Tempest Fitzgerald

To the Pain...

heart's desire

moonlit serenade

tryst

cane fields

Estate

Chateau (Justification for Higher Education.)

dissertation

thesis

hypothesis

Evolution

Franklin approached the rear area of Common room with cautious step; senses reaching outward to test area as if sounding near unseen reefhead. Never would he admit to any of Le Cour's company, that the request handed to him made for uncomfortable stir within the reaches of his soul. This establishment was known for the patronage it kept; so much so, that even local authorities prefered turn blind eye to its' existance than to madden denizines to waspish frenzies. Here in cess pool of Port Royal underworld was the man Sabastian had sent him to seek. A ragged old tom cat whose scarred vissage could tell tales in itself without voicing, not that any cared to prod for where said character marks were procured or how. A tattered and overused woman of indeterminable age cursed lone thief for standing in the way of her current directional travel. Rough verbose a reflection of Common's content and she made no qualms about pushing aggressively past with baleful glare. He moved onward to the splintered legnth of planking that served as Barkeep's land and holdings. Man on the job intentionally ignored Franklin's presence, it mattered not to him what the large man's designs or desires were. A glint of coin appeared on stained surface, but only for a fraction of second. The Barman persisted in ignoring current company, far more interested in what now lay in grubby palm. Pocketing the offering, two beady eyes stared with contempt upon Franklin's being and realizing that the intruder did not seem to be leaving quickly enough, proffered prodding encouragement, "Bugger off, ye blag..." The final word was snuffed with tight grip about its' means of passage. With lightning speed, the barman's throat was grasped tightly in large paw, emanciated form dragged over makeshift surface and beady eyes thrown wide as possible to meet with Franklin's own. Crude arrogance departed tiny sights to be replaced with something kindred to fear. Franklin smiled good naturedly as the other gasped for breath. Reaching into shirt's concealment, medallion was withdrawn to spin on heavy chain support. The barman watched talisman pirouette as it slowed to halt; gaunt features loosing what color was left at sigil recognition. Franklin allowed reality to set in fully before releasing his grip with violent shove. Crashing contact of meager body wieght striking flimsy shelving behind barely brought notice of those in the Common's care. Onion bottles dropped with disruption, plummeting downward to strike flooring; offering their contents to thirsty dirt consumption. The Barman stayed where he landed, ignoring the loss of watered down elixrs that ebbed out in immediate proxy; small rodent eyes intent on the Other. The good natured smile widened upon Franklin's features, "Seems be tha' you could use a lesson in manners..." The Barman flinched. "Tis a good t'ing tha' I have more impor'ant matters to be tendin' to. Now if ye were a bit wiser than ye look....An' tha' may be askin' too much....Ye would inform Mister Childermass tha' I have come callin'."

Sabastian sat on the corner of well used bed, watching quietly as Soiled Dove flitted from one area of the small room to another. In the late afternoon's dying light, one would have never guessed her to be the age she truly was; which climbed easily ten years above his own. Isabella paused her movements to cast a bitter sweet smile Sabastian's direction before moving to secured armoir crowding rear wall. A small key was produced and locks withdrawn. From within, an eloborate legnth of delicate silk, lace and petit pearls were brought forth for view. He gained his feet as the dress was taken to the bed and laid with reverance upon old quilt surface. The Venician dame moved without comment closer to where he now stood. Sabastian's dark eyes, so much like younger kindred, roved over delicate adornment. They remained that way, side by side for some time; the only change disturbing the surround was a single tear that traced wolfish features to sharp jawline. Isabella wrapped one comforting arm around his waist, resting mocha tinctured cheek against near shoulder. "It was to be a gift overshadowing all before..." She nodded silent agreement, for it seemed not the momment to do anything more. Gently, the dress was gathered and prepared for its' short journey. As Isabella finished with treasure's protective shrouding, she voiced quiet query, "You think it was intentional?" Sabastian's expression lost any softness that grief had rendered an instant before; his tone interwoven with assuredness and condemnation, "Yes..." Again, the silent nod as she handed him the bundle. Isabelle considered briefly, "Perhaps you should speak to the Gov...." His response was rapid and finalizing in judgement, "Non. This I shall handle personally." Beggar Prince placed a kiss on Isabelle's forehead, saying nothing more as he departed for the company of waiting mount below.

The 50's

Ask and so shall you receive.

The blade in question was a gift, though I have seen similar at a stone throw over 100. This resembles a true museum piece, not a Dandy bit. The blade is not polished, which is the common. It is a mottled bluing that you would expect from a piece of the time. I shall try to get shots of it, as per you reguest, in the next couple of days and forward to you.

