Aurore Devareaux

As Aurore retraced her way to cottage encompassment, she hesitated with hand hovering over entrance latch. A deep breath was taken in slowly, then the knob turned. With foyer's gain, her hearing captured the soft nature of sibling's verbose as it drifted from near room. Aurore's frame stiffened to the voice that replied, the dark expressive eyes narrowing in unconscience reaction. Inwardly a battle was raging; a struggle for ground betwixt learned mannerisms and the world from which she came. The cadence of light step upon stair pathway drew her attention away from scrimage and onto the young whisp of girl gazing with trust upon where Aurore stood. Meagan gestured as if wishing to pass on some great secret and with nearness achieved, cherub passed on the message she was entrusted with. With nimble placement of unshod feet, Mistress hurried by Parlor gape and on towards the end of Second floor passage. Light knock was delivered, then she stepped within the confines of familliar room and welcome sight.

Fields

John

sign

thesaurus

Fair cherub of femme youth smiled unabashedly to Sterling's words; her cheeks gaining rose tincture. Turning quickly she rushed to obtain the objects requested with a nuance of skip to footfall.

ivy

prod

She was growing a little more accustomed to the Captain's way and did not feel as much the urge to bolt as was common in the past. Taking two cautious steps into the bed chamber, young girl shifted footing then came to nervous rest; large green eyes watching the other with rabbit manner. "Aye...Monsuier Lambert and Mistress Aurore have taught me to read an' write proper...." The rosey cheeks of youth beamed with a sudden assured pride, " In English and French...." She caught herself almost embarrassed to be so bold in her announcement and quickly looked to the flooring below.

Aurore smiled warmly in response. Reiley's sincerity and loyalty touched Aurore deeply and she wished that the struggle of his inner thinkings could be put at ease in quick resolve...And her own, as well. It did not go un-noted that there seemed a slight change of tone when he had made mention of the Actress's being. Not something that was blatant, but rather quite subtle and would easily have gone unnoticed if Aurore had not been so focused upon Reiley's presence. "De rien, Doctuer. It is I that should be thanking you and apologizing in regard to what you have endured. We are not so different in what we wish and desire; in what we truly are and what we present to the world's prying eyes..." Aurore glanced to the hat he had grasped in tight hold, the brim a slight contorted, "Please Monsieur, I appreciate your showing of respect...but I do not think your chapeau will endure much more of your attentions to it. As to my choice,...I believe my brother will attend the matter at hand suitingly. Perhaps you would be kind enough to keep me company in the Parlor with the comencements take place. I think it might do us both well to make attempt at relaxation." The smile gained a tincture of sorrow that dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Aurore glanced to the cottage briefly then back to her companion, " I shall join you mommentarily. Please be so kind as to inform Sabastian of my wishes. Merci, Doctuer Reiley."

Rook

**En Deux Parts** Le Cour Des Grand Corbeau (The Court of Ravens) 'It was whispered that they came from northern regions of Navarre, a theory that was spoken in hush and never pried into deeply. Some things were best left undisturbed, somethings were best accepted with cautious realization and the three in question fell under such catagorizations. Those that had any dealings with them were wise to keep what was preceived to themselves. Port Royal was no different in certain flavorings than any other area of commerce. No barriers of distinction lay betwixt said port of call or the likes of Portsmouth or Marseilles when the exchange of favors for coin were in the dealings. Commodities were commodities, whether by legal or more nefarious means...Be they sugar, silk or information and influence, all are the same no matter their pin point on the map. All could be obtained...for a price.' Andre' Phillipe Devareaux: Thirty years of age and eldest of the siblings. Five foot six; stout build but not overweight just broad like a bull. Black hair cropped at shoulder legnth, eyes so dark in brown color that they almost seem black. Negotiates with finite deduction, always with clauses to ensure the upper hand. Moves in a slow calculatted manner, but should never be under estimated by what is shown. Has no respect for the "outsiders" he deals with, but puts on a good show of contradiction to true thinking. Keeps to the doctrines set by heritage bindings and is generally displeased with the drifting ways of younger siblings. Sabastian Alexandre' Devareaux: Twenty Four years of age; lithe build; five foot seven in heigth. Wolfish good looks; deep warm brown hued eyes of expressive qualities and hair of dark mink coloration below shoulder legnth. Mischievous and smug, 'Bastian is the polar opposit of elder brother. Very cunning and good natured, he has acclimated well to new surroundings and although the Romani culture dictates a love for life, he tends to take that to extremes; giving into more French influences. Unlike elder brother, his memories of the treatment suffered at the hands of others has left a mark on his ways of heritage and though his proud of being Rom, Sabastian drifts into the "Gadje" world and relishes its' fare. Aurore Camille Devareaux: Twenty years of age; five foot five in heigth and could almost pass as a twin to Sabastian though there is a four year difference betwixt them. Delicate aquiline features, large expressive dark olive eyes; reddish brown hair that falls to the small of her back in loose ringlets. Reffered to as "Renard", (Fox), as a pet name by Sabastian, a nod to her cunning and hair color. Although not as daring in the disregard of Romani ways, she slips now and again, which is quickly covered by by 'Bastian. She is a visage of temprence and compassion but much like the brother she so resembles, has a rebellious and defient streak when pushed too hard. Christophe Tristan Lambert: Twenty Five years of age; Five foot nine and slender of build. Dark brown hair just past shoulders generally left unbound; slate gray eyes and swarthy skin tone. Mixed parentage of Basque and French, his mother a common villager from the Pyrenees region; Father from Paris, travelling France as a tutor of Academic pursuites. Generally quiet by nature and very watchful, if roused to speak it is with a undertone of arrogance or wry wit. The scholastic knowledge passed down from his father was the only legacy imparted. Left to his own means of support at a young age in the streets of Paris, Christophe used his skills of soft step and educated mind to advantage as a thief and con. The Merger: Christophe joined siblings three after interceding an attempted rape on youngest by another. At the end of struggle, the transgressor lay dead and Thief was slated to hang. The Devareaux brothers managed a coup and stole Frenchman away on his way to the gallows. These actions cumulative have created a strong and fierce bond of loyalty. Joining the Devareaux's, Christophe refined their manner and bearing with the legacy passed down to him. Thus the charade began and has held strong ever since. The four have been in each other's company for seven years, five of it in The Port.

