TESTING STUFFS NO POASTY PLEASE

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Staring was good. It kept people from becoming too comfortable. The man was practically wilting beneath his gaze, and he barely even blinked. Suddenly, he heard a beep and looked down at his desk phone to see the Reception Desk calling him, interrupting his staring contest. Picking up the receiver, he didn't bother saying anything--they were used to it, and the woman downstairs began speaking when she realized he had picked up. "Mr. Duncan?" Responding with a confirmatory noise "mhmm", she continued in a hesitant voice. "A young woman just came in and asked for you--she didn't have an appointment, and she ran off before we could detain her. I believe she is on her way to your office now." A storm crossed his face and he glanced sharply up at the old man standing before him. Emitting a growling sort of impatient sigh, he responded with a curt tone of voice. "I understand. Might I inquire as to what I pay the security guards for?" Without giving the receptionist a chance to respond, he slammed the receiver down. "You may go. I expect you back here at 8 AM sharp tomorrow to review the contracts with my lawyers." At least the man had enough sense to see that he was more than a little upset and took the unsubtle dismissal for the command it was, and with a little strangled "Yes, sir." before dashing out of the door. Gareth sank into his plush chair, probing the sensitive muscles at the back of his neck. Since he had been a young man, he'd always held his tension in his neck and shoulders, and frequently suffered from muscle pain. That's what massages were for, but he simply didn't have the time to spend at a massage parlor. Despite appearances, he worked just as hard as he expected everyone else to work--he just never made it obvious and absolutely never complained about it. The only time he talked about his work was when it was with the necessary people and through the required channels. He kept it all close to his chest, and it obviously took a toll on him. Perhaps...perhaps he'd see about hiring someone to stand there and give him massages while he worked. That would be efficient, killing two birds with one stone!

"Dad! Are you alright?" As the door was closing behind the man, he heard the fervent high pitched tones of a female in evident distress. Oh, dammit. He picked up a stack of paperwork and hurriedly started on it--it was not a great skill in deduction that helped him guess that this woman was trouble--she was obviously that man's father, and she was probably the same one that had gotten past the Reception Desk, which meant she had somehow been tipped off--he was quite certain that her father (what was his name?) had not had the chance to call her, so that meant she had a friend in the company--probably on this floor, in that man's department. It didn't make much difference, for he didn't really care about the social lives of his employees, but it was an observation and speculation he made that he filed in his mind for possible use later. She's going to come in and bother me. I wish... his thought trailed off, and he dismissed it. Keeping himself busy in his paperwork meant that he could ignore her--she could yell at him, but yelling at a wall of indifference often caused people to give up. "I'm going to talk to Mr. Duncan about this." She sounded like a teacher. He shivered a bit at that--he'd had some terrible teachers in the past. Just listening to her made his knuckles hurt. Of course she is. Heaving a sigh, he finished reviewing an order form for paper, signing off on it and putting it into the OUTBOX. He heard some protestations from the woman's father, but he had a feeling that wouldn't stop her--people like that didn't usually listen to anyone but their own insistent minds. Not even looking up as he heard the click that signaled the door opening, he could practically feel her flaming presence and was amused to think of himself as facing her with an icy presence. There was silence for a brief moment, broken by the scribble of his pen on paper and her slamming the door shut. "Hey! Are you crazy?" she advanced on him like an angry swarm of bees, and he fought back the urge to shout at her. Silence would serve him better, and he kept his head down as he scanned the papers in a packet before him, though it was admittedly a little hard to focus as she kept ranting at him. "Can't you just pay for the copier?"

That startled him into freezing up. Paused in mid-page flip, he dropped the papers and cleared his throat, shooting her a condescending look of disgust. How on earth could she be bold enough to say that he ought to pay for something that her father had damaged? What was he, the man's mother? Hardly. That was how the world worked. You broke it, you paid for it. If you didn't have the fiscal or physical resources, then you went around walking on eggshells! It was common sense. "I do not," he growled out, voice dripping with disdain. "Run a charitable institution. This is a business." He clasped his hands on his desk and stared at her with a ferocious glare. Most people would have backed down by this point, but he had to give her major points in her tenacity and passion--at least she was confident enough to stand up to him, and that wasn't something most people could say. "My father isn't that healthy, he can't just run your errands all day." A slight scoff met her words, and for a moment he just shook his head and resisted the urge to laugh mockingly at her. "Well then, Miss...perhaps he ought to have thought about that before he went and destroyed an expensive and important piece of equipment." He shrugged and turned his attention back to his paperwork, lifting an imperious hand and gesturing with a brushing-off motion toward her, he mentioned that he was finished with this tedious conversation. "Some of us have work to do, and the money you seem to think I have to throw around needlessly does not grow on trees. I need to make it somehow. I'm not going to forget about your father's debt. He'll work hard but it won't be more than an hour or so of running about. Besides," he signed off on something and looked up at her as if to say "you're still here?" "He'll have access to my private car for all said errands." Then he looked back down at his work. "Good-bye."

And yet...she wouldn't leave. "If you insist on having someone pay you back, how about I work for you instead?" Gareth cast her a bemused glance tempered with disdain. As she obviously wasn't going to be a good little girl and go away when he told her, he slammed the papers he had been flipping through down on the desk as he stood up, skirting around his desk and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Snorting lightly in derision, he turned to face her and closed the distance between them, stepping forward in an almost unconscious attempt to further intimidate her. "You very obviously do not understand what you are suggesting." It was incomprehensible to him to even consider the possibility that she had meant it--who would sacrifice themselves so needlessly, even for a family member? He had certainly never seen anyone do it! No human being did anything so self-sacrificing without some, even secret, personal gain. It is not human nature. Self preservation above all is the one rule that guides mankind. That much, I know. Barking out laughter empty of geniality, he furrowed his brow at her. "I don't much care who pays for it, as long as someone does. If you are so eager to take your father's place, then by all means. I expect one of you here by 8 AM tomorrow, or there will be a court case. Just tell the receptionist you're here about the assistant position. Now leave before I have security escort you, please. I'd rather not make a...scene. It does disturb the employee's work." Despite his protests, he actually looked very favorably on the switch. The old man would be a bit of a liability, and he probably wasn't the best errand runner--who knew if he knew where everything was, and there was something to say for the spontaneity and creativity of youth. This young woman would probably perform much more satisfactorily than her father would, but on the other hand...women were so difficult to deal with. At least she wasn't a wilting flower that would cower at everything he said, but he was also a little worried about her fiery character--if she was going to go against him, it would also spell trouble, and there her father was the better choice, for he was meek enough to allow Gareth to bully him with exceptionally little effort into doing whatever he wanted.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Oh, he was angry. But there was something underlying the anger that she sensed had nothing to do with their recent interactions when she heard his next words. “Watch me take the glory this time.” They spoke of some sort of old emotional scar, and she would've laughed in his face at how he sounded like a little boy challenging the previous winner at a soccer game, but the fervent, almost blind, look in his eye froze her to the spot. She knew he was a dangerous man, everything pointed to that fact--and yet, she had taken him as something of a joke. He meant business, and he wasn't going to roll over and let her win. This is going to be a lot more difficult than I had thought... Her eyes held his feverish gaze until she heard the sudden noise of someone opening the door, and her gaze flicked behind him before returning to his face. The smile he wore was so unnatural that it was almost frightening--it made him look more intimidating than his glowers. It was...“Quinn! Good morning!” The cheerful tones of Quinn's fellow Geek made her flash a triumphant smile. That was right--let him be as scary as he pleased, but she was the one that was going to get Emma. She already had Emma on her side--they were good friends already, and she had constant and consistent access to Emma's presence (except outside of work, that was a little more sporadic), so it was a natural assumption that she was going to win this one. Emma's entrance was something of a relief--it was getting a little intense between the spies, and so it was with genuine cheerfulness that she greeted her co-worker and target. "Emma!" Quinn barely had time to spit out anything else before Emma began again, obviously having trouble reigning in her enthusiasm. Wondering what could have her so excited this early in the morning, Emma didn't let her curiosity go unsatisfied.

Without much attention to Jasper (which made Quinn giggle on the inside), they squealed girlishly over Emma's news. "Ohmygod! So you’re going to see him again? Eeeee! Is he super gorgeous? Tell me exactly what happened! What’s his name?" she flailed a hand at her friend, acting just as excited as Emma was. Not that it wasn't interesting--but she also had never been the type to gush over boys with her friends. Still, she liked to see Emma being animated, so she didn't want to put a damper on her happy morning. A new man in the asset's life was a complication that she would have to deal with, and that meant some old school spying--Emma's habitual mornings were easy enough to deal with, and most of the time Quinn followed the target to and from work, but she had cameras and microphones placed throughout Emma's house to help her keep watch when she had something in the field that needed attending to. Now, she'd have to pay even closer attention to Emma's daily life to make sure this new man wasn't a spy or someone who would ruin her mission--and to make sure Jasper wasn't finding new ways to muscle in on her catch. It was a good thing she wasn't the relationship type, because the agency was really her calling. Life got too boring without that element of danger and mystery. People who joined either really liked serving their country or they hated stagnation, and Quinn was definitely the latter. To her, a lasting relationship was like an anchor that dragged you down, and the thought of it scared her. Friendship, enemies, those she could handle, especially since she didn't have a problem making friends and leaving them. Hopefully she wouldn't have to leave Emma, because that would mean she had failed--Emma would be going back to DC with her, whether she wanted to or not. It was kind of nice to be around Emma--she was, despite many things, rather innocent and always had a positive outlook, and as far as Quinn could tell, she didn't have ulterior motives--she was the most genuine person Quinn had ever met. When she asked you a question, she was actually interested, when she told you about some guy who hit on her at breakfast, she was really just excited. If she invited you to lunch, she wanted to spend time with you. If she sought your company, she wanted to talk.

It was refreshing, but Quinn couldn't let herself get too caught up. It was well that she did so enough to appear to be as real and as little suspicious as possible to maintain her cover, but this was by far one of the more pleasant missions she had been given, with one exception. It was boring. Extremely, mind meltingly, colossally, boring. So much so that it sometimes made Quinn a bit more aggressive than usual, but now that things were picking up, she was a little more positive about the future--with Jasper there to mess with, how could her day get boring? He could put up the tough guy act all he wanted, but she had obviously gotten to him, and though the spy hated to admit it, he had irritated her a little as well. How odd... she mused. Most people would not be pleased to be annoyed. It was funny, but not entirely unexpected. It was difficult to annoy Quinn too much, so it was really a bit of a challenge--annoy him more than he annoyed her, and finish the mission. Now, she had this new guy to check out, and that was just another little side mission--anything to keep away the boredom. “On another note… What’s up with the new guy? He looks a bit… erm, uptight? I guess? Maybe scary?” Quinn had to laugh, and once she got started she found she couldn't stop--or at least didn't feel the need to bother trying to check her laughter. It was nice to have someone like Emma around, because she wouldn't chide Quinn for being childish. If you worked for fun, then fun became your job--it was often mistaken for negligence, but she always completed every task with efficiency and creativity, just with a bit of playfulness thrown in. Unlike Jasper evidently was, she believed in taking a lighthearted approach, because being serious wouldn't necessarily get things done quicker.

"Oh, Emma..." she gasped as she caught her breath. "You have no idea! He is so incredibly entertaining that I simply cannot stand it." she grinned to herself, leaning in conspiratorially. "You should've seen him earlier! I'm his superior and so I was training him, and honestly...he's so argumentative. And...I dunno, prideful I guess." shrugging, she glanced off to the side. "Not that pride is a bad thing, of course, but to have it in excess is sad indeed. I'm pretty sure he's never laughed in his life unless it was at someone's pain." she laughed. "Hey...you know, now that you're here, we should do something. You know...a big...Best Buy welcome." Her smile turned into a wicked grin. The employees at Best Buy weren't always known for their gravity, and there were a couple here that would gladly join in on any plot against the new guy--it was sort of a thing for newbies, but aside from that his military posturing just begged you to play a trick on him. "You're by far cleverer than I am. Help me come up with something fun..."

"SPEECH"
"JASPER"
"EMMA"

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST

POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST

POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST POAST

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Sir Eugene Paulet was a man much disposed to active pursuits, and as such he felt the idleness of living in his father's ancestral home deep in the country quite oppressive. It wasn't that he couldn't find something to occupy his time while living at Montcrest Park, but rather the watchful eye and heavy social restrictions of his idle mother, the Marchioness of Winchester. Lady Jane Paulet was an elegant woman of high breeding, married early to the Marquess of Winchester in a perfectly respectable mercenary manner, arranged between their families of long standing. The daughter of a Viscount with considerable wealth, she was readily accepted into the family. Before long, her husband, the Lord Charles Paulet, had spent most of her dowry and inheritance of fifty thousand in excessive habits long used to luxury, and in discharging his accumulating debts. Though not generally in ill health, she was known to lapse into periods of sleep during the day if she was sitting down, which was principally how she passed her days. Currently sleeping before the fire with a tiny lapdog curled upon her knees, her son lounging beside her on the couch reading a book, all was quiet on this lazy day, except for the servants bustling about preparing for the departure of the young master to town for the festival.

