Port Royal, Jamaica

[Capt. Sterling]

Seth blinked slowly, watching the mania before him with some hint of amusement playing his eyes. Another sample of port offering was partaken of and he tilted his head a tad to the right as Sterling rattled off the who follows who.

"Perhaps ye might be wishin' to slow yer pacin' a tad...Unless ye be expectin' me ta carry ye back...me thinks me aul bones won't be havin' no truk with such a notion..."

Sterling nudged Childermass's glass with his own.

"Drink up, sir, drink up, then we'll be on our way," Sterling said, he raised his empty glass toward the bar. "Another if ye please and bring the bottle." He looked back at Childermass. "Carry me indeed," he chuckled.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Rocking the chair back to four leg placement, Seth followed the progress of bottle to table. Perhaps Sterling could hold his own, but at this point it made Seth wonder if it were the spirits or the nuptuals elation that were the cause of the joviality taking place. Draught was taken, tankard drained and barely reached table surface before Sterling refilled the want; acting as gracious host.

Childermass pondered if a carriage might be needed.

[Ransom]

With Jimmy at the oars and Africa at the tiller, I was transported from the Rakehell to the wharf. Before leaving, I instructed Africa once again, "Don't let anyone on the ship. I don't care if they tell you they're the King of England or the Emperor of China, no one, I say, no one, gets on board. Understand."

Africa nodded then said, "I still don like dis meeting. Sumthin not right bout it."

"Well, right or wrong, I've got to keep it. Don't wait for me. Take the boat back to the Rakehell. I'll signal you when I've returned. If I don't..."

"I know, Captain," Africa replied. "I take da ship away from dis place."

I lingered at the wharf for a bit, to make sure my orders not to wait were carried out, then I turned and headed for the Old Church.

[Capt. Sterling]

"So what does she like, this lady of mine?" Sterling asked topping off Childermass's glass and then his own. "Surely there must ....be...one thing rare that she spoils herself with but only on special occassions? I saw a broach in one of the shops that I wish to pick up on our way back but for some reason, although I think she would not be disappointed with said object, I do not believe it is the best choice nor should be mine only one." He took another sip, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand leaving a purple stain upon his gray gloves.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Seth once again raised subtle brow and settled inward delima concerning carraige. Signalling to the young boy that did odd jobs about the inn, he whisper instructions then produced a shine of coin. The boy smiled than scurried away.

"I canno' be the one of proper autorities in'na matter as that, Captain. Can'no make claims to be knowin' that lass' desires...Rather ou' of my line of work, ye see..."

Childermass' gaze lit on the newly colored gloves then away to the set of light outside. The gray overcast could befuddle most in gauging the time, but the haze of spent powder wafting frontline could do the same...Neither able to fool the reptilian observation that focused intently to either condition.

[Capt. Sterling]

"Ah, I see," Sterling said, slightly slurring his words. "Keep this up I'll sound like old Regge," he chuckled, then turned all solemn. "Mustn't make fun of the dead, Cate would box mine ears." He poured himself another glass then looked across at Childermass. "Beg pardon. Whas not in yer line of work?"

[Aurore Devareaux]

"Them things tha' sparkle the more when in the possesions of beauty...Others would be more knowin' then meself. Ne'er been one to be makin' false claims to wha' I can an' canno' do..."

The boy reapeared, pointing mutely to where the called carriage would arrive. Seth gave nod in response then recentered on his companion.

"Tis gettin' near time to go..."

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling placed the once again empty glass upon the table. "By God I am tired, but I must say my side does fell so much better," he mumbled as he tipped the now equally empty bottle trying for one more refill. He looked up at Childermass. "Go? Go where?" he asked, then raised the empty bottle turning his gaze toward the barman.

[Aurore Devareaux]

The girl had done well to distract Christophe's hauntings, an exorcisim aided with the ply of brandy. Quietly, possessions were gathered and horse called for, then he padded softly from rented chamber to continue on to designated meeting point.