Hamlet

( grande ou petit ?) Sirus

Well....There is that point to be taken into consideration. Nevertheless, Guinney as a gravy I know has to be outlawed in at least six countries. Sinfull I tell you, the secret definately lies in the sauce. Use the same in beef stew and you shall see what I mean.

She could only smile at his words. She was no fool. Sabastian’s kind attempt of trying to make light of the situation did not go unnoticed. “Oh yes,” she said looking over at him as he smoked his pipe. “The theater. I have played at both the Royal and the Duke’s theater in London. My performances started small, of course, but soon I took the lead…I played such wonderful ladies as Desdemona and Lady Macbeth. The King himself told me that I was ‘quite entertaining’, but I am sure he met my other performances behind bedroom door.” It was then Sabastain’s face acknowledged the small hint of innuendo she offered him. He clearly cleared his throat and shifted position in his chair. She lent forward and looked at him. “Come now, I have only stated what we both know is the truth. I know who I am and where I came from. There is no shame in that.” It was then she went quite as she heard voices from the courtyard. “We all wish to be happy in life, don’t we?” She then turned and looked at him directly. His dark eyes were full and attentive to her movement. “Love is fluid, like the great ocean my sweet Captain sails upon. You can either stay a float or drown in its’ mass bottomless depths. In this vast ocean of life we live in, I fear at this very moment I am drowning, sir…and there is no hope for myself or my son.” He considered her words and intonation; offering smile or grave nod in response. Bowl content gave up last perfumed spirit of gossamer gray and was placed carefully aside as Sabastian vacated ornate seating. Moving towards cabinate of mohogany quality, decanters were surveyed and one selected. Twin concaves were filled with sherry warmth and one bird of crystal plumage offered to the Mistress in kind overature. Regaining former placement, Sabastian swirled refined spirit in delicate cage momentarily then focused on femme company. Ever measuring those that came into his presence, gitan digested what she had said and what was not. When he finally gave comment, verbose played to Lilly's hearing in smokey sooth of tone; his accent subtle mixture of fluid French spiced with Rom inclinations. "Madame, what you say of life and love may contain some validity. One's station holds much sway over both...Or does it?" An impish smile painted lupin features and sherry was sampled,"What I mean to say, Madame...Is that Fate is a fickle creature restless with invention and though the Three Sister's may spin, measure and cut our supposed destinies, I am not convinced that our placements in life cannot be influenced against supposed outcomes. If that were the case, you and I would not be having this conversation, in this place nor at this time. All things happen for a raison, chere...but, what is important is to know how to take opportunity not neccessarily obvious to the eye and lay it to advantage. Life is a series of challanges to be met and sometimes conquered with glory. The wisdom lay in when the best choice is to leave the field and pave a better course. On ocassion, oportunity comes with the later, not the former and has to be coaxed from hidding place." Sabastian glanced to her glass and found it not in need of tending. "Amour...That creature is far more fickle than Sisters Three. Elusive; beguiling and a player of the highest stakes. Likened to a spirited horse, you have to know the balance of when to reign in and when to allow it full freedom. If suppressed and caged; coveted to strongly...it will wither and turn vile. There is no mastery of Amour...Amour is the master and dictates the course. If that course is run afoul, the hopes for recovery are near non existant..." Silkened words drifted to silence, punctuated with finalizing draught of sherry existance.

