in, and the son of Aquitaine would not be, if he had none. "You're sister, unwed? I wonder if she had inclinations not too unlike you, you will have to see. You're family, without you would become..lost. This is admirable, do not think it less. The St. Laurence household consists of what you see now, and with the inclusion of Percival as my father's lost son, it may have a chance of going on throughblood. My mother's irish kith and kin are alive and well in Evangeline. I will never bear a child," the factual knowledge wasn't painful. It wasn't sad, though only if one thought of how she was now it might be. How she had always been under the many layers .Protected with so few to reveal to. No wonder she remained her, she could be honest. True. Even loved if someone was brave enough." That was remedied many years ago. Fosterage? Oh..I believe my fosterage is in continuing the work of my master, in caring of his daughter and of your son. His impression is quite much in the house. Him and his wife were given some free reign in the hidden defenses. I am like Janice I think, one day to see him manifest. I do not know why to believe her, evidence points not to that. But not all matters are of imperical nature. Like your Adelaide, and the child she carries, your child. That is a matter of heart, do have. Is that not strange? Ah me..Jean-Claude. I could foster a child for you. I do not believe my husband would disprove. Michael is fascinated by the level of minds. He is far more intelligent than many would believe, only thebrute appearance allows him equitable distance. My children..my children are those I have come to care for, the better aspects of my work. The love I give to you and others. No one will ever wear my face as someone will carry on yours, that is fine." (d)
Master deAquitaine
"All of Europe calls, and I am here wasting my time in silly little dreams." Placing his head again within his hands his very soul opened with every true raw emotion that was possible, "I should have been there all along, let the possibility that something outside the source of God's power can control the world around them. My theory of how the mind works, how the world around us can move with endless power by one little spark..look what good it has done me. I have destroyed lives no?" Looking at her again he loved to hear her laugh, more so then any other on this world..right up there with Genna. He smiled shaking his head, "I have no desire to be anywhere else, but I have no one to leave it to. I had hoped I could shape Julian into that son, but I poisoned him. He is dead now." Jean-Claude had given up, for even Peregrine could not find him in this snow. "I had even thought of adopting another into the name, claiming he was my own, but I know that would never pass. We have such distinct features." Proud of them he was. Settling to give a good look once more he would narrow his eyes, "You do have my mother's nose. Really it could work, Madame, come. Give me a son." He knew she was unable, and in truth he knew if she really wished she could get around that. "I had never thought to see my face on another, ever. In truth..I have not given it much thought until now at all." Chills chased him as the excitement drew closer, "Mon dieu..could you imagine what our children would be like?" Leaning in in a rather roguish way(as much as he could be) he would shake his head. "My good looks..your charm." That charm that even right now would have been only a single raised thin brow and a stone solid frozen face. Really. She did charm him. (d
The Duchess
"You haven't destroyed lives anymore than I have," the sister used the smile to continue to coax him to stay in the moment with her and rifle through possiblities, "with all my heart I believe, Jean, that we were chosen. None of the unannointed could fathon an iota of what you or I do. It is simply that way for a reason. God elects us to different paths, and while man may rise or fall according to free will, are not some things set in stone? Let us not dwell long on Monroe, but know he is not dead. Perhaps what we knew of him, or thought to know, this may be dead yes.When God ordains him to appear again, let those aspects be dead. He did not know himself, we knew, yet could not force .I have given this much thought, and we are not to blame just as some things he can not be blamed for. No. His mind was troubled, he was chosen and troubled. What happened to him was a battle of heaven and hell inside of that mind. You're son..your true son will be born of the beautiful Adelaide, you may well yet have more children. My , my, I do see it." From one subject to another with such ease. What had God told her, what secrets to whisper such peace? She leaned forward to watch as he studied her nose, her eyes. They did have many piercing similiarities, it was really staggering! "Our child would be more striking than Lucifer and more fierce than the archangel Gabriel, no?" Such egos! Wine was brought in for them, and she poured to serve her brother. Such a merry little affair this was. Why, in this room was even the scent of yule tree, decorated with the handpainted delights of the Artisan's guild. "could that I give you such a gift would not michael grow furious? You now how easily jealous he can become," which flattered her to no end, really. "Mmm.. I think I did man kind a favor by baring my womb, good heavens. It has been that way since I was young, I'd say a little younger than Janice is when it was permanent?" Self chosen, self induced. "Instead I will groom your heirs when you send them to cold little dreary islands to find little hamlets of culture. Though that is cruel to say, for now the monarchs of europe, the rich send their sons hence here to learn of the Renaissance ensued! Ah yes. The fire here, the infinite little possibilities. I am going to be giving myself over to science, poetry, and architecture." (d)
Master deAquitaine
"My Adelaide makes such beautiful children. She could very well pass as my own, my Genevieve. I do not think my family will know the difference." Listening to her talk of Julian wasn't as hard as it once was until she spoke of a true son, and he would rival that with a look from eyes so blue they seemed black, "My mind returns now. With Adelaide on the mend, and the child inside her kicking again. However, I can not begin to tell you of the love I had for that boy. Though.." Again he toyed with the talk of their own child, "I would not imagine him to be much like Julian..are you certain you did not conceive before you took that from this world? Perhaps you lived two lives Duchess hmm?" Lord, he wasn't even drunk. "Hide me away here?" Looking around the room he didn't wish to leave, "In your father's chair. Strangely.." he brought his brow together in thought or realization that it did, "feels right." He must have been a tall man, for most of the chairs they occupied often were not long enough for his feet to rest comfortably upon the floor. "Hide me here until I find myself again. I've lost my footing dear sister. Not certain where to go or what to do next. You are right. I could fit into anywhere, but never truly belong." He smiled again shaking his head once more as he let his eyes fall to the ceiling, and the masks there along the wall. A slight little dark chuckle would leave his lips as for the first time in months he laughed, "I have Adelaide's old apprentice strung up in the cages of my tower with my Father's birds." Was that pride? In his madness? He did have that look in his eyes, that spoke of the true madman inside him, "I wonder if any have bothered to feed him. I suppose I will have to kill him. He has seen the inside of my lab, and Julian and I's most prized experiment." A sneer would pull his thin pale lips back as he let his head fall forward--the dark raven strands of his hair tumbling after. Would it ever gray? (d
The Duchess
"Exquisite. Genna, this child, many more their after. Population of the world with adept minds, beautiful faces. I leave this to the likes of you. Why would you ask me to hide you away, you know you are welcome here. What sister would I be if I did not prepare a suite of rooms for you always to have hmm? Just after the loggia, I will show you myself, you will adore it. French and impossibly decadent, room for family, room for your studies." A note of familial pride drifted in the English rose' tones, one that would be pleased to have him visit whenever he deemed fit. A dark ambiance inside of him pulled at the parts in her always enjoying the wicked intentions of the trade, offering a little shrug "You should make use of the Persian mirror chambers, the room opens up completely to a fantastic end on razor thin wires. The birds could feast and perch. Fitting no?" Devoured novas still tried to spark in the glisten from brown-hazels. Always would Death be ever at God's command. "Be done of the affair so you may enjoy your well deserved things of happiness. Why would they feed him? We are not hedonists but it isn't as if we play long with such things.." Truly if he died of starvation it would make it all the easier, and less messy too. She turned the topic back toward his little talk of conception, offering little bits of her personal life. "Look.." Above the hearth were portraits with their names written them, and a small child's portrait between. One of her mother, Liadan, one of her father, Richard, and the small girl the very image of her English father give given her mother was darker headed, until the exact moment light came to make them shine..then she favored her mother, especially in the eyes. One labeled Baroness St. Laurence, the other Baron St. Laurence, and inbetwen the simple title of Lady Aisling, but was that not her name? "You see here there. That is my mother and my father, for all the love in the world I have there is still a soul yet to rival the love I bore to my mother, and he to me. My father said she loved me more than he did, which must have been quite zealous. He doted on me once he discovered how intelligent I was, he was too. Quite a mind for old history. He read the Latin translation of the Greeks." One had but to look at her throat, the little pearl necklace with the B attached to it, it was also around her mother's neck as well. Above the portrait of her mother was her mother and father, and her mother's name was Brianen. (d)