Fifty seems a fair enough price. But, if you desire something that looks as though just burgled from private collection, I might suggest laying your hands on one such as I have. It is a replica of a French Marin Cutlass. The cup is blacked and not all that shiny dressage. The blade is mottled bluing, has the blood groove as well as the forging stamps engraved down the top blunt. ( In french, of course.) It resembles the real deal. ( Check my last photo in the "Garb" thread and you can lay an eye on it. Came with the sheath and has the "hanger" loop on the back. I can track one down for you if that is what you have in mind. ( And you won't have to weather it.)

Oktobre 1917 (Red October)

run silent, run deep

incomunicado

..Of Call

A little taste of "Paris" in " England" **snigger**

The reverberation of shod hoof disrupted the harmonious lull of water flow travelling under wooden suspension. The old mill lay near yet far, an embodiment of peaceful solitude raising from muddied banks. Sabastian reined in, as movement caught his eye just to the left of weathered structure. The Matron of Millstone was bent to task over an object that was unclear from his view. But as if sixth sense of another presence stirred her, Abbi stood straight her meager heigth; turning to focus on the bridge and traverser. Sabastian knew her aged eyes would be squinched in effort to bring clarity to rider, and he eased the Noir forward to cut some of the distance. A smile of recognition lit her features, like sun breaking cloud cover and she raised a hand in hail. Standing in stirrup support, Beggar Prince removed chapeau with elegant sweep, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle." He could see her smile spread further to his titling; they both knew that she was far beyond such youthful address. "You are a scamp, Mister Devareaux." Her tone was prodding in a endearing way. Sabastian regained his seating, "Oui, Mademoiselle...So you are fond of telling me." A silence fell betwixt Youth and Mother briefly then she called out again, "I am so sorry." Sabastian digested the verbose and its' sincerity, giving a nod to their existance before replying, "Merci...As am I." The Noir was given nudge to girth with nothing more said, finishing the trek of plank path then increasing pace to follow dirt track beyond. He cast a look over shoulder to Abbi as bend was rounded; contemplating her situation. There was no doubt of her independence, but there was always a ghost of concern that played his mind in her regard. Years ago, when Sabastian and siblings had arrived on Jamaica's offer of terra firma, Abagail Crane had offered unselfish aid to their plight. She had never judged; never shown cruelty or given harsh wordings; only kindness without tithe. Perhaps the time had come to repay her actions. Perhaps a companion to share the hours and daily tasks; to drive away solitude and monotony... Up ahead the path of one became two. Bearing left lit by bright glare of Jamaican Soliel; to the right, cool foliage invitation and way to The Port. Sabastian reigned in once more, regarding the copse and what he knew lay possibly concealed in shadowed greenery. Concern for well being never stirred his thought process, but he considered an offering to footpad spirits whoes presence may linger. The Noir was spurred to burst of speed, and as the immediate area traded bright to dark, to bright again; the ring of coin splay landing on packed dirt fell upon hidden ears in his wake.

Sidhe

Tropical breeze stirred the weight of velvet window coverings, lufting mommentarily then regaining stregnth. Humidity had raised its' ugly head and fought to force claim against zepher's meager attempt at cooling. The chamber remained as it had with his departure, Megan had appeared at doorway's gape with intention of clearing the once heavily ladden table. But, seeing Aurore still within and seemingly occupied with inner thinkings, the young girl slipped back the way she had come; a shadow blending with shadow's in dim hallway. Aurore had regained the comfort of before occupied chair, her thoughts wandering with daydream coursings. The sound of footfall approach was lost to her senses as Sabastian paused at chamber stoop. He waited patiently a space of minutes to no avail, finally applying light rap on portal frame. Younger sibling roused from musings with smallish start, eyes darting like disturbed sparrow to suddenly gain bearing and clarity. She looked upon his vissage and felt such pull of heartstrings to the change overtaken his usual being. Wolfish features so familliar with the dance of mischievous carriage were mantled with lackluster mask and seemed to have aged ten years. Sabastian reached a hand invitingly to her and with her obey of silent wish, brother encircled her with loving embrace. "I know that look.." he whispered to near ear. "I approve of your choice and hope to no ends that my instincts do not play me for fool. Just be careful, Renard...A heart for all of its' stregnth is truly a very fragile thing." They remained intertwined in silent understanding for some time, before he gently let her go and moved back a pace, "I must leave for now. Christophe will remain here to oversee and assure that you are looked after." Aurore moved to embrace him tightly once more, speaking sooth and warning, " Do not do anything rash..."