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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 14, 2011 13:23:49 GMT -5
It was a particularly good day today, whcih lead to a good night of filling my belly and having a few tankards... or maybe just one. I was never asked my age, I was never looked at really in this establishment, even with its leacherous patrons. I was one of them, and I blended well enough into the crowd that no one really cared to look. Plus with a large, dark cloak with a deep hood, no one could really notice me. I sat in my new garb, the ones X had me fitted for - the breeches and teh shirt, the close-fitting clothes that would help me move about with greater ease, teh cloak that would help me blend into the nothingess, so that that was what people thought when their eyes rested upon me - nothing. I sat at the table, with a tankard of ale, and a chicken pot pie, sipping the ale and eating away at teh crust by myself. It was kind fo lonely, but at the same time, it was still nice. i could watch people, and see who would be easy to ply coin from once they had become drunk enough to barely notice where they were stepping, letalone that someone was filching their coin purse.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 14, 2011 13:57:13 GMT -5
It had been a little bit of a frustrating couple of days; first, there were no patrons for the troupe yet, much less myself alone, and then there was the sexual tension that always hung around the Night Court. Michaela's teasing had only been the tip of the iceberg and I was slowly running out of my usual 'medicines'- the secret stash of opium and liquor I kept in my room- to distract myself. And just like everyone knew, having fun by yourself was only fun for so long. Time for me to head into the City and do something else.
Being who I was I knew how to look when I went out to Mont Nuit, and how to get there without being caught. I wore a cloak of dark brown- black tended to scream 'don't look at me!' and captured more attention- and my clothes were not the usual well-made things I had on at Eglantine. My shirt was a linen so cheap it was almost muslin and my pants were grey and worn at the knees and waist from years of use. Out my window and down the side of the building, then a quick walk in the shadows and I was in Mont Nuit, the good old homestead. It was as awful as I remembered, but it was something.
The Cockerel seemed to be buzzing tonight and I pushed back my hood and walked in with a bit of a swagger, waving to some of those I knew and then grabbing a mug and making my way to a table by the fire. My father was something of a local character, and while I didn't claim him in public the people here never forgot where you came from, and that meant I wasn't likely to be bothered. There were a few nobles in here slumming- I could recognize them easily- and a few others who preyed on them, but I was outside of that cycle. The figure of a girl in new clothes caught my attention and I gave her a crooked grin before I took another drink of my beer. Yes, I was being charming, but I was also appraising her. New clothes, so successful, and subtle, but she didn't use herself as a whore. It made me respect her in some way.
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 14, 2011 14:02:58 GMT -5
As I looked about I cuaght the eyes of a young man... in a cloak, much like my own, but in clothing that were a little cheaper in appearance, or at least more worn. I furrowed my brows at him as he made some odd facial expression, rolling my eyes as I turned away. I focused my gaze elsewhere, but still had him in my peripheral vision in case I just insulted the wrong person, somehow. I picked up my mug and drank deeply, then my fork and scarfed down a bite of teh chicken pie.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 14, 2011 14:13:00 GMT -5
Touchy little pigeon, wasn't she? Oh well. She reminded me of some of the girls I'd known as a child, before I was taken to Eglantine- suspicious of anyone that wasn't immediately familiar, half-starved, a little dirty and worn, and probably as much a street rat. Or maybe not. They tended to have the confidence to approach anyone who caught their attenion in the hopes of some way to make or steal money. The memory made my fingers itch and I rolled my eyes in return to her reaction as I looked back at the fire.
It didn't take long for me to finish off my mug and I called for one of the servers by name, getting her to give me another with a wry smile and declining the offer of food; generally the Houses had better fare and I didn't need to worry about putting on more weight anyway. As she left a stumbling man walked by and I gave him a charming smile as my foot snaked out, unseen, and stepped on the edge of his cloak. As he stumbled I caught his money-sack and slipped a few coins free, then let go of the edge and let him shamble on in his drunkenness. I was careful to be very subtle, but I had to admit that I loved the thrill of the theft. Jus' like old times, mate. Now I could pay for my drinks. With another glance to the girl I set one of my coins on the table to give to the waitress when she came back.
