Aurore Devareaux

Monsieur Neede, The more the merrier and welcome, if you are so inclined, to Port Royal! I am quite sure that we might be doing buisness in the near future...Le Cour des Grand Corbeau is known to aquire those "special" needs and wants.... Pick your tavern, there are many to choose from and never hesitate to ask if any of our numbers my be of aid to acclimate you to the surrounds. Welcome to a sunny place full of shady denizens.

One Eyed corvid retraced path of burnished mahogany length so many times traversed in the past before door's change of position gave halt. One visual portal honed on arrival briefly with a ruffling of soot hued plumage, then to something on table's surface that seemed due closer inspection. Andre' paused ledger perusal, index finger pinning entry with accusatory manner. Tallow glow laid golden tincture to feral features and text was forgotten as Christophe navigated chamber's defused lighting. A whisper of soft step caressed wool weave under sole, dissipating with movement cessation. "All is in order..." "Bien...The change of location is known?" "Oui." "And the shipment is as was required?" "Oui, word was relayed by proper contacts." Andre' nodded, pursing lips in reaction to some secretive contemplation; allowing silence hang the air as heavily as the patchouli that perfumed it. "And my brother?" came next query. Corvid resumed sentry pace....

Bravo, Red Maria! This is a subject quite near and dear to my heart. The Rom / Romani are historically stated to have begun migrations into the European area in approximatly the 12th Century. Their culture is quite rich with a depth that is awe inspiring. There is much Mythos that encircles the Romani, very much like the faux representations of Piracy. What is generally held knowledge is untruth generated to create distrust of the Clans / Tribes. They have suffered persecution, ( and still do, in the modern age), in ways that rival the treatment of the Jewish and Native American Peoples. I have been researching the Rom Culture for approximately a year and have found it to be a subject of many facets and rich traditions. (Trying to keep from getting fevered, I could easily write a tome rivaling "War and Peace.) I highly recommend the following sites if one were interested in the truths behind the culture, versus the Mythos created out of narrow minded fear and prejudice... Patrin Romani Organization ( I need make note....In regard to the fictionalization that I have developed in "Port Royal"....I have taken liberties. None has been written with any intent of disrespect to the Rom and their way; beliefs or Traditions.)

Devon Burke and Seth Childermass lingered near the entrance of byway near livery's standing. Things had been in rather a stir in the recent past, but seemed to have reached something closer to dull roar as Baro Rom had returned to Roost and business returned somewhat to normal. There was a lingering unsaid tension that rolled in waves through Le Cour, not something that went un-noticed by Childermass, nor did it seem to affect him outwardly. The afternoon had followed suit, as so many others before in tropical climes and the smallish offering of shade they now occupied was of unspoken blessing. Conversation lay mostly one sided as Burke chided and made light of things occurring around them; occasionally giving the other a look of question before going on. And on it went, as soundtrack mingling with the rhythms of Port Royal by ways. Childermass listened to Younger, heard all comments regardless of his stoic set of expression...But, his true center of attention laid upon Charge near stable proxy. The approach of newly arrived was scrutinized and digested with keen perception of what was and what was only laid upon the stage as facade. Devon faltered in latest communiqué, attention drawn to Seth's object of interest. In choreographed sequence, the two split company and neared trio in stealthy manner of predatory grace; ghosts in the mid-day sun.