He slowed Bay's progress, sighting over the change of population guard on main thorough fare. As the sun dipped further into western skies, so would the character of those that occupied the byways of the Port. Dismounting, the Bay was left to its' own care as Paris Thief moved closer to church proximity.

Soon the Chosen would gather just out of view; quary would appear;

the trappings of dusk would cloak the heavens...

And the first waltz of Beggars' Ball would begin.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Sterling placed the once again empty glass upon the table.  "By God I am tired, but I must say my side does fell so much better," he mumbled as he tipped the now equally empty bottle trying for one more refill. He looked up at Childermass.  "Go? Go where?" he asked, then raised the empty bottle turning his gaze toward the barman.

Seeing the expression on Childermass' scarred features, Barkeep suddenly found a need to attend matters in back. Seth waited for Sterling to recenter in his direction, "Aye. Tis time we be goin'...Tis gettin' late in'na day an there be no reason to make the Mistress worry."

A carriage drew up in front and Seth nodded in its' direction, "Look there now...Tis someone be readin' our minds. A nice ride through town an' back to where we needs be..."

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling yawned then struggled up from his chair. "Aye... mustn't not make Ma'zelle frit...fret.." He rubbed his eyes and yawned again before he snatched up the empty bottle and followed Childermass to the door. He chuckled to himself..."See tis whom following whom!" He remarked with a twisted smirk.

He caught his toe on an invisible snag in the floor boards, tripped and staggered forward, empty bottle tumbling to the floor but without the necessary force to cause further damage. Sterling finally steadied himself and turned to watch as the bottle, spinning in a circle, finally slowed to a rest. Then he sighed and yawned once more, looked about trying to remember where he was, saw Childermass lurking in the doorway and stumbled after the other man. As they exited the inn, he tried to reason with himself that he was indeed not drunk just worn, the port not helping by make him too relaxed. He began to walk past the coach, felt Childermass's stiff fingers upon his shoulders. Turning him about, he pivoted once again to face the open carriage door. After several tries, blaming his bad eye and the late afternoon gloom, he finally made foot contact with lower coach step, heaved himself up to the next one then, passing out, he pitched forward onto the carriage floor.

[Ransom]

I stood in the shadows of the buildings across from the Old Church. The sun, like a flaming torch, burned low in the horizon, the few clouds overhead in a deep indigo sky, were tinted blood red. The church appeared deserted, but that could be deceiving.

Apparently there were no devout late-evening worshipers to intrude on the forthcoming meeting. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the street and entered the sanctuary. I was greeted by the smell of beeswax and insence. I did not touch my forehead with holy water, lest it scald, nor did I tempt fate by approaching the alter, but kept to the naeve. Fat candles with guttering flames sent wisps of smoke into the darkness.

And I waited, hoping that Trilby had not betrayed me.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Childermass stood stock still, gazing unblinkingly upon the prone figure before him. Deftly mounting the carriage step, careful not to misplace footing into Sterling's sprawl, he glanced about the interior mommentarily then drug the other uncerimoniously the rest of the way in. The door was secured; the ceiling rapped once; and the carriage drew away into the throng milling the late day surround.

[Aurore Devareaux]

I stood in the shadows of the buildings across from the Old Church. The sun, like a flaming torch, burned low in the horizon, the few clouds overhead in a deep indigo sky, were tinted blood red. The church appeared deserted, but that could be deceiving.

Apparently there were no devout late-evening worshipers to intrude on the forthcoming meeting. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the street and entered the sanctuary. I was greeted by the smell of beeswax and insence. I did not touch my forehead with holy water, lest it scald, nor did I tempt fate by approaching the alter, but kept to the naeve. Fat candles with guttering flames sent wisps of smoke into the darkness.

And I waited, hoping that Trilby had not betrayed me.