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 14, 2011 17:02:28 GMT -5
I was taking a sip from my mug when I noticed the commotion out teh corner of my eye. The man seemingly stumbled, but I could see that the man that had sat at the table, the same man who had made eyes at me, was obviously filching from his coin purse. Perhaps not so obviously to everyone else, but when you did it day in and day out to earn your keep, you came to know the tell-tale signs. And that he looked up at me directly after, well, he must have known that I would either approve, or mayb ehe was just looking at me. But those eyes, seemed as though they were asking me to rise to a challenge. My lip quirked into a playful smile as I looked from the poor drunk man, to the thief. I quirked my head, trying to see if I could place him as someone I had seen before, but I had not, not round these parts, though I couldn't say that I knew everyone.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 14, 2011 17:18:51 GMT -5
It was pretty easy to tell by looking at the girl that she'd seen what I'd done, but as she had only smirked and tried to seem unimpressed I wasn't bothered at all. It at least answered a few questions about her, and I recognized the way she watched as that of a person who was looking at technique, not thinking about the morality of the actions themselves. As an Eglantine I had an almost uncanny ability to judge an audience and to even know when there was one; it was useful for such moments as this too.
Smirking lightly I gave the girl a raised brow and turned to look around again as though disinterested, but I kept her in the corner of my eye as I took the new mug from the waitress and handed her my old mug and the ducat I'd had laid out for her. That was enough for at least four or five mugs of the ale I was currently drinking, so I slid another of the smaller coins from my pocket and let it dance over my knuckles. It would look like a sheer sign of boredom, but I glanced at the girl again and gave her another grin, the expression I wore clear enough- I bet you this coin that you can't top me.
Now to see if she rose to the challenge.
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 16, 2011 11:58:51 GMT -5
It was obvious then, from the look on his face, that what he had done was certainly to tip me off, and to challenge me, and though he turned away, I knew he would be watching. I raised a brow, sneering almost at him before I looked away, seeing the same man he had tripped on his way to the bar, even though he was already roaring drunk. I got up from my table, and made my way over there as well, flashing my not-so-heavy coinpurse at the myster man at the table before standing beside the drunk. I had four coins in my coin purse, and when I made my way beside the man, I was able to get close enough to feel the weight in his. He had at least three times the amount of coin I did. So, while he ordered his drinks, I made the switch, careful not to be caught, my cloak shrouding my busy hand which untied his coin purse and attached mine instead. The man looked at me, but I looked straight ahead, as though I did not even notice him. He turned away, and when he got his mug, he sat down. I ordered myself a slice of apple pie to go with my meal and asked that they bring it to my table and made off to my table with the man's coin purse in my hand. I flashed it in the direction of the red-headed man at the table
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 16, 2011 15:21:23 GMT -5
So she was a bit of a show-off- but so was I, and not much fault I could find in it as long as you weren't completely stupid. Holding up the money-pouch as though it was a rabbit she'd gone dog-hunting after could have attracted attention she didn't want, but that was her own risk to take and she'd indeed gotten the entire pouch without being discovered in the act. If she was caught now that would still be a little unfortunate, but not really my problem either.
With a crooked smile that bordered on a sneer of my own I rose from my chair and carried my mug to the table where she was sitting, the other hand still grasping the coin I'd been juggling between my knuckles before. "Well, pigeon, looks like you've got pretty steady hands after all," I told her in a casual tone as I sat down at her table and slid the ducat over to her. Not like I didn't have enough to drink on for the evening and coming back with too much more would mean hiding it somewhere so no one at Eglantine asked questions.
My smile turned a bit more rakish and I brought my hood back from my face as I cocked my head slightly to look her over. A little dirty, and though her clothes were new there wasn't much flesh on her or the soft look to her hands that said she was some slumming noble. Even still I was used to looking past those details, and I could tell she'd be pretty enough if cleaned up. "I'm Bayard," I told her almost off-handedly as I glanced around and leaned back in my chair, leaving the coin on the table for her to pick up.
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 16, 2011 17:43:31 GMT -5
He saw, and he rose from his table. I thought for a second he might rat me out, out of jealousy or some sort of thing, but he did not walk over to the bar. No, instead he walked over to me, cloaked and all, and sat down at the spare chair at my table. He placed a ducat on the table, pulling back his hood so I could see him, and so I could see him look at me. I rolled my eyes, though I did smile a bit. I did stick my tongue out, though, when he called me a pigeon.