The abrupt protest of furniture negotiation almost gave hesitation to front door progression. Escape was near and instinct screamed for its' procurement... But as fingers curled around door's release, the resound of Ransom's footfall played foyer encompassment. Intensity of visual pools stared at hand's move away from knob and Sabastian pivoted minutely to regard her approach. The stroke of fingertip held him captivated as well as any hard drawn bit, and he resisted drawing her nearer. It would be easy to disappear deeper into the island's being and give order to the other's regarding cargo once again mentioned. An easy solution and accord to calm the phantom's that whispered to inner ear. Finding comfort in the defused light offered by entrance shrine, the charade of calm was more effortless to weave. Hands were clasped at small of back, lupine features set aloof, but his sense of hearing devoured each syllable with greed and sight never wandered from the sun kissed plains of her face. Nod was given in answer and words chosen carefully in response, "As you wish, Mademoiselle...If you are in need of contacting me, I am sure you are aware of the protocols entailed..." His words died off and footing was shifted a degree. Door was reached for, knob reclaimed and set to motion. A fleeting glance was given as the glare of Soliel rushed sheltered dwelling; and fleeting glance spoke what words would not dare to announce. Again, foyer regained shadowy visage and where there were two, only one remained.

I have taken on the task, ( and yes, it is a tedious effort to transfer), when I worked on WatchDog. It is no small effort, I assure. But when I had everything on file, I burned to disk and now have a hard copy of it. Currently, my schedule is a grade 6 Hurry-cane, and with Port Washington on the horizon, it shall become evern more so after the move. I shall play it by ear, but...perhaps...in bit and parts of smallish breathing time, I might be able to compile it all from PR. No guarantees...It would be a couple weeks before I can even consider doing so.

Sabastian stepped lightly to kitchen threshold; mind, will and instinct battling for rule of the Square. Portal frame was held in steely possession while he watched, thus far, unnoticed by those in culinary confine. Academic and Mademoiselle were in process of uncommitted conversation, namely dominated by the act and aftermath of recent storm. Soft brush of feline caress wound leather encased calves causing slight start to cooled outer visage, and he sidestepped without given thought. Motion caught Mademoiselle's attention and he near shirked, a pace in reverse chosen by instinct's command. Smallish bow was given and the dark eyes moved from one to the other. "You must forgive me, but I must leave your company, though it is a regretful thing in my mind. It has occurred to me that I have pressing business in which I am in dire need to attend. It had inadvertently slipped mine mind..." He paused in verbose progression, centering focus on far window then to Trilby, "Merci Monsieur, for your gracious hospitality, it shall not be forgotten any time in near future and I shall look into procuring the whim of which you had mentioned earlier..." Another pace in retreat was taken as feline watched on with semi-disgruntlment, Sabastian lingered a moment more before bidding good day and made controlled about face to gain escape to the outside world.

He watched after as they departed room, Trilby closing the door behind. Ransom's tease still rang within his ears, taking seat and rattling the corridors of mental realm. Momments passed before Sabastian returned to chaise company, where he sat heavily on cushioned surface. Instinct screamed to have its' due, saying it would be for the best to dress and slip out front entrance and onward to some quiet out of the way place... Away from the temptation of red tress and the trouble that would more than likely be had from it. Half-heartedly pantalons, then boots were replaced; shirt was tucked and coat donned. Quietly, chamber door was opened and he glanced Right, towards kitchen and the conversation that wafted from there, then Left to the foyer and escape beyond. Inward voice chimed with eager warning to go left, but sabastian was not always known for taking heed. Caution sometimes begged throwing to the wind, and Right bearing was choosen.

Brow was raised to her comment, and his line of sight went from breeches, to Ransom, to Trilby. Shirt now in place, Sabastian stood with proud posturing; knowing full well the legnth of linen tail would muster adequet coverage. Fluid stride was made to cut distance of chamber's range, coming to halt a hair's breadth afore his antagonist. Voice dropping to soft, low timbre', he leaned forward to meet Ransom eye to eye. "If you feel that you are qualified to do so, then very well...I shall give you permission to persue offer...." Leaning closer to her left ear, he whispered challenge. "But, would you not rather leave them where they are?"

