Breaking and Entering (Shona and Montparnasse)

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

Chant was, Shona was back in town. So I stalled off wiv a bunch o' clankers back at Bryony and hoofed it right tantwivy over t'the Temple of Wossname. Not a great fan o' the Gospel Shop, have t'say, and wouldn’t 'ave pegged Shona for the sort to get herself all levited but that’s how it was. Mind you, ol’ Montparnasse is gunna be nuts upon Shona whatever duds she’s wearin. Ain’t never seen a fairer-roe-buck than her. Prob’ly never will.

Stagged m’self in the fountain before I lightfoot in, and I was lookin’ rather sharp in m’Bryony-bought toge, even if I said it m’self. Per’aps some time away had woken up a bit more of a Magpie Orientated Inclination (hark at that flash lingo) in her. Hope springs forever, dontchaknow. Thought o’ makin’ Henquiries formal-wise but I kept tout and trolled about and soon enough found m' way where I wanted to go.

Her room was all dubbed up, but I ain’t squirish in the black art. I checked round sharpish, made sure things were snug, whisked out m' betties and got screwin'. It was done so quick I could’ve been a cracksman in another life – that or they don’t make their locks too sound ‘round here.

Inside, it was Shona all over. Could even smell her in the air like some rarest Shona perfume or some such, summer dream silliness for a city boy like me. And oh the temptation to nose right good was pressin’ hard upon me, fingers twitchin’ to see what they could find. I pulled out a set of broads and began to spring them hand to hand and back again. Did this until the itch got bearable.

Didn’t want to piss off my Shona.

Leastways, not straight away.

Seems I had some time to spend. Crossed m’ mind to arrange m’self all pretty-like upon the bed, just on the off-chance she fancied takin' advantage, but presumin’ she didn’t I’d look a right simkin kickless in her room. But I hopped on the bed anyways – not in the hope of a tupping (altho’ that hopes always there) but to be comfortable.

I lay back where Shona lay, all polite and proper though, and made my cards dance, dance, dance, while I waited.

[Shona Tertignan]

The day had been long – early prayer, then the usual thread of visits on Night's Doorstep to the ill and the dingy, then mid-day prayer and lunch, and Adelaide's lessons. Ah, but I was exhausted as I finally made for my cell.

Things didn't quite feel right, though – something about the angle of the door, and when one grows up at Bryony, where there is always someone to snoop about, one does have a habit of privacy. Here, though... in the temple of Anael, I'd grown confident in my privacy, and shrugged it off as a possible hallucination until...

“... Magpie.”

I was standing in the doorway, taking in the spectacle of my most dissipated and yet dearest pupil, lounging on my bed like the king he was, playing with a deck of cards, of course. The day Montparnasse would be caught without them, he'd be dead, I always said. And this very moment, he was clearly asking for his fate.

Instead of death, though, I flung him a pillow. Infuriating as he may be, I was happy to see him.

“Bezoomny malchick!” I grunted at him in the patois he'd inflicted on me enough, that I understood it, and spoke enough of it to make my point. “Asking for a right tolchock you are. Can't do a veshch  like a chelloveck, canst thou. Itty off ye beddiwed ere I call'm chavos and they viddy thine sharries where they well belong along.”

Ah, Anael, lend me patience this night. So many years, and he still wouldn't follow basic social rules. I really should have gone to Bryony to pay a visit. After having had lunch with Fisher, I really had no excuse. I'd sent word, at least - it felt almost irresponsible, though, suddenly.

And so, I wandered over and sat by him, then poked him in the ribs. In my own words, more or less, I said, more gently, “It's good to see you, ickle bratty. Knocking would've gotten you in too, you know. What's vareeting?”

I could never quite help talking slang with him - his odd, odd slang, which I'd come to like, really. It was part of his charm, damn the brat.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

Bless m’ Shona, she don’t quite patter the flash, but she tries. She’s a rum-dell really, through and through, tho’ she pretends she ain’t. And she’s still got her pull on me. I knew I was grinning like a bird-wit just t' stag 'er. Had to loop a few riffle shuffles just so I didn’t start yorking right at her. Why are wenches fashioned so dimber-like?

“Knock knock, Shona, you ding like a titter,” I said, batting her pillow aside afore it thunked me on the nozzle.

And then, careful as you like, knowin’ it would please her, I went on in m’best voice: “Pleasant tidings upon thee, oh Shona of Shonas. Knocking would not have...” what was posh for ‘done the trick’? “...served for you were not within to answer.” I made m’ glimms go all big and puppyish. “You wanted me to stand in the corridor?”

