The Docks

[Carlotta]

The night had passed by quietly for once. Long into the night she spent in her room reading those books. Only to become more perplexed. The laws that seperated Church and State were quite defining. In many ways, it seemed the Pope held more power than any Soverign in their own lands.

Specticals are set atop the law books as she sat back. Her mind toiling over all the information she's soaked in over the past week. It made her head hurt! A hand lifted as fingers gripped the bridge of nose and began a slow rubbing motion. She needed a break, time to clear her mind.

Rising she'd cross over to her wardrobe to remove a heavy wool cloak died black. Her intent is to take a walk. Quietly she'd move to her door and open it ever so slowly. Peering out into the hall, and listening to ensure her partents were in their room. Once satisfied, she'd slip out of her room, moving ever so quietly down the hall to the stairs. Her descent would be as swift as it could be, and remain soundless.

Once the bottom was reached, that cloak would be adorned and the hood drawn. Gloves slipped upon her hands before she'd head to the front door and slipped out into the wintery chill of the night.

The streets were relatively quiet, the weather chasing all to seek the warmth of a hearth. Head bent low, she began to slowly move along the frozen ground, moving along the lamp lit street. A few carriages passed without incident, quick was she to clear the way. Now she had the sounds of the night to aide in her thought process.

Occassional glances taken to ensure none were around, and to keep her eye on those dark places. She knew well what dwelled within the inky murks; even in the cold those of the dark minons would be found about. A mental search to ensure the weight of that dagger still rested at her side. She wasn't foolish enough to enter the dark hours of the night unarmed.

Her path would soon be leading her towards the docks .......

[Carlotta]

The walk to the docks was not one made quickly; quite some distance from her home did they rest. Though it allowed her the time needed for thinking, mulling over pages upon pages of information absorbed. Grasping the edges of that hood to position it to shield her face from the chilling wind that whipped about. The sounds of her steps would slosh with each step taken, due to the countless carriages and those upon horse back, that traveled along their snow covered paths. Soon enough the scent of the sea would be in took, one that was familiar and brought a smile to lips as memories came forth. Off shore, she knew the Black Swan sat idle, offering her a way out if she ever felt the need or want. The crew she had managed to get gainful employment for around the area, most upon her father's plantation. If they were going to be bound to the land during the time she was here, might as well make it worth their while. A few men were still hard at work, moving crates from the wharf to the various warehouses that lined this area. Several ships rested within their slips along the many piers, some newly arrived and others waiting to set sail in the morning. Even though it was dark, so much could be viewed by the light of the moon and stars, if one just simply took the time to look. Standing beside that large stack of crates, it would be that in which she'd do. Looking beyond the structures of wood, iron, and cloth composition, she could view the spans of water beyond. This time of the year, even during the light of day, those watery depths had that deadly blackish appearance. The wind carried upon it that salty scent, if one was to lick their lips, they could almost taste it. Eyes would then slowly close as she let her mind reminisce, of a time when she stood upon the bow of the Swan, sails full and slapping in the wind that drove them through those ocean depths. She could hear the sound of the sea as it roared passed, how it slapped against the hull and made the ship moan and groan in protest. The spray of that which broke over the deck as the ship pitched and rolled. The intensity of the sun as it kissed one's face. As beautiful and enticing such could be, in the blink of an eye, it could turn against you. Though she'd not think of the darker times, but

that which originally caused that smile of serenity to rest upon those naturally

colored mauve lips.





Shadow: The tavern was a blaze with life, the seedy kind. Dockworkers and those associated with them jostled within the smelly confines of wood and various bodily fluids. Ladies of the evening plied their trades in the privacy of pulled alcoves, where luckily only a hairy limb or two was evident. There was an under current, higher up in the world amongst the wigs and the wealthy. He was sure of it now, that things were stirring by the pompous arse that currently sat on the throne. It suited him just fine...in fact; it brought a smile to the shadow's lips. A glimmer of fangs in the candle light. Outside the tavern, world was the norm. The smell of the sea, and the stench of the sewage that was poured into it. People walked here, and there...some seeking the back alley ways and a quick hick of skirt, others