Master deAquitaine
"Could you blame him?" He smiled as she ran through her history of how one was loved more then the other, and let his hand fall between their chairs stretching out in his relaxed state it was rather soothing to watch the fire--the snow outside. Maybe he would get her a pet for Yuletide. She did need a dog. "Have me a home build near you. I'd be happy here. Adelaide would enjoy being so far in the woods." The service would come to set them out a platter of cheese, bread, and of course..wine? Already the staff knew who came, and what it was he loved most in life. Really it was going to be hard to get him to leave, it was so peaceful here, and he needed to heal. It was either her estate, or the aqueducts beneath Skye. "Mmm old history, is treasured indeed, but this is where you both are different Ma cher, You have a mind for the future. Ideas like mine that spin around what once was to make a better life, or better ways to destroy what remains. This is where you and the entire world are different." (d).
The Duchess
"No, I can not. He never beset my mother for another child, either. Oh I dare say they were happy, given the unusual make of the match, her being Irish. It was not uncommon for the time but had fallen out of favor, for he never expected her complete submission as if she were conquered. She was a true biblical wife, but none could deny Liadan her charm. She was called the most spectacular rose in London, an English pride by some coutiers. It drove others near mad with jealousy. Her mother was beautiful, too. Do you recall when Sorschal would, only once before you, call me Aisling? It was a genuine slip for he was not all together himself and had never done so in public," what constituted as more than two depending on the occasion, "But he was never wrong to do so. It is my mother's name, and he always speculated, my real name. Depending on the parent, my names were often interchanged. My mother called me Aisling, my father called me Aisling Clare, and in court I was always Claramae as I was christened. Old history is cherished history. I have always been proud of it, carrying them with me wherever I go. That is why it was no easy thing..to solve my mother's fate as I had at long last. That was no place for her to be, but now she is at rest, with my father and her mother. My aunt, her sister, will be cared for by Evangeline, her daughter.. My mind for the future? I dare say this is why I 'belong' no where either, but it is merely the advantage of being well bred and well raised that I can make my oddities acceptable to those who employed me. We always ponder what will be, what can be. Chosen. You asked me once if I had concieved?" She lifted her finger to denote the number "Once, only once. It was stricken from my womb faster than the sun e're rises. It was a true child of Gottschalk. His obsession was founded in our intelligent exchanges and fights, but also in violation or keeping of honors. He knew I cherished mine more than most women, with no intention to sacrifice it before my electing. Before he left England, that was our first exchange. I could not say I won, really. He though to impune that honor would ruin me, not expecting that I would hobble him in the process for life. I was eating of herbs at the time to marr my inards as was, so when I discovered what had become..I ate with great feverancy of them, and it was undone not long after discovery. All it did was make me more hell bent on unraveling him from the inside out really. It did frighten me though, he is the only..man..and those of his lineage..his madness, that frighten me. After that it never occurred again, and within a pair of years I was permanently sterile." (d)
Master deAquitaine
"Aisling," Sounded glorious with his accent, sweet and delicate though nothing of the sort he knew her to be. There was so little to do with her family now that every little hint she gave into her world was precious. "What a child that would have been..perhaps it best." He smiled, never really very good when it came to loss, for Jean-Claude felt himself on the verge of eternal life; discovering secrets that had so little to do with the world around them, but the future ideas that came from his day dreams. "I think of you as the type to have been a wonderful Mother, even when you swear you would not. Perhaps throw around the idea of taking under your wings a few of the offspring of our nation. Rosalind and I really have had a blast, they have kept me sane."There it was again..the silence that set in upon his brow, furrowing it as he did when he went into thought, pulling memories like stars one by one from the sky he would study it for a moment before returning it to the heavens. "You once told me Claramae, that it is of your own doing your sterile state, and now I wonder if that was the truth." Looking to her then, he could tear through any other person on this isle with that look alone, "Or is this like the masks you collect? Shall you wear this one too? Tell me..deep down..once and for all that the reason you do not have children is because you will not..or can not, because if it is the second. Then by all means, Mon cher..You have an older brother who knows the human body inside and out." Leaning upon the arm of his chair he would smile, with a raise of his black brows, "You know I can see right through you now that I know where to look." (d
The Duchess
"It is Irish Gaelic, it means poem or dream." All of her name was a poem, a vision, born in the time of May. Beauty wasn't something to deny in any woman Jean-Claude kept company with. Each flower in his garden was distinct, justlike him. The deeper they moved through her life was the deeper they went through his, " You thought to have not of your face with another, yet when you dote upon Genna, or Apollonia, when you see the eyes of the very young was it not something you craved? You are still a man Jean, and men look to continue their names .You? You'd do so with a love. You adore the very young, it suits you. To me, marriage is a duty. Women become mothers not always of want, but in necessity. They come to love their children yes, but none have choice until a realm such as this. Even then..many exercise it not. When I was younger I thought it would be expected of me, yes, but my mother's death and my father's denial of how it came about changed all that. I came to the keeping of Vittergaust, whom I found to be a friend of my mother's from her earlier days. He too desired to do as my father could not nor what other male relatives could not, see me wed..he feared my mind in as much as he cultivated it. He thought he was ruining me. I was wed already, to knowledge. To math, to science, to medicine. To things no woman could make acceptable yet I had..I had leftmy father to find the truth and in doing so found much more. I decided not to rear children if it could be helped, so took of the herbs mixed to my own potency, with the understanding that it might be expected of me still. There was only one man, the Italian, the cousin of di Favino I might have done that for..yes. But not long after his death I was permanently sterile, and prior to what Gottschalk had done, and then in Italy during his true capture of me solidified. My calling could not encompass a child. Oh, Vittergaust was the exception to the rule I believe. Others like him have had children and gone on..but some of us are wholly craft devoted. I was that woman the moment he took me beneath his wing, and still am now. Oh, I have had my moments of wishing to have had at least one, for Michael's sake, only for the reason of carrying on a name. I am still noble born, noble bred. I have no maternal instincts to breed or to be a grandmother. The only child I have ever loved is Janice, and the only children I have come to love after are the ones you have. As for myself, no, sweetheart. If my mind can undo the human body surely I can undo my own? I am sterile by way of science and not too mention expounding upon injury done earlier in my career, I finished the work it half started for my own benefit. I do not want children." She looked in to his eyes gently patting his leg, "I can not have children. It is not like the Queen, where she was scarred but needed only a chance to mend, oh no, I am irrevokably scarred, and self inflicted. Why are you so set to the idea I can, or should?" inquired, biting in to her bread, drinking deep of her wine. "Michael and I are enough for one another, and we are never short of visitors" (d)
Master deAquitaine