"Niles," he closed the book and tossed it onto the cushion beside him as the butler entered the room. "Lord Warwick is arriving today, as you know. Cucumber sandwiches are his positive favorite, and we must have them. I trust that you will inform the cook?" Knowing that his demand would be met without trouble, he flashed a small smile at the old, stiff butler. The man was indispensable, to be sure; he knew his job well and could often intuit his master's wishes. No doubt he had already informed the cook without needing to be ordered to do so, but it was always a good idea to check. Just in case. Sighing, he made his way back up to his room to see how far along the packing was. Usually the two manservants oversaw it, but Lord Paulet had Geoffrey traveling with him to London, so it was moving rather slower than usual. That's what happened when you only had a handful of servants in a house that really required an army to run it, but what else could you do with a limited income? In an attempt to retrench, they had trimmed down their household staff to just eleven individuals: a cook, the butler, two manservants, a ladies maid, the housekeeper, gardener, three maids (one of whom served as an assistant to the cook), and the groundskeeper. Myron, Eugene's personal manservant, was currently sorting through his master's closets to try and pack up everything he thought the young Earl might need during his trip into town. Three trunks were open on the floor, packed what seemed to be haphazardly. Eugene stood leaning in the doorway to his spacious bedroom, hands crossed over his chest as he watched Myron muttering to himself, holding a pair of boots up and inspecting them, comparing them in his mind to another pair he held in his other hand. Walking forward, Eugene bent to pick up a waistcoat that had seemed to fall short of the trunk it was intended for, and he picked it up between two fingers as if it was a dead rat. "Now, Myron, my good fellow," the harried manservant, deep in thought, was so surprised as to loose his composure. Yelping and twirling ungracefully on the spot, one pair of boots that Myron had been holding were let flying as he threw his hands up in shock. With a tranquil expression, Eugene merely ducked as the boot flew at his head, and it arched over him and he turned to watch it's descent as it landed neatly in a trunk behind him. "S-sir...I humbly apologize." Myron managed an awkward bow, nearly knocking over a lamp with the boots still clutched in his other hand, but Eugene merely smiled, clearly amused at the scene he had precipitated. Myron was rather clumsy, but if left to himself he was highly efficient. "No need, Myron. Carry on, please." Dropping the waistcoat into the trunk he supposed it was meant for, he turned around as Myron bowed low again and exited the room.

When he entered the sitting room, he was met with a mini buffet of delicacies, light foods good for snacking before a journey. Anything too heavy was sure to disagree with one's stomach in the jolting ride of a carriage, no matter how fine. Moving over to the side table, he regarded the cucumber sandwiches with delight--they were like little bites of nothing, but at the same time they had such a pleasant flavor that you couldn't help but eating ten all at once. In his own home, a man like Eugene was able to indulge in all his bad habits with gusto, so he grabbed up three of the petite squares in one hand and popped them one by one into his mouth. "Sire, the food has been laid out. Shall I go and aid in the packing?" Two pairs of hands would be better than none, and Eugene couldn't be sure when Richard would be arriving to pick him up. It wouldn't do to keep his closest comrade waiting, after all--the man could be easily irritated if you pushed the right buttons. "Ah, Niles, my good fellow. To be sure, the Duke will be most pleased with your array. Pray do pass on my compliments to the cook. I do believe that Myron may require your assistance." As he spoke he kept eating the cucumber sandwiches, until the plate was half empty. Eying it for a moment, knowing he ought to restrain himself, he picked the tray up and brought it with him. Before he took three steps forward, however, he turned around and plucked up a handful of the muffins sitting there and put them on the platter, then turned back on his original trajectory for the couch. His mother was sitting in her cushioned chair, dozing by the fire with her annoying little lapdog that constantly shook as if seized with some sort of nervous complaint. As he flopped down on the sofa, taking up the book he had previously left, the dog made a little squeaking noise and as he grumbled back at it, pulling a pillow into place so he could recline back as he read (balancing the plate on his stomach), his mother woke up with a start and something like a very unbecoming snort. "Oh, my dear. I was not asleep. What have you there, sir?" she stared pointedly at his platter of food from beneath the oceans of lace on her mob cap swamping her head of blonde hair. Around a mouthful of cucumber sandwiches, he glanced over his shoulder at her and gasped in alarm, nearly inhaling a plethora of bread crumbs in the process. "Gravest apologies, madam, but I'm afraid these must not be eaten, for you know how the Duke adores cucumber sandwiches and muffins. I shall only eat a few and then put it back. If I may make a suggestion, the potted shrimp sandwiches Cook has prepared smell positively delectable." Waiting a moment for her to give a negative response and settle back down, staring at the carpet before her, she adjusted the blanket draped across her lap and scratched the lapdog behind the ears, falling easily into a doze.

Eugene's fingers scrabbled along the metal surface of the platter, searching for the next cucumber sandwich or muffing to stuff in his mouth. Glancing away from the captivating text of his book, he frowned down at the empty platter. "Now, where has my food gone to? Oh, drat." He sighed, sitting up and brushing the crumbs that were left of his crime from his waistcoat and, avoiding waking up his mother or being caught by any of the servants, snuck back and replaced the platter whence he had taken it. Stealing back to the couch, he lay himself out and read for another hour or so before he found himself dozing off. Putting the book over his eyes, he crossed his hands over his stomach and quickly slipped into a light nap, lulled by the crackling warmth of the fire before him and the soft sleeping sounds of his mother and her dog, and did not even wake when a loud crash came from his room, followed by a strangled shout.

"Sir, the Duke's carriage is arriving." Niles refrained from shaking the young master awake, but he knew that it would not require violence to wake Eugene from his slumber. Always a light sleeper, it was easy for him to rouse and come fully to, sitting up and arranging himself nicely on the couch before feigning a coughing fit to wake his mother, who started again and stared wildly at him as if confused as to her surroundings. "Dearest, I believe you sound positively dreadful! Shall I have Niles call for the Doctor Lloyma? I'm sure that it is best to be cautious." She spoke in drowsy tones tempered by concern, but he merely cleared his throat. "I think, madam, that I may safely say that I am quite stout. I need only a glass of water to settle my lungs. The Duke approaches and it would not do to alarm him, I fear." She sighed, giving up in the face of his denial. She was not in general a woman easily led, but when in a dozing mood her inattentiveness had enabled him in all his spoiled glory to trample over her rules and restrictions (except when social etiquette was concerned for she was a real soldier when it came to that), and she contented herself to stare off into space for a moment. "What an amiable young man he is." She spoke so suddenly that he didn't realize what she was talking about at first, and he arched a brow. "The Duke? Certainly, I suppose he is quite agreeable if you have the pleasure of his acquaintance. I rather think him to be too much reserved and full of sense when occasion requires public gaiety. He is, most assuredly, of immeasurable importance, and is not as cold as some may feel him to be. Why, without him, I am sure I would be in much more trouble than I already find myself in." This last was said in such an offhand way that Lady Paulet passed it over without much attention, though she knew quite well that her son was more than a bit of a troublemaker.

"His Grace Richard Warwick." Niles stepped through the door to announce the Duke as Eugene was just putting down his book. "Ahh, Richard! Here at last to whisk me away from this boring neighborhood. Pardon for any offense, madam." he added to his mother, who shot him a mild glance and took it with good humor. "Good morning, Your Grace." She stood, picking up the lapdog in her arms, and swept a curtsey with surprising grace. Always insisting on strict observance of social customs (though not so much when it was just her son and herself), she could hardly less greet him sitting down than to call him "Richard" as Eugene so disrespectfully had. "Please excuse my son; he forgets his manners." Now, Lady Paulet shot him a quelling glance to remind him not to ignore the proprieties she held so dear, and with a sigh, he tossed down his book again. "Oh, very well, madam." He stood and bowed deeply with an impertinent flourish and a grin to his closest friend. "Greetings and good morn, my Lord Duke. I welcome you to our humble abode and hope that the provisions are to your liking." He stepped over to the side table and swept his hand in a gesture to include all of the food. "I have made sure to have your preferred refreshments served to-day in hopes of pleasing you, Your Grace." he grinned impishly. "Ah, Niles," he turned to the butler, who had stationed himself beside the table, hands behind his back. Niles bowed and awaited Eugene's words. "Please offer the Duke some cucumber sandwiches." Niles stepped forward and looked down at the platter that had once held the sandwiches, but which now held nothing but crumbs. Eugene watched him carefully and was half disappointed that the butler maintained his ever-present mask of grave servility.

"Sir, I am afraid we do not seem to have any cucumber sandwiches." he stared impassively at Eugene as if awaiting his pardon, and with an affected irritation, Eugene rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "I believe, Niles, that I asked specifically for the sandwiches that the Duke preferred. Could Cook not find a single cucumber at market?" Niles took up the empty platter and shook his head. "Indeed my lord," his tone was almost sad, as if it were truly the case. "There was not a single cucumber to be got." Eugene flapped his hand at the butler. "Very well, Niles. You may go." With a small wink to the departing butler, who took it all in good stride, Eugene turned to Richard. "There you have it, my Lord. Not a single cucumber to be got. Well, if you might excuse me Richard, I think I shall go and instruct my manservant to bring my luggage down to your carriage. If you should like to eat something, I will be back in but a moment." And with a bow of his head, he left Richard to the food and the company of his mother.


---------------------------------------------------- I N ------------- T O W N ----------------------------------------------------

But a few days later found Lord Eugene Paulet relaxing in his townhouse, his manservant Myron bustling about his bedroom as Eugene splashed water on his face, dashing to the window to look out on the small yard between his house and Richard's. Certainly, his friend's townhouse was much bigger and grander than Eugene's, but that was to be expected in the disparity between their incomes. Despite being wrapped in nothing but his dressing robe, he felt no shame in knocking excitedly on the thick glass and doing something of a jig to try and attract the attention of his neighbor, with whom he had plans. He was going to drag Richard out to the festival despite any objections the Duke may have held to such dissipation for the day. Retreating from the window as Myron coughed to attract his attention, he surveyed the three outfits Myron had laid out as he changed into his under things, having bathed just a few hours before. Selecting one, Myron helped him into his waistcoat and jacket and handed him his trousers and set out the shoes, gloves, and hat to complete the ensemble. He was dressed all in teal, white, gold, and tan, with careful embroidery on his tan waistcoat and shining buttons on his teal jacket, inspired by military style. His gloves were an ivory color and his hat dark grey, almost black, with a tan trim. Feeling rather smart and colorful for a foray out into the exciting festival, he tucked a pouch with a few coins into his jacket and taking up his gloves and hat, stepped out into the street, ready to jump into the crowds. Myron chased down the stairs after him, dressed in a smart if simple uniform that complemented the colors of Eugene's house and arms. He held out an english stick topped with a gold globe, which Eugene took with delight. Now, he had something to annoy Richard with, and he was about to knock on the door with it when he realized how futile it would be. If he could gain entrance before Richard came down to greet him, he could go and pound away on Richard's bedroom door--and that would be entertaining to say the least!

So, Eugene paused before the steps to allow Myron to trip up the steps and pull on the door bell. After a brief moment, one of Richard's servants opened up the door for them and Myron stepped aside so that Eugene could pass by him into the foyer to await his friend. When they had finally met and exchanged pleasantries (with not but a little cheeky comment on Eugene's part), they swiftly departed. Now that Eugene had Richard in tow, he was prepared for a day packed full of entertainment and amusement of all varieties--he would go and eat some food prepared by working class people, purchase something smart and exotic for his mother, flirt with as many young women as possible, allow the company of the disreputable gypsies (though he knew he'd have to ditch Richard for awhile, for the Duke was sure to look down upon his friendship with a gypsy (though she really was a captivating woman), and surely his friend could occupy himself in such a frenzy of activity for awhile. It was getting Richard to the festival that was going to be the trickier part, but once he was there Eugene had no doubts that he would be drawn in by one attraction or another. As they strode forward (Eugene had insisted upon walking to the town square, for it really was a close walk and he was sure his friend would not really disagree in the end), Eugene enumerated the many exciting prospects awaiting them at the town square. It was sure to be packed, with the festivities in full swing already as he had slept in rather later than most who would be attending, but that was no matter--the celebrations went on late into the night, though there were entertainments of a different nature open than during the day, they were equally agreeable.