I thought mebbe she weren’t as glimflashy as she made out wiv her pillow dinging and her tolchock-talk. Tho' forks in m’ribs were not a greeting I’d’ve hoped for. Prob’ly for the best I’d kept m’ hams on. I knew she’d been t’Bryony, but for Fisher, not Montparnasse. Still, I wouldn’t take on poutsome, even if I felt like it. Gave me somethin’ to aspire to, didn’t it, if that was what Shona wanted. And the thing about a man at the top o’ th’ board is that there ain’t nowhere to go but down again. I learned that. And I may be at the bottom right now but I ain’t so bad at climbin'.

I pulled m’self up, and shuffled round on the lib, dew beaters tucked up under me, all neat like, and smiled dimplesome at her like the patrons like. I fanned the deck for her, first frontways, to show her it weren’t no fob, then backways again. “Pick a card, any card.”

[Shona Tertignan]

The thing about Montparnasse – I ever called him that when I was really displeased with him, which really, I wasn't this very moment, though I tried to seem to be – was that he knew how to wrap you around his pinky with the ease of an artist painting a blue sky. He could slither about and look all catlike and frankly, with his smile and manner, I suspected nobles thanked him when he plucked them free of their last centime.

Ah, Magpie. And even as he went now about my room as if he'd been born in it and it was a sultan's palace, I couldn't quite bring myself to sternness, no matter what ruthlessness I summoned to beat down the amused smile that was creeping up my lips. Had he somehow hooked a wire on the corners of my mouth and tugged upwards, that the effect would not have been dissimilar.

“I don't have time for flattery or games,” I said seriously – as seriously as I could. “And I don't want you coming in here like this – next time, you'll come and ask for me at the door, just like everybody, or I'll have you thrown out, is that clear?”

Once he'd agreed to this important condition, I might accept the card. For now, I was staunchly ignoring the allure, both of the card, the game, and the youthful sprite who was tantalizing me with it. What a flirt he was. It was as though Magpie had a thing for irreverence.

Then again, so did I. No wonder I'd almost gotten myself thrown out of Bryony, back in the day. I wanted to think I'd acquired better discipline since, though.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

Shona, though she ain’t quite flash, can’t be bobbed. Don’t know whether that’s a thing I like or a thing I don’t. With the way she was lookin at me now, tho', I might've been stoop’d I felt so out o' kelter. Down I cast the glaziers, ditto the knowledge box, until I was most belike a picture of abject woe. And it weren’t all hum, either. Not mad on Shona lookin at me all serious. Like I’ve let her down somehow.

Though...

She looks right plumy when she’s all worked up. Makes her eyes go chiv-bright and shiny. And mebbe I’m just made up wrong but when she makes her neb so stern, Montparnesse, well, he thinks of kissing it, doesn’t he? Prob’bly right lucky, I was looking down, else she’d see me smiling now.

But no. We were bein’ all serious. I wiped the windows clean and looked up at her through m'lashes - bit of a Bryony trick, that'un.

“I won’t do it again,” I said, sober as a nun. I meant it true enough, as I said it, but some part knew it was all court promises. I don’t go out o’ my way to break ‘em but I make so many I forget. Just in case of forgettin, I crossed my toes snug inside my boots.

So that was done with, an’ we could stop wi'the serious. I broke out into a proper smile.

“No time for flattery or games,” I said, doin’ a decent Shona, if I say so m’self. “Methinks you must be some imposter-like, for I know Shona Tertignan of old, I do, and those are not such words as she might speak 'em.”

[Shona Tertignan]

He made a good enough picture of contriteness, young Montparnasse – and I remembered the days when I was a touch younger and crazier, and would have rolled in the hay any time rather than study probabilities. Ah, but then again, I always was meant for Orchis rather than Bryony, Larquel used to say.

The thought of my oldest friend, now long dead, made me sober in earnest, and sighed, flopping on the bed by Magpie.

“Well,” I said, and I reached as I spoke to touch his hair rather gently – it was a touch more motherly than any I'd ever bestowed on anyone, really. “Shona's getting old, Magpie, and as she gets old she sees the world differently, is all.”

I was quiet, then, feeling a bit protective of this friend who was so doggedly loyal it hurt. “Alright, give me a card, Magpie.”