He took her hand that touched his leg, and held it for a moment before he answered as he brushed his fingers over her own, "Because..I could not imagine my son not having someone like you." Genna was far too much like her mother, in the way she would never come around from the outdoors long enough to keep a straight face, and she had the wild in her like her true father. It was wrong of him to think he could deny that. Releasing her hand so that she could continue his mind slipped into what she spoke, and silently he worried of Le Joli Ange, would she be able to have a child again? His hand came to his heart as he realized that the nursery was set up, had she even been in that room? He would sneak and remove it all, replace it with books, flowers, and other pretty things. "It is selfish really." He smiled, "But it is what I look forward to in life. Claramae really..take on a few littles. They bring such joy to this world. There is one. Oh how she reminds me of Janice at that age, or how I would have imagined her. All she does is smile, and so smart. It is not so hard to learn, its very natural to care for a child. In my entire life I can count on how many times I have seen my father face to face, isn't that sad? But he was not a bad father, he kept to his duty, just as you will keep to yours I am certain, but...." He sighed deflated again, "Look what happens when I take charity off the streets. My mother is right. You can't raise that sort of wild out of someone." He laughed lightly, "Oh she is going to hate Adelaide..but she can not help it, she is built like a milkmaid." (d
The Duchess
"Oh, Jean-Claude, you sweet dear. You know it was not off of the streets per say, truly Julian was born of old blood merely too poor to be high peerage. Not all can be as lauded or landed as some of the other fortunate kindred. He was just not entirely as appreciative as he should have been. Now Janice, well..I suppose she had a natural advantage. Her parents being of the gentry, already a due amount of manners, her father a servant to an earl. Her mother a courtier. But the girl was horribly awkward, a bumpkin to be frank." One supposed it was that deep down Janice craved it, freedom, while being a male Julian would have years of it before duty made him settle. He was merely stuck up while Janice was simply upside down needed to be righted. If each of them could hear the masters talk, rather insulting! "Oh Adelaide keeps you young, she is..vibrant. You know your mother may hate her but who cares no? We can not always be so staunch, even we live. Look at Michael. He is as a crude as a pimp and as mannered as a boor on the best of days but he plays chess! Truly I could find no better partner, a chess man and a poet, even if he is a soldier who shys from any rank, I mean really. A Duke on foot? The man is not Aberdeenian nor is he an Apollius but what can be done of it. Avarians." She shrugged, more wine? He was given some. "But Michael has like Adelaide does a soul. Much of our class haven't any spark in soul at all. Why do you think so many men and women have affairs with the stable keeps and milk maids?" (d)
Master deAquitaine
"Oh I could care less what it is she thinks. My Adelaide is my world, and my mother is impossible to please. Covered from head to toe in diamonds and never satisfied. His Ada had spark alright, and Jean-Claude's face flushed bright red as he laughed, "I will tell you this..go back to our topic before of medicine and science hmm?" He could hardly admit it, and hid his laughter behind his hand, "For how many years now Adelaide and I have shared a bed..in sin, glorious sin. On the stairs..on the roof..so many sheets, tables..your study in the Hall.Why did she not become with child? I have thought myself too old. Perhaps at a certain time in a man's life there is..nothing there, until one night. She gave me the strangest look when we were talking of children and I said to her the same thing. 'You would think by now Adelaide..'Folding his hands over his chest he gave a hearty heavy laugh, one that was very rare, "All this time she had been taking medicine for it. Thought I did not want children. Three years she let me think this. Promise me you will reassure your husband this..?" He was red around his cheeks from laughing so hard, and eyes watered from how good it felt. (d
[b]The Duchess[/b][/color]
Claramae burst out in a loud set of giggles in thinking what old Madame de Aquitaine would make of undancing, too high skirt, too low bodice Adelaide. Smart, brilliant, too saucy Adelaide who would have of their lands salivating at the mere sight of herself. As the matter of science interesected with a matter of human nature, she bawked at him. Her study! Then she laughed again as if they were but two young people discovering the joys of amor for the first time. So beset with laughter was she that she shut the door so they were truly unto themselves."Ah, so there is the proof of it! No, you never seemed too old nor marred. Despite all that happened to you, you remained quite verile. If I were a fertile creature Michael and I would have bred a literal army by now. We have lived for years in civil wedlock as when one copulates they are wed by church dictate, and we lived as a wedded couple without the sacraments." Mon dieu, indeed! "all across the continent, all manner of places. In all manner of positions, much as yourself. Rooftops, woodlands, varoius rooms and halls. Gardens, even carriages. Michael is a passionae man." She curled a bit of hair around her finger, crossing her legs at her ankle before sitting sideways on her right hip with a decadent, wicked grin. "Nor am I a nun. Never a whore, but not a nun either. He has known for years I am incapable, wehave known one another many years, ours was a relationship that blossomed and was ended for a time due to an injury to his memory, at any rate we are wed within the sight of God by sacrement so it hardly matters what we do and when. You would die to see how I squeal when he picks me up in his arms, makes me laugh. I need not assure Michael of anything, besides the important things function quite well." My my. (d)
Master deAquitaine
"Darling..the whole hall could hear it, trust me. I need no proof that you two are passionate. I have heard my fair share of brutal ruts that I need be. Really, you best watch too. Peregrine is a master at the sort of things." Moving from one arm to the other he pointed, "And don't think I didn't catch what you two were doing under the table at last years celebration. I know a man's red face when I see one." He laughed again, "Oh how the world would be surprised to know the you that so few do." Wouldn't they be in for a shock. "For us you are Master, but behind closed doors roles reverse I am certain." He loved to tease her, but with a shrug he said the same thing for he and Ada though..in truth she really did run the entire relationship with her milkmaid spark as they call it. "I would not think you a whore. Ever. Now a bit of Michael's pet? Mmmhmm. (d
The Duchess
"You brute!" She leaned over to swat his arm, "The walls of the Master's rooms are proofed from escaping sound, you only facied you heard, or was that yourself tumbling about in the atrium? Peregrine new better than to invade the sanctity of my private chambers after being allowed but a few times, those are our own, though I suspect you know a wanting look in a woman's eye even in this stone face. I am my husband's military superior, his social superior and oft behaves that way no matter what marriage has entitled him too, or his own efforts..but even the masterful know when to be still in order for a lesson?" She arched her brow with a wry grin "I am, I profess it, his 'pet' as you say. Truly it is for him and of him I have lived so long, not entirely attributed to wit. I may have pieced him together yes but he never failed to find one who could if I could not, to which fortunatly in olden times I had trained Percival so well. They still despise one another. But..he makes allowances for me, he spoils me terribly. He has purchased me new horses for these stables, secured the passage of all my beloved little treasures, and commisioned me a true Ducal coronet. I will tell you another thing, since England..he has been even more doting. It is for that, and for my own self at heart that I have this..state of..ease if you will. I have not had to lift much of a finger as far as the isle's official business. Oh I read things of parliment or the occasional negotation but purely political, can you imagine!I didn't know so many of our own were actually in prayer for the day such would come, they truly feared all of our deaths. He is the best husband for me just as Adelaide is the best lover and wife for you." (d)
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Dec 27, 2010 8:31:14 GMT -6
(place holder)
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Dec 27, 2010 8:31:46 GMT -6
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. ~Albert Camus
The round open moon face cast a warm glow about the world as darkness came to cover it if only for an hour—an eclipse where one laughing god pushed out the other, and with this freed the soul trapped inside. The night was red-gold with her hardest hue to hold, for what did survive in the darkest night when for only an hour the red moon was all that remained unfaithful to the night as it hid behind the earth like a coward in the sky. What scared the moon so bad to cast it red with the bloodstained shadow of the sin of not believing? Here in heartfelt sorrow the world mourned for the moon in that moment, the stars cried out in lament of shadow passing, but with it a life would start again.
