The Black Ship- April 11th

Join us for our Halloween celebration
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

The Black Ship- April 11th

Post by Pamela »

Gertrude took a seat at a small table and ordered a glass of lemonade when she entered the Black Ship. She removed her gloves and raised her veil, then opened her carpetbag. She had been aching to examine the contents since her departure from the Maison, but had decided to wait till she was safely back in “civilisation” once more.

The journey had been uneventful apart from the initial annoyance of the irritating Lamordian. Even now her jaw set in distaste as she recalled his unwanted approach. She had been in no mood for any further snubbing or mealy-mouthed sympathy safely away from the Elder Brothers’ gaze.
It was gone and forgotten however by the time her glass arrived, and she took a sip as she considered the letter before her.

Dear Brother Crow,

I hope you will forgive my abrupt departure this morning, let alone my display of pique. I hope you will permit me to make amends by the suggestion of dinner tonight at the Black Ship? I am very curious to learn what light you could shed on yesterday’s events, as well as your view of Brother Larner’s account today of my beloved homeland. I would of course be more than delighted to take the opportunity to answer any questions on the topic.

If supper is inconvenient, I do wish you a good evening, and look forward to the chance to share notes tomorrow morning.

Sincerely,
Kingsley


She smiled as she put the letter aside, then wrote a couple of notes of apologies to the Countess and Brother Larner. Once they were done, she approached Mme Dreyfuss to arrange for a messenger to be sent immediately the Maison, and to await a reply from the bard. There was only a slim chance that they would reach their destination before the afternoon’s lectures began, but she could hope, and plan accordingly.

“Awaken me, please, as soon as a message- or Brother- arrives,” she explained, “But do not bring them to my room.” If any form of reprimand was to come, she would not be cornered if she could help it; she also did not wish any hints of impropriety. She did not need to have any brothers bearing tales home. Rupert would not believe them, of course, but he was often perceived as weak for “letting” his wife wander the world, and many had sought any hint of scandal to suggest he was also wearing the horns.

She smiled at the absurdity of it all. Idiots, one and all…
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

5:00 pm

Gertrude emerged from her room, looking refreshed from the short nap, her familiar carpetbag in tow. She looked around the room; her message had obviously arrived too late. She mentally shrugged; the bard might only be receiving the letter now and it would take at least another hour for him to either send a missive or to appear in person.

She was in a good mood; her irritation and fears over the morning were now well in the past. She had also spent the last half-hour enjoying her old correspondence from Crow. She smiled as she recalled the light self-deprecations and teasing which permeated the thoughtful sharing of ideas. He was still a complete mystery, but he was also a friend.

She took a seat at her usual table, with a good view of the door and the clients. She pulled out her journal and pen, considering the events of the past thirty-six hours. She had not had a chance of course to write up her impressions of the previous day; most of it would not be written down, of course, beyond a few oblique phrases that were her own personal code. She wondered what the Fraternity had made of her journal; she refused to believe that they had not rummaged through it, gleaning any unusual references to dates or people. The most revealing information that it yielded concerned interviews and insights related to her profession. She pursed her lips, stifling a smile as she considered the Brother's reactions to such “religious frippery”.

She then recalled Rupert's correspondence and broke out into a smile. Perhaps that's what really inspired “Mister” Loder's sudden vendetta, she thought, suddenly laughing aloud at the dour Lamordian's imagined disgust at the quotes (sometimes unacknowledged) of Mrs Howarth's purple prose and the seemingly empty-headed chatter.

She shook her head at her pettiness and returned again to the journal. Her contact with the Shadowcloak and eventual plans were summed up by: “Interesting sculpture of Notre Dame. Ezra...”

She made a detailed account of Chicken Bone's treehouse and the rite, while careful not to name the “escorts” who'd accompanied her or the pacts involved. Serd's manifestation was recounted as if it had occurred at the same location and time. She frowned a little as she considered the possession by Lethede; she hesitated, then merely wrote the loa's name, underlining it. She wondered again at Crow and Buchvold, and what, if anything, they had experienced to date. Well, I'll know soon enough...