For now, he was content to stroll alongside Richard at a leisurely manner, admiring the sights and sounds of the town anew, as it had been some weeks since he was there. The scenery had not changed much at all since his last visit, except perhaps for some natural change in the flora of Kingsford Park, which they crossed in pleasurable conversation on their way to the Square. Eugene could hear the festival before he could see it, as the crowds spilled into the streets leading to and from the Town Square, the shouts of children and the conversations vying against the musicians and performers to be heard. "Richard, I defy you to produce a better event to pass away the time of day. So much life before you!" He gestured to the teeming crowd of people as they quickly approached the Square and the scene played out before them; tents and booths, groups of performers on makeshift stages and plenty of activities to attend to that Eugene hardly knew where to begin--but, as he planned on seeing everything (and everyone) that he could, he suggested they begin at the fringe. "I have come prepared to feast upon as many a diverse collection of foods as I might. I have warned the cook not to prepare anything for me upon my return and that I shall not be able to eat so much as a biscuit until late tonight, if I come back at all before the early morning hours!" he exclaimed, pointing out a booth selling popcorn, a rather exotic treat that he never indulged in except at the festival of New Brownsworth. "There, my friend. You see? Popcorn. We must have a bag, eat it all, and then complain heartily about the bits that stick in our teeth. I shall take a bag, my good sir." He exchanged a small coin with the booth keeper, who handed him a generous bag of popped corn and his change, which he swiftly deposited in his pouch. He knew well the ways of the pickpocket, and knew how best to guard from it. "Now, of course, you shall have to by me something. I will graciously accept anything by way of beef or wine." Flashing a cheeky grin at Richard, he held out the bag of popcorn for them to share. "What should we see first? I do not know but that I want to have my fortune read. It is so novel an idea, is it not? Come, we shall see if there is a trip to France in your future." Chuckling at the expense of any awkwardness for his friend at the allusion to the French beauty that had recently made her home in town and seemed to be quite set against gaining the hand of any of the eligible men that pursued her. A curious creature, to be sure, and a bit too difficult a prospect for him to seriously attempt. Besides, if his friend were at the very least inclined toward her, as Eugene hoped he would be, there was nothing he would do to jeopardize his very best friend's happiness, even should it encroach on his own.

A half hour later and they were still wandering side by side, Eugene darting about to explore with a childlike fascination every new display. The ostentatious colors and decor strung up about the square very greatly changed it so it was nearly indistinguishable. There were more performances and things to see and eat than he thought he could manage--and oh, the people! One of his favorite past times was flirting, though he knew it to be a very poor occupation for a young man of his position, he was inclined to all sorts of vices and thought this to probably be the least of his crimes against all good society. His friends did not cast him off, nor did his family--all others talked of his never having a chance, what with his father the way he was. The Marquess of Winchester was a man well known for his long string of mistresses of ill repute, his tendency to lavish overspending and garish displays and tendency for lack of decorum. His son, the Earl, was as much an improvement as could be hoped for with such a father, for his greatest problems known by all were mere flirtation rather than strings of illicit lovers (though a man of noble standing may be still thought of as respectable despite the usual keeping of a mistress, a long list of women was sign of a sort of instability of preference that could not be tolerated) and a disposition to idleness, which his want of money could have been an answer to. As for his propensity for flirtation, there were many a fine young lady of all social classes milling about amongst the townspeople, just waiting to be accosted by a handsome young man and not at all disposed to dislike a little flirting. He was eager to go off on his own but did not want to completely abandon his friend since he had been the one to convince (or force) him to come, and his savior came in the pleasing form of just the young Frenchwoman that he had dared hope they would run into. The previous discussions between the three of them were all highly amusing for many reasons--not the least of which was the volatile and indescribable relationship between his friend and the young lady, though no one could really say they were friendly, Eugene had pleasant enough conversations with her. Miss Marchand approached them without realizing she was doing so, her attention quite taken up by a puppet performance to her right. It was just as she was in danger of running into them, she turned and caught sight of Eugene and Richard, and her wide-eyed expression was enough to make him want to laugh at her evident shock and surprise in the encounter. Not forgetting her manners, she dipped into a low curtsy and mumbled a greeting. "Good morning, my lords." And with a curt turn of her head she moved to walk away from them. Eugene could not allow such a delightful situation to go without fulfillment!

"Miss Marchand," his addressing her forced her to turn back to them, though she cast a curious gaze at Eugene he could see it was tempered by slight irritation at being forced into being so close to a man who so offended her. It was with a sly smile and a quick glance at his friend Richard that he engaged her for a moment in conversation. "Good morning. I trust we find you in good health?" With a bow of her head she gave assent to his inquiry and returned it in kind. "Oh, yes, of course." he waved his hand to show the dispensibility of the question as he was so naturally healthy. "How could any persons of an agreeable nature be in ill health or low spirits with such festivities, such...fun to be had by all?" Gesturing about himself, he grinned at her and she gave him a genuine smile. "Though the most opulent displays by the noble performers pale in comparison to such exotic beauty." Bowing in an almost mocking manner, she laughed lightly. "I'm afraid I have forced poor Richard to follow me here, though the crowds are insufferably large this year. I really do believe that everyone has turned out!" At this, Alexandrine turned to Richard and smiled archly. "My Lord, do you not approve of festivals? I suppose the company one is forced to keep is not so gentle of breeding as you might be accustomed to. I do hope they do not taint your enjoyment of the day. I must own, it really is horrid unpleasant. Why, on what account do you think they might be here at all? Only I am sure that they ought to be back in their proper place, toiling for the benefit of their betters. Do you not agree, Lord Warwick?" Eugene mentally cackled with glee, for although he did care about his friend's well being, he also delighted in seeing his starched world turned topsy turvy.

"Oh, I do believe that is my good friend Mr. Archer. I have not seen him for a good few months now! I must say hello, pray do excuse me." Without allowing either of them to say a word, Eugene rushed off and disappeared very quickly into the shifting crowds, pursuing his nonexistent Mr. Archer. It was not a complete lie, however; he had spotted a friend of his, though it was not in his nature to be quite open about all things regarding his personal life in front of more than one or two people, and he knew that Richard would not approve of the society he currently sought. Swearing under his breath, he realized that Sorina, a gypsy woman and a particular friend of his, had managed to disappear before his very eyes. Cursing his misfortune, he decided to entertain himself by trying to find someone he disliked to pickpocket. It was his favorite past time--if someone made him cross, he simply stole something from them. He had quite the collection from a certain Viscount named Ashcroft, a man who never did anything wrong (thus the source of Eugene's great dislike) and must be going through handkerchiefs like crazy since Eugene stole it every time they met. His greatest collection, however, was of the Earl Oliver Allesbury. His greatest nemesis by connection, he hated the man exceedingly for the friendship he shared with Richard. He was desperately hoping that Oliver would be somewhere nearby attempting to seduce some lady so that Eugene could ruin the scene, steal whatever money the infernal rake had on him, and steal the ladies attention as well.

"ALEX"
"SPEECH"
"they just can't get my nose right!"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

❝ think you've seen it all? think again. ❞


xxx▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS
WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND...


They stood in silence before the destination panel, the Doctor staring at her unblinkingly and the Artist staring, gaze unfocused, at the TARDIS control panels. When she seemed to bring her attention back to her surroundings, she glanced up at him and their eyes met--his old eyes in a young face, hers in a face aged well past his own. It was almost unsettling, and he could feel that in comparison she must be centuries younger than he--though perhaps that was befuddled by her long "slumber", or simply in comparison to the wrinkles that bedecked her visage. With a small smile, her gaze slid away from his and he cleared his throat. "Very well...random selection it is, then." He jabbed at the buttons of the video screen, not paying attention to the coordinates he chose, deciding it would be more fun if they were both surprised. Without glancing up at the location, he set the direction and the TARDIS' characteristic whir sounded as it came to life. Now he was free to turn his attention to the Artist, he flashed her a cheeky grin. "Yes, of course--that hallway," he pointed to a door behind and to his right. "First left, third floor by that staircase, second right, fourth door on the left. I've got a fairly large collection if I may say so myself, so have at it." He didn't respond to her joke, but he smiled to himself--it was an interesting feeling, regenerating...you were still yourself, but with slightly different personality and face--different tastes, different dislikes, different habits. It could be a little unsettling at first, he he was reminded of his first regeneration...it was an odd sensation when you weren't used to it, and he hoped hers went smoothly this time. Eighty or so years was a long time to be out of your mind (literally), and he wondered if maybe it would be easier than any other regeneration--her personality had lain dormant for so long. Either way, he was looking forward to meeting the Artist anew, and to have a companion who could get around much easier than she did in the old body she now inhabited.

The Doctor stood bent over the control panel, both hands on the edge as he watched the Artist's retreating form. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he stood up and tilted his head back, staring up to the lofty ceiling of the TARDIS' control room. "How long has it been?" he whispered softly to the thrumming walls. "Since I last explored the depths of the TARDIS?" In truth, he did not think it had been very recent, and he felt a surge of guilt for neglecting his most trusted and long-lived companion. Who knows what potential trouble could be brewing in her depths? What unseen crack or pile of dust could damage the hull or the delicate innards? Perhaps, once he had fulfilled his promise to the Artist, he would have time to explore the TARDIS and conduct an excruciatingly thorough examination of every inch of her. It was a necessary process that he had of recent times forgot about, and although the TARDIS was usually quite adept at fixing it's own problems and alerting him to when one arose, it was always possible for something to fall through the cracks--and at any rate, he didn't want to ride around in a dusty, dirty TARDIS. A clean TARDIS was a happy TARDIS, and a happy TARDIS was a happy Doctor. His thoughts drifted about as he passed time waiting for the Artist's return with a brand new face. When she walked in, he started, glancing up with a sharp intake of breath. He had met many beautiful women of all shapes and sizes and species, but there was nothing more beautiful than a newly regenerated Time Lady. Even so, he never ceased to be amazed by the beauty the universe contained, and she really was a sight for sore eyes--her soft features, delicate chin, piercing blue eyes that held the infinite wonders of the world, and he realized he was rambling on in his mind with his jaw hanging open like a fish gulping for air. Snapping his mouth shut, he coughed a few times, a bit alarmed, then turned to read the specs as they popped up on the display.

"Looks like a second trip to the wardrobe is in order." He pulled at the screen to turn it so that the Artist could see the information, the display showing the readings for the surrounding environment outside the TARDIS doors. "Looks a bit chilly." The understatement was extreme--the conditions were akin to the arctic temperatures of Earth, bone chilling and nostril-freezing. They would have to bulk up on winter gear in order to be half way decently dressed for this kind of weather! He dashed off along a clearly memorized route to the wardrobe room without pause to gain his heading, and so soon found himself standing in a room that would have made some women weep with envy. It was almost cavernous, with walls lined in rows of racks and shelves bursting with costumes and accessories acquired from all eras and all countries and all worlds. Selecting a fur-lined coat he had won off a sailor in Russia, a Farhenx hat purchased from a little boutique on Europa, and Koremar skin gloves from Erksijen, he paused with his hand on a pair of boots and snow-goggles, but he only picked up the goggles. Just in case. Slipping them into a pocket of his coat, he motioned to the doorway. "Meet you back at the bridge." With that, he dashed off, uncharacteristically a bit uncomfortable around her. For now, at least. Hopefully spending time with her on this freezing planet would help melt the icy wall between them.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pushing open the doors, the Doctor stepped through, hands in his pockets. He took a deep breath and nearly choked on the freezing air rushing into his lungs as they reacted quite spastically to the violent change in temperature as he stepped outside of the protective bubble of the TARDIS' force field. "Ah, Bev-" he spoke as he gasped around a recovering and shaky breat. "Bevroren...careful." He sniffed, glancing about the seemingly barren landscape of icy tundra, glacier mountains, and deceptively clear patches of water. "Almost entirely ice, broken up by absolute seas of freezing cold water. Not a place I'd like to live long on, but if we can get to the main city we'll find plenty of warm buildings." There was not a single fleck of color to break up the decidedly blue surroundings, but that was the beauty of it--all of their dwellings were below ground, penetrating deep into the ice and the glaciers, with projections above the surface in crystalline structures that blended perfectly into the icy environment. Tunneled passageways and caves were filled with the sentient species, the Bevroors, their walk-ways, halls, and chambers of ice, shimmering under artificial light powered by the very water that surrounded them. It really was magnificent, like being inside a large crystal or diamond, though it was deuced freezing out, the inside of their subterranean city was warm enough--warmed through by layers upon layers of carpets and fur to keep in the warmth provided by body and the chill kept out by thick walls and masterfully controlled venting to the above world. The very nature of their building material made heated pipes difficult and dangerous, but fires were lit often enough--in carefully crafted fireplaces that kept the melting to a minimum, the smoke vented to the surface. Electricity prevailed in the subterranean city, with special furniture with heated cushions for the pleasure of it's user.