And just like that, I was able to almost pretend everything was alright, when it wasn't. Then again, we all did a good bluff, at Bryony, and I did teach others that skill, Monty among them. Surely he could tell.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

I fair purred like a tibby when she thread her forks through my hair. Not precisely on a highway t'clicketing but Montparnasse knows how t'take what he gets given. I liked it well enough when she lay down next t'me too. Took advantage t'kid a little closer-like.

Thing was tho', I listen right bene to what Shona's teachin and if she'd've been a patron I'd've known the thing'd gone dicky. But cos it was Shona, I felt the veriest colt-bowler. So I propped m'self on an elbow, broads still primed in m'other hand, givin her a thorough check, like she was a ken I was about t'mill, though I enjoyed it a fair bit more, lemme tell you that.

“You're ain't...aren't...old, Shona-of-Shonas,” I said, firmly. “I've just made right certain of that. No ape-leader, thou, I do most solemnly swear.” And that weren't an oath for breakin. “You are the damdest finest piece I 'ere beheld.”

And then, per'aps because I spoke so true, I felt m'self turn all ruby faced so t'hide it I fanned out the cards afore me. “Any card you like,” I said, peepin over the top.

[Shona Tertignan]

Oh, bless his heart. Sometimes he was so sweet I wanted to hold him close – it wasn't like the passions I'd known in the service, or like the passing infatuations I still allowed myself at times. It was something deeper and disembodied, friendship and kindness, a deep fondness that made me want to fall over myself trying to save Montparnasse from himself.

Instead, I just gave him a tired but brave smile and reached for one of the cards, trying and doing fairly well at it, to pretend I hadn't noticed the slight fluster in his face. Oh, sprite. If he hadn't been a being of flesh, I'd have thought he was straight out of one of those mad Alban tales.

Puckish.

I purposely took my sweet time choosing my card, counting in one direction, then in the other, fingers light as spider legs, dancing. After changing my mind a few times, for show, I settled on a card halfway through the left-most side of his spread out deck.

“This one, mouse,” I said sweetly.

It was warm, though. Having him here was... comforting. Like the good ole days.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

l liked the way she did it it, all careful, like she wasn't going to be ferreted when, o'course, she was because it was sharpin', but only in play. Always only in play wiv Shona.

I sometimes think m'self, secret-wise, that it's gammon what I do, turnin' m'tricks for the nibs, lettin' them think it's all for games, when it ain't and never was. Fair turns poor Montparnesse's jobbernole upside-down 'n' inside-out that what'd get you thrown straight in lobs pound o'the street when all you wanted was the right o' livin' is right as bleedin' rain when you make it a three-ring circus for the well-feather'd.

I bet Shona'd have a fancy-pansy word fer that.

Something wi' hippos in it.

But anyways.

“Rightio,” I said. “Now you mem'rise that proper.” I cut t' deck for her, knowing amidst the all the fingerwork I'd be taking a sly peep at what she'd pick'd. “And jus' pop it back in.” I flashed m'dimples at her, takin on like I was with a patron just for chuckles. “Smooth 'n' easy, like you're a-partin the thighs of a virgin.”

I realised in relaxin m'accent was slippin so I reigned it back. Can't have Shona thinkin she taught me all that fer nothin.

[Shona Tertignan]

The card I'd picked turned out to be a jack of clubs – it was a card I liked, not because it reminded me of someone or something, it was a purely superficial appreciation, because the drawing was particularly well done. Of course, it's common to fetch a figure in other games – if one is well trained, though, a better pick is something innocuous, a two of hearts, or a nine of spades, perhaps, something relatively uninteresting, that would make little difference in a game.

For this trick, though, it was Lady Fortuna who had plucked out a jack of clubs, and I was slightly amused by it, letting the corners of my lips tip upwards just the barest touch.

At any rate, a jack of clubs it was and I'd remember him and his upturned nose well enough. So long, Jack, I mused as I popped the card back in.

“Braggart,” I said lightly. “Is that some lewd comment about your last assignation, intended to make me envious, and to distract me from your trick?” Instead, I slipped my hand under my cheek, and looked at him under my eyelashes. “How many blushing maidens and lads have you deflowered this year, Magpie? One and a half?”

I suspected he was a right good lover – he had a way of charming with those patron-snatching dimples of his, a lot of energy, and the libido of youth.

Ah, I do speak as a crone.

To think of it, though, I do bother myself still, once in a while.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

Lancelot his’self, eh?

I let the card slip in easy, smilin’ right at her all the time, tho’ that weren’t difficult, passed it t’the top wiv my thumb, shuffled it down to the bottom again and threw m’self into a series of lightnin’ fast shuffles – all o’ them false as holy water, o’course, but dazzlin’ as I could make ‘em.