"I am glad you think me good enough, my liege," I teased, "it is not like I haven'tbeen doing this all my life,"I said sarcastically. His eyes appraised me and I sat up a little straighter for it while he leaned back in his chair, leaving the coin on the table. "Didn't you just see what I did? Keep the coin," I said with a smile. He was a little on the small side. "I have a whole coin purse at my disposal."
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 17, 2011 10:42:08 GMT -5
"If you were street-born I'm a Yeshuite priest," I replied with a smile of my own. "Maybe you were dropped here, maybe your family kept you put up, but your speaking tells me that you had a home once, or ambition beyond being a gutter-rat." Her comment about me being lordly had set me off a bit and so I didn't feel too bad about piping back about her own heritage. Say what you want about me, but I knew where I grew up and the sense of it, and pure d'Angelines down here were a rare thing. Even I was probably a mutt on some level.
Her words about the coin actually didn't prickle me at all, not like she'd probably planned them to. After all I'd had patron gifts enough in my time, even if they didn't go to my marque the way they probably should have. Then again I didn't care if I ever left Eglantine. That was the best place I could have gone with my upbringing and I didn't necessarily favor the idea of being my father's prime thief even if I played at the skills of it. "But shouldn't a person keep their word to a pretty girl?" I teased, raising a brow and giving her my impish, cherubic grin. "At least let me buy you a round with it. Call it a toast to the victor if you want."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 18, 2011 22:18:20 GMT -5
My eyes never left him, unsure of whether to take him as a potential friend or foe. He was nice, or nice enough, playful, perhaps too playful for my general liking, but I was trying to get over my past and what that had made me into. Though coming to terms did not mean that I had to learn to feel again, no not at all. Then again, I was getting ahead of myself. I felt myself smile, then falter, then smile again, unsure really of how to be in this situation.
"Alright, a toast to the victor," I mused, smiling again. I did not trust him as far as I could throw him, but that did not mean I had to be a wench about it. "And though I may not have been street born, it is where I am now, and where I have been since I was ten," I said, taking pride in it. "So it is more of a home to me than anywhere else. And you? You're not a louse, you've good speach about you, and you're not monetarily ambitious enough to be a street rat," I teased, "are you a slumming lord?"
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 18, 2011 23:48:10 GMT -5
Adepts learned to read people, and from her hesitance and demeanor I read a careful nature, fearful of harm. I was a new quantity in her mind and she didn't know what to make of me, but since she didn't want to start a fuss she had no choice but to try and put a good face on and be as polite as one was expected to be in such an establishment. Not that I was terribly bothered by whatever her behavior was but there was a bare prickling of morality I'd learned as a child and and adult that made her fearful of the approach of people. Many people had stories that you could understand such a reaction, but after a few of them I'd gotten pretty sick of the new ones. There were entirely too many ways for people to be cruel to each other.
With a gesture to the same bar maid I'd been speaking to before I told her wordlessly to bring another two mugs of whatever was being served and left the coin on the table for her to pick up when she dropped them off. "Oh, I migh' be a little surprisin'," I replied in my street brogue and a wink, then drank the last of what was in my mug and set it aside to be picked up before I returned to my more 'courtly' tones. "But no, I'm not lucky enough to be a lordling. In fact I'm about the reverse of you, I lived on the streets until I was ten." With that I offered her my hand. "I'm Bayard."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 17:18:10 GMT -5
When he looked at me, I shifted slightly, feeling uneasy under his gaze. He motioned to the barmaid to bring more of the same and then he smiled. There was something about the way he smiled that made me smile too. The smile turned from that to a full laugh when he spoke in his broken street language in an accent befitting a street urchin, like myself. It was amusing, and authentic, which went with his story.
"Ah," I said with a nod, "street born, House raised," I mused. Where else would he have been taken in at such an apt age. He had to be Night Court raised, which made a lot of sense. "Essie," I said, extending my hand to shake his. "I was slated for the Night Court myself once."
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 17:32:33 GMT -5
"That explains your dulcet tones then, Essie," I replied with an impish smile as I shook her hand. Normally I would have kissed the back of it, that's just the kind of charmer I am, but I didn't want to take a chance of that more paranoid face of her coming back just yet. It made sense that she could still be here after not making the Night Court though; the Houses were picky and not everyone managed to get in. Half the time they went back to the same homes they had before but if the parents were particularly nasty they may just leave the child as a failure. The world that Elua made was probably a sight better than other places but it wasn't perfect.