"Shall we?" he offered her his arm, wind whipping his thick fur coat close to his body, making him exceedingly pleased to have it at his disposal. He didn't bother speaking for the few minutes it took to get to what appeared to be a small hillock, a mound of snow. What the deceptive blanket of white hid was the gate to a series of passageways that ran along the very skin of the surface, to allow for travel without exposure to the biting winds. They were more like a series of mazes that led to no particular end, but by selecting the correct road one might find their way to the inner part of the city and one of the many gates that allowed descent into the actual city itself. The pathways that lay above were merely for convenience of those who were above, though many of the Bevroors did not leave the relatively warm confines of their sprawling metropolis. Once out of the wind, the Doctor danced a little jig in place to warm himself up. The walls were made of thin ice, the snow covering them and creating the feeling of being enclosed in stone. It was dark and damp here, but little lights lit the sides of the tunnels, with larger lights casting their bright but unnaturally white light at sparse intervals above their head.

Although the twisting passageways seemed to go on forever, they were soon upon an entrance to the city below. "Stand back just a little and let me talk to the guards." Whipping out his psychic paper, he flashed it at the guards and grinned at them, sauntering forward and engaging them in polite chatter. It was as if they were made of stone or ice themselves, as his pleasantries just bounced right off their stoic, icy exterior as if they had not heard them. With a gesture to the Artist, he pointed at the paper. "Oh, yes. Just flip the page there. That's right." They handed it back to him and pulled a lever. They had been standing at what looked to be a dead end, but it was really a gate--a wall that slid aside as a metal grate on the other side was raised. "Well, allons-y!" he shouted, grabbing his psychic paper and dashing through the gate. His hood now lowered and the scarf pulled a little away from his face, he stood from the high gate and down upon the stairway that looked quite harrowing. "Oh, my. Watch your step. I see they still have not got around to providing a handrail. You know, they always cut corners until someone gets hurt, and only then do they make improvements!" He preceded down the icy stairway as it led down to a main street in what looked to be the outskirts of the city. "First, we need a map. Second, form of transportation...where is a cabby when you need one?" Waiting for her to join him below, they set off in search of both, which they found readily enough. Once they were into the main part of the city, the Doctor parted with a few of the coins he had tucked away in his pocket, and hopped out of the back seat and turned to give the Artist his hand. "Well, this street is supposedly where all the best restaurants are. Take your pick, Artist."

bevroren
ice planet with ice and open water
really sophisticated means of converting water to energy
shorter humanoids furred

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

xxx◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
NEW WORLDS AND
TERRIFYING MONSTERS
xxximpossible things

❝ if you come with me...nothing will ever be the same. ❞

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Today was the first day of New Brownsworth’s incredible festival. Not that Alexandrine Marchand could testify to that fact, but she had heard much talk about the event in the preceding weeks. This was her first month in England, and in a way she did love it. Sometimes she missed her hometown in Bourgogne. France was a wonderful place, but how much more exciting to be in a new town, let alone a new country! Monsieur Marchand had been strict in her upbringing, so she had been studying English since she was a little girl. Many of her childhood years were spent with an English governess called Mary-Ann, of little standing and little money but rich in intelligence and a most diligent teacher. Aside from the usual frivolities that make up a woman's education, she was well versed in English, the Classics, poetry, English as well as French literature, and basic sums. Always encouraged to read as much as possible to expand her knowledge, her father saw no harm in letting her run as wild as she chose, and she had quite gone through every book in his smallish library. Many a good Englishwoman may have been quite scandalized to know that she had read many books on the sciences in addition to philosophy and theology, though she could not claim to be very religious (a good thing considering the general prejudices that might lay upon a Roman Catholic in England. Because it was expected, she attended mass with all the other townspeople in their church, and sang all the hymns with as clear a voice as any.

Her father owned a number of textile factories in France, but his primary business was as a tailor and dressmaker. He owned a renowned fashion house in Paris with shop fronts in a few other large cities in France. Alexandrine had lived in many places in her life, for every time he was satisfied with one store, he would assign the manager he had been grooming, and move onto a new city. So far, they were all clustered in northern France for ease of transportation and management—he always kept track of his shops. Now, given the demand for French fashion, he had decided to try England and had chosen New Bronsworth as a likely candidate. So, a few months ago, they moved in and opened a new shop. Being from France and already of good reputation helped his business take off from the start, especially once his clients and customers talked about his work to their friends and family. His materials were almost all made in France, and his daughter was one of the most well dressed people in the entire county, as she had the benefit of access to cheaper materials and free labor. Turned out in an elegant dress of MATERIAL in a pale sapphire blue with dark grey and white trim, a dark blue spencer with silver buttons, grey kid gloves, and a bonnet tied with white and blue ribbons. Strolling through the streets of town to the Square where everything was taking place, a smile grew on her face as she finally dove into the crowds amassed for the wonderful spectacles laid out before them. The gypsies were her favorite—they were real performers, but she did not stop to have her fortune told, nor did she tarry long in watching them. Her taste in music was decidedly more high brow than what was displayed here, but it was nonetheless enjoyable enough, and she loved to be among the pressing crowds full of busy people.

There was a loud shout and her gaze snapped to the right where a stage theater was set up with a heavy red curtain, hand puppets attacking each other with violent gusto and exaggerated voices. A very childish form of entertainment by the meanest definition of the word--a performance was a performance, theater was theater, but a show where nothing happened but a couple beat each other over the head with a bat and made rude comments to one another and the audience? It was surely something only those poor in sense and taste could possibly enjoy, and just as she was turning her head away in disgust she was startled to suddenly see before her two young men she'd had the unfortunate habit of encountering many times throughout the past year. One, a Duke's son by the name of Eugene Paulet, was a rather charming man with a playful disposition, inured to the lifestyle of someone who had to forgo what they were used to (though he was by no means poverty stricken), and seemed to her an agreeable and unprejudiced sort of fellow. With him, discourse ran naturally and fluently. It was not so with his friend, the Duke that stood beside him. In every way the shadow to the Earl's light, he had a tall and imposing figure, always walking about dressed in the finest threads and with a cold expression on his face. While Eugene was willing to talk to almost anyone, Richard seemed determined to snub everyone he possibly could. While one was sure to make friends wherever he might go, the other was sure to offend.

Madame Maxine's schooling had been thorough and even in a situation like this she could not help but observe the proper etiquette, or at the very least display the self restraint she must in remembering her manners in front of the Duke and his friend, the Marquess' son. Their positions were so high among the social elite that they were worlds apart, and she could not forget it even if she wanted to as she turned her glance down to the ground so she would not have to tarry. "Good morning, my lords." Dipping into a polite curtsy, she cut the encounter short by turning as soon as she had stood back up, and set to walk away when Sir Paulet called out to her. "Miss Marchand, good morning. I trust we find you in good health?" Oh, she knew why the usual boring pleasantries were necessary, but she honestly could not care less about exchanging them. You never found out any real information from them unless it was a close friend or the village gossip. People always answered the same way: oh yes I feel quite well, or I'm afraid I've been in low spirits recently, usually followed by an unwanted explanation that gratified no one but the speaker. Sir Paulet, of course, replied in exactly the way she could have predicted given her past acquaintance with his personality and manners. "Oh, yes, of course. How could any persons of an agreeable nature be in ill health or low spirits with such festivities, such...fun to be had by all? Though the most opulent displays by the noble performers pale in comparison to such exotic beauty." Mixed parts idle gentility and cheeky flattery, what might be considered outrageous and unacceptable in most was undeniably amusing in one so obviously charming. She did not take him seriously, so she simply offered him a smile and a laugh. Flattery was not borne with very well in Mlle. Marchand's case, but at the present case she must excuse it--for she rather thought he didn't mean it as anything but an observation of habit.

"I'm afraid I have forced poor Richard to follow me here, though the crowds are insufferably large this year. I really do believe that everyone has turned out!" Surprise met his words, though she could not claim to be shocked that the Duke disliked any ostentatious display of joviality or gaiety, especially if there were no restrictions as to which of the classes were allowed to take part. "My Lord, do you not approve of festivals? I suppose the company one is forced to keep is not so gentle of breeding as you might be accustomed to. I do hope they do not taint your enjoyment of the day. I must own, it really is horrid unpleasant. Why, on what account do you think they might be here at all? Only I am sure that they ought to be back in their proper place, toiling for the benefit of their betters. Do you not agree, Lord Warwick?" With a brightly forced smile upon her face, she stared impudently up at a man so far her superior that most would have quailed at the very close proximity of him. Alexandrine had never been the type, especially since the Revolution in France had done away with nobility and had reduced everything to a dependence on money and manners above all else--where a wealthy clothing merchant might rise up higher than any man from the oldest family of Paris. Not that she couldn't see the romantic side of having the rigid hierarchy a kingdom with it's archaic nobles. It certainly gave the girls around here something to dream about and gossip about, a husband with a title. Oh, how it must gratify the pride of every young man with a title and a fortune. she mused, but her attention was drawn to the Duke's friend as he spoke up. Though perhaps those with just a title, as well, as in this man's case. she could almost contrive to pity the poor fellow, who would have absolutely no chance of making a marriage where his heart desired--unless, of course, his heart and his pocket were of the same mind, but those chances were extremely rare and hard to come by. And yet...Eugene Paulet seemed a decent sort of man, very amiable and not as haughty as some in her acquaintance. Sir Paulet seemed to hold himself with dignity but without the extreme pride that so many nobility held. On the contrary, he seemed rather like the spoiled son of a merchant than anything else, for all his fancy pedigree. Right at this moment, however, he seemed to be searching through the crowds, and Alexandrine was dismayed as he took his leave. "I must say hello, pray do excuse me." Dashing off into the crowd without another word, she was left to awkwardly stand close by Lord Warwick. Moments passed between Eugene's metaphorical defection and the Duke's response to her impertinent question.

Just as she was about to give up any attempt at conversation with the taciturn nobleman, he made a grumbled noise deep in his throat, and Alexandrine bit off the breath she took to prepare her words of parting. "I believe I have no choice but to agree with you." It was as if he had slapped her--the Frenchwoman stood, jaw dropped slightly, staring at him in disbelief. Realizing she was standing there like a fish, she snapped her jaw shut and pursed her lips, a scathing fire lighting in her eyes as she stared at the man considered in every way her superior to all British society--he had rank, money, noble blood, and history here--all the blood without the breeding. Even Eugene, whose nobility was bit of a sham, was redeemed in the eyes of many by his affable charm and his ability to be above you in social status without forcing that knowledge down your throat. Lord Warwick, exceeding even Eugene in rank, had nothing but his family name to save him. If he had been born in a lower status, he would have been ostracized from society completely for his silence and his proud disdain for others--she highly doubted he even had thoughts running through his head that were more valuable or intelligent than "where is my servant" or "how dare that gypsy look in my direction!" In fact, she was surprised he had even allowed himself to be dragged here by Eugene--and how on earth he managed to keep a hold of Eugene as a friend was beyond Alexandrine. If she were to be in Eugene's shoes, she would have thrown off the connection completely as soon as possible. Her status as a foreigner and a commoner meant she was supposed to defer to Lord Warwick no matter how coarse his manners, but as a foreigner and a commoner she had little to lose. She might not be a favorite in the town, but she had her friends and her family--and what else did she need? What cared she for the tittle-tattle of a small country town? Their views were so small, so archaic, so...limited. Lord Warwick was showed such ill breeding in his words that she almost hoped he ahd not listened to her words--at least if he had not been paying attention, it would not be so grave an insult as if he really believed in his response.

And yet, she thought with vehemence, almost willing his head to explode. what else ought one expect from a member of nobility? 'Tis no wonder they fear the French--we advocate for the abolishment of their comfortable, petty hierarchy. Gathering her composure, she smiled broadly and turned her attention back on the Duke. "I fear your words chastise me, my Lord." she curtsied to him, taking the opportunity to run away from the vile man while making a verbal jab at him. "You are quite correct--I ought not be wasting my time on such pleasant frivolities as this festival. I would be better employed at my father's shop. I hope I have not caused your enjoyment of the festivities to be...marred by my presence." It took all her self-restraint not to slap him then and there and walk off in a huff. Unlike him, she had good manners and the proper breeding to behave at least mostly polite to someone even if they did not entirely deserve it.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

With almost every available hand working to help clean Serenity, Kaylee was in high spirits. Jayne was helping the Shepherd carry buckets of soapy water to different rooms of the ship, Zoe was helping clean up the bridge and navigation room where Wash often made his home away from bunk. Mal was off doing his captain thing (his agreeing to let Kaylee have her way didn’t necessarily include his help all the time) and Simon was bringing an extension for the mop, and a bottle of soap as well as numerous rags. ”I see the Man-Ape has not arrived yet with the water buckets. Honestly, Kaylee. I don’t know why you even accepted his help—he’s not exactly happy to give his services over to help you out.” Simon leaned against the railing as Kaylee dumped the tray of dust she had swept into a garbage chute. Although she didn’t want to disparage anyone who was helping, she had a feeling Jayne was unhappy with his lot. She felt bad, but cleaning didn’t really seem his thing—lifting heavy stuff, however…well that just seemed to have Jayne written all over it in her mind. She hoped he would get here soon, but there were an awful lot of rooms. She wanted to get started as quickly as possible, and had chosen to begin with the largest and most difficult room: the cargo bay. It was going to be a great undertaking, and she had to get started now if she was going to finish anything by dinner!

