Tempest Fitzgerald

A sly minx, you say? Truly, you flatter me so.... You may continue.

Wanna bet? **sticks out tongue**

Well....One might be so inclined to stir the roux....just a tad. **scratches head in thought** Now where was it exactly that I tucked away The Sphinx and that rogue Lamaire.... One would be clinging to the shadows.... The other.... More than likely some local watering hole.... Hmmmm

I "heart" you more, P. **blush**

I came across this old friend and was in fear that it might become misplaced in the past. With this in mind, I took it upon myself to raise it to the forefront...oh flame caressed bird from the ashes. This is where it all began, after all, and many a fond memory stems from its' humble start. (Of course, one must go beyond page one and more into the vacinity of ten to gain the tale at hand.) A toast in recognition to writers new and old, that have kept this tale alive!

Broadway

As legal procedures of the day would and could dictate, what once belonged to one now laid to rest a numbing blur of vin induced days and nights to the past, was now in firm possession of kindred. High aloft on fine sculptured terrace, the new Master of the Estate held quite and spirit laden reign to the ghosts of recent past. The tang of salt tinctured breeze stirred spyglass cradled on eloquated stand; rounded eye staring blankly at the bay beyond and the vessels that rocked gently on tropical water. Below, drifting upward to half tuned hearing, the soft voice of recent Widow spoke instructions to servant’s query. The petit form that was seen upon Martinique's departure, now disrupted by slight convex. Snips and bits of conversation traversed the air, Dominique shifted almost restless to what transpired within feminine verbose. Placing stray tress of unruly manner into check behind right ear, the new Master rose from carved chair; intentionally keeping eyes averted from Frigate that could be glimpsed if a degree to the right were centered on. But, Her visage reawakened remorse that was barely restrained as was....And Lamaire had found it best not to invite such hosts into his company. Passing thru multi-paned doors of glazier perfection, he paused at writing desk, gazing upon commission papers that lay pinned by bottle t once holding grape sacrifice. Survey was made of well appointed boudoir, a scene of slightly askew bearing and decision was made to quit sanctuary for the lower floors. It was only proper to check upon the current well-being of Madame Fournier. He found no pleasure in her young and spoiled ways, but regardless, she was the key to future legacy and Dominique would be steadfast in ensuring that the next generation would be encouraged to arrive safely into this turbulent world of chance....

The matched Grays turned curious attention in unison to Mister Delaney's aquire of driver's post. The paddock, once full of equine host, was now in state of depleation with a handfull of original numbers within its borders. Quiet conversation drifted early morning still as the Faithful waited patiently to begin Port trek. Enclosed carriage had been maticulously attended to, its exterior offering dull reflection of subdued morning light. Lots had been drawn and a smattering of men milled about equine crowded yard in wait of brethren departure. Even in times as this, the cottage's surround would not be deserted completely. Aurore emerged from domocile shadow accompanied by Megan, the waterfall of rich wine silks a splash of contrast to company's ink hued cladding. The area was overcome with respectful hush and Christophe moved around carriage side as aid to entrance. He waited placidly until both females were seated, than swung door securly to latch click. Last minute check was made to blue roan's tether on carriage rear, then saddle was gained on familiar Bay. Signal was given to Delaney's waiting eyes, and slowly the percession moved forward out of folliage cover to the main road beyond. There was no urgency to progress, just steady traverse. Soon enough, wide vista of cane fields would give way to outcropping of wooden architecture; gaining more prominence as the Port neared. They would travel the narrow streets until reaching field of stone monuments within town's looming enclosure. Here they would wait patiently for Beggar Prince and the final walking home of Irish Rose.

capacity

Dance Card

(Avery) labels

Jason eyed the older man incredulously with the rantings comencement and allowed himself to be dragged into the room. Perhaps, he thought to himself, that it was just an example of what happens to one's mental facalties in Golden Years. Once or twice, young lad made to speak then thought better of it. Such an action might further stoke the other's passions. Jason resigned to stay quiet and resisted the urge to squirm in the chair. His first confrontation with the elder afore him had been brief, in no way preparing him for the present experience. Just as it seemed there would be reprieve, Symm's regain stregnth in personal convictions. Jason concentracted on choking back laughter and keeping a straight face. The old bird reminded him so greatly of a long ago Papal priest who's sermmons were long winded and far from the solem dignity of Catholic manner. Was it....? Oh yes...Father Donahue, his young mind recalled. As though Symms sensed his audience of one's thoughts drifting elsewhere, he saw fit to raise his voice to higher levels. The newest presentation being that of disrespect regarding attention given when one was being addressed. Jason allowed a low sigh, and wished with highest hopes, that the Master of the "house" would not linger overlong where ever it was that he found himself.