Rhubarb Pie...Now there is a grand old Northern tradition. They don't know what rhubarb is down here for the most part. ( Kinda like snowmobile.) Madame, a suggestion from me Irish side. Next time you decide to prepare roast, add a bottle of Guinness to the works. I assure you that the outcome will be most pleasing.

bruin

Reaching to a small ornate box atop near table, Sabastian withdrew a oddly carved pipe and pouch of tobbacco. The bowl was packed and fired, the sweet pungent scent rising to color the air. Drawing deeply, his dark eyes regarded the Mistress politely while his mind picked over the current situation. He had never stirred from chair's deep cushion comfort during the upheaval that raged outside; semi muffled accuisations invadeing stone intersanctum. This would not be the first confrontation to exist betwixt sister and friend...nor, he doubted, would it be the last. Sabastian was well aware of Christophe's regard for younger sibling, and had always held it a curiosity as to why the Frenchman never breeched the subject. For years the flame had been carried without announcment, but Beggar Prince had an inkling suspicion as to reasons of silence. Line of thought paused, circling suspected hurdle. It could never be said that Aurore and Sabastian carried no love for their older brother. It was Andre's well placed choices that had taken them from danger after the slaughter of parents and another sibling. But as much loyalty, as much devotion both showered upon the Eldest, the fact remained that he continued to lay rigid within the dogma's of their culture. The only exceptions made begrudgingly, were that in regard to current standings. Oh granted, they had always "peddled their wares" to the Gentry, but now it was on more equal grounds. If any snide slur was made in regard to what they were, it had been carefully whispered and not allowed to reach the awareness of Le Cour. Here in Jamaica, a lush spit of land surrounded by liquid borders of blue and green, they had raised themselves to rule secretivly; catering to the desires of the wealthy and those not so. Le Cour des Grand Corbeau prospered, and the whims of tropical denizines were sated. Nevertheless, they were the only three of their kind and Sabastian had stepped outside of the traditional doctrins, hesitantly at first, due to that fact. No Roma wife would be found here, no vargos traversed the dusty byways of contained land and Sabastian had adjusted...Andre' had not. That factor had been the cause of many conflicts as the years rolled slowly by under tropical sun. God above must have decided to lay blessings upon the two younger siblings. Andre' had not been home in days, deciding to stay in the Port keeping attentive eye on buisness matters. Normally, his presence would be missed...This time, it was a relief. Movement caught Sabastian's peripheral sight, drawing him away from deep musings. He looked to Parlor entrance just in time to glimpse Megan flit past. Calling softly brought her back to arched portal, where she hovered nervously trading glances between Gitan and Lady therein. He motioned Megan near, smiling warm assurance, "Petit, it is to my thinking that perhaps Madame may desire some tea as aid to her comfort." Frightened mouse watched expensively adorned visitor with uncertainty as Sabastian spoke in soothing manner, "Chamomile would suite nicely, s'il vous plait." Young girl nodded, in turn was rewarded by a wider smile and peck on rounded cheek, "Merci beaucoup, Petit." With Megan's departure, Sabastian refocused upon Lilly, "Tell me, Madame...if I am not being overbold in my actions. It has come to my knowing that you are a daughter of the Theater. It seems a rather interesting choice to me. Perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten me further on such while we await tea's preperations?" Sabastian's manner radiated charm and sincerity with his inquery. It was an effort to draw Lilly's mind away from current state and substitute it with distractions placing her more at ease.

Feldman (Marty)

That sounds about right .... Then noonish it is....I usually try to give some indication as to time of day within my writtings. Please do not hesitate to PM me if more time is needed with current event. I do hate to trip anyone up. With the weekend and some of our numbers away for its' duration, I cannot foresee any great advancements made until the fold regains its' balance. Odds lie that late afternoon / evening more than likely will not appear until Tuesday or so. Wonderful work all of you!! I commend you on your efforts fully!

C'n I 'ave a chat wit you me lady? We mite 'ave th' same list. LOL!!!! That might very well be a fact, cara. I think mayhaps my Irish is showing.

The square had been drawn and the frontlines established within front clearing boundries. Those who had working in proximity found it best to find placement elsewhere as Frenchman and Roma faced each other with tense posturing. The weapons of choice drawn were of verbal sharpness, the tone ranging from just above whisper to full force gale in quickened segue mixture of Basque, French and Romani tongues. Christophe stood ridgid, arms crossed over chest; slate hued eyes narrowed slightly as Aurore glared at him in return; delicate chin pitched upward in defient tilt. The viscious nature of spoken exchange went lost in translation upon most in the cottage's immediate area. Delaney and Franklin had taken safe haven near equine brethren; bits an pieces of verbose fugue gleened betwixt the two and neither would have exchanged places with the Frenchman for all the gold in Spanish coffers. The only comment made lowly, made hazed comparisson to cats having out in night shrouded alleyways. As suddenly as it had begun, the storm passed over; leaving in its' wake an ambiance of disconcerting nature. Spent emotions of high intensity hung the air heavily, the silence which took over reminescent of catacomb oppressiveness. Those on the fringe waited with nervous anticipation for the next viscious round that never came. As the cottage's front portal swung open, showing the shaded form of Doctor Reiley in its' maw, Christophe strode away from where Aurore remained; fury still playing aqualin features. She kept stance, eyes never wavering from original train of focus, though object no loger blocked greenery view. The sound of Reiley's hesitant step to dirt surface drew her attention. Aurore carefully composed herself, presenting a farce to what brewed beneath calculated offering of expression. She turned in acknowledgement to his approach, all signs of what occured just moments before wiped away from delicate features, but for the fire that smoldered deeply within the windows of her soul....

race

air