She turned back to the journal, her gaze glancing up every time the door opened, her brows slightly furrowed as she considered how much- and how little- to write.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Rotipher of the FoS
Thieving Crow
Thieving Crow
Posts: 4683
Joined: Sat Dec 06, 2003 4:18 pm

Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

5:45 pm

Stepping in from the street, the fading light of an early Souragnien dusk at their backs, two finely-clad figures enter the foyer of Port d'Elhour's best inn. As the taller gentleman lingers near the doorway, tidying his elegant coiffure in the entry-hall mirror, the shorter of this popinjay pair limps up to the inn's front desk, and displays an opened envelope to the steward.

"Madame Kingsley?," the bard inquires, with a nod to the envelope, which bears the Black Ship's own stenciled insignia. Recognizing the missive as the very one the Zherisian guest had sent out only a few hours ago, the desk steward rings for a dining-hall attendant to escort the new arrivals into the Professor's presence.

Crow hopes that she won't be overly put out, that he's brought along an uninvited guest to their rendezvous. But with any luck, the opportunity for her to hear about Dirac's Nocturnal Sea foray, despite having missed out on his lecture, will make amends for the spy's minor faux pas in bringing the young Dementlieuse with him.

And perhaps, between Crow's own secret Coin-aided monitoring of Buchvold, Dirac's familial connection to Vedarrak, and Kingsley's budding acquaintance with Lady Karla, the three of them might puzzle out a little more of what was really going on, last night.
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

5:45 pm

Gertrude was reading Rupert’s letters when the pair were escorted in. She had a warm smile on her face, which shifted to surprise as she looked up and caught the two gentlemen approaching.
There was a momentary hesitation, before the look of pleasure returned once more. She rose from her seat to dip into a curtsy.

At their approach, she turned first to the tall stranger with the fine pompadour. “Brother Dirac, you look especially well today. I am honoured that you would choose to join us in a quiet dinner than to appreciate the well-deserved praise you were bound to receive at the Maison’s supper.” She curtsied once more.

She then turned to the bard with a semblance of censure which was marred by the small smile that kept crooking her lips. “Or perhaps our friend has misled you and promised an evening unparalleled?” Shaking her head, she added, “I have been unable to discern yet whether his tendency to embroider the truth is a requirement of his vocation, personal perversity, or a strange, naïve perception.”

She finally lay aside her poor pretense at annoyance, saying, “Whatever the truth, I am now obliged to ensure that your evening is as pleasant as possible, despite my innate Zherisian lack of enjoyment or good taste.”
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Rotipher of the FoS
Thieving Crow
Thieving Crow
Posts: 4683
Joined: Sat Dec 06, 2003 4:18 pm

Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

[OOC: Unless you have a problem with it, Nathan, I'll play out most of Dirac's lines here. (I think I can depict his personality all right, based on what you've written about him for QtR and his attitude in the NS Gaz.) I'll check with you via pm about what he may or may not reveal.]


Arriving at the Professor's table, Crow and the Dementlieuse compete to see which gentleman can return Kingsley's curtsey with the most elegant, debonair bow. (Dirac's is perhaps more suave, to critics' eyes, while the bard's is merrier.) The dining-hall attendant makes haste to pull out the new arrivals' chairs, then lingers behind the Professor's, sparing the men from a similar contest to assist the lady in resuming her place at the table.
Pamela wrote:“Brother Dirac, you look especially well today. I am honoured that you would choose to join us in a quiet dinner than to appreciate the well-deserved praise you were bound to receive at the Maison’s supper.” She curtsied once more.
The well-born Dementlieuse bows again, polished and appreciative, then smiles with wry irony. "Ah, yes, to hear praises heaped upon me would have been gratifying ... but, alas, two accolades in three would have gone to Lord Rivtoff, whose financial backing made my voyage possible! Not that I don't appreciate his patronage, mind you; still, seeing the lion's share of credit go to another man's gold, rather than my own efforts or risks, tends to pall quickly." And his grin briefly becomes a grimace of annoyance, tempered by resignation; by the look of it, this isn't the first time Dirac's glory has been pre-empted by undeserving superiors.