”Y’know, Simon, ya oughta not talk ‘bout Jayne like that. Don’t see anyone else willin’ ta carry all them buckets of water ‘round the ship. He might be goin’ slow, but he’ll get here soon enough.” If it was one thing she hated, it was crewmates and friends and family fighting with one another. If she could do anything to keep a fight, no matter how small, from breaking out between the Serenity crew members—well, then it was a step in the right direction. There was bad blood between Simon and Jayne stretching back from the very first encounter, but she couldn't understand why--while the mercenary's coarse words had brought a flush of shame to Kaylee's cheeks at the time, Simon had no reason to hate him except perhaps for the lack of manners the man had displayed to the posh boy used to civility and deference for money and the title he had earned. There was something to respect in him, however, that no one seemed to give credit to--yes, he had been raised in a prosperous family in the Core and was well educated. He had a high position as one of the best medical students in the university, but had given up all the benefits of that life for that of a fugitive and a criminal--all to save his sister. It was noble and selfless, and the luxury of his previous life made the sacrifice all the greater in Kaylee's mind--and she couldn't understand why everyone wrote it off as some whim of a rich boy, as if he thought that camping out with a bunch of space bandits was a good idea of fun. Simon didn't even ask for much except a little kindness and respect, he didn't make outrageous demands for food or lodgings or preferential treatment. All he had asked for was to be treated like one of the crew--and maybe that's why everyone got on him all the time. Because he really wasn't like any of them and didn't fit in.

Someones she felt that Jayne thought of the Tams as invaders on the ship. Although as a mercenary he professed to caring for nothing but the money, he'd had plenty of chances to leave them and go off and work for someone else. It was comfortable, she supposed, though she didn't know much about other ships (as this was the only crew she had ever flown with) she knew that Serenity was a good ship and the Captain was gracious. He wasn't selfish or greedy, and all he demanded was loyalty--and he gave plenty in return for it. They were like a close knit family, though Jayne had always seemed to speak as if he kept himself aloof from that, when Simon and River joined in he had seemed more like he was resentful of their intrusion on his little family than a guard dog would. She wasn't sure how strong his hate was for the Tams, but she never doubted that he wouldn't betray someone if they were a part of the crew. Jayne had almost always been nice to Kaylee, and as she was inclined to love everyone on the ship, she didn't usually have anything bad to say about him and she never liked to hear people talking bad about those she cared about, even if it was Simon doing the talking.


----------------------------------- O N ---------- P E R S E P H O N E -----------------------------------


With everyone gathered in the cargo bay, Mal stood and looked around at all of them. ”Kaylee, you sit tight and see if ya can’t pick up any passengers. Those as can pay, mind. Watch her for me.” Kaylee nodded, glad to have the honor of being left behind to protect Serenity and to select passengers. Sometimes it wasn’t hard, but she had had trouble in the past with passengers pretending to be something they weren’t. Luckily, that was how they had met Simon—unluckily, they’d had that run in with an undercover Alliance agent, but it had ended rather well for them, so she was thankful for that. Especially because it had ended in Simon (and River and Book, of course) staying aboard Serenity to travel with them. Kaylee liked River—having her around was like having a sister. River was a bit odd, but she was kind and caring in her own bizarre way, and for the most part she and Kaylee got along well. Simon…oh, Kaylee liked him. He was so fancy, with his nice clothes and his posh accent and his incredible intellect. A doctor and a well educated young man from a wealthy family, he was so completely different from anyone Kaylee had ever known. Having grown up on a rather backwards Outer moon and always traveling with Serenity, most of whom were also from Outer Rim moons and had lived a similar life to Kaylee. Not that they weren’t smart, for the Captain didn’t collect members that weren’t highly skilled. Simon was so different, so novel, that she couldn’t help but be drawn to him. He was beautiful, and she couldn’t get enough of him. She had always dreamed of being a classy lady and having the opportunity and learning and manners to go among the social elite. On Persephone she’d had a chance to do just that—Mal bought her the prettiest dress of pink and white flounces, though that party had rather ended a bit…awkwardly (a sword duel always puts a damper on things), though exciting, the captain had almost died.

”Jayne, Zoe, with me. Rest ‘a you, as you please. ‘Cept you, Doc. You and your sister better stay inside an’ out of trouble, mind. I’ve got a meetin’ with Badger, and it ain’t always certain-sure how it’s gonna turn out for us. Wash, maybe just in case you wanna make Serenity all ready to go if we gotta jet quick.” The captain seemed a bit on edge, and it was with great curiosity that Kaylee watched him and the others leave the ship. Realizing she had forgotten all about the paint, she called after Jayne who had lagged behind. ”Jayne!” she ran down the platform after him. ”Will ya remember t’buy me somma that white paint Cap’n promised me I could get? Or at least don’t let him forget?” She flashed him a smile, squinting up at him as she shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. After wringing out a promise from the mercenary to help her achieve her ultimate goal of a sparkling almost-new Serenity, she dashed back to the ship and grabbed her things.

Dragging her chair to the hatch and unfurling her parasol to keep the harsh rays of the sun off her skin, she grinned to Simon and River, resting the parasol on her shoulder and twirling it. ”You might wanna get your rooms all comfy now while ya wait. If we got passengers ‘side from the expected. I wonder what Nara’s friend is like. Ain’t you excited?” With a laugh, she twirled around and skipped back out to set up her chair and accost passers-by with the greatest opportunity they’d ever meet with: a ride in her Serenity.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

There was a nagging feeling as if he was being followed—Eugene was well accustomed to the feeling, because more often than not someone was following him—the reasons ran the gambit from pickpockets looking for a rich and easy mark, some jilted girl or some angry man out for revenge for some heinous thing Eugene had evidently done, or that odious Derocher creeping after him trying to catch him at something wrong. It could actually be Myron, his manservant, but the man was ridiculously easy to lose in a crowd, and would hopefully retreat back to the townhouse to await his master’s return rather than search through the crowds to find him. The recognition of the feeling wasn’t enough to spoil his day, but it did make him a little more careful. He’d see if someone was really following them, and throw them off and go have some fun and debauchery as he had originally planned. Brief glances over his shoulder caught a golden flash of hair in his peripheral vision, and he took a meandering path about to see how long they would follow. After a few minutes, he grew bored and found a patch where the crowd had thinned out. Stopping in his tracks, he was about to whip around and see who was following him when they did his work for him. Turning and glancing down at the young girl that had run right into him, he squinted at her suspiciously. She didn’t seem familiar at all—pretty, but in an innocent way. If she was a pickpocket, she must be either a damn good one or a really terrible novice. He didn’t have anything to steal, however, so he merely flashed an empty smile at her and was about to help her up when she stood of her own accord and curtsied prettily. Her clothing was of good quality, now that he looked closer—either she was some silly little girl following him because he had a beautiful face and that animal magnetism, or she was the best pickpocket ever. He had a feeling it was the former, and it would certainly be the more interesting of the options.

"I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to run into you!" she blushed a bright pink and he swallowed down the mixture of curiosity and slight irritation and merely arched an imperious brow at her. He had no idea who she was, which meant she was probably not nobility (because of his mother he’d had the pleasure of memorizing all of the faces of the nearby nobility), which was good news. It would be terribly bad form to tease one of the noble’s daughters, but a member of the gentry…those were his favorite. Maybe he could contrive to have himself invited over for dinner often, and he’d have a real proper feast at her family's expense, though that was probably quite a shocking proposition. "You see, I was just looking for my maidservant. I’ve lost her in the crowd and I’m not entirely sure which way to go to get home." She glanced around as if searching for the maidservant. He wondered if she really was as naive as she seemed, or if it was all an act. He still hadn’t completely discounted the possibility of her being a thief and a brigand, but it was entertaining to play the part of the grumpy nobleman, and he finally settled on curiosity over annoyance. "She’s around this tall and her hair is a sort of brown, kind of like hazelnuts. Well, not quite, maybe more like burnt hazelnuts? Or maybe acorns…"

As she described her maidservant in a rather lackluster and vague manner, he had to really work to keep from bursting out laughing at the serious look on her face. Can she really be quite serious? Her voice trailed off and she merely stared up expectantly at him, waiting for him to do something more than stand there looking down at her with a stoic expression. I suppose she cannot be too intelligent, after all. How disappointing. He took over the conversation and smiled politely. "Allow me to introduce myself, Miss." He bowed with an extravagant flourish, and flashed a cheeky grin at her. "Sir Eugene Paulet, Earl of Wiltshire, at your service. Might I inquire as to the name of my pretty maiden?" He caught up her hand and kissed the back of it in the continental style. "Well, shall I escort you about and see if we might find your maidservant?" he offered his arm to her and then glanced about, not really bothering to look for her, as he had just spotted Derocher, who was strolling along a few yards away, patrolling the streets and keeping the crowd under his suffocating gaze. In the midst of a plan to keep the knight at bay, a sudden idea took him and he could not shake it—so he dragged Ettie toward a stall.

"Have you a few coins, my dear?" he flashed his most disarming smile at her, hand held out. He had a few coins of his own, but he needed to save them. And while this would be a great use of his money, Eugene had a feeling others would not agree and he honestly tried to keep himself from spending it frivolously. Approaching a fruit and vegetable stand, he selected some of the ripest of the lot, slipping some of them into the hidden pockets of his cape, stealing fruit and vegetables alike with a swift and ready hand that spoke of years of practice. Even as he was handing over a small coin to purchase two nicer specimens, the rascal Earl was slipping an almost overripe apple into his pocket. Thanking the man, he handed Ettie an orange and peeled into one himself. "I do believe that we might find a nicer view of everything. Perhaps if we were to ascend a building we might gain a better view and find your maidservant. What say you, Miss Dosett?" Without waiting long for an answer, he sauntered off toward the nearest building, pausing just a moment to see if she followed before he began walking up the stairs. The top floor of BUILDING looked out on the square, and he spotted Derocher mincing about. Opening the window, he smiled to himself as his plan came to fruition. "Ahh, I have just had the most capital idea. Do you see that man, there?" He pointed down. "I’ll wager a crown I can get the louse from here." Taking a tomato from his pocket, he squinted into the distance, then lobbed it down at the unsuspecting head of Derocher.

Eugene didn’t wait to watch if his throw hit it’s mark, and began whipping out the stolen fruit and vegetables and throwing them down at his target, and by now there was a clearing about Derocher where people had scattered to avoid the falling vegetation. "Care for a try?" He held out a mushy apple to her. Not wanting to tarry long at the open window, as Derocher could simply look up and see quite plainly that it was Eugene (though that man had a frightful vendetta against the poor marquess' son), he didn't give Ettie much of a chance to say yes or no, and threw it himself. Ducking down from the window, he held out his hand to her. "I am afraid we shall have to dash, but mayhaps we will find another vantage point from which to search your lost maid." Pulling her down the stairs as fast as they could go, he searched for a back door to avoid being caught by Derocher. Losing themselves in the crowd, he pulled her toward the church. "There. What say you to searching from yon church?" Letting go of her hand, he again offered her his arm. Surprised that she had not run off yet, he wondered if she would take the opportunity now. Attempting to look like a respectable couple just meandering down the street, he set off at a leisurely but zig-zagging path to the church. In truth, he didn't care much for helping this silly young girl (pretty though she was) except insomuch as she might help him by providing him with a sort of flimsy alibi--for who would doubt a lady's word if she deigned to give it?

{ don't remember if he had a cape before...now he does. sorry for crap post...I realized I used "he" a lot in the beginning of sentences e___e; }





"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Lilura was old. It wasn’t something that nature allowed her to forget, and she really felt it. Even worse, she was beginning to look it. In her youth, she had been a beauty. In her old age, she was forced to steal beauty and life essence to keep her appearance from showing her true age, but she had as of yet never been able to attain the easy glow of youth. Lilura had always been ambitious, so even though she had been cheated in this life and was not granted the hereditary ability to see and work with the forces of nature as some were, she was at least clever enough to find a way to take what she was never given. It was many, many years ago that she had accidentally stumbled upon a witch at her work—and that was when her world had been turned upside down. Angered and fueled by jealousy, she set out to learn witchcraft—only to find that it was not in her future. Further delving into the dark arts revealed to her a religious sect that claimed to give powers to any who followed the writings. Skeptical by nature but always open to trying anything that might benefit her, she entered into a Satanist cult. It was the single greatest event of her life; for in that small community she met kindred spirits in the twisted minds of Satan’s followers. Years and years of dedication and sacrifice gave her great gains in knowledge and ability. Now, she no longer had to lament her sad fate. Now, she could steal the magic away from those who were more fortunate her—which made it all the more better. If she could work magic with stolen abilities, it was one small step of revenge.