Aurore stood in the morn's ealiest light next to Jason's prefered mount Old Tucker. The young lad had dubbed tried and true companion such as an irony, for the horse seemed to never tire nor was it old. Deftly gaining firm seat, Jason reached down to receive Mistress's desire then secured bundle in afore him on the saddle. Words were exchanged briefly and as young rider was about to start short journey, Aurore's voice caught him mid act of mount command. Cherubic features turned to her with silent query. From around the keeping of slender neck, medallion was withdrawn and handed to reluctant hand. Jason would not question the action, though it left him rather puzzled as to why she would do so. "Make sure that this is given unto the Capitaine's keeping only. If there is a problem this is its' remedy, as you are well aware. But, please advise him to be prudent in its' exposure. I need to know that his safety is ensured." Jason nodded uncertainly, glancing to the sigil of bird in flight briefly before tucking it away. The sorrel was goaded forward and soon gained easy stride of speed. The venture from the bush to salt tinged air was conquered in good time and mount was drawn up before familiar structure. Admitance was easily gained to upper floors and once again, young lad found himself before familliar door. Soft rap was issued, awaiting answer from within...

Arcanna ( card classification, suite and face )

prophet

farce

knocks

transition

The harsh and determined crow of Dawn Herald shook outdoor calm and caused furrow to come forth on delicate brow. Not truly asleep or awake, Aurore reached searchingly across the vacant expanse of mattress. No success to quest furthered the definition of brow crease and she opened her eyes groggily to confirm what she already knew was fact. Propping upon elbow brace, her attention was drawn to semi closed curtains with the next trumpeting of rooster origins. A smallish gap betwixt heavy twined legnths revealed Dawn's sneaking approach in lavender gray adornments, and Aurore fell back to multi pillow comforts with heavy sigh. Dawn could mark possibilities of new beginnings, successful ventures and opportunities...This new day would mark the ending of Life chapter; one concluded far before its' time. Reluctantly, Aurore left the seductive comfort of bed encompassment; moving sluggishly to the stateliness of large armoire. Doors swung away, the dark eyes perused mahagony depths and settled on burgandy silk flow. Traditions might have stated that black was the call for the day, but Aurore thought to honour in other ways. Molly had always admired the adornment of burgandy tincture and Aurore would give her fairwell wishes clad in such. A light breeze navigated curtain barrier to tease exposed flesh, its' semi-cool touch as soft as a lover's. A trace of smile played Aurore's features in response to secretive thoughts as she covered herself in simple shift, leaving private chamber for hallway legnth. No sound, but that of her own bare footpad disrupted upper floor. Andre', once again, had choosen to keep overnight in the Port; Sabastian had not been expected back and fulfilled expectation. The silence was almost disconcerting, but such feelings were dismissed as Aurore drew near memory filled chamber that now was as deserted as its brethren. Pausing quiet step, she laid one hand on movable wooden barrier briefly before continueing to lower floor realms. Soon Jason would leave the cottage for predestined Crowne hostle, delivering what need be left there.