Christophe watched the young woman cross the lane from the shadowed shelter offered not over far up from where he stood. Arrangements had been made in advance with the padre calling the Old Church home and coin had been gratefully accepted in trade. Sabastian was know to be generous to those who looked after Le Cour's interests; which now included the final resting place of Irish Rose plucked too soon.

Further up, the secretive navigations of familiar face and form were noted and Christophe stepped away from point of vigil, to re-trace the path young woman had laid before him.

[Capt. Sterling]

Carriage struggled desparately through muddied streets. Catching in deep slim, lurching forward to gain freedom only to be bogged down a little further along, vehicle almost resembled, in actions, the earlier antics of the now snoring figure within.

Childermass sat patiently inside, several time adjusting footing as unconscious form rolled about carriage floor.

Broach, unfortunately would be temporarily forgotten as coach finally slid to a halt, breaks and wheels fighting to adhere to slick surfaces outside the book seller's shop.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Awaiting the final preperations for depature, Devon and feline companion lounged near the stairwell. The creak and sluggish movement of carriage arrival outdoors caused instinctual reverse movement to dimmer lumination near back room. Calico gave protest as she was shifted to allow for doorknob grasp, but hesitation occured as the carriage opened up the reveal Childermass and the shoe soles of an unknown.

Unconscious step was made forward while furred burden wiggled to be let down and was released. Carriage was left agape as wraith entered establishment, glancing to the Irishman. Moving to the outside world, Devon leaned into cabin interior and let out a bray of laughter.

Returning inside, face flushed with mirth, he motion with thumb to where Sterling sprawled, "Fer all their pomp an' braggin', no' one o' them can handle a good revel in'na craic..."

[Nathaniel Davis]

Following instructions, young Mr. Davis raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. As he began to look around the kitchen he quickly turned and discovered the girl he had abruptly met earlier. More surprising was the unsolicited offer of assistance and her interest in his name, which caught him completely off guard.

"Who me? Well, I'm.. I'm Davis.... " the young man stammered, then cleared his throat and stood up straight with pride. "That is ahm, Nathaniel Davis, of the Archangel."

"I see..." replied the young girl, with a playful smile as she looked away.

"Well I better be going.." replied Davis. "

"Perhaps Mr. Davis, I will see you again when you are not so busy?" Offered the young girl.

"Perhaps.." Smiled Davis "Miss??"

"Bess..." Added the young girl, with a smile that cause Davis' heart to skip a beat.

[CrazyCholeBlack]

Jane hurried ahead as Ioan and Lauritzsen maneuvered the stumbling captain Striker onto his quarters. She lit every lamp she could find, filling the darkly paneled space with flickering light. With an anxious hand she pushed the sturdy chair away from it’s position at the bedside. A swift tug straightened the rumpled bed linens. The two men promptly began removing Strikers heavy burgundy justacourps and brocade waistcoat. He offered no resistance as they undressed him, too focused on the pain to notice much else. Jane anxiously bit her lip, concerned by the red stain visible through his fine white shirt. Striker let out a groan as the bloody garment was pulled over his head. He was seated carefully onto the bed, remaining conscious but not without effort.

“Um?” Jane muttered, handing the empty pitcher off the sidetable to Lauritzsen with a furrowed brow. The lieutenant nodded, understanding her meaning despite the language barrier. He turned closing the cabin door softly behind him. Jane knelt in front of Striker, her hand settling on his knee.

“Captain Striker. Nathanial.” His eyes swam for a moment at the sound of his own name, before they focused on Jane. A weak smile curled his lips. “I need ye ta lay down so I ken get to tha wound aye” She instructed, her gaze holding his steady.