“My heart bleeds for this moment, but even now I doubt it.” The Lord son of Aquitaine spoke in a low voice from shadow of the door to the figure at his side who was alive and glowing with the connection to the world around her. Her skin was eternal warmth, as was the Beast that stood just behind her shoulder, and together the very depths of winter could buckle under the hearth of the hearts that beat beneath their flesh. Yet, it was when her hand came to touch the sleeve of his expensive coat did Jean-Claude ease into the idea of it all.
“There wasn’t another way, Jean..trust me.,”Ealora belonged to the night, no matter how devoted to the sun she would remain this was her world. Every fiber in his being, every light in her eye whispered of stories far too vivid to ever be lies, and far too dangerous to ever be true. For a careful moment Jean-Claude would study her again, thankful truly for all that was done, and wondering what it felt like to be so connected with the wild as she was now. Something still bothered the Frenchman, and it was a deep regret that he did not outright ask it, for when the subject came around his opportunity to live it again fled from him, but his ability to survive was remarkable.
“You have saved his soul, but we can not protect his life. You forget he has a warrant out on him to surpass that of modern asking. How could I protect him from the people?” Moving in beside Julian then he would take up his hand marveling at how warm the flesh beneath his fingers felt, and so thankful. Maahes who had been quiet throughout the entire process, watching as heaven and hell did battle before his eyes, he could now add one more war to his estate—he was a survivor, a veteran again. “Can you blame them?” The Beast spoke suddenly stepping further into the room, with the blood of the Apprentice still stained to his bronze skin, and feet bare from running out into the cold. He had been a true barbarian to carry the boy back over his shoulder, through the snow, and through the woods. “The people have lost much, and they look to the Lord for revenge, they will need a head to hang. There will not be rest until justice is brought to this matter. Even my word can not soothe the cries of a motherless child.” He was right, and the look upon the rest all well knew it, and Maahes watched first hand as the Brother brought a soul back down, and damned the devil back to hell. He knew now it could not have been a single man’s working, but even he hadn’t the ability to change the minds of those who would never believe. “Think of him then as one who would go so willing, with blood on his hands that he meant to put there.” So spoke a voice in the darkened hall, the eternal sun himself with hair the color of wheat and a smile that returned the memory of the very devil himself. Peregrine, had much to see over this moment, and eyes burned in fury to Ealora he knew well Jean-Claude would have begged just the same. Though the scientist looked upon him now confused, trying his hardest to see what it was the pirate was thinking, but he should know now to that he would never figure this one out. Maahes would be the first to question him, and the child of the forest would shake his head, “Listen to me. Neil Campbell, came into the city and a few days later.” He motioned to Julian. Jean-Claude always the voice of reason would shake his head.
“Jean-Claude, he is not an enemy of this kingdom, but he is an enemy to its heart. It would work.” The Beast would answer as he unfolded his arms from his chest, looking to Ealora. She held rank now, a great deal as she so told him in her cabin in the hills. He would need her help, but it could be done.
“Two birds with one stone, Jean-Claude,” Pere would smile touching the Frenchman’s shoulder, “Look at me cleaning up after yours this time, hmm?” And like that they were all gone, and the quiet set in like the cold of winter.
Julian was at peace now on his side, under the careful weight of the down filled covers, and in the supporting hold of the feather filled bedding. The warmth of the room was protected by grand windows, which held the heat of the fire in so that the son of Aquitaine could rest. Even with his hair damp from the washing it was not a worry of his father’s that he would grow ill, for he had in fact found the eternal summer. The spiritual scars were nearly gone, faded with the return of the blood flowing through his veins, and the color filling the pigments of his skin—Julian looked human again.
Hours passed before an entire set of days came to be, and not once did Jean-Claude leave his side, unless necessary. He would check every so often to make sure Julian was still breathing, and with it he would start to swell all over again with the raw emotion that this was real and not a dream. Over the course of a few hours he knew his son to wake, and with it he would meet the dawn for the first time a new man. Julian had rolled from his back to his chest curling his arms beneath the pillow to support his head, and with this Jean-Claude would laugh lightly knowing his apprentice was through the worst of it.