"You're right though, I went to the Houses," I said in a nonchalant tone. Ended up in Eglantine just like everyone thought I might, seeing as I was a bit of a climber and liked to show off." My grin turned a little cocky at that, but it wasn't the expression of a person who thought they were superior to everything around them, just a person who'd worked hard to get where he was and fought tooth and nail to stay there while keeping true to himself. "What House did you want, and why didn't you get in?"
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 18:32:20 GMT -5
I could see that he was proud of where he had ended up. Eglantine was one of the more fun Houses, and I could tell. He was funny, and fun, and not all politically correct with everything he did and said. He was easy going, and still a bit of a flirt, though not as much now. I smiled at him, but when he asked me why I had not gotten in, I frowned, my eyes falling, face sagging and head drooping as I took a deep breath.
"I never got the chance to try. My parents thought I would have been perfect for Heliotrope or Alyssum, but they died and... well, I couldn't very well present myself to the Dowayne," I said with a halfhearted chuckle before I cleared my throat and drank deeply from my mug.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 18:42:08 GMT -5
There was almost a sense of understanding between us for a moment, and I really was more bluster than bother most days, but when her expression changed I could only watch and wait for her to continue. The barmaid came back with the mugs of mead, a little stronger than the most common drink of the bar and what I preferred, and took the coin without making a fuss, which I didn't mind in the slightest. No reason to start creating a distraction now. For some reason I'd prefer Essie's attention stay on me.
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents, it's true that most can't go up on the Mount by themselves," I said as I slid one of the new mugs toward her and picked up the other one before taking a drink. The mead was refreshing and had just enough zing to it that I didn't feel like I was drinking water. "But from someone who's been around adepts I don't know about you and Alyssum. They're nice enough, but always blushing and having to hide. You have a streak a bit to bold for it. Dahlia maybe, or Bryony with your fast hands, but you're no wallflower. After all, I noticed you and I have pretty good taste."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 18:53:09 GMT -5
I felt my cheeks heat at his assessment of me, my eyes falling to my new mug. I took a long drought from it, surprised that it was stronger, and with a honeyed aftertaste. I raised my eyes back to Byards, hoping that the blush was not too obvious.
"You only noticed me thinking to yourself 'what on earth is that woman doing wearing that god-awful dress," I teased with a laugh. "And though my slight of hand is rather developed now," I said with a smile, "when I was younger, I was quite the opposite of who I am today... the polar opposite in fact. I was always looking to please, very kind, genial, and quiet, quick to blush, innocent and fun loving. All that changed when I grew up," I explained. "Are you happy there? At Eglantine?"
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 19:07:00 GMT -5
Maybe still not an Alyssum type anymore, but she flushed and looked sweet. Maybe something like a Cereus, that House of haughtiness, or Heliotrope after all. Then again Heliotrope was an odd house, it judged on the heart much the same way Eglantine judged on talent and I wasn't going to claim to know Essie well enough to judge how she loved. "I didn't only notice because of the clothes, because those aren't too odd here," I told her sincerely and with a little more soft warmth than I used with most. "And I still think you have more fire than faintness to you. Flowers don't live in Mont Nuit, not like you do on your own skill."
When she asked about whether or not I liked life in Eglantine I thought for a moment how to phrase my statement so I didn't grind in the fact she wasn't there any more than she already had to herself. "It's comfortable most times, though I spend a lot of time training to make sure I don't get into trouble. But then again here I am sneaking out to come down to my old haunts and find some way to amuse myself, so I guess it all comes with a price. Up there I'm fed, warm, safe- but I have to follow their standards or lose all of it. Would you trade your freedom for the chance to sit in a garden and let someone tend you?"
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 19:52:26 GMT -5
I smiled at his assessment, glad that he did not see a wilting flower in me, but a woman who made things happen for herself. Afterall, I did not have a choice, and he understood that. It was good, to have that sort of understanding in someone. He did not look upon my less than perfect hair and dress and look at me distastefully. Nor did he look at me leacherously. He looked at me like a human being, and I was thankful for it.
I nodded at his assessment of his current state of living, and when he turned the question on me, my mouth opened wordlessly, gaping as though I were a fish out of water. I closed it and thought for a moment.