Unfortunately, as a woman, she could not perform the dark rites on her own—she had to keep a corrupted priest, defrocked and indoctrinated and under her control. Most of her dark priests were drug addicts, because they were easiest to control—poisons and drugs were her favorite. She never used them herself, but she knew all their effects, the best way to administer them, how long they took to take effect, and she used them liberally in her struggle to stay alive and powerful. She fed off of despair, hatred, and pain. Her ill gotten powers went to improving her lot in life: first her health, then her beauty as she aged, then prolonging her life far beyond the expected average, and lately gaining social power and wealth was her primary goal. She had married young, but because of her strangely unaged appearance, she had to keep moving from county to county in order to keep from being found out. Certainly, those that she knew now were called elemental mages, had provisions against her kind. To think, they were selfish enough to keep it all to themselves when they could share! Well, she mused to herself as she stood before the little mirror in the hut she was currently living in, weaving her hair into a braid, changing out of her black ceremonial robes into a more fashionable gown of light blue patterned with pale ivory stripes. Not that they ought to share with anyone. Oh, I would love to get my hands on a Master… she grimaced at her reflection in the mirror as she leaned close, tugging on the skin around her eyes and mouth. The wrinkles were getting worse, and today she had found a grey hair. Her vanity would not allow it, so she often wore makeup—too bad the fashion had long turned away from heavily painted faces, for it made it much more difficult to hide the effects of time and nature if you had to make it look completely natural! She had loved the days gone by of faces painted almost white, caked on so thick you could feel it against your skin if you touched a woman’s face.

”One step at a time.” First, she would have Collins find a sacrifice. Some child, perhaps, that had lots of life left to live. The younger the better. The more pure, the greater the desecration and sin, the greater the amount of power she reaped. Decades ago, she had found a way to imbue an inanimate object with magical power—and the one she chose to use most often, she constantly wore about her neck in the form of an obsidian pendant. Sending out a tendril of power, she summoned Collins, a tall lanky man with an insipid character and a desperate dependence on opium. He soon entered through the door, dressed in rather worn suit of dusky grey and black, a color palette that did not suit his wan and sunken features. ”You called, Mistress?” Lilura insisted on being addressed in a certain way. She might not be extremely rich and all-powerful yet, but she had lain in shadow for too long, honing her skills without reaping their rewards. Well, no more. ”Indeed, Collins. I need you to find me a child. You know the requirements. By tomorrow night, if you please. It is a new moon tomorrow and I would like to take the full advantage.” The reward she would give Collins went without being spoken of, for it was always the same—a little tidbit of power, a large amount of opium, and full use of her purse while he was in town searching for the right victim. This one last sacrifice was the catalyst for her master plan. Her first conquest was to be material with a social side benefit. Lilura was nothing if not patient. Her infinite patience allowed her to take years to plan, to perfect, to think through every little detail and get absolutely everything prepared before she acted. Ten years—it had been ten years ago that she had first thought of this next step of hers. Find an elemental master, someone rich. Take him under her control. Drain him of his power and his resources, and find another master, someone in a higher social position. Kill off the first Master, marry the next, and so on until she had amassed enough wealth and power to satisfy her powerlust. Unconquerable, that is what she longed to be. Having already cheated death, all that was left was to pervert the very social system that she strived to conquer.

It would all one day be hers, if she had to kill a million innocents to get it.


------------------------------- T I M E ------ S K I P -------------------------------

She spotted her mark before he crossed anywhere near to her. Lilura lay in wait beneath a little copse of trees, her virginial white muslin gown showing an indecent amount of skin, her golden blonde hair tumbling loose about her shoulders, the stolen life of the child she had devoured last night beneath the new moon settled about her face, smoothing it into a more youthful appearance. She was perched upon a rock, her ankle twisted for her by Collins. It could have been achieved by magic, but in the initial stages of her plan she needed to use the smallest amount of magic possible and build up from there. Even though her magic was not on the same plane as an elemental mage’s, they could still sense when something was going on, and she couldn’t risk her spells slipping off just now. The comparatively younger man was currently sneaking through the forests, ostensibly hunting some elusive game. Well, she had made sure he was chasing something that didn’t actually exist, and she put on a look of great pain and anxiety on her face, and called out to him, clutching at the pendant draped around her neck as she forced the spell to slowly leak out from between her fingers, crawling like a noxious mist in her mind’s eye into the air. When he would walk toward her, he would breathe it in, allowing it to slowly insinuate itself through his body as he helped her. She had made sure the compulsion would be too great to ignore—he would simply have to carry her back on his own. ”Oh! Sir! Oh, please, help! I have injured my ankle and I cannot find my way back.” She called out in artfully deceptive tones of distress. A sinister grin lurked beneath her cultivated mask. Everything would go according to plan.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Serenity was a bustling hive of activity now that Kaylee had been given free reign to convert his highly skilled crew into glorified housekeepers. Everyone had been pulled in by Kaylee's subtly commanding presence and were scattered about his ship helping to clean the interior. That's not to say that he didn't agree that Serenity needed it--on the contrary, he was more than happy to have the crew give her some love. She had carried them through a lot and was looking a little worse for wear. He wished he could give her all the care she needed, but the parts to keep Serenity running were expensive and sometimes hard to come by--he had to make do with what he had most of the time at his disposal. Unfortunately, he and Inara weren't really talking right now, as the bad blood between them had just gotten worse with Mal's bad attitude--he couldn't seem to help but be irritated just at Inara's name as of late, and everything she did grated on his nerves. He had a feeling that he was annoying her as well, but he didn't care--no, that wasn't right. Mal was glad if he was plaguing Inara with what she seemed to like to think of as his base upbringing. Well, I'm worth a thousand of her. Bu huihen de pofu. he grumped about the Captain's quarters, buckling his belt around his waist and sheathing his knife at his hip. Today, he was in a foul mood and had come down just to take a few minutes rest and hope that it would improve his attitude. Sulking was fine and all, but not for Mal--his pride and his work ethic would not allow him, as Captain of the ship, to be so weak and mean to his crew. Most of them didn't deserve it--although Jayne was always doing something that needed to be reprimanded, so he felt like any time he snapped at Jayne it was for something he hadn't caught the mercenary doing.

It was just by lucky chance that he happened to look up and see his ratty old calendar hanging on the wall next to his bed--and there was a big red circle on one of the squares. Frowning, he shifted closer to read the scrawled words: KAYLEE'S BIRTHDAY It was marked on tomorrow, and he swore liberally. ”Aiya...how could I forget? Kaylee woulda never let me forget it if I didn't remember her birthday. That was luck.” This didn't improve his mood too much, as he now had another consideration--he had to get her a little something, especially since on his birthday she'd gone all out, and she really was like a little sister to him. Sometimes, he thought, without Kaylee Serenity might not fly as true as she does now--both the ship and the crew. He felt some obligation to try and get over his little tiff with Inara and at least act civilized and bite his tongue around her just to make Kaylee happy for the next few days, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out if Inara pushed his buttons.


{ bu huihen de pofu = remorseless harridan }

”MAL”
THOUGHT

”KAYLEE”
”SIMON”
”INARA”
”BOOK”
”ZOE”

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

As they were leisurely making their escape, Eugene began to become bored. It wasn't that Miss Dosett wasn't pretty, because she really was. It's just that her perfect golden hair, her bright eyes and cheerful smile and her innocent character was just so...boring. Even though he might not have too many morals if you believed the words of everyone, he did have some standards. And purity was not something he exploited too much, so he had already lost interest by the time she pulled him to the side. "Pardon, miss, but--" his words were cut off as she babbled excitedly about the game. It was a simple carnival game, where a ball is tossed to knock over a stack of bottles. These types of games were usually rigged, but he merely sighed when she turned her brilliant smile on him, unable to combat her puppy-dog eyes despite the fact that he realized this meant he would have to stand here until she finally managed to knock them all over. Stifling a groan, he was slightly surprised when she asked, and a little sheepish at his poor manners for not offering earlier. Bowing and holding out a hand for the ball, he stared at her for a moment. "I would be delighted to help you, Miss." Taking stance and squinting to keep one eye trained on his target, he launched the ball with the same precision and technique as he had used when attacking Jean-Luc with the fruit and vegetables. Unfortunately, he misjudged the change in environment and he over shot it. Finally getting more into the game, he altered his stance and his aim and let loose again, this time toppling all the bottles by taking out the bottom row. With an shout of excitement, he turned to Ettie for her compliments, a broad boyish smile on his face. "So, fair maiden. Do you still believe my impeccable aim to have been cultivated merely for wicked pleasure?" He gestured to the hand puppets that she had her eye on. "Pray, tell me what you would like so I may have the pleasure of presenting to you?" When she pointed out the hand puppet she wanted, he turned to the gypsy man. "May I?" The man seemed torn between attempting politeness and slight irritation at having his game beat. Eugene did recognize the man, and to be honest he was a bit gleeful at having bested him in some way--he didn't make a habit of making acquaintance with gypsies, but through his not quite unlikely friendship with esmerelda, he had come to converse with a few of the gypsies in her caravan. This certain fellow, whose name he had not bothered to remember, had taken an irrational dislike to Eugene. He wasn't sure why--could possibly have been that he had insulted the man in just about every way possible, but really--people could be so sensitive sometimes!

Now that he had procured the desired object for her, he was ready to find her maidservant so that he could continue on with his day, so he held his arm out to her. Certainly being around with her, walking through the festival, brought a new perspective to everything, and he almost found himself pulled into her fascination and excitable view on things. Still, his pride kept him from totally enjoying it, and he wanted to be rid of her so that he could go and visit some places and some people that would probably send her screaming, since he had observed that while she seemed quite sheltered, she did have some fear instilled in her by probably a guardian of some sort--the gypsies, for example. Actually, I believe that might be quite entertaining... Enjoying a silent laugh at her expense (which he only slightly repented), he thought about it for a moment. On the other hand, it is never a good idea to burn too many bridges without first exploring where they lead to. As they were walking along, he happened to hear a girlish shriek--a glance off into the crowd and brief moment of contemplation led him to wonder just what the obviously irate voice was speaking on, he happened to look forward and catch the sight of one of his archenemies walking toward him with a beautiful and familiar face. Had he been a wild beast, his hackles would have raised and he would have been growling. As it was, a storm clouded his face as his gaze narrowed and his pulse quickened as he anticipated a fight. Not that he expected it to become physically violent, but he was ready for anything--this commoner, this imposter, he was base enough to try anything, of that Eugene was sure. It would be difficult to steer Ettie and himself away from their present course, so an interception was inevitable. Besides, Eugene Paulet never ran away from a fight! "Ahh, good afternoon Miss Adler. How fare you this fine festival day?" He actively ignored Eugéne's presence, not even glancing at him once they had approached. "You do not seem to be enjoying the festivities as much as my young companion, here. I do believe even a festival might displease someone if they were to be accompanied by less than desirable...acquaintance." He said pointedly. His goal was to take her away from Eugéne--not only would it be a win for him, but it was sure to make both their days better--she wouldn't have to walk with that toad, and he would have some highly intelligent company.

Miss Dossett was certainly nice, but her conversation ran rather...flat for Eugene. She talked plenty, especially about the festival, but what he wanted right now was someone who would argue with him. Miss Adler was a working class commoner who had attracted the attention of his friend, the Duke--who had given her an employment opportunity that allowed for an increase in money as well as social standing, both of which he was rather sure that she held slight contempt for while acknowledging the necessity of both. While he was also sure that he wasn't her favorite person, he had a high opinion of her--partially from Richard's recommendation and partly from her own merit. It also helped that she had a tendency to take the wind out of the fake Eugéne's sails. As if his thoughts had brought fate to intervene, their paths crossed and a brilliant smile flashed across his face. "Miss Adler!" He called out, guiding Miss Dossett into that direction. His gesture of greeting faltered halfway through, however, as he spotted her companion. He knew that as a commoner, it was against social etiquette for Guzman to approach Eugene first--so he waited a moment, inquiring after Miss Adler's health and ignored him for a"Mister Guzman." He emphasized the lack of title in his address to the man he considered an impostor. There was only room in this county for one Eugene, and he was a Marquess' son with the title of Earl with an interesting character, and that made him infinitely better than this commoner with pretenses to nobility. Sure, he was rich. His family might not have debts. But they were merchants and he was one of Eugene's arch enemies. Eugene hated the man--their personalities were too similar to combine well, especially since he didn't usually write people off for something as paltry as class, but in Eugéne's case it was just another thing to bring him down below Eugene's standards. The man had no intelligence, after all--he was all womanizer, all the time, there was no...substance to him. Eugene flattered himself that even though he might be a bit of a rogue, at least he had the personality to back it up. Men and women alike found him entertaining, across all the classes.