Under normal circumstances, he had no cares as to a woman getting fair share of eyeful...But this was far from the norms and her laughter just made worse of the situation. In the recesses of his mind, Sabastian tried to shrug it off; nevertheless, it was a futile effort at best. Dark eyes narrowed slightly as backing step was taken and boots dropped to flooring below. Drying cloth was placed strategically with nonchalant air and shirt was acquired. This soon presented another quandary, to adorn shirt required two hands, and two hands ment releasing cloth. Mind raced under cool surface to find the answer to problem which continued to come up one way. The adorning was out of the question, issue's resolution came with another back pace, the edge of chaise meeting with calves and Beggar Prince took seating. Cloth was kept in place.

Dante

The hail sounding on domicile’s main entrance gave pause to the action of drying. Sabastian's attention flicked to where coat, shirt and breeches lay on chaise as he resisted reaching for concealed traveling pistols. Taking sidestep, damp cloth was held as afterthought and clothing proximity brought nearer. He cocked his head slightly to the left, centering on portal's opening as boots were gathered, and the voice which carried from foyer's round stopped any further intents. Movement in corridor caused rapid turn on heel to gain full sight of room thresh hold, Ransom's voicing a reflection of the urgency in her step; both faltering as she was framed in doorway. The call of his name conjured a pace forward that was paused before a second was achieved. Boots dangling in one hand's grasp, drying cloth in another, he opened his mouth to speak and faultered at the sound of other footsteps playing corridor's containment. Suddenly conscious of his current state of disarray, Sabastian shifted footing with hinted discomfort then recovered. There was no missing the tincture of humor in Trilby's relay of words and Beggar Prince found himself wishing for any other surround then the one he now occupied. Standing with straighter posture, he realigned composure and offered shallow bow of acknowledgment. With effort, an air of aloof mannerisms was gathered as shrouding; but act of faux pretense could not cover all. The dark sights were drawn and held unwavering from her face; undaunted and defiant to owner's wishes. "Pardon moi, Mademoiselle...You seem to have caught me at some disadvantage..." The words gave further betrayal in tone and Sabastian cringed inwardly as they sounded to own hearing. Trilby's glance further emphasized the obvious faux pas and Beggar Prince turned away to retrieve cast away shirt; an effort to recapture the edges of charade.

He watched after the Trilby's departure with guarded scrutiny. There had been a glint of something in Other's eyes that balanced between amusement and secretive knowing; both were of bemusement to the beholder. Glancing to discarded coat laying in innocent lump upon the floor, Sabastian's expression wrinkled in dissatisfaction. Presentable.... he thought, a rather lofty thing to be acquired with current state of being. Nevertheless, best would be made due with what could be done. Perhaps the coming water would do much to improve...But glancing down at the disheveling of current attire left much to be desired. The thrum was becoming a duller roar, a little more manageable with time's passage. Perhaps, he considered, upon departure from Academic’s holdings, another safe haven should be sought to sleep off the sin's of former eve's reaping.

The cafe' concoction was easing tendrils around to clutch the pain, and with it came a slow, but steady mounting of relief. The thrum retreating its' hold, Gitan watched Trilby with keener intentions. There were subtle nuances which betrayed irritation underlying Accademic's surface and Sabastian was amused in subteraine level. Turning away to place mug on nearest horizontal plane, he allowed the trust of exposed back, pursing lips in thought. The silence was allowed rule mommentarily as stance was maintained. "Non..." came the answer. "It is but of idle curiosity...the proposition is quite well suited in possibilities."

"I would assume that you would be the keeper of far more information than would be polite for me to ask." The clay vessel's contents were diminished. "I cannot see you putting yourself in bad favor with me and mine by wagering a chance arrangment of what she wishes to trade. You obviously have some connection or trust to summon me for the proposition....Do tell, for I am quite inclined to listen."

Dauphin Gitan eyed the mug and Academic with leary regard briefly, then nodded acceptance of both. The mention of jaw tatooing caused unthinking change to the way he postured head; as if angle would vanquish angry mark. Suprisingly, the vial's content blended well with cafe' chemistry, causing deeper draught to follow the initial one of shallow sample. Slender fingers spidered around clay circumfrence as mug was lowered to waist level. Sabastian appraised Trilby silently, then inquired with hushed tone. "La Fille that you brought to mine audience....What is it that you know of her?"