far darker places with far darker desires. A drunk came stumbling out, his feet lurching beneath him and sliding along the stone. He swayed first left, than right as if under the influence of the seas tossing volleys. The cut of the man's uniform spoke of mild wealth, the clang of an utterly useless sword thumped against his thigh sporadic and hollow in his wine endued plight. He took two steps, and bent over...retching against the side of the building, three and it repeated. The tell tale bulge of a money purse lay against his opposite hip, and it did not take the vultures but a second. Three came from the alley way, two small and one large. It was over in a second, perhaps two. A familiar flash of death and robbery in the night life of England... or was it not so familiar? The silver glint of metal, a scream cut short. The three robbers lay motionless upon the cold, damp cobblestones. The drunkard was suddenly fluid, graceful. Gone was the lurch in his step, and the sway of his body. No with ease he squatted down, money pouch taken from his side. Crumbs of bread were emptied from it, and one by one the robber's purses found their way into his. Much smaller down than previous, and tucked inside the waistline of leggings instead of upon belt. Lastly his sword was wiped clean on one of their chests, his body stood up right and his walk became a slow...prowl.

This, the shadow, was a predator use to guile and deceit to find his prey. :





The muffled sounds and thuds could be heard from where she stood, not far from that barrier of crates that shielded her from the rowdier aspects of dock life. Slowly eyes would open, slowly taking in her surroundings without much movement of form. She had learned well, if you wish to blend with the shadows, become one with the night, barely a breath do you take, nary a muscle did you move. As was the way of such things, many turned a blind eye and deaf ear to situations that take place around them. If no outcry came to beacon them, then silence would befall upon those claimed victim. Seeing nothing to cause her alarm, she decided to perhaps move to a better lit area in which to stand. Not that it would offer much more protection, but it did give one a false sense of security and did most often deflect would be assailants. Gloved hand would slowly lower to her side, keeping close to where that dagger was hidden beneath the heavy cloth that provided her warmth. Several steps would be taken before she'd step past that mountain of wood containers, and at the same time into the path of one who seemed to be moving with purpose. A near collision it had been, if not for her alert nature and ability to side step without loss of footing upon slick surface. Though a startled glance would the man get, and a softly spoken. "Me p’rd’ns Govn'r." Utilization of that thingyney that would add to the cloak and dagger disguise. Unaccompanied women were targeted easily enough, but if the rogues of the night had any inkling that it was a woman of station, her plight could worsen. Head bent forward as one hand held that woolen material tighter in closure, while the other positioned to where the leather tips of digits would brush the hilt of the hidden dagger beneath.





Rogue: A single eyebrow rose, it was his single expression...one could wonder if he was actually surprised, or merely raised the articulate thing out of an attempt to appear human. His movements ceased his body still as she addressed him. Garments spoke of military, the amount of gold frill spoke officer, and the lack of many dangling medals said it was a lower rank. Well groomed hair had some money in his pocket, broad shoulders and tall figure made the sword on his hip appear something more likely to be usable than mere decoration. It was black eyes that looked to her, not some romantic blue or soft brown. They were dark, holding no glimmer but the reflections unable to pierce the shadows. Any guise, however, that he managed as some ordinary fellow, an officer youth preparing to be wed away by a father was destroyed by his voice. Deep, strong it made him to old to be some son sent away freshly. It marked him cultured, and able to keep that in check. But more importantly, it was the contents of those words.:...The accent doesn't suit you, you are clean and light on your feet. You don't have the stench of lowers, and thou hair shines more than the sea. Thou shawl is clean, thou boots are leather and equestrian, thou makeup is ash but coal, and thou dagger was forged to fit your hand, and thou best learn not to put thy hand upon it unless thou intends to use it...:With that he stepped past her, and beyond. His walk an even thing of click heels, and leather soles.:





That had her head slowly rise as did her gaze that now pierced into the back of the man. Having noted his state of dress, military no doubt, and the colors of the King. That Irish temper kept in check, which kept her little retort from passing her lips. Although, one word did pass before she could mute those words. "Peathingy.." Click of tongue to the roof of her mouth, she'd continue along towards where a lantern burned brightly where it was suspended from the side of a weathered post at the dock's edge. Here she would stand to where she could better view the spans of water which had captivated her so moments prior that offered the solace to her troubled mind. Here she could escape the world of Courts, barristers and chancellors. Here no demands were placed upon her, no expectations or hopes of her failure to put her in her place. She understood the draw of those who set to sea, the freedom it offered that could not be found upon land. Hand remained close to that dagger upon her side, and distance from the water's edge was that so she wouldn't stumble or couldn't be easily pushed into the murky, icy depths along the dock's edge. Though quiet would not be something gotten, due to the rowdy sounds that poured from the dens of iniquity that lined this area. It would be from the corner of her eye that she noted a pair heading in her direction, with arms laid across each other's shoulders as they swaggered along. Two men, more than likely mates upon a ship, who passed a bottle between the two of them and tales that caused them both to burst into loud laughter. Head turned just enough to watch the two as they drew near, though not to make it obvious they were being watched. It was when they paused and both looked her way, then heads bent together as they shared some secret between them, that she knew her night of peace was about to be disturbed. The light touch upon hilt now became a firm grip, the blade pulled but an inch from its home to make an easy draw if the need arose. Soon their private discussion ended, and onwards they moved as before; except this time, their eyes were focused upon her. A deep breath taken, she'd turn and begin walking back in the direction from which she came. She'd not run, knowing that would be a mistake. The docks were slick in many areas, and if she were to flea, easy it would be to end sprawled out upon the ground. Head held high, though she could hear the two were indeed following behind her.





Enter a Peathingy: The word was heard, but passed off. No doubt some young Lady of the court meeting her married lover for a nice rut in whatever establishment he found the cheapest room in. Nothing but a free sleeper...check that...His walk stopped of it's own accord, halting in the street some dozen steps away from where they had originally bumped into one another. No...not that one. She went through far lengths to appear as something she was not, oh she had a few mistakes something like the shadow would spot...but for most passerby’s she would be a merely attractive female of no particular standing and a quickly forgotten encounter. No, this was no midnight romp between flea infested sheets. This was something different, curious...his nature would not allow him to not find out. One would think it hard to move easily, quietly in such pompous attire as that which he was dictated to wear. But truth be known he had long ago grown use to it, in fact he now enjoyed the certain misconceptions it brought about in him. He had carefully nurtured his life, making sure he neither rose nor fell in rank, that he was easily and quickly forgotten after a party or two. Well liked, but not to the point of friendship or mention...It allowed the truth of him free reign. From before a set of crates in front of her, but half a dozen paces his form materialized. It could be called such, for in the shadows and fog he simple was not there, then was. His arms bent behind his back, a rather impatient look upon his face that was obviously now an easily altered mask.:...My Lady Pretentious... :It was a name, sounding regal and fair from his lips yet any of education would know it was not. Still it was currently the fashion in court to name one's daughters and sons after adjectives of beauty and courage, though this was not.:...Thou father is all but ill in your absence, he has sent half the uniformed regiments in search of you. Thy actions shall see you with a right bottom come morning Lady, I am to take you home post haste willing...or not... :His left arm extended, fingers were black in leather, a leather which moaned as if raped as fist uncurled. Behind her the sailors took pause, almost immediately beginning their retreat with stumbling steps that no doubt meant to turn about.:





Then before her the military peathingy had appeared. This would cause her forward motion to cease when words were spoken. A slow blink as those chestnut hues would peer up at him, and the name was one that normally would have gave him a hint of that bladed tongue she could so boldly and easily wield; if circumstances were other than what was transpiring at the moment. The cut of the man's cloth would be enough to cause her two shadows to halt in their forward motion as well, she could hear the abrupt nature of their about turn and the low curses being uttered; either because of their fate, or due to the slick surface that hindered a graceful retreat. She'd not look back over her shoulder to ensure the men's departure, it was still the overbearing presence of the man that focus remained upon. She knew fully well he had no clue to whom she was, nor from whence she came. His words a fabrication created on the spot, and no doubt to intercede and halt a situation that could have transpired. The dagger would be seated back into it's home, the grip of her own leather encased hand loosened to withdraw and rest upon that which was offered forth. "Then willing it will be, for I'd not wish to be drug through the streets kicking and screaming to create a scene for you, MiLord." Proper were the words now spoken, though the Irish lilt of heritage would be easily heard. The intermixing of one reared upon the soils of the Emerald Isles in youth, then torn away to approach adulthood upon those of this very Sovereign State. The few steps necessary to place her at his side taken, and here focus would now shift. Not in the direction of the two in retreat, but straight ahead. For now, she'd not thank him for his actions, but join in the charade that was on display. Once the two were away from the area in which they now stood, it would only be then she'd begin any dialect between them. "I'm not pretentious, either." Her voice would remain low when she spoke, loud enough for the man to hear them clearly enough. "That aside, I do thank you for your assistance." Surely the man had no intent on delivering her to her door.