Striker’s moist brow dipped imperceptibly. With deliberate care he lowered himself onto the bedding, lying awkwardly on his uninjured side. Jane took a calming breath as he settled back into the pain induced trance. Her concerns had been valid. The cloth she had tied over the injury was soaked with blood. Delicately she pulled apart the knot, revealing the still fresh stab. The day’s exertions had pulled at the opening, spreading it beyond the original borders. Her brow creased deeply. What was it that her mother’s lover had mentioned once about gun shots and other deep injuries? Oh how she wished she’d spent more time studying as a child rather than running around in the streets. Green eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she searched her memory for the elusive answer.

“Ioan, find me some turps n’ an egg. ‘N oil o’ rose if we’re lucky.” She stood from the bedside, directing the bystander “'N where’s tha shirt ye had on earlier?”

[Ian Finn]

"Less' find th' body Ian." Liam says to me as we sip from the keg. "Wh' we gonna do wit' a dead, rum soaked body?" I ask him. "I gots 'n idear."

[Ransom]

“Ioan, find me some turps n’ an egg. ‘N oil o’ rose if we’re lucky.” She stood from the bedside, directing the bystander “'N where’s tha shirt ye had on earlier?”

Ioan pulled his old shirt from the floor where he'd left it. "Go ahead, rip it up. Its already got blood on it, a little more won't make a difference." He tossed the shirt to Jane. "I'll try and get what you want. The eggs shouldn't be a prolem, but I don't know how I can ask for rose oil, when I don't speak Danish."

At her pleading look, he left the cabin in search of the items she required.

[Aurore Devareaux]

The horse's were left just down from the Holy House, their riders having arrived at staggered incriments of time. Threading through dusk mob, placements were achieved for the vigil ahead.

Christophe moved around to the rear entrance of the Old Church, having sighted Sabastian and waited patiently. The front entrance was already secured and governing Padre elsewhere.

The aged door was opened, the heavy scent of insence hanging as pungent phantom to the low golden cast of candle flicker. Dim corridor was negotiated with stealth footing and main shrine achieved. Christophe lingered, a shadow blending into shadows, as Beggar Prince slipped to the alter and took a seat upon its' surface of alabaster wrought.

In the near distance, the party who's summons brought him here was gazing at the delicate render of Mother Mary holding Babe, forever frozen in marble composition. The dark eyes watched in silence momentarily, before breaking the still with silkened tones.

"You desire something, Mademoisselle?"

A slow smile of mischievous textures played the contours of lupin features.

[Ransom]

As my gaze lingered on the mable Madonna, a tingling in my palms told me I was no longer alone in the formerly deserted church. At the sound a low masculine voice, I turned and faced the alter. In the wavering shadows cast by the candles, it was impossible for me to see him clearly, yet something about his languid, aloof posture struck me as familier.

I stepped into the sacntuary and approached the man. It was then that I recognised him as one of the two riders I had seen earlier in the afternoon. The one that had sent my mind wandering into dangerous territory. Yes, I thought, this will be an interesting game indeed.

I gave him an appraising smile. "Yes, I desire something. The first thing I desire, is to know which devil I'm dealing with, Sebastian or Andre'?"

[Aurore Devareaux]

Leaving alabaster perch on soft foot, the ornamented expanse of black chapeau was doffed with graceful sweep.

"Sabastian Devareaux at your humble service, mademoisselle."

He punctuated with low bow, gazing up to her approach with impish grin, "And who, might I enquire, are you?"

[Ransom]

The flourished bow with plumed hat was mocklingly grand, but the glitter in his dark eyes was all mischief. It was a challenge, albeit a polite one. My smile changed. I liked a good challenge.

With saphire eyes narrowed, I replied, "I'd drop you a curtsey, but I'm not dressed for the role, nor is it my nature. My name is Ransom. Professor Angus Trilby thinks you can be of service to me."

[Aurore Devareaux]

Chapeau was casually tossed to alabaster surface, and the grin broadened a degree as Beggar Prince came closer locking eyes with her. His voice dropped lower in silkened smooth, "Enchante, Mademoiselle....Ransom...or is it Madame?" He winked as if having some secret not wishing to disclose, " And what....service...might that be?"