"May I introduce Miss Dossett?" Upon witnessing the reaction of their meeting, he was surprised to see that they obviously knew each other. Arching a brow, he smiled. "Ahh, I gather you are this young woman's guardian, then." He finally made the connection between the wig maker's daughter and Miss Adler, the servant that Richard had helped to find a place in a good family. It was difficult to restrain himself--in his mind's eye he could see himself beating the false Eugéne into a pulp for stealing his name. Deciding to continue ignoring Eugéne until he inevitably said something stupid (though Eugene believed everything that came out of Guzman's mouth was stupid) in which case Eugene would have to start verbally abusing him until he ran away crying. It was almost difficult to keep his focus on Miss Adler, as his ego was warring with possible future scenarios battling against Eugéne and Miss Dossett's continued presence beside him was tugging at his attention. Noting the look of general nervousness, though wont to dismiss it as discomfort at being in the presence of the impostor. "Pardon me for being forward, Miss Alder, but you seem to be in distress. Is there nothing I may do to help? I have already completed one mission in aid of a lovely lady, and am much at my leisure. I would be delighted to escort you wherever you may need to go." He bowed lightly at the waist and cast her a light hearted grin. Eugene did rather want to help, as he was growing a little bored and restless just wandering around without too much purpose aside from passively helping Miss Dossett.

Eugene's goal was to steal away the impostor's thunder and beautiful company and run off escorting the two lovely ladies, one on either arm, about the festival, and he wasn't going to leave until he achieved that. "'EY YOU!" the coarse accents of an uneducated commoner rang out, the uncivil shout causing him to wince slightly. Naturally, Eugene turned to look for the source of the cry and saw the short, rather portly, and disheveled crony of that blasted policeman Derocher. One would think that Eugene knew the man by name by now, but he didn't make a habit of remember the names of people who were not worth it. Huffing and puffing and red in the face, he tottered over to their little group and pointed a finger up at Eugene in so complete a breech of social etiquette that Eugene's eyebrows fair flew off his forehead. Clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure, he turned to Cringlewood. "Good morn, sir. May I perhaps be of some help?" He knew the reason why this lackey was chasing after him. Undoubtedly the dog was sent out by his master to sniff out Eugene's trail for having damaged his ego. Why the man couldn't come after Eugene himself he had no clue, but it was almost insulting! Did Derocher really think so little of him that he would be caught and dragged back by someone as ridiculous as this? Never. "You! Yer t'come wif me! Cap'in Derocher, 'e wants t'see yeh. C'mon ye...rat... Cringlewood faltered slightly from his bombastic speech when he saw the look in Eugene's eyes. There was a death glare there of epic proportions, and Cringlewood began to quail beneath the Earl's stormy gaze.

Barely managing to keep his composure and speak in the leisurely tones of the aristocracy, he managed a small and almost natural looking smile as he spoke. "My good sir, I am sure you cannot be aware of to whom you are speaking. Allow me introduce myself; I am Sir Eugene Paulet, Earl of Wiltshire, son of the Marquess and Marchioness of Winchester. As a member of the peerage of England, I am troth to aid the Crown in any capacity within my power. As a member of the...venerable police force, I shall certainly offer you my services should you need them. However," to accent his words, he strengthened the glint of anger in his eyes at the internal outrage at being so slighted. He might be poor in comparison to many, but he still had the Paulet pride. "I am currently pledged to aid these two lovely ladies in their troubles and I am sure your Captain is more than capable. Might I suggest that you see to the rooftops? It seems that some ruffian has been tossing food into the crowd. Perhaps you might clean it up, there's a good man. I very nearly soiled my boots by stepping in the mess." Dismissing the man by turning his back to him, he could almost feel Cringlewood seething in is own hurt pride. The man smelled horrifically and Eugene was incredibly relieved when he turned tail and fled into the crowd, cowed at least for the time being. "Please, pardon the interruption my friends. Where were we?"



"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

img here

T'PAL & PICARD POAST

"TPAL"
TPAL
"PICARD"
PICARD

'KARIN'
"RIKER"
"TROI"
"WORF"
"CRUSHER"
"GUINAN"


In response to T'Pal's approach and request to join her at her table, Karin looked up at her and gestured to the seat that the Vulcan stood beside. 'Of course, please.' As the Betazoid took a sip of wine and stared off to the side, T'pal sat in the proffered seat. "Thank you." Karin began to speak, her echoing voice ringing clearly but softly in T'Pal's mind. Although it had been disconcerting at first, she always found it easy to acclimate to novel situations, and it was just a curiosity now. 'Well, I suppose since you know my name, it's only natural that you tell me yours.' Finally turning her gaze toward T'pal, she noted that Karin's eyes held a keen intelligence, and it was without a hint of humor in her voice that she introduced herself, sitting stiff and proper, her words laced with a professional tone, and nodded her head once in a stark greeting. "Naturally. I am Lieutenant T'Pal." Feeling that perhaps it was necessary to observe the traditionally accepted social etiquette for non-Vulcans, she offered the barest twitch of a smile. "It is...a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are Counselor Troi's apprentice," she stated in acknowledgment of Karin's position--though a counselor was not something native to Vulcan culture for obvious reasons, she could see the immense benefit that humans and other emotionally indulgent races could reap. Their lack of the type of training Vulcans underwent to develop inner control over emotions meant that they had to turn to external influence to help control their emotions when they could no longer cope with them. "Your method of communication is most intriguing. I hope that we will be able to work together in the future, as your inherent skills as a Betazoid must afford you incredible insight."


----------------- o n --- t h e --- b r i d g e -----------------

Captain Picard reclined in the captain's chair, his First Officer William Riker to his right and an empty seat to his left. The lead ensign at the flight control station was dictating their current position and time to destination at his request. Riker was looking at him expectantly--and he knew what it was that needed to happen. Ever since he had received the missive from the Starfleet admirals before they left the base, he had been contemplating all the possibilities and problems involved with the mission. Toeing the line of the Prime Directive was his specialty (as was occasionally crossing it), but in this case it was considered legitimate--a Federation planet asking for help would, of course, be granted it. Ignoring the pleas of Federation and allies was a good way to break it up, and that was something Starfleet would (naturally) never encourage. Still, a mediation in the politics of an entire planet was something incredibly delicate and daunting. I suppose that's why they chose me and my crew. Perhaps he was biased, but the crew of the Enterprise was widely acknowledged, and in his mind they were the best of the best, full of skill and integrity and independence tempered by obedience to authority unless their morality was compromised, they were quick to follow his command and loyal to their ship. As one of the few ships whose mission was to explore the universe and gather information for Starfleet, their isolation from the rest of their comrades made them a close knit group and gave them special expertise in dealing with all sorts of situations--and enabled them to cope in stressful situations. They had mediated all sorts of situations before, some even more dangerous than their current mission. Perhaps he was worrying over nothing, but taking responsibility for something so monumental was so difficult a task to undertake that he would have to tread carefully. Picard had been formulating all sorts of scenarios and possible plans in his mind--a meeting was in order. Not yet, however; they still had about an hour before they would arrive. "Number One; take the bridge."

Standing up and heading to his personal office, the Captain's ready room. As the door shut behind him, he could hear Riker speaking to the Ops officer on duty, Lieutenant Commander Data, as he switched to sit in the captain's chair. Picard crossed to sit behind his desk, picking up a smooth crystal cut into a pyramid, it fit easily into the palm of his hand. Turning it over and over, his eyes slid out of focus as he organized everything in his mind. He was going to have to call in his senior personnel to arrange the away team and to discuss a decisive plan of action--after all, what kind of leader would he be if he didn't listen to the input of his crew? They would be the ones chiefly involved in the mediation process. Putting together a mental list of what he needed to go over with them followed by a list of the people who would need to be present, he tapped his communicator to contact those not on the bridge. As soon as he had relayed the message, he got up from his desk, placing the crystal pyramid back on its pedestal, and exited his ready room. Riker stood up as soon as the doors opened, and Picard held a hand up so that he wouldn't start speaking. "Number One, with me. Data, Geordie and Worf, please report to the Observation lounge with Lieutenant T'Pal as soon as you have someone to take your stations." Riker approached Picard and glanced over his shoulder at Data. "Yes, Captain." Worf responded and contacted T'Pal to call her to the bridge. Now, all that was left was to appoint someone to man the bridge in the Captain and First Officer's absence. It was a formality, really, as the person would not be able to make decisions except under very strict circumstances--they were merely there to make sure that everyone was doing their jobs and to call the Captain (or First Officer) if something needed their attention. Scanning the room for the most senior officer aside from the three that were joining him in the conference room, his gaze settled upon the Lieutenant seated at the Engineering station. "Mr. Harcross, you have the bridge."


----------------- t e n --- f o r w a r d -----------------

There was a digital beep from the communicator pin on her uniform that always preceded a message, and she turned her attention from Karin to Worf's voice issuing forth. Lieutenant T'Pal, please report to the bridge. Tapping on the pin to initiate a reply contact, she wondered what was going on. "Understood, Lieutenant." The communication over, the pin beeped again and she stood, staring down at Karin with a stoic, unapologetic expression on her face. "Please pardon me, Ms. Foxia. I must attend to my duties." Bowing very slightly, she turned and marched out of Ten Forward, positing a variety of possibilities as to why she had been called to the bridge. Most of them were exciting prospective jobs, and as she checked her watched she realized they must be nearing the planet. It was within the nearby system, and traveling at warp 7 they it must only take a few hours. Following this train of thought, she was relieved that in her downtime after being briefed on the mission, she had reviewed all the information she could find related to the destination planet, their culture, modern history, and any historical documentation about succession and the royal family lineage. It was certainly a hectic mess they had made of their information, and there wasn't a great amount of information--at least not as much as she would have wanted. T'Pal thought she might have seen some signs of tampering. It wouldn't have been unlikely, either--if there was anything prone to tampering with the truth, it was power struggles. While traveling in the turbolift to the bridge, she reviewed the information she could recall, and her heart started racing--this was her first Federation mission and she hoped that she could live up to their expectations.

Stepping out and taking a deep breath and putting her innate Vulcan control into play, it was with her posture correct and her face expressionless that she approach Worf at his station, saluting him with a curt nod. "Lieutenant T'Pal reporting as ordered, sir." Although they were technically of the same rank, Worf was her superior Tactical officer, and well respected among Starfleet and the crew of the Enterprise. His intimidating exterior was aided by his unrelenting professionalism and tendency to become exasperated by human behavior. In this, they were agreed--although Klingons were ruled by the wilder emotions of anger and lust, they still found the gentler emotions that humans and other races dwelled upon. Worf stood aside and someone stepped in for him. "Good. We're go meet the Captain and senior staff in the observation lounge to discuss the upcoming mission. Follow me." Without another exchange of words (for both deemed them unnecessary) Worf led the way down the corridor linking the bridge and the conference room. Everyone was seated but the Captain, who was standing near the window and glancing outside as he answered a question posed before they had entered. "Ah, Lieutenants. Please, take a seat." There were only a few seats left, and T'Pal sat the farthest away from everyone. She didn't expect to be addressed much during the discussion and felt she was here to listen and observe--and it was a better vantage point, as she could see everyone down the line better than even one seat over. Worf was sitting just beside her, leaving a seat open to his right. It didn't take long for it to be filled, however, as a woman with coppery red hair entered the room and glanced around with an obliging smile.

"Sorry I'm a bit late. Looks like there's a cold going around. Easy to deal with, just a lot of vaccines." Her laughter was light and brief as she took the remaining seat, and T'Pal recognized her as the talented Dr. Beverly Crusher. The people gathered were like the nobility seated before their king, the chief officers of their respective areas of expertise. Each one of them had a file so large it had taken minutes to load everything, their list of accomplishments and publications so great it was a bit dizzying to be among them. Just about every facet of the ship was represented--Geordi LaForge for engineering, Dr. Crusher for science/medical, Data for operations, Worf for security/tactical, Deanna Troi as a general communications liason, and Riker and the Captain for command. Studying each face with interest, she was surprised when the Captain turned to address her. "T'Pal, I have asked you to join us as you will be able to provide us with valuable information. You are the intelligence officer, and I trust that you have already done some research? You are aware of what our mission is." Nodding, devoid of words now that all the attention was focused on her, she cleared her throat, a shamefully un-Vulcan thing to do. "Yes, Captain." The simple response was enough for him to begin.

