Aurore Devareaux

mother load

The carriage rocked gently, its suspension being tried at times with imperfections that pocked lane surface. It was a silent progress but for the mid day chorus of Port Royal occupants taking care of various task and desire. Vehicle eased to halt, waiting for congestion to clear, something that was urged with crass comment from Driver's post ahead and above. With subtle jerking motion, movement was acquired again. The semi stuffy air was a welcome change from that of the more so existing within deserted inn room. Pungent smell of ocean, both salt and humanity, wafted and assaulted through luft of drawn shades. Frenchman kept his own counsel, knowing that any contradiction in verbose form would gain nothing more that venomous rebuttal from his companion. Her form and posture was kept in veiled view while he maintained carriage of disconcert. Vehicle slowed again to round corner, to the left the slightest glimpse of prison fortitude could be viewed in fleet. He attention rested full on it though flap of shade, focus rapt upon its' presence far after its' fade. Her expression pinched to some unshared thought, then slowly smoothed once again. Ride changed and adjusted as wheels numbering four left cobbled surface, meeting with softer support of what some might call road. The destination was set, her determination unshaken. One course of action had already been set into place, but one was not enough to wager on securely. Re-enforcements were to be called upon, and one came to mind with surety. One that possessed equal leverage to that held by Eldest Sibling. One that held sway.... It was only a matter of gaining His interest….A gamble in itself.

indentured

Offense?! Truly Mademoiselle Chaton.... If you make note of the posting which accompanies the image in question, you will see that I clearly stated that this was at Faire. Further note of historical bearing would show that my Chapeau is actually correct in its shaping according to the old French way. (though the braiding is not.) In the Living History arena, I can tell a hawk from a handsaw. And least I forget, Piracy is not the "Family Business"...We prefer to portray the grand tradition of "Owling"; Late Baroque / Early Roccoco, which places us in historically correct parameters to wear boots. These boots I have had for many a year and are soon enough to be replaced by a pair tailored according to 17th Century riding boots.

three

Statuesque

Square Groupers

Here are mine and the tales these boots could tell...Although I will admit, much to the chagrin of many here, I cannot say I have ever truly gone the Pirate route. Many liberties taken with this "kit"...I was at Faire, after all.

She clung in some desperation to the comfort which eluded her as many a fabled beast. Tears had run their course to drought, absorbed to full capacity withing the linen that she burried her face in so deeply now. There was some solace given with familiar encompasment, familiar scent...but it was cheap numbing to the angst which plagued her soul. Frenchman held her as so often in the past when things had gone awry and the nearness he so craved and so often currently acted more curse than blessing; adding vinigar to already raw emotions. At smallish inclination to draw away, Christophe lessened hold and kept eyes focused on far wall. Suddering breath teased the chamber and she tried to gain his center. "What is being said?" Came ghostly query. Bella paused in current task at the words, then quickly returned to intents. "Murder...." Came dispondant reply. "But...."Another shudder of air was taken in. "It cannot be true...I..." "It is what is said." Aurore's expression reflected the turmoil brewing within and she moved to bed's edge suddenly, looking about wildly. "I must go to them and inform them of their error...There can be no truth in this!" Gaining her feet with quick render, soul's windows darted the surround in search of something more befiting the outer world, but such was not of wise choice and body rebeled mind's command. Thief's reflex caught her sway and lifted gently; two count stride returning her to worn ticking. Weak struggle tried counter whim and found no success, large tears welled once more. Christophe sat on bed's edge, eyes far away, "There is little that can be done, the options few. This is not an area in which we have overmuch sway." "There is always a way, Tristan. And I refuse to think otherwise and will not." She grew silent for the passing of minutes, then looked to longtime companion with determined fire dancing expressive pools. "Ou est Devon?"

Aurore listened to the words directed to the one whom encompassed her in secure warmth. The nausea had stirred to greedy want, inspired by the heavy emotion in room's confine and current condition; neither of which she held sway over. Hesitantly, glance was cast towards Brother's expression and she found what lay there to be unsettling as his center of focus pinned Mari's companion. Another fleet of observation fell to the woman that stood in not so distant proximity and curiosity would have been further piqued but for situation at hand. Gently, Aurore released herself from protective hold and moved away. Mirror reflection of ying and yang studied each other briefly, then she turned away to recapture occupation of hearthside room.

One of Brother's worn shirts was procured from oaken trunk and traded for with the soiled blanc et rouge that hung in layered wrought. As if most precious of jewels, Mourning attire was draped over chest's rounded lid and she moved to single window to peer out. Petit hand rested with covet over flat that would not remain so and worry plagued her brow intermixted with damp sheen of sweat. The abrupt sound of crystal sacrifice was half noted as mental cogs and gears meshed in want of answers to queries unspoken. Quandry lay upon quandry as Aurore tried to fathom retreat from Shea House and the cold fire that burned with fevor in Brother's eyes. Something was most amiss, and it went deeper than the evidence that she had knowledge of. Turning away from glazier company, the thickened depth of ticking and soft quilting gave willingly to her slight form. Drawn near to chin, linen offered shield to the outside world and the one thought that continued to rush forth as hound amongst quail, was where He was...And how empty she felt with His absence. Quilting was drawn closer, and with resigned exhalation, she gave into the restless surrender of Sleep's demand.

"Non, merci....I feel well." Further concern clouded brow as she kept peripheral focus on Sibling's movements.

'Mother Shea made attempt at welcoming smile, but there lay linger of unease in aged eyes with recognition of Sterling's accent. Sabastian, noting the slight shift of body language came near and placed comforting arm about bent shoulders. Words were whispered to hearing alone as he leaned to near ear and she nodded. The inside of simple structure was gained, large hearth dominating far wall was centerpiece to practical appointments. Door was closed and secured tightly as Elder parted companions for kitchen area just out of view.

"Mari, " she said as Sterling neared. " I wish you to meet Grandmother Shea..." Olive sights flicked briefly to Sibling, "She is as family to us and shall give us shelter for the duration. She and her grand daughter.

Aurore met the duo at half the distance, warm compassion painting her features as she drew the Elder near in embrace. Releasing, but obtaining and keeping the woman's hands in her own, Aurore looked to where Mari stood tending mounts. "Sucre'...will you join us, s'il vous plait?"