"I have never really thought on it in that way," I said softly. "I think in some ways, I am glad to be where I am, for the freedom of it, but overall, I think that I would prefer to be where my parents thought I would have turned out best. I am greatful for the skills I have and that I am able to make my own means, but this is not a life I had chosen for myself, or one I had looked forward to. So I think I would prefer to be a rose in the garden, though mayhap one that broke the rules now and then," I said with a coy grin and a soft laugh. "Afterall, you're breaking the rules and seem to be enjoying yourself," I teased.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 20:11:42 GMT -5
In the end there was a good deal of truth in her words, at least from where I was sitting. No one really chose to be poverty-stricken in Mont Nuit unless they had no other option open to them or the ruthlessness to see the possibilities of living under the radar. My father was one of the latter type, but I was one of the former, at least as a child. When I'd been taken to Eglantine I knew every trick I needed to make myself great and had all of the cocky pride of the prettiest boy on the block- and I still had it.
"I think everyone gets dealt what they're dealt with little say in the cards," I told her after taking another long drink after listening to her talk. The mead had a pleasantly warming effect but I was far from intoxicated or even tipsy. Nights drinking my stolen liquor in my room had given me a good bit of tolerance and that was only aided by my physical training toward wiry strength and stamina. "We don't even get to pick the deck, do we, pigeon? But it's playing those cards that makes us better. We don't just look for the easiest pair, sometimes we cheat and hide other cards up our sleeves."
With another smirk I raised my glass to her again before cocking my head and considering her through my violet eyes. "Though I think perhaps you were dealt a better hand than you think, and I respect it far more than you seem to. I sneak out and make my life elsewhere, living as a good person one moment and a scoundrel the next, so why not you? If you had made it into a House I think I would have been glad to see you there, and to know you better. You're a good sort, and still a rose, even if you grow between cobblestones."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 20:26:09 GMT -5
I smiled at his analogy. He was cute, and had brains. Who would have thunk it,I mused inwardly. Though his thoughts on the cards I'd been dealt could use some work... for what he knew, he was not wrong. Of course if he knew more, he might change that assessment, but that information was not something I gave up easily, in fact it was not something I shared with anyone at all. No one really knew where I came from, what waited for me back in my home province. No one knew the pain and suffering I was dealt, or about the walls I had built up around my broken heart. No one knew the anger and hatred that lay beneath the soft smile, the rosey cheeks grown a little gaunt from the belt tightening. But considering how it could have been, what I could have resigned myself to, it was a million times better. So the smile remained on my lips, and I bit back any snobby retort I could have posed. His words were not meant to hurt.
"Thank you," I said genuinely and sincerely. "Although I think you're the only person who isn't a full time thief who thinks that a thief could be a good sort of person," I said with a laugh, drinking from my mug again. "So if you had control over your fate, how would you spend your days?"
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 20:44:47 GMT -5
Adepts weren't taught to read people for nothing- it was to tell when we'd done something either very right or very wrong so we could stop before damage was done by continuing on the same course of action or follow it to our patron's true desires that they didn't speak of. "There you go, smiling and still changing the subject," I said in a more serious but still nonchalant tone, then took a long drink. "Something I said stung at you, so why not just say that you want the subject changed? I'm not here to be a mark, you don't have to play a game with me. Not that I'm calling you out, just so as you know for the future."
Why I should care what she thought about me in the future I had no earthly idea, but it seemed right. After all, if this was her usual stomping ground we probably would run into each other. Besides, I respected her outlook on life, felt some sympathy for her situation- and she was pretty. Not like an adept, made up and primped, but alley-cat wild. Maybe it was my low blood but I thought I understood a bit of where she was coming from; if nothing else I had sisters who were in situations rather similar, if not exactly so.
My smile and the impish gleam in my eye came back the next moment to show that there were no hard feelings, after all poor girl was scarcely old enough to be debut if she had come to the Court, I decided that it would be best to answer her question. "If I could do whatever I'd like I'd make my marque and live at Eglantine every day, have performances, patrons and lovers every night I felt lonely and spend the others drinking to forget the stupid things I've done in the past while doing other stupid things." There was utter and complete honesty in that statement and either she'd appreciate it or she wouldn't, but at least I'd offered it. "What about you, Essie? What would you change?"
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 21:06:43 GMT -5
I felt myself flush as he found me out, in plain language, ducking my head, though I tried to play it off as I was attempting to more easily connect my lips to the edge of my mug to take another sip of the mead. His smile returned, though, and I smiled that I had not truly upset him in hiding what I had wanted to say. His mention of the future had a moment to germinate in my mind before I took notice of what he had said. The future... yes well.... he did love to break rules, it seemed, and I was destined to spend my days in Mont Nuit, so no doubt I would see him again, and quite frankly, I found myself not at all minding the concept.