She then turned to the bard with a semblance of censure which was marred by the small smile that kept crooking her lips. “Or perhaps our friend has misled you and promised an evening unparalleled?” Shaking her head, she added, “I have been unable to discern yet whether his tendency to embroider the truth is a requirement of his vocation, personal perversity, or a strange, naïve perception.”
The bard smiles ruefully, shakes his curly head in bemusement. "Would that I knew myself, at times, Madam; prevarication is like any unsavory habit, hard to break and harder to recognize in one's self. But if I am helpless to conquer this addiction, at least I can endeavor to make my 'embroidery' a stylish feat of needlecraft, with colorful threads and cunning stitches." He bows, more casually than Dirac, and winks conspiratorially.

She finally lay aside her poor pretense at annoyance, saying, “Whatever the truth, I am now obliged to ensure that your evening is as pleasant as possible, despite my innate Zherisian lack of enjoyment or good taste.”
Again, the young men compete to deny the Professor's self-effacing quip with greater vigor than one another: a spontanous rivalry interrupted only by the return of the serving-attendant with their menus.


[OOC: Heh heh. Pam, I think Gert really needs to sit down again in your next post ... otherwise, these two are never going to take their seats before the lady does, and admit they're less well-mannered than the other! :wink: ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

Rotipher of the FoS wrote:The well-born Dementlieuse bows again, polished and appreciative, then smiles with wry irony. "Ah, yes, to hear praises heaped upon me would have been gratifying ... but, alas, two accolades in three would have gone to Lord Rivtoff, whose financial backing made my voyage possible! Not that I don't appreciate his patronage, mind you; still, seeing the lion's share of credit go to another man's gold, rather than my own efforts or risks, tends to pall quickly." And his grin briefly becomes a grimace of annoyance, tempered by resignation; by the look of it, this isn't the first time Dirac's glory has been pre-empted by undeserving superiors.
Gertrude's smile softened in sympathy as she gently remarked, “They seek only to ingratiate themselves to him in the hope that he will finance their own ventures. Ignore them, Brother, and take joy in those who recognise your worth.” She directed a warm glance towards the bard. “Why, consider our vain friend; he has lived up to his namesake, and snatched the gem from golden crown...”
The bard smiles ruefully, shakes his curly head in bemusement. "Would that I knew myself, at times, Madam; prevarication is like any unsavory habit, hard to break and harder to recognize in one's self. But if I am helpless to conquer this addiction, at least I can endeavor to make my 'embroidery' a stylish feat of needlecraft, with colorful threads and cunning stitches." He bows, more casually than Dirac, and winks conspiratorially.
She shook her head disapprovingly, pursing her lips in order to prevent the smile from slipping through. Still her eyes betrayed her amusement at his impertinence.
Again, the young men compete to deny the Professor's self-effacing quip with greater vigor than one another: a spontaneous rivalry interrupted only by the return of the serving-attendant with their menus.
If Gertrude had missed the rivalry over the bows, she was certainly neither blind nor deaf to the their attempts to out-protest each other. Her hand rose up to cover her smile and she was fortunately spared the effort of defusing it by the attendant's fortuitous return. She resumed her seat, and lay her menu upon her correspondence, then firmly set her hand upon it. “Gentlemen, I will not shame myself by attempting any recommendations.” She suddenly realised what might ensue, and smoothly added, “May I perhaps suggest that we share our dishes as the Souragniens do, and I will thus be given the great pleasure of appreciating both gentlemen's refined tastes?”

[OOC: Gertrude was much nicer than I- I'd been hoping to keep them bobbing and bowing another post or two.... :P ]
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Nathan of the FoS
Fiendish Enforcer
Fiendish Enforcer
Posts: 5246
Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
Location: San Francisco CA

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

[Pam and Roti--Listen and Spot checks via PM, please.]
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
User avatar
Nathan of the FoS
Fiendish Enforcer
Fiendish Enforcer
Posts: 5246
Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
Location: San Francisco CA

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

There's a bit of a bustle in the entryway; it seems the maitre d'hotel is dealing with some unexpected, and possibly unwanted, visitor. After a moment the discussion quiets down again, and the maitre d' begins to show the unexpected visitors upstairs.
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Tue May 06, 2008 12:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

The old man merely looks at her, waiting for her to lead the way. Mme Trouvé swallows then stands straight as possible as she walks barefoot up the steps, opens the door and steps inside.