Good thing ol’ Montparnasse is a Captain-Sharp thro’ and thro’ – born to it most likely - and can bilk in his sleep, ‘cos I was fair distracted by the smiles o’ the fair Shona, as there she lay, throwin’ all m’ Bryony looks straight back at me, and then some.

I smirked at her, hands still movin’, “More’n your ancient heart could stand the recountin’ of,” I said. “Thou thinkst I would make play at rantum scantum, and then cry beef? Montparnasse ain’t no turncoat, even,” I went, musterin’ m’self for what I believed to be a monstrous bobbish piece o’ wordplay, such as would impress a clever wench like Shona, “for les crimes passionnels.”

I was, as it so happen’d fair flush i’the pocket, ‘cept the quids themselves seem to trickle away like sand.

I’d done wiv t’shuffling. Point was made that I weren’t cheatin’ – other than the fact I was. I pull'd a showmanish flourish, and toss’d out a card not Shona’s. Could’ve been any, but I’d stack’d m’deck so it was the Regina o’Diamonds that I turn’d over.

“Is that your card?” I asked, serious as can be.

[Shona Tertignan]

The Queen of Diamonds could well have been my card... in another life, when I was trying to convince the Crown Prince of Illyria to wed me, or to start a venture with a Prince of the Blood, so as to get myself independence and riches, if not a title.

That was old Shona, though – and so the queen of diamonds I was not, though I would have agree to a queen of clubs, perhaps, considering my new situation.

It wasn't what was asked of me, though, or rather, it was, but only after a fashion, and I mused that Montparnasse was paying me a little compliment, in his own twisted way. Crafty boy – I hoped he was better at managing his finances than I remembered, lest he be still at Bryony beyond the years in which an adept is of age to serve.

“Try again, Magpie,” I said patiently. “Or should I say,” and there I gave him the wry smile of an accomplice, “keep going.”

Despite my best intent of remaining dour, my protege was managing to make me smile. Well. I'd always had a fondness for youth.

Or were those stirrings of maternal instincts I'd long quelled and discarded? The thought was half-disturbing, and I opted not to dwell on it.

[Montparnasse nó Bryony]

Wasn't too nuts upon the gooey-glimm'd way Shona was beholdin me right now. Made me suspect th' ol' in-out weren't so much not on her mind as nowhere near it. Dilberries t'that I say. What's a cove to do? I mean, there's only so much waitin' around the Magnificient Montparnesse has in 'im.

Right ungruntled I was, but I tucked it away, like a palmed board, and gave 'er a sham pout, like I was miffed she was wellin' m' trick. I'd got the knave firmly gripped, and out o'sight, so I flipped o'er a few more cards as if expectin' to find it there.

“Why, Shonaaaaaa,” I said, bestowin' her wiv a chastenin' gaze I'd confected from 'er own lessons, “methinks you've been a minxish wench. What hast thou done?”

I threw the rest of the deck in'the air, lettin' it come pitter-patterin' down on us like paper rain. I turn'd the cards, this way 'n' that way, not findin' the knave 'cos he wasn't there t'find. I kept up the fakement a while a bit.

Then I palm'd t' knave quick as mustard. Lent in cross th'dab, t' tweak 'im triumphant from twixt Cupid's kettle drums (and a might prime pair they are too). I glanced up, holdin' aloft the card, thumbed 'n' fingered, my mouth so close to hers our breaths were all at kissin.

“Why, Shonaaaaaaa,” I said again, enjoyin the view and smirkin fit t'bust.

[Shona Tertignan]

So far so good, Magpie was being impish and playful, and I was amused. The card was put away and he mock-chastened me, to which I responded with an innocent yet mirthful grin. “Ah,” I said, “Not a thing, Magpie, not a thing.”

But then he'd reached between my breasts before I could stop him and had used his infamous sleight of hand to palm up the Jack of clubs, and was all but climbing all over me, lips closing in for a kiss.

My hand wrapped around his wrist, holding it tightly there lest he do more than merely pluck a card from my cleavage.

For a moment, I was tempted – Magpie is young, energetic, and I'd always found him handsome. I looked at his face and knew that if I gave in, decorum might well go out the door. Elua, I should think of going to Naamah's temple.

“Magpie,” I murmured as blandly as I could, “please don't.”

It was a touch half-hearted, that. Oh, Magpie.

_{[OOC: Relocated to KL kushielslegacy.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=180&t=270&p=683#p683.]}