I listened to Bayard speak, the picture he painted a pretty one, one without restrictions or rules, really, not the same rules that kept him something of a prized pet of the Night Court as opposed to a free man. I laughed, laughing especially hard when he described how he'd drink to forget the stupid things he had done while continuing to do them.
And then he turned the question on me. And for some reason, I felt I owed him an honest answer, as honest a one as he had given me.
"Truthfully, I'd somehow make it that my parents never died... at least not when they did. You know," I mused, probably giving him more than he had bargained for, "I sometimes wonder what they would think if they could see me now... they had died, you see, on the side of a country road after being pillaged by bandits," I said with a soft laugh, "I wonder if they would think me no better than the rogues who murdered them, or if they would understand why I chose this life." I looked down into my much, the honey-coloured liquid distorting the grains of the wooden table beneath it.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 21:35:18 GMT -5
Her laugh was a clear, unfettered thing and a joy to behold, though I wasn't sure exactly what had caused it. It faded quickly though as she considered my question and made her own answer without the blush or dissembling she'd tried before. When she finally spoke there was a quiet poignancy to her words, and I could only listen with a contemplative expression that I rarely wore when I wasn't trying to play up as being particularly cunning or clever. This time I really was thinking, about what she was saying as well as what she left out.
"So your parents died when you were a child and you ended up here, and you managed to survive," I said in a quiet voice that was the most solemn I could ever manage. "I think they'd be proud that you lived and still have your soul unbroken. There are far worse things that a person can be than a hand-to-mouth girl in Mont Nuit- and when you're an adept you get to learn about them in more depth than you can imagine on some levels."
Reaching out slowly so I didn't startle her I brushed a strand of her hair with the back of my hand, coming no closer than that to her face. "They loved you enough to think you had the heart to love every person as a Heliotrope does, with perfect affection for everyone that comes your way, and that's probably the same way they loved you. You're no murderer, or sinner, or even a whore or broken doll. There's life in you, so there's something left, and they'd be glad of that."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 22:00:54 GMT -5
His voice was very solemn when he spoke of my parents, showing his respect for my situation. He was not laughing at me, not even close. He was sympathizing, and I was very grateful for the kindness he used and the tenderness with which he spoke. His words soothed me, and I let out a soft, shuddering breath as I felt my eyes fill with tears, brimming, nigh overflowing. I looked away, up, trying to stop the tears from coming, even as I smiled softly at his kind words, taking a few deep breaths to settle myself before I let my gaze fall again on Bayard's face. I just nodded, hoping to the Gods that he was right, that they saw and understood in the Terre d'Ange that lays beyond. That when they saw me, they saw past the dirt and grime, the petty thievery, and saw something alive, something that still resembled the daughter they loved but had to leave behind. Bayard reached slowly forward, brushing away an errant lock, his fingers not touching my skin, which I was thankful for, though my skin still tingled at the near contact. A tear trickled from my eye, falling as I blinked, to roll down my cheek. I whiped it away hastily and laughed softly.
"I do not know how many times you will have me thanking you tonight," I said with a soft laugh as I wiped at my eyes.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 19, 2011 22:16:39 GMT -5
I wasn't the kind of person who often had to deal with tears and they tended to baffle me a bit, but I had to wonder what kind of life she'd led that simple statements like mine could affect her so much. For a moment I no doubt showed some of my confusion in my features but I smoothed them away a second later and returned my hand to my mug and took a very long drink from it. Come on alcohol, work your magic. I had to stay sober enough to climb back into my window at Eglantine when I went back, but I was so used to it that it may not have taken more than a passing wave at sobriety to do so. That was how I was most comfortable anyway, half-addled with either pleasure, the absorbed discipline of tumbing or mind-altering substances. Otherwise I was too likely to think deeply like I just had.
But it had made her feel better, and I was an adept at heart, so that pleased me enough that I didn't mind too much. "You can thank me if you want, but I was only being honest," I told her with my most charmingly rakish smile to cover the look of sympathy and understanding in my eyes that she may notice if she looked too close. "Let's get another round, what do you say? We can drink to the truth, or to pleasantries, or whatever you'd like, and then see where the conversation takes us." I still had a couple of coins left and that was more than enough to leave the bitter past behind. My hand still tingled slightly from the light brush of her hair but I let it go. She really would be a very pretty girl when she was cleaned up, if she ever chose to show off that way.