Sabastian made half hearted attempt to look insulted and waved at the other in gesture to lower the volume of vocal facets. Upon the roof, workers resumed mallet cadence which instantaniously brought sneer to lupine features. Painfully returning to full heigth, the dark eyes settled on Scotch Inquisitionor and with an offering of aloof mannerisims, answer was given.... "Was it not you that requested audience?...It was to mine thinking that you were in desire of....supplies." Beggar Prince knew inwardly that every bit of it was bold faced lie...and a poor effort, at that.

Australia

It was unknown to him which assault of senses occurred first. The smallish shaft of sunlight abused his sight even through closed lids; the throb of head and jaw jockeyed for one up...but it was the acrid smell hanging the air which ruled them all. Daring a cracking of reluctant eyes, Sabastian cringed, rolling a degree to the left on well worn chaise to dodge impertinent soliel. Shadow of dim chamber coming to aid, he dared more wide appraisal of surround without further movement. What was given with coup d'oeil gave some sign of familiarity, but not enough to gain true perspective in current haze. Raising to one elbow in support, he sniffed the air tentatively with greatened displeasure and tried to place his proximity in the world. The scent...what was it that tugged at the corners of his mind as needy child yet refused to be forth front in recognition? From somewhere above, the sound of mallet application gave forth like clarion call and he winced unthinking in reaction. Easing to sitting position, under breath curse was issued in tandem towards the sudden explosion of cranial fortitude and the persistence of laborer's efforts. Worn quilt slid away and chin was rubbed in semi-thoughtful contemplation of events leading up to the present. Bruised mental wheels rolled haltingly into pattern of recollections that where enigmatic in some ways....' La Mademoiselle...Christophe...Aurore...Noir....Archangel...the Old Church.....Molly...' His breath paused in its' traverse then regained active status. ' The Singing Bull....' And it was at the drinking establishment in question, that things became quite vague. "Merde' zut..." Two words uttered in hushed tone to summarize the now. With careful consideration, Sabastian raised to full height, resisting the urge to give further verbose of colorful means. Drawing breath as hiss through clenched jaw, his nose wrinkled in unconscious retort to the elusive smell. Movement of fluid grace in yon hallway caught peripheral attention and Beggar Prince turned ever so slightly to focus its' origins.....'Chat' was the name of velvet toed interloper, he thought silently....His eyes narrowed as all suddenly fell into place. 'La chat....sulphur.......Trilby....' Sabastian sat heavily upon former place of repose; cushions emitting a waft of dust in protest, "Coit…”

Holiday

With word from sibling relayed, the gathering at quay end dispersed like so many phantoms into the limbo hours betwixt night's sway and day's succession. Sabastian kept vigil for a brace of time more, deep in contemplations of variable facets before giving ground, as well. Choosing to remain afoot, he threaded the byways mount in tow half acknowledging the surround; lulled by the steady roll of saline element and equine tread in three quarter time. A light scurrying disrupted thought progression, slowing pace to pause and attention fell to the lawn of picket fortitude aside the Old Church. Mount was deserted, reins dropped to the ground as invisible tether and Holy Ground was entered with soft step as if not to disturb those who dwelled there. The disruptions of stone to turf were navigated deftly until halt came before one in particular; and it was here that lupine features gained softer texture and sorrow swam darkened sights. Slender fingers of agile nature lay caress upon marker's surface; tenderly tracing the "M" which began far left scribe. The clouds above broke briefly, allowing cast of half formed moon to reflect upon the earth below...striking illumination to salt diamond free fall as it traveled to shatter on upright stone.

hue

taint

cross

"Then I require nothing of him for what I need is you and you are here..." The verbose orchestrated smoke wisp smooth, an intended lullaby to sooth his senses. "Please try to rest and give no concern of me, I shall tend to myself." Again, brush of lips christened husband's brow.