Sabastian had finally come to roost within the simple structure occupied by the Shea clan. It was a tennant house, like so many others, and nothing much over the vissage of utilitarian. Never the less, the few personal belongings that occupied space within sparse dwelling, gave a trace of hominess and the Shea's nature of warmth made it more so. To say it was an improvement over domocile of first arrival to the island would have been an understatement of grand proportions. The Shea's had numbered five when leaving shores of the Auld Sod, but the journey over had delt them unkind hand in a series of events. Foul weather had plagued brig transport after two days of blue water sail. Promises made of proper accommodations proved untrue and the Sheas were herded below decks to hold section surround along with others of their kind. Unclean, cramped and constantly damp area became a breeding ground for sickness and death. Rodent residents became a sought after delicacy when proposed meal rations proved to be falsehood, as well. And so the trials of hellish manner had gone on. Molly's mother had been the first to succumb to the hold's pestilence. She had managed two months into the passage before passing one storm ridden night into the peace she had never known in life. Molly's brother Colm, a strapping lad of nine and ten years age at journey's onset, had made taunting remarks of protest with mother's loss. As that week's time moved forward, the lad's Irish nature and poignant statements fell on wrong ears and a belaying pin ceased any further disturbances. Then they were three and now it seemed, that Fate had not seen the Shea sacrifices to be tithe paid in full. Once again dispatching Dark Rider and Pale Horse into their company to take sweet Rose from the vine too soon. Sabastian kept silent vigil near the carefully laid out body once radiating such fire and devotion. A chorus of candle lumination gently stroked pale still features, playing the opalecent surfaces of small pearl interuptions on delicate silk shroud. The Wake had proceeded as tradition dictated, this was the first phase. Mourners had paid their dues, the haunting sounds of keening and crying had long since ceased in these hours of the night. It was well after Midnight, some where bordering the the darkest and the beginings of grey approach. The rich scents of snuff, tobbacco and brandy still hung heavy in air's grasp; ghosts of earlier events. Soon enough, Morning would make her presence known and with that, tradition would take center stage again in full force. Sabastian leaned stiffly forward on nondecript bench, dark eyes traveling over the form that had given him triumphant joy and now had traded posts for that of even greater sorrow. So tied up within private thoughts, that the soft pad of footstep never roused his normally fine honed senses. Never gave warning to the near standing of youngest remaining Shea. A small hand lit on right shoulder; subtle echo of Molly's features and form waited without announcement for his acknowledgment. Sabastian's words were just above whisper, his center never wavering from heart's loss. "You should be sleeping, moineau delicat..." "An' I coul' be sayin' the same o' yerself," Niamh returned, equally as soft. "Someone has to stay with her..." "Aye, den we will be attendin' together." Her tone showing steadfast resolve. Sabastian gave no further argument, just moved over to allow a place for her to rest. Gaining some form of comfortable seating on hard plank surface, Niahm rested smallish milk tinctured hand over his larger, darker one.

irreparable

heartache

**shudder** sacrifice

Sandy Claws

With the sun's departure and moon's cresting, the pyre gained nightly rule. Mood was of more subdued flavorings in light of morning's news. Reels and jig were played now and then, but the overall progress of dark hours passing was orchastrated by more somber tune. Voicings that flitted the proximity were kept to reverant low, the usual bawdiness placed in check. Aurore lay comfortably in weathered hammock embrace, one leg trailing over giving edge. Smallish wafts of breeze stirred palm fonds above, barely decernable as they froliced so far above fire's red orange hues. Her mind was a hive of activity, an epitome of emotional tides all pulling for their day in court. She contemplated matters of buisness that lay unattended, Sabastian giving instruction on departure that she was to stay put unless he sent word otherwise. She tried to convince herself that the restlessness harrying normally fine tuned senses were all due to recent upheavals concerning Molly; the invasion of tresspassers; duties not tended to and concern for her siblings...But no, that was not it at all and on some level very unfamilliar to her, Aurore knew what the real cause was. Shifting to more comfortable position, her thoughts drifted back to the true foundation of current manner. A smile tickled the corners of Aurore's mouth as she recalled the morning now long passed. How fast time fleeted then and how sluggish it had become since. Angels and demons once again whispered to inner hearing, and once again were ignored. Dark eyes focused on moon above and she mused privately if he perchance looked upon its' pale face at the same moment. There lie an emptiness within her that was not recognized as having been felt before and its existance did well to stoke already aggitated being. On the far side of fire's border, Christophe sat down near Delaney and began carefully tuning an aged lute. Long fingers caressed delicate strings, rousing the old instrument from hibernation. Intricate pattern of Provencial ballad disturbed the near stillness of evening's reign; bringing silent nods of approval from gathered company. From opposit side of elemental ring, the soft trill of fife joined in accompniment; furthering the richness and depth. Aurore sat up, recalling the unsung words that made song whole; words that spoke of pure love and moonlit trysts. She gazed across fire's lick and for a brief momment Christophe's eyes met her own, then quickly moved away. Bare feet found dirt surface and the hammock's encompasment was deserted as she looked about the Faithful until finding who was sought. Jason looked up from whispered conversation as Aurore came near. "Are you going into the Port with morning's light?" "Aye, mistress." "I will have a small package and a comunique' that need be delivered to The Three Crownes when you depart." The youngster's features gave no betrayal to what his private thoughts might be; he only smiled with a slight bob of head, " Aye." She thanked him while turning away, leaving company's keep for stone walls in the near distance. From cupboard's hold, various ingredients were procured and bundled, Aurore moved on to private chamber above. Atop writting desk, two sheets of parchment were laid. On one, careful instructions were given to the usage of what lay in bundle's grasp, the combination of herbs used to staunch fever and allow rest...On the second, just one simple line of sentiment. Vous me manquez....A.