She turns startled as she catches a movement to her left and faces her reflection in the mirror. She quickly looks away, avoiding the crowd seated in the nearby dining room; nobody is at the desk. She is tempted to go upstairs to the room that she knows lies above – to hide from the gasps of surprise which suddenly seem directed at her and the old man. This is an inn and she has no key; she must hope that they remember her- that she is still staying here, and has not left recently. What if I have been gone a long time? She is suddenly struck by the horrible possibility that she was a stranger here, passing through; her friends have left…

She turns away from that thought to stop herself from bolting. She timidly approaches the well-dressed servant who seems to be busy alternating his gawking between her and Chicken Bone. Approaching, he begins to remonstrate, in a low voice--oddly, he seems terrified of her companion. "Ah, m'sieur," the servant says, "s'il vous plait, votre affaire?"

The old man gives the servant a cool, slightly amused look and then says, "Madame reste ici, ne c'est pas?" He turns to Mme. Trouve and gives her an encouraging look. Stammering, she says, “Monsieur…I have lost my key…” Please tell me you remember me…

What have I done? Why is he staring- what have I done?


*Ah, m'sieur, if you please, your business here?
*Madame is staying here, isn't that right?
Last edited by Pamela on Tue May 06, 2008 12:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

As Gertrude waited for the two gentlemen to stop their bickering on who should choose the wine, her attention was caught by the brief hubbub at the entrance of the dining room. She first caught the poor state of clothing of the pair who seemed to be barred by the maitre d’ and wondered that they hadn’t been escorted outside yet (or had indeed even had the brass to proceed so far).

The maitre d’ then turned, staring at her, revealing Chicken Bone and….

Blessed sun…

Flabbergasted, the professor moved aside the menu to retrieve Rupert’s letters. Her hand seemed to caress the top page for a moment before she reached for the carpetbag beneath the table. Placing the correspondence tidily and carefully away, she said as calmly as she could manage, “Gentlemen, please excuse me whilst I take this opportunity to put my belongings away and attempt to make myself a little more presentable for such illustrious company.” She then looked again at the two gentlemen and said in mock realisation, "That may take a while though, now that I think about it..."

"And please don't rise," she said to no avail, as the two gentlemen fought on the lastest chivalry front. Shaking her head with soft amusement, she then headed determinedly to the foyer.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Nathan of the FoS
Fiendish Enforcer
Fiendish Enforcer
Posts: 5246
Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
Location: San Francisco CA

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Pamela wrote:
The old man gives the servant a cool, slightly amused look and then says, "Madame reste ici, ne c'est pas?" He turns to Mme. Trouve and gives her an encouraging look. Stammering, she says, “Monsieur…I have lost my key…” Please tell me you remember me…
"Mais..." the maitre d' says, giving the pair a frantic examination and then looking over his shoulder toward the dining room. The old man raises an eyebrow.

"Mais non?" the maitre d' continues, apparently having decided on which horn of the dilemma to impale himself. "Venez-vous, s'il vous plait." Taking a handkerchief from an inner pocket of his jacket and dabbing at his forehead, he leads the pair upstairs. Mme. Trouve is troubled by the feelings this inspires...fear, yes, but more than that, a sense of wrongness--of having taken the wrong path.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

Dread renders Mme Trouvé mute as she watches the maitre d'. Someone else has my room- the guests are upset- he’s going to have us thrown out-

A myriad of anxious probabilities flood her mind. The man's eventual, nervous acquiescence does not reassure her as she catches the look he gives Chicken Bone in the process. She recalls the shelf of skulls and she wonders what they know about this old man that she does not. She mouths the word “merci” but it is unable to slip from her lips into speech.

As she goes up the stairs, she realises that she is fighting more than her own anxiety. She stops on the staircase, trying to recall that feeling of direction she’d had before.

