Aurore Devareaux

The lane was cleared as percession made way to Holy Ground. It was a rare thing to see the majority of Le Cour gathered in one place outside of nightly revelries, but this was not the norm of events. Horsemen fore and aft, escorted the carriage and matched grays down High Street under the glare of morning sun. The mood was jovial and calls of well wishes echoed the air from the local populace and some that were newly arrived. Nearing destination, full halt was called for, allowing carriage to pull alongside the church's rear entrance. Delaney reined in his charges, setting brake then lept to the ground to attend step. Sabastian exited first, glancing over shoulder into shade drawn interior. The door was closed and the two men stepped closer to equine proximity. Beggar Prince raised a brow in silent query, Delaney shook his head in silent reply.

flora

herbal

mal-air

fever

file

friction

poise

synchronicity

spy

soldier

Tinker

scamp

knave

Isabella stirred a the bright morning sun broke the barrier of shutters, prodding her from slumber like an insistant child. Her eyes fluttered briefly, a conflict waged betwixt opening or not. The warmth and form next to her under the cover of worn quilt brought a slight upturn to the corners of lips' eloquated line. Melding closer, Venitian dove of soiled manner, propped up to elbow support and gazed with a certain hidden affection upon companion. There were only a select few that were permitted access to her small realm and this one in particular always proved a delightful contradiction of what was given to the outside world versus what was given in the private one. This one was capable of suprizing tenderness and attentiveness that belayed manner of stoic tendancies. She leaned in, visually tracing the line of aquiline features cast in the typical darker hue of native Southern origins. Laughing softly, 'Bella knew that though his eyes remained closed, he was well aware of her stiring and chose to maintain eased repose. Playfully, the daint tip of soft tongue caressed the ridge of outer ear bringing a slyed smile to his expression that she did not have to see to be aware off. "Bonjour, Monsieur...." she whispered. "Madame..." was the quiet response. "We cannot waste this morning abed, you well know..." Christophe scowled to the prodding, this was a day that he had no desire to acknowledge. Pushing himself up to the support of headboard battlement, the Frenchman reached for near at hand brandy bottle. The scowl deepening with the discovery of its' emptiness. "It and its' twin fell to your thirst late in the night." she chided. "I desire a third, 'Belle. " Wrapping a leg around his own, she moved her head in negation to the statement, "It is not yet Noon and even if it were, this is not the day for early drinking. We are expected at...." Anger flashed his eyes, "Which is every raison pour cognac, beaucoup!" Isabella allowed time for the tight set of his jaw to relax, unsure of what to say or do under the current circumstance. Shifting, she moved to straddle his abdomen and gathered the quilt about her waist. Christophe tracked her change of position with neutral guise. Sympathy painted her form as she looked upon his youthful face and spoke in hushed tone. " I am sorry, Tristan..." "Not as much as I....Nothing good will come of this and She..." Venitian Dove placed fingers to his lips, "Shhhh, now." His shoulders dropped in resignation, eyes centering elsewhere. Isabella brushed back the strands of wayward hair which errantly had fallen foward to lay over brow and cheek bone, but his focus remained far away. Returning to the Frenchman's side, she gently tugged him away from simple backboard laying his head on the soft flesh of her breast. Christophe made no protest, gave no resistance as she brought him close. Isabella held him with knowing tenderness, gathered to her in an effort to vanquish, for a little while, the inner demons which leered on with hungry want.

The dress was similar to that which shrouded Molly Shea in earthy tomb. Both of deep green hue, both carefully beaded with hand sewn pearls, both crafted by the same woman of Italian origins and commisioned by the same man. Aurore choose this one over all the other in her possession for multiple reasons, the bodice and sleeves were interwoven with embroidered roses of deepest red against emerald silk, and red was considered a color of good luck amongst the Rom. She wore it in appreciation of her brother's love, for it was he that had it made for her as a gift....And she wore it in homage of its' near twin that would never be seen worn on a day as today. Tortise shell combs were layed into place, barely noticable within the thick tress of russet hue that they kept in place. Aurore glanced into the mirror to Sabastian's reflection as he sat on bed's edge watching with approving eye. Her heart was light with the event to come, though a tinge of saddness lay at its' edges as she thought of how Molly should have had this day before she, herself did. Sibling left bed's comfortable surface, coming near to aid in the interweave of seed pearl strand amidst russet backdrop. A kiss was placed on exposed shoulder before he turned her about for final survey. Sabastian tapped his chin in consideration, "Something is missing..." He walked around her, careful not to step upon the legnth of silk that lay abaft on oriental rug below. Twice more Sabastian circled, then brought himself up short as if in sudden remeberance. From velvet pocket, pendant was withdrawn and held up for her observation. The warm glow of lamp lumination caressed the oblong emerald courted by a ring of diamonds and Aurore's eyes grew wide to its' showing. "But 'Bastian....That was to be Molly's...." He tsked while reaching about, clasping it into place around sister's slender neck. "And I know that she would have wanted you to be its' bearer now...." Aurore turned to view how it laid midway her breast bone, eyes misting as the light played faceted surfaces. Sabastian drew her near, dabbing her cheeks with produced linen square and speaking with soothing tone. "Non, cher Renard....No tears from you less they be those of joy." Encircling her in loving embrace, he whispered to near hearing, " The carriage is at ready, sweet one. It is time to go...Remember this always, no matter the circumstance...or what life causes on the road ahead, you will always be the true bearer of my heart and the dearest thing I will ever cherish." He drew away slowly, almost hesitantly. Taking Aurore's hand gently into his own, Sabastian lead her from chamber to those waiting below.

final

The horses were re-claimed and the gathering of phantoms dispersed to various directions. Nothing was discussed betwixt Christophe and Sabastian as they returned to the Rookery. Matters of such buisness would not be aired in the lacking securities offered by High Street, but would wait until chamber with red velvet trappings was gained. Turning toward final destination, Sabastian smiled without conscious thought as he recalled the young woman showing such spirit. Most men did not do as well under similar situations. His curiosity was piqued, but as most of his blood did, Life was taken a day at a time in the overall. Whatever would be, would be...

Rites

requiem

Sabastian took her proffered hand, the smile deepening. Gently, he drew Ransom forward, "Mercy is a many faceted thing, cherie..." Then she was released as he backed into the darkness just beyond archway. "Very well, ma petit colombe...I have other buisness to attend this night that cannot wait, so this is what I suggest." He leaned outward of the arch, fixing her with impish glint, "There is a cove to the western side of this island, it is hidden but, not overly so....and deep enough for you to secure the vessel safely. Follow the coast and I will send one to signal you by storm lamp indicating its' where abouts. Be there near nine of the clock on the morrows eve and we shall see what there is to see." Back into the corridor he ducked, words trailing back to her hearing with odd echos. "Do not play me foul, Mademoiselle...It would be most unwise." The sound of rear door opening danced the silence, "Adieu, Petit...." And the reverberation of entrance closure played to no one's hearing but her own.

**

frenzy

hysteria

Devon stiffled a laugh and leaned near, "Sounds like open flame an'na powder keg ta me own self. An' ya be wantin' aul Seth in yer midst...." The Irishman shrugged then went to the bar. Momments later, an older gentleman appeared with portly stature and jovial good natured features. They dissapeared into the back for a short passing of time, then Devon rejoined Sterling. "Tha Aul Fellar says tis no' a problem an' all will be secured an' ready in two hours time. Anythin' else?"