Café de Nuit

"Oh, pardon me. I just thought that the professor didn't mean to be at the reunion at all." Draxton chuckles "I don't intend to wake up anyone just to say 'Hi, we're back, how are you?' either. I need some sleep and some peace. The time you propose seems fine for me. Anyway, goodevening gentlemen."

Gertrude had been about to reply when Crow interjected with the warning about the protections around the Maison. I am tired, she thought, and mentally chided herself for her sloppy thinking. “I had forgotten about that,” she said to the bard, “I suppose I would have recalled it by the time I reached the inn.” Tired or not, the warning had been severe enough, and her instinct for self-preservation rather high.

She turned back to Serd. “I have reservations in town. While I was prepared to spend the night with our associates’, I did not have the foresight to bring along a change of clothing. I had assumed that you and the rest were staying there already, and did not wish you to be held up by my own fastidious nature. It seems now however that we will need to wait to daylight, so the point is moot.” You should talk about oddness, old man, she thought to herself. I at least didn’t transform into a monster and expect to use a loa’s favour to extort something from the rest of us. We must make sure to mention that part of our little adventure, in case you wish to include the rest of our brethren in paying for that ‘sacrifice’ of yours. I’m sure Roechha would appreciate that as much as I did.

Gertrude’s feelings were mixed at Crow’s news on not being able to see her doppelganger outside. She was upset that it was outside the reach of revenge and in possession of her belongings. But an irrational part of her was also relieved at the possibility that it might have left off wearing her face

Maybe it hasn’t. Maybe it’s heading back to the Maison right now…

Panic flashed through her mind and flickered over her face as logic reared its head. It’ll be dark by the time it reaches it; the protections around the Maison will keep it out.

Or kill it. That possibility brought a grim sense of satisfaction that roused her briefly out of her state of worry and fear. She sank once more at the news of its appearance at her house. Blessed sun, what if it approached the Shadowcloak?! The news of provoking dissent did not ease her mood or the fact that it had fooled her colleagues so well.

How do I prove it wasn't me this morning?

Does it matter? A traitorous, calm voice asked. Do you really care anymore about what they think about you? Look where it’s brought you.

Look where it’s brought them…She suddenly saw vividly in her mind the Umbra’s shifting patterns of darkness across his skin. They’ve already got you carving up your flesh. How much of you will be left if you continue like this?

The image of a cup crushed in a pale white hand – the Comtessa’s warning- soon followed. What have I done indeed? She was almost glad to be destructed by the bard’s request about her fate after their separation earlier that morning.

She inclined her head at Chicken Bone’s reminder about prices. If she had truly been brought back from the dead – it was still hard to accept the possibility that she had died – she now had two debts to settle with the voodan. She smiled at the idea that she’d found herself. That’s part of it, isn’t it? For some reason, it gave her an odd sense of freedom and relief. “I am Gertrude Kingsley, m’sieur. One problem however is how he will know to open the door to this woman,” she touched her heart, “And not the one who looks exactly like her.”

She lay the topic of price be for the moment; she had already said that she would be willing to address it after Crow left. She turned back to the bard, leaving him the choice of identifying himself by whatever name he chose. “When we parted at Marais d’Tarascon, I came back here – or rather, to my room.” She shrugged her shoulders, smiling helplessly. “I drank a glass of water from the urn in my room.” She shivered, still smiling. “I assume it was poisoned. Not particularly glamorous or dramatic, I’m afraid.”

OOC:

Hey, Pam, I was going to post, then realized that we'd wandered into the wrong thread. Could you copy over Gertrude's last remarks to the Black Ship dialogue? It'd be less confusing for people who want to review the conversation so far. Then I can remove both my post and yours from the end of this thread.

No biggie, I've put responses in the wrong threads myself.

D'oh!

Moved it to the right thread. If it ever happens again, feel free to copy my post over; I'll figure out what happened.