I’ve forgotten-

No! It was there- I remember it, it was only a few moments ago- something’s wrong-


“Something’s wrong,” she says aloud, taking hold of the staircase, looking blindly down at the foyer then at the ceiling, as if trying to find some visual clue of whatever has led her to this point. “M’sieur, it’s gone, I can’t feel it anymore- something’s happened-“ Mme Trouvé is babbling but she does not care; she turns around as if perhaps she can retrieve the path, the inkling which had brought her this far.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
User avatar
Rotipher of the FoS
Thieving Crow
Thieving Crow
Posts: 4683
Joined: Sat Dec 06, 2003 4:18 pm

Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

Seated across the table from Kingsley, facing away from the dining-hall entrance, the bard is unable to view the commotion in the foyer directly. He does hear the disturbance, but pays it little heed ... until the muffled voices' tones of anxious fearfulness -- the maitre d'hotel, discomfited by the notorious voodan's presence and attention -- and the fast-veiled startlement of the professor, on catching sight of its participants, together draw his notice.

Rather than turn round, and spoil the Zherisian's efforts to mask her own surprise, the VRS spy backs her play for concealment. He hides his own curiosity, continuing to act out the silly game of mannerly one-upmanship he's let "Brother Crow" slip into, with Dirac. (A likeable-enough fellow, as vipers go, but the smug, dandyish pose which the Dementlieuse projects has served Crow's own ends too well, in the past, for him to overlook the keenness behind the young man's primping self-satisfaction.) If Kingsley's withdrawal is related to some personal concern, he'd rather not bring such matters needlessly to the attention of the seniors' watchdog.

As soon as the professor has moved off, however, he employs his old peek-at-reflections-in-the-silverware trick, to snatch a glimpse of who it is at the doorway ... and, seeing the disputants mirrored in the polished butter-knife, entirely mistakes her source of dismay.

Having made no effort to conceal his covert scrutiny from Dirac -- if their brief collusion of last night had taught him anything of the man, it's that the Dementlieuse appreciates the pleasures of snooping -- the bard now draws his pompadoured dinner-guest's attention to it, by nodding slightly toward the tilted knife in his hand. A change in its angle, just as slight, brings the reflection of the figures in the entryway ... and of one figure in particular ... into Brother Paul's plain view.

"That's him," he murmurs, not even looking at Dirac as he speaks. "The one we were sent to speak with.

"That's Chicken Bone."
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
User avatar
Nathan of the FoS
Fiendish Enforcer
Fiendish Enforcer
Posts: 5246
Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
Location: San Francisco CA

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Ah, indeed," Dirac replies, leaning to peer at the knife. "You'd never think it to look at him, would you? I say..."

The scene in the foyer has suddenly become a still life; Mme. Trouve', rushing back down the stairs with a slightly bemused Chicken Bone in her wake, has come face to face with Gertrude, exiting the dining room.

And what a face-to-face meeting it is, to be sure--for, despite their rather dramatic differences in dress and hair style, the faces are identical. Height, build, posture...all are exactly the same. As if to heighten the irony, the foyer's large mirror reflects them again, re-doubling their presence so that four women seem to stare at one another there in the entryway.

Gertrude--the Gertrude of the professorial dress and hair caught up in a bun--gives Chicken Bone a baleful look and turns to her alter ego. "What is going on here?" she demands. "Who is this, and why have you brought her here?"
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
User avatar
Pamela
Sorority Shadow
Sorority Shadow
Posts: 931
Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2005 3:48 am
Location: Have gun, will travel
Contact:

Post by Pamela »

As a woman steps into the foyer, Mme Trouvé finds herself drawn downstairs. She races down, relieved at the sense of purpose and assumed recognition. The woman seems familiar, and a smile breaks out across her face, even as she shyly raises a hand to her head to try to comb her dishevelled hair into a semblance of order. She reaches the ground floor and looks up warmly at the woman…

And sees herself.

She registers numbly the twin’s disapproval and hears her words but cannot understand them. She is shivering as she crumples to the floor; knees fold, then waist; she is sprawled on the carpet, free of the sight of the harsh nemesis.

There is no room for coherent thought, let alone the sensation of pain. She is too busy fighting the waves of fear and revulsion flooding her mind, dragging her down to the bowels of a murky memory that must surely destroy her.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
Post Reply