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Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Jan 2, 2011 21:39:35 GMT -6
Prior:Coming Home to a Heart on a Winter's Night, Reply#6of Winter Festivities A Monroe Christmas Eve, 1333 Paths to ForgivenessMaster Maxamillion Voltaire Time moves in and out of itself through the bodies of humans in stages of life; infant, child, adolescene, adult. Maid and young master. Woman or man. Time could penetrate each difference by the hour. So it was a minute was to them an hour, an hour a day. Weeks were months and in one month two years could be lived. Nothing was stationary - at least until the autumn dispated for the winter. All life seemed to turn on itself. The fears of the peasents in the hamelts riddled with poisons stil hadn't stopped the harvest. People leaving for other parts of the island found family to take them, and a life not too unsimiliar from what was left behind. Abandoned cottages were taken down so the land was cleansed, and still they talked of returning in spring when the Lady of the Valley would. So it goes, so it goes. Parties were had, the snow finally stayed without rain fit to wash it. Those that were gone returned. A paradox of time watched the march of time with approval: His youngest son, no his only son, mended well. He held his side from time to time, the scar tissue stuffing skin back feeling like an old sting. "You will be fine," he told his son, "never to forget but you go on. I have survived the Madame's fits of madness. I tell you, Monroe was well chosen to succeed her. The Devil's passions are not too unlike God, for God made him." Claudio gave a nod as he drunk with his father, a man by the standards of the time so not too young for wine. He watched the world go on through one eye, and in a bold move hardly wore the eyepatch now. Let them see his scar. yes. Let them see sacrifice. Even now one eye, winter, or his own scars stopped him not from practicing his moves. The eternal mongoose to kill the cobra. Or was he the cobra, biting the breast of an ancient senator? He ran the room, two steps up the wall only to spring down again, his hand hardly needing to touch the floor. Only at the fingertips. He felt where his weight relied on his hand now. Thus was the product of time in him: late aging. He grinned. Still, he was formidable.. No students, no apprentices. None to mentor. Only his rapier and him. His steel sparking shadow in the room where sword play commenced beneath a dome of light that tothe outside world was still hidden under stone. (d) Master Julian Monroe Her nightmares had been enough to kill him, his heart breaking a thousand times as it seemed each night his hand came to the back of the Angel to wake her from her fears, but gentle enough she still slept. Punished for his sins, he felt this torture to see her..to touch her in innocence, but desire to keep her through the night. It was when her nightmares started did he sneak in after she fell asleep each night and sit at her side with his fingers in her own. "The nerves end there sparking from your finger to mine, this..is what love is." He whispered each night and right before dawn would wake himself to slip back into his room. She did the same to him, sneaking in to check, and if she found his bed empty Julian had become the shadow on her wall until he came from the hall, Just a drink of water. With that they would laugh stand in awkward silence for a minute of longing, and desire before either would give in separate to their respected spaces. However, when the night came too early, and the sky was dark Julian felt himself drawn to the world inside the Ebony Hall, and still the words of his Master carried through his body like the electrons of the lifeforce inside him. Everywhere he went the comment was made of how much he had changed, and it pleased many to hear of how accepting he was of it. Yet, not all was lost of the wayward son of Munro, and the apprentice of Aquitaine. He was stubborn, rightly so with the careless in between of devouring the books given to him, and on the other hand wanting to continue to learn as if he had been the first. He respected a great deal the minds that came before him, but now the changing halls of the Talons were like tall trees as natural to him as the sea.This feeling couldn't be demons could it? Not now. Not with the cross that hung around his neck. It was in the still of the night did Monroe follow the air slipping through the cracks in the stone, and moved where he felt it winding like blood through his veins. Julian has always suffered insomnia, but it is when he has been pushed too far does he think the clearest. It was a river that lead him to the Master, and suddenly the desire to find the new secret was silenced with the yielding of steel. Beautiful. Julian watched him, and could pick up on the same rhythm Claudio pulsed with. They moved in nines, the added hit from eights to be a final death blow in place of starting back at one. Can you keep up? (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire He could. He who had been pushed to the edge of sanity to discover the unyielding country that lay ahead of it. He was possessed, bent. Broken. Ruined. Now he was recovered enough to see the beauty that came when one could harness madness, defeat the maudlin only to better the method of its giving. The Masters were Masters because they harnessed what made man question: origins, common truths, the unknown. They harnessed it and used it to elevate or break. It was what made them seem like Gods. Still, how hard they were to abusers of the profitable enterprise. How swift to punish the enemy. It was a careful thing they had. A god-given thing with respondsiblity to uphold a chosen godhead on earth. Oh yes they had power to pick where loyalty was placed but the flaw was loyalty was never so easy to change.Did Claramae mourn the loss of England even though she had not served it in capacity for many years before seh was its primary Governess? Did Jean-Claude not sigh to watch the France that was forming, exalt in her triumphs or want to scold her wrong? What was never spoken of at least to him directly was how Maxamillion felt of Italia or Germany, the places that made him by blood or land lock. He danced with his imaginary oponent, inflicting a wipe across his chest that would have stopped him enoughto bleed him, to kill. True, his arm was not as fast as it was even two years ago but he was still lethal. And Claudio so young, once mastered his father's style would be -- the thought crossed his mind. He smiled as he came to attention, bringing the folio to his face. He turned, letting it remain, bowing to Monroe. "Young Master. What may I do for you tonight?" How did the wind whistle in bone that moved that way, did he have any? (d) Master Julian Monroe Tonight? Every night? "I..was.." following the cracks in the floor sounded too crazy, and Julian pulled himself like a string to collect to the man he was and not the wide eyed child peering in on the forbidden act. Was there much difference in the way Voltaire loved his wife then in his form? The blade did not bite, but kiss lethally did it not? "Meaning to find you, and your son." Was Claudio here? "He mends well so I hear for a wound that was so deep they said it took Jean-Claude hours to get the bleeding to stop." Not a single flinch of sympathy there for the family, though his heart was drowning in it. He wanted to apologize, formally, but the time simply did not seem to fit. Yet the words fell from his lips without hesitation, "I'm sorry."By now the excuses had all run up, and he felt for certain that there was a great deal of him that could have been without the explanation for the pure fact of him being so humble had been enough to convince the entire nation. Julian was known for his bitter cold manners, and uncaring tone in his voice. His humor was dry, and he didn't smile often--even rarely laughed. What was it she saw in him, many wondered of the pair? "I am not here to ask anything else of you, other then your forgiveness that I know my Master has no doubt begged for in my place. You see.." Moving from the door way he would start to circle the man slowly going over the various objects in the room, "He feels responsible. I do hope you do not feel the same. I acted out of my own, and there was hardly anything I could do to stop it." Claudio fancied Janice far too much for his liking, and if he was aware of how he had carried her to bed a few nights. That wound would have been fatal. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "Your Master has begged many things of your place over many years, since your coming. He had faith in you, though did not rear you in all ways fittingly." He used the tip of his sword to point to the cross now on his throat, at a distance. "There will be those who think you putting on a bold show, and the Masters will keep you close irregardless because you know enough that could kill us all. You or them. That is no way to live" He watched the young man pace, and walk around. and around. He put the sword infront of Julian's feet with intention to stop him, unless he intended to trip over the double blade object. "You move too much for a Master," he noted ,"They only circle like that during interrogations, or before they are about to make a kill." He reached out his hand to the wall before turning. What would do, what would do. He did not hand him a practice foil, but one of the true swords. It wasn't double bladed, but the smithy had touched it recently. "It helps to talk when you move with intention if you must move while you talk. Come." It was not an inviation with an option to deny. Not if he was a smart, forthcoming man. He wanted to be. He was also the Grandmaster's selection, deAquitaine's favored prince. "Come." (d) Master Julian Monroe Julian did not come to an abrupt halt, but would stop when the Master would place the blade at his feet, "Then how do you know I am not doing the same? If this is perhaps a show, then what faith have you?" The invitation came with the root of his own doubt, but of all Julian had never taken the time to learn of Voltaire's life, his story, or what it was that he passioned for. Where had he gotten that scar? Could he still see out the eye? "I bested your son, who you can not say it was for Janice he did not fight, for it was for Janice's life he did fight. Claudio is far too loyal to allow himself to die when the danger of another is still at hand. I crippled this order, plagued the city, and even had my Master without his senses. What bothers you the most..the crimes to which I just admitted, or the fact that I walked right back in? You are too smart of a man to see into my story am I right?" Julian had a wicked way of sounding completely void of any emotion or clue as to how he really felt, but when he took up the sword he felt himself go weightless with the nerves that built. Was he really about to go toe to toe with the Master? "Now you challenge me? Do you plan to teach me a lesson, Master?" Rolling the hilt over in his hand, Julian removed his coat, but would not give the man his back to hang it. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "Mm. Let me to say this: You bested my son because he is too slow, and often too sympathetic. it was stupid of him not to take a killing mark when he had the chance," Claudio was debased with a hiss in the old man's voice as he waited for his opponent to come to the fore. Like a gentleman, he waited. "He does fight for your wife. He feels a great kinship to her, an admirer of her compassion, fragility, beauty. I have told him no woman here is so fragile that a man might break her. Being right of couse, La Bella would have gone on without you. She did not need you then nor would she now, but La Diamante is her teacher. Claudio had no want to kill you, he respected your swordsmanship of course you were beset by a devil so was it you or the devil that bested him? Make no mistake. He is a fraction slower in his timing, but he is not weak.You took down many and finer than you beset, let us see how you do unbeset. An ego with no skill is a terrible thing to waste, and you were nothing if not an undeserving peacoke." He bowed once more, stepping back to make room for the dance. "I am an old man at his things, like relics, I come to worship the art. If you come you come to see if old men are worthy, if the style is worth holding. You are curious as you are willing because you nearly stole the life of my only son." He watched the coat being hung and teased the air around his ear. A press forward, a tipping up, a pulling back. No cut did it leave anywhere on him. Just to test is senses. "You make your apologies, I have heard. My wife startled you doing nothing. They say she eats fear in the air for her repast at noon. Silly. If the Lady Voltaire wished you deceased it would have happened already. She does not play with her food." (d) Master Julian Monroe He felt the air cut around him and measured the distance in the time of it all at how close he had come to feel the little edges of his hair fall down his neck tickling his throat like water, but it did not once phase him. "If you are trying to anger me, Voltaire, you are failing miserably, but if you are wanting an insult in return I can be the first to vouch for your wife's ill desire to play with her food. It shows she eats much more then fear." In the roundness of her hips. "Is that the proper response when sparring? Is this how you Old Men do it. Funny, now I can officially say that Claudio has well surpassed your skill. He gets right to it." With that Julian would lunge enough make it appear he was marking his first assault and move right into coulé. He wanted the other man to strike first so that he could get his gage in on how fast his motions were, and calculate what would need be returned. A true artist never swung into battle so blindly, but when the other's foible was hit he could almost watch the world around him cascade in fractions. His icy eyes glazed as his mind took over, and Julian lived not in the motions of the sword--the way the world felt around it. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "He comes right to it yet you reply? Hmm." Pot come and meet yon blackest kettle, and over the fire together come until you both come to a roiling, bubbling boil. Nothing was said for a time as he found Julian's tempo in how he was moving his feet before enacting changement de rythme.. it was not the same pattern, timing, or beats as he had done while while Julian only watched him. The attaque aue fer made earthquakes in the air. Thunderbolts tossed between Titans, for he was old enough to be one this world. Around and straight forward. Down and across. That was how feet and swords went. It was beautiful, simply beautiful. "After this I will return to my wife, and will you feed yours? If you desire willow trees for women. I have seen the same trees with more accoutrements than your wife."The same one he called La Bella? Twig, twig. If it took her this long to develop breasts they would all be dead before she had an ass. "Who is more a man than you, with more reputation in man's world. What will you do to garner one, hmm? Take a lover? Amante, degli uomini, - He didn't laugh or smile now, as if carrying on conversations in the same tone as the Madame. Placid faced. It was how they overcame any situation, by practicing it in all situations. Did the poor boy not speak Italian like his wife? The tone was clear in the implication - rumors of Julian's homosexuality were rampant before he had taken a bride Would not they be after? Besides he had not impregnanted her yet. To busy playing with round gems to enter in to the true cavern? (d) Master Julian Monroe "No I reply because you start it, your son has no reason, nor would I. We respect each other far too much." Anger did rise then, when Voltaire started on Janice, but it didn't show in his form--not yet at least. Julian did start to break a sweat far too early in the game, but part of the possession had left him dehydrated, and malnourished. He did not speak Italian as the master did, but the implication was enough to turn his face red. His chest tightened around his heart, but his brows came together as his narrowed with anger."Shut up!" He slashed heavily now, racing with the rage that forced his hand forward far too much, to keep control of what was meant to test, and meant to kill. In the hall a servant would drop her tray watching the fight unfold, but would soon race down the hall. "If you wish me to get a reputation then I'm certain your wife will happily volunteer. What a mad world we live in when I held myself as any self respecting man would for the one I married." With a coup d'estoc he would turn the parallel to the other's and hit with a drop to where it pointed, and Julian had lost sight of the numbers--he was blind in the battle, but still very aware of every move. Was this the point? How to continue to fight with rage? It took a lot to make him angry, Julian had taken abuse all his life, and often laughed at the rumors. Yet..this was real. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "You should not reply even if I do start it. Men know when to choose their words, when to keep them. Do not think because you are past your majority your coke has lengthened any." Voltaire ducked and doged. His balestra was used not only in attack, but avoidance. No more words. No laughter either. Directly, on both counts. He had one eye to see from, his timing was slow. Julian could calculate where he moved slower at times to catch himself even if it didn't show to the naked eye. The servant fleeing had drawn attention no doubt. In the aftermath of a clanging tray shadows hung by on the edge of candle circles. Some thought it was a dance of vengence. Would it be to first blood or last breath? He was within his right to either. Even to the point of defying rapier or saber technique with corps a corps. Body to body, arm to arm, paralyzing both swords until one overcame the others force of pressure. What was the lesson. A good question? Maybe the tests were in truth to see what his student was made of, if it was demon possesion or unhoned skill to be polished that allowed the advantage. Some of it was a father's revenge for the son he lost, but he was not going to kill him. No. He could see the sweat broken and his own nostrils flared. Let the sweat take away the last toxicity: doubt of self, doubt in one another. Worthlessness to worthiness. He turned up his head like a king. He was king. "My wife could have had the taking of any man, in fact, men vied for her hand. Without an auction." It was low, very low. He dragged his own ward through the dirt all for the benfit of the young man's rage. He took the insults to his own wife as silent fuel."She needed no pimp. No golden brothel. Even you in Spain were sent to do the same. Do ends justify the means or did you marry her to make a courtesan of her on your missions. Will you give her to the Aramoire for lessons? Ah, no." He left himself open. Would he take it. Oh sweet teases. Deadly vice. "You see the Lady Aramoire is now one for whatever origins she is, she plays it to her advantage without weeping, or whining, or wailing as your wife is want to do. I am innocent..yet that innocence could have all of Europa between her white little thighs. Do you ever wonder who has been there if you were not?" (d) Master Julian Monroe Let him turn his head up, like some King, but Julian was in fact a prince. The sword hit the floor hard as it fell from his hand that would ball in such a fist that would aim high for the man's eye, and would leave a man wondering where such a thin soul got so much strength. Regardless if the punch hit or missed, Julian stood against the man breathing like some wild animal, and hissed through his teeth at the words that fell from his lips, "Your son. Right? Is this what this is about? I am where your boy should be, and I take it for granted. Some peacoke who was undeserving yet here I am, not afraid of you, loosing respect for you by the second and thankful I'm under the hand I am." With every heavy breath he was beyond finished fighting this man, "I have nothing to prove to you, or anyone under this roof. I make my Masters proud, and learning each day how to make the one true Master believe I mean well. I am sorry for what could not be helped. I'm sorry things worked out the way they did, and more importantly I'm sorry to waste your time." He HATED to hear of Janice's past lover, or any other of the sort that had once fancied themselves where the Master implied. "The next time you want to test me, I'll fight you when I fight a respectable spar, but until then I'm not going to listen to this. Not from you. Only my enemy speaks that way, and if that were so you'd be dead by now." (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire A prince so prone to his passions. Voltaire watched him throw the sword done and debase the art by wanting his raw hands. Power, raw power filtered through human sinew. It was half taught speed and half alley tavern brawl, the way Julian came at him. Still he held it together. A man named Vance Evans was a street brawler, so good at it that he was deemed a Master. How he missed Evans. He was lewd, self accepting of the fact, and noble only in his properties. Honest. He would have improved the boys hit. Voltaire's face missed the fist by a thin fraction only because he lowered himself back enough to counterbalance the weight. He rose significantly slower yet it was his control that allowed him to still retain an advantage at his age, control that kept him fluid. One of the servants ran for the Lady. This above all else made her cease, and lift up her steps to be so quick as to soon be in the doorway, breatheless. As he listened to the young man speak he felt a sense of anger rise. When it did, did Monroe notice the strange way his scarred eye glowed? It was discolored entirely by the scarring. No wonder some said his eyes were yellow and feline shaped! They were in fact a matte gold, and so shaped because of his heritage. His motions were feline. Some of the Church unlike the good Augustinian did not believe cats were mary's helpers, fending snakes away for Christ.Some saw them as the devil's consorts for witches. Familiars. If anyone ever looked the part of a shape-shifter, it was him. "Everyone here who has ascertained the rank of Master is worthy of your acknowledgement. You pick your likes and dislikes with such a hand, Monroe. Are you right? I am the father of the son you nearly killed doing his duty to protect his mistress. You stand in his place, but he stands in yours. You are on equal footing. My son will succeed me. You succeed your Master. You will be with Claudio the rest of your natural life." Was that new to him? Was it news? Bromheilde wanted to stop them, she knew Voltaire could unwind himself to be an untethered thing. "He does not merely guard your wife, he preserves your household, he keeps men from your throat. Do you not think he did that even when the world was against you? Do you not think I have done the same" He pushed the young man off, opening his arms, bowing before lowering them, "Even your allies say this of you, all have opinions, Monroe. You can not beat a man as you would one in a brothel. You are a gentlemen. Rarely will you get to excorcise those as you do now. You laugh, but how often have you wished to do to me as you do to them? You do nothing until now to change their thoughts. It is good you do this." He put his finger to his chin, watching the boy seethe. He breathed three times, then sat. The Bavarian was waved away, much to her chagrin. She huffed, moving away in anger. "Rarely are men of merit allowed to fight as men. To tilt yards, to duels. Bah.I am..relieved. How else you think to pay penance to me,young Master?" By dancing about playing with his swords being nervous? "How else you think to apologize to my wife? Your actions. Your acceptance. Claudio will live beside you all the days of your life.How think you she feels to continue with the arrangements, for her beloved niece to succeed her within the place she keeps by the Grandmaster. You are not given to mere mastery of task, you must be every exception. My son, my niece, now must be to every exception. If you can not accept them despite what you have done, as they would accept you, what good is your penance to me? If you can not face me as my son, again, what good is it?"Would he still roll about in anger or would he find a light through the tunnel of his own rich thought? Voltaire was an old man. He wasn't going to live forever. He only had his speed and balance as an advantage to age, and so could expell his anger in less saintly practices. "Are you going to sit, or are you going to stare at one of your Masters? Make no mistake, I am notdeemed one because I wished to be lordly with this. This...this is illegal in much of Europa still. Schools open and are quickly shuttered down. This..this is a gentleman's preference, a Lord' s worst dream. What arm do you think the Duchess fights with? Sit. Come" He might never get the chance again, to ask what he wanted. to learn this way. Voltaire was often too busy. (d) Master Julian Monroe Julian would not sit, not yet, "You think I do not respect your son, but I have not once thought any less of him in my right mind. I have nothing to prove to you that has not already been done. I'm in the middle of trying to find myself, center myself, and above all live in the hear and now. I may be a gentleman, but I'm still a Scot at heart. I can't deny that anymore, and I don't want to. I'm proud of who I am, and where I have come from. You came in here accusing me of putting on a show, accusing me of being unfaithful to my wife, and too weak to do it right. Now you ask me to come down to your level and what? You humiliate me when I came to apologize. Break the bread by making this a lesson? Don't you pretend to know anything about me, because all you have is speculation of what my 'allies' and enemies have said. You have no clue who I like, and who I do not like because just like the rest you don't know who I am." He lowered to the man, wanting to learn, but for what reason? Julian was not so starstruck with this one, and if he were why would he show it? Why? The same reason, he knew only of Voltaire from word of mouth, rumors, speculation. "I like Claudio. I like him a lot, and not for how you think of me, but because he doesn't sit around on cushions or swing his sword to prove anything. He just does." Julian opened up his shirt to see the nail marks, gashes in his skin where he had tried to crawl through it, "I didn't want to hurt him." Standing once again he wasn't able to sit just yet. He needed water, and went to the service to pour them both a glass. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "Speculation? It is hard to speculate when it hits the open, signore. Bold verbalizations. Men will say this, you must be as stone when you hear it. Otherwise La Bella will find you in prison" He let his back go against the wall to be parallel. It was comfortable this way, he thought, allieviating the pain in his back. One would have though the support would only make other muscles around the body's center ache for upholding him. Strange to relax in nonrelaxed postures. He was old, and could be eecentric. "No one ever asked you to deny who or what you were, you did that of your own. I never accused your fidelity, I did not say you would take a woman. It is not uncommon for fidelity to be defined in such terms. Women cry not for the lover in their husband's beds, but that he is a man. To balance a mistress is as much an art to being woman as being a mistress, to be of Athenian persuasion is a little harder to manage." He closed his eyes for a moment. Both of them could roll around, both of them could go side to side. It was still through one he saw with startling clarity. "I never said it was a lesson, signore. I am not so much La Diamante in that. If it is one I will blantanly tell you every intention, still going about it. Claudio is ambitious, anxious, he is young. He is everything youth should be at his age. With a zeal for life. His mother was a patrican's daughter, herself a patrician. It is lesser nobility. Still noble all the same. He reminds me of those wishing to ascend yet already has the tools to do so." He held a father's unrivaled pride in his voice "To anger, and to unwind. It is not so unItalian. The French and Scotts merely do it with more...presence." No wonder they tried to ally, and no wonder it didn't work. "I have not had my son so long, I do not wish to have him gone so soon. and if I had no want to cultivate your naturally talent, prone to outburst as you still are, I would not have taken you as a student. Swordmaster or no.We are her companions, not merely mindless servants. Your father will be as she is, or as is now, Grandmaster. She does not have the belief of the old only one of each state may live at one time, or such radical beliefs as the old catacomb keepers. Few have lived as long as they, still young but so long." He reached up his hands in to his hair, to take out the loose ribbon. "I know you had no designs to hurt him. I know the skill and desire drive you both before, and after you were set upon by the unholy host. He is not so much younger than you in this way. Man's passions do not temper till beyond twenty-and-five. Marrying young is favorable for many die just shy of thirty. Not here, praise God. Not so much. You may temper yourself a little sooner, because of the lessons you have had." Master Julian Monroe Julian turned then, and put the glasses down before the flat line of his lips smoothed over the surface of his face and his icy eyes became very dry along with his tone of voice, "Claudio is everything I am not, go ahead. Say it. You pull me into your battle, would have humiliated me had I said no, and did so when I accepted. I think you've made it very clear how much of a f**k up I am, and more so stating that this is not a lesson. You would not have taken me as a student? Well..I would not have taken you as a Master, so let that be clear though, my reasons are my own, but you are a smart man I bet you could figure out why." He shook his head rolling back his shoulders, "I haven't been here long enough in my right mind, nor recovered enough to give you any sort of impression that is worth a damn. So I would save you words, because I'll make you eat them later."Julian despite his tone kept his cool very well, and spoke down to him in that sort of way that Claramae often did--judging the cat on the floor very hardly, "Like I said. You don't know me, you don't know a damn thing about me that matters. Nor have I been given the chance to prove anything to you other then completing my task in Spain; that in service of my country damn near killed my own image when I returned with the unholy." With that Julian would collect his coat, and turn for the door stopping only to face the man once more, "Again Master Voltaire, I am very sorry for what I have done to you and your family. I do hope you will forgive me, but you will have to excuse me. I can see my Master's light on, and need some intellectual stimulation." (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "Diamante says your rough edges are something that saves you from the true taint of all the opulence and keeps your wits your own when you learn to master them. The backside of this is you simply do not know when to disengage. What am I doing to you now signore? Your mind was at times your own during the possesion, no? The Devil was not fighting me now, nor was he always fighting my son." He looked him clear him dead in the eye with just his one "Claudio has his faults. He has read too much poetry as his mom tried to force it in him to make him more mannerly and its made him too romantic. He would rather right poetry than fight at swords. He is an idealist, not at all pragmatic. Unlike your suppositions, I am quite aware of my son's inclinations toward both sexes by way of having been sampled by each yet has a distinct preference for women. A long deployment in the army of an italan Duke, King, or Pope I would never get off my knees in fear for his soul. I am a father, Juliano." He used the first name, sliding down to the base nature of them all. A first name, how they were known before the most intimate consorts and affiliates. How they were known before their family."Now knowing this, will you think less of him, or know him for his character, the truth of him? The truth of him is not rooted in a few penny pages when he tries to call himself author, he knows he is terrible at poetry. Nor whom he takes to his bed. My son is a young, passionate, hot blooded man. But he is a man because of his convictions. You are one as well, or are you still going to be insulted? I called to you in battle, perhaps more base and rank but a father's desire, a master's curiosity are not always so pure. Your master's light is on and you may go to him if it please you to do so. All is pardoned. Dio apre la strada per noi (God clears the way for us). As you will. When you are of a mind to do so, you may ask. As you do not know me and I only have the words of your Masters, it would be good. Though do not discount me. You can tell much by a man's sword arm. How he writes, by what care he handles things. This is no judgement. Only observation. Only one lesson though: Learn to tell difference between observation and insult. Good night, Monroe" (d) Master Julian Monroe "No. I do not think any less of him for who he loves, or what he pleases. He's a damn good arm, and a dear friend. Yet, I do think less of those who tell secrets that are not theirs to tell. This is what I would pray for each night, Voltaire. Not your son's soul. Those are very deadly secrets that if told to the wrong person could have your son stoned in other countries. That is not your secret to tell, nor is it my place to know. You would be wise to keep them to yourself, and not try and make up for insults by giving them an old man's backward way of thinking that is ok. You don't get to tell things like that just because you are his father, shame on you. The chamber maid that ran down the hall, what if she would have heard that, spoke it to a single other person who told two other people." There he went again with numbers. "Before long the entire city of rome knows and an army of God comes to smite thee. See, this is where our generation, the younger coming from parents like you learn to not give a damn about your judgement, or your observations, and what my wife reads to me each night. Don't tell things like that on your son, there is my lesson to you.Now..good night." With that he was gone. (d Master Maxamillion Voltaire "Who said it was a secret, and who are you to tell me what to pray for? Juliano, there are secrets here that no one can unlock without the key, and some, between familia, that are not so much secrets as are things to accept. The little 'chamber maid' know as much as anyone else, though if no one else knows they have but to ask. No one gossips of it, and he has given me leave to be so earnest. He wishes to have no secrets that would hurt him here. So within these walls. He is what he is." He shrugged realizing by now he talked to the echo of Julian's footsteps but he wasn't deaf, "It is more common than not for men to have other means when what is acceptable is not available, and many have acceptable covers for continued deviations. His mother cared more than I do. His mother went on pilgrimages to relieve him of his affliction. I say it is because his young. If it stays so, it stays. I love him for what he is. Not what he is not." He took up both rapiers, being Julian had thrown his aside to punch at him. That made him laugh. No doubt his words went on as Julian walked away, listening but not replying. Ah well. What was done was done. God had pardoned the way for them. The mistake of the elder was the younger's world changed too much for them to accept, and while they were supposed spirits of innovation some things would always be too much. Now it was to his own chambers for him, to a wife to yell at him and then mend his sore back, and to her arms. He was old enough to know that is what mattered to the young too. In the end, all wish love (d)
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