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 19, 2011 22:46:58 GMT -5
He looked at me a little confusedly, and why wouldn't he. Even though his words were heartfelt, he was an adept, afterall, and telling people the good things about themselves most likely did not elicit this sort of reaction. I smiled though, wiping away my tears and clearing my throat before he spoke again and caused me to laugh. "I can drink to any of those, and this time its on me," I grinned, pulling a coin from the drunk man's coin purse I had lifted and placing it on the table. "Let's say that this one is to toast good times, and good memories," I said with a smile, though I did sniffle slightly, a remnant from the little cry I had had. I hadn't cried really in a very long time, and it was a release of sorts even to cry a few tear drops.
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 20, 2011 11:13:09 GMT -5
I couldn't really object to someone else wanting to buy me a drink, so I gave her a cherubic smile as she set the coin on the table. "Those are good things to drink to, and easily kept track of once we're a couple more mugs in," I agreed before raising my own mug back to my lips and draining it. A quiet kind of relaxed lethargy was starting to settle into my bones and I smiled a little more easily at how it seemed to wick away the frustration in my body caused by too many days without an assignation and I was grateful for it. This didn't seem like an evening where I'd be finding a sweet piece of pleasure but the conversation was good and that was quite good enough and probably in my best interests. If I practiced some self-control maybe it would stick one of these days.
Glancing over at her mug I noticed that it still had some drink in it and I grinned a bit wider as I tapped the glass in her hand gently. "Come on, we can't get a new round until you finish up, sweet Essie," I teased lightly, then pulled my hand away and ran it back through my short hair. "And you never asked what my art was either. I'm starting to wonder if you even care about knowing me at all." Another joke, if a wry and slightly arrogant one- but I was who I was and so far it seemed to be making her a little more cheerful than I would have expected out of the self-possessed, glaring creature I'd seen when I first walked in. "Or maybe you should guess, there's a game."
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Post by Estella de Cartier on Jan 20, 2011 12:12:24 GMT -5
He tapped my glass and I looked down at iit before lifting the mug, taosting to nothing in particular with a grin and a wink and drinking the remainder back in hurried gulps, as though my life depended on knocking back the rest of the mead. I grinned afterwards, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, even though it was not really the most ladylike manner. I let the mug hit the table with a thud.
"There, now that that is settled," I mused before catching the barmaid's eye and nodding towards our mugs. She nodded in understanding and went abou her business. I turned back to Bayard, smiling like a bit of an idiot., and feeling a little warm. I was not terribly tipsy yet, certainly not drunk, but I was definitely on my way.
"I do not need to guess," I eased him, wanting to reach forward and muss his short hair that his fingers had already run through, though I refrained from it, "you mentioned swinging from trees and how that helped you get into Eglantine. Even if it was a joke," i said wtih a short laugh, "I am guessing your arrt is that of tumbling. Then again, you could be a man of many arts, so am I at least righ tabout one of them?"
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Post by Bayard Roux nó Eglantine on Jan 20, 2011 12:28:59 GMT -5
It was actually refreshing to see how she drank the same as anyone else would have out here on the Doorstep and had a light heart about it. I wasn't looking to get her drunk, that would have been really irresponsible of me, but she was seeming to relax a bit more and that was a good sign as far as I was concerned. If she was going to drink herself into oblivion at least she'd have someone here who didn't want to drag her into a back alley and kill her for her coin and at times that was a difficult thing to come across.
"A good show, and one that makes it so much easier to drink more," I said in an impish tone as she set her glass down and nodded to the serving wench, who noticed the coin and went to get the fresh drinks in an almost eager way. The waitresses weren't always honest but if she was shilling the bar that was no concern of mine so long as the drinks came. "You're right, I am a tumbler, as well as an acrobat and a contortionist. All of my other arts- well, not exactly ones you'd list on an Eglantine show-bill," I teased back with a wink. "At least not the one we show to other people."
The mead in my own veins was just enough to make me more relaxed and I let the tension seep further from my muscles, leaning my arms on the table and cocking my head a bit. "So you guessed right, sweets. What are you going to claim in return for the win?"
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