"Well, as you know, our mission is to help mediate the transfer of power at the succession--the question is, which is the rightful heir to the throne? We will, of course, not be making decisions for them. As our technology is more...advanced than their own, it is our job to help them sort out fact from fiction and present them with any information that will help them to sort out the problem on their own. This is imperative--as always the Prime Directive is not to interfere with the natural flow of a culture. As they have asked for our help, help we may--but we must not influence their decision in any way other than with facts, being as objective as we possibly can. As this is very delicate, I must ask you to be in the Away team, counselor. Data, your capability for rapid analysis of information and memory will also be necessary. I will come with you for the first meeting." It was here that he paused, glancing around to hear any responses. Worf spoke up immediately, his gruff voice showing his displeasure at the plan. "Sir, I do not think it is a good idea to be there until we have assessed the situation and any danger it may pose. But..." he heaved a heavy sigh, as if he knew that the Captain would never agree to stay behind on the ship. No, he knows me better than that after all these years. "If, however, you should choose to beam down I request that I accompany you." Pausing as if to think about it, Picard nodded.

"Very well, Lieutenant. T'Pal, I would like you to join us. You should be able to work with Troi and Data--as you are acquainted with the information, and Data is able to access the information at will, you will both be integral in aiding the counselor and myself in guiding our actions." Nodding again, pleased at having the distinction of being as capable as the famous Soongian android in aiding the illustrious Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Her insides did flips and she fought the rising impulse to smile. "I would be honored, Captain." With a hesitant smile, he acknowledged her words. "As always, I am open to any suggestions you may have. I think it will be best to refine our plan of action after we have met with the delegation. We should be arriving soon. Data?" He turned to the operations manager, who was most capable of doing complex calculations in a fraction of a second.

{ you logged off so I couldn't ask you what data was planning on doing >__> but I figured I'd give you an opening--if you don't want him at the helm then lemme know and I'll change it : D
and I figure if you wanna have karin in on it from the beginning that troi can request she watch the goings on...
so that's why i left the end open >____>; also i wasn't sure exactly how to end it. XD }

---

"TPAL"
TPAL
"PICARD"
PICARD

'KARIN'
"RIKER"
"TROI"
"WORF"
"CRUSHER"

A Federation planet is ready for its new ruler to take the throne, but there are so many confusing lies being thrown around about the identity of the next proper ruler, that they must ask for Starfleet's help to choose the next ruler. Of course, choosing the next ruler would violate the Prime Directive, so the Federation agrees to have Captain Picard help figure out who is the correct person who is supposed to rule. The planet, however, refuses their offer of using their technology to do a DNA test to see who is the true heir. They recognize Troi as a Betazoid and request her help in sorting through the lies. Since her abilities are not up to par to sort out all of the lies and accusations spreading around to discover the truth, Karin steps in and saves the day.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxzephendine's inbox


terrabitor: re:re:re:re:re:re:re:re:doctor who
xxxxxI completely disagree. You might be right on the account of him based on just this most recent...

x__ailin: masquerade party
xxxxxOMG! i want to go soooo~ bad! : ( but my parents won't let me even if i pay for my own ticket...

SUPER AWESOME SKILLZ: re:re:re:re: hay gurl hay
xxxxxwell what can i say--you know the ladeez love it. of course i'm going to the livenotebook party...



Teegan sighed, scanning through her inbox. She hadn't told anyone about her plans to come to New York and attend the masquerade ball put on by the LiveNotebook website--not her online friends, not her readers, and not her school friends. Macy was her best friend, but Teegan was sure that by now she was accustomed to Teegan's odd tendencies. They had known each other the past 4 years, after all. Whenever she had been asked what she planned to do on her winter break, she had merely shrugged and said she wasn't sure yet. To her online friends, anyone who had been asking her if she was going to the party, she had given a noncommittal answer--saying she wasn't sure, which was a lie. Naturally, she'd purchased her plan ticket as soon as she had found out. Her father was as fine with it as he would get--although he was a bit strict he was also a pushover at times, and wheedling him day after day with a detailed list of reasons why she should be able to go, he had finally given in on the condition that she pay for her own ticket. That hadn't been too difficult, as she had been working for the past two years and had saved almost every penny. Although it was winter break, she had a number of assignments to complete for her AP classes--she had already finished her French homework and her physics assignments, but she still had to finish the last bit of an essay for her history course and some chapters to finish reading for English. The suitcase that she had brought was larger than most people would be bringing, for the simple fact that she had so much to pack--Teegan was not a "roughing" it sort of girl if she didn't have to, and she had come much earlier to spend some time in NYC. It wasn't every day, after all, that she got to visit and she wanted to see as much as possible. The museums alone were magnificent, the restaurants varied and rarely disappointing, the art exhibits breathtaking, and the excitement of the city sweeping Teegan along at it's own pace. It wasn't all frivolity, however, for she'd been to visit universities in the surrounding area.

Today was the day of the masquerade ball, and as it was only 10 AM she was taking her time getting ready. The internet had a tendency to suck her in for hours, but Teegan was also in possession of great self-will, and so she shut her laptop after replying to Seven's message. After taking a shower, she dressed into some comfy clothes and pulled her suitcase out from the closet and began to pack most of her things back up. Tomorrow was her last day, and then it was back home--back home and back to school. As she folded the clothes she wasn't going to need into tight compact bundles, she thought about her vacation. It had been thrilling to be here by herself--at first she had been a little nervous about being there on her own, but she was resourceful and sure of herself, so it had been easy to get around after the first few days. Now, she had a better idea of what kind of place she wanted to go to school--and New York was at the top of her list. If I were to be honest... she self consciously glanced around, glad no one was privy to her thoughts. I supposed I'd say this has been like a dream. Making a dramatic gagging noise out loud, she shook her head and laughed at herself. How corny! I'm so glad no one else was here. How shameful... Teegan was looking forward to tonight more than she'd care to admit to--anyone with romantic tendencies would die of happiness to be in her shoes. While she wasn't given much to romantic fantasies when it came to her own life, she had a fantastic imagination and it was certainly working at maximum right now. Putting away her suitcase, she stood in front of the desk and hesitated a moment, staring down at the laptop. Sitting down with decisiveness and opening it, she made a quick post.



xxxxxxxxxxNYC & LIVENOTEBOOK MASQUERADE
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxPOSTED AT 10:24 AM ON DEC 31 2010 BY ~zephendine


Hello, my dears. I guess you'd be surprised to know that the past week I haven't been posting at all--I've been quite busy, in fact. I know you were
asking me if I was going to be going to the LiveNotebook masquerade, and I never really gave an answer. Well, here I am, writing to you from New
York City! I can't tell you how much I love it. I have taken some pictures, but for the most part I've been lurking in all the museums and trendy cafés
because I'm a secret hipster (haha). I've been looking at universities here, and to be honest I really have been doing my homework! I've got some
reading left for the airplane ride home, but I'm really sad to leave. One thing: IT IS SO COLD HERE! How do you cope? I've had to purchase a winter
coat here and the most beautiful scarf you've ever seen. I'll take a picture later when I've gotten all dressed up for the ball--see you guys there!
EDIT: picture of my outfit here!


Five minutes later saw her shrugging on her coat and winter weather gear, grabbing her messenger bag, and darting out the door. It was just about lunchtime, so she made her way to a nearby sandwich shop by the window. People watching was one of Teegan's all time favorite past-times, but it was a little more difficult in the cold--people were all bundled up and rushing past, and she wondered if it was still this packed how much more interesting it would be in the summer when everyone was just meandering about. As she was staring off into space, the sound of her phone, set on vibrate, rattled on the table and she picked it up to see who was calling her. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she resisted silenced the ringer and stared back out the window. The person who had called her was none other than her current boy toy, Ian. He was a fellow senior at the school, and her own personal lapdog. Boyfriend he was not--although that's what everyone would call them, she couldn't in good conscience call him her boyfriend. She barely even liked the boy to begin with, but lately he had been hardly tolerable. As to why he was calling, she had a guess--he probably wanted to know why she hadn't responded to his 1000 text messages over winter break. Having not told him that she was going to New York, she could understand his confusion, but it was annoying nonetheless. Teegan was the type of girl who hated to be tied down, and although when it came to her own personal goals she could be very determined, she also grew bored with things quite easily. Her hobbies had changed a million times since the beginning of high school, with only a few things remaining constant through her life (including reading, writing, and horseback riding), and when it came to romance...well, Teegan just wasn't very constant. While loyalty was one of her positive characteristics, intensity of passion simply was not sustained in her heart. What might have started out as flattered charm found in being on the receiving end of admiration had begun a one sided relationship, and she had acted out her part faithfully at first as she thought a girlfriend was supposed to act. She had never pretended she had loved Ian, but it had been fun while the enjoyment lasted (all of two weeks), but now she was getting bored with him. Her experiences had been good for her writing, but now it was simply becoming tedious--he just kept calling and texting and wanting to hang out when she wanted to spend time on her own. Ian had become too demanding, and now she wished she had broken up with him before winter break, but she just hadn't bothered to.

When the second call came in, it was with decisive action that she picked up the call. "Hello." Her greeting was short and rather irritable, and she managed a polite smile to the waiter who dropped off her cup of coffee and sandwich as she tuned out the nagging voice on the other end of her phone. Making a face and pointing at the phone, the waiter laughed and walked away. "Teegan. TEEGAN! Did you even hear what I said?" Shaking her head, she attempted to remember, recalling the words that she had only halfheartedly listened to. "What? Oh, yeah. Ok." Her casual tone was met only by silence on the other end, and she raised a brow--her memory was usually quite accurate, and she was fairly certain of her memory of what she had heard. "I said if you're not going to put any effort in, why don't we just end this?" Annoyed at Ian's stupidity, she responded in restrained tones. "And I said ok." Silence met her words again, and she started to say she was hanging up when Ian spoke up, evidently surprised by how easily she was taking all of this. "What I meant was, let's break up." Now completely irritated, she spoke in an obviously fake cheerful voice, hoping to finally get her point across to the idiot on the phone. "Call me again and I'll break your face up. Bye!" Staring down at her phone, she slipped it back into her pocket.

Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and then opened her eyes, feeling so much better now that she didn't have something looming over her head like that. Tucking into her lunch, she pulled out a notebook and pen and began to write down a scene that she had just had the inspiration for. At least Ian had been good for one thing--any chance she had to observe different people's reactions to different situations gave her valuable insight into human behavior, and that helped to make her writing a little more believable. Hours passed by and as the dregs of her coffee grew cold, and nothing but crumbs sat on her plate, she had filled up ten pages front and back in her notebook with a flurry of scribbling (and a lot of crossed out sentences). Dropping the pen onto the table, she winced and attempted to flex her fingers, which were cramped into position and were reluctant to unclench. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled out her phone and checked the time and received something of a shock. It was already 3 PM, so she brought her dirty dishes up to the counter and left, aiming for a little walk to give her eyes a rest. Despite the cold, which felt really intense after the comparable warmth of Texas, she wanted to walk around outside. After so many days spent in what had felt like extremely cold weather, Teegan was pretty sure she'd finally gotten used to it. Well, the warm clothing certainly helped. What was unfortunate was she had spent a lot of her money here already and would have to pick up extra shifts at home to make up for it. There go my weekends. In another hour she was going to find something small to eat before she went back to the hotel to get ready--she didn't want to be hungry during the masquerade ball, but she also didn't want to run the risk of anything like an upset stomach--that certainly would ruin the night for her. Teegan was excited about the looming ball, though she had really wanted to get a regency inspired gown she was still satisfied with the outfit she had put together. Although she was here in New York already and just a few hours away from attending the party, she was still hesitant about it.

In general, sociable was not a word that many would apply to Teegan Breckenridge. Although she had plenty of opinions and wasn't really shy, the high school senior didn't derive much enjoyment from being around most people. Her group of friends was small and close knit, and her introverted personality meant she was fully capable of entertaining herself without withering away from lack of companionship. For some reason, all of that changed when she turned on the computer--there were still people she didn't want to talk to, but she had many more friends online. Part of it, she knew, was the anonymity of being behind the keyboard, but a part of it was that she just didn't have any obligation to the people she talked to on livenotebook. They left messages for one another sometimes and there were a select few that she looked forward to talking with, but there was no one complaining about how they didn't spend enough time together, or how she was always so quiet, or how she liked to go off on her own so much. It was low key and no stress involved. If she didn't feel like talking to someone, she just walked away from the computer. Meeting some of her friends that were able to attend and the prospect of actually meeting some of her blog idols was something that made her want to actually squee, but it only barely overshadowed the looming doubt and insecurity--what if they weren't everything she expected? What if they met and they were each completely different than what the other thought? Sometimes it was better to keep the mystery. Keeping them at the distance where she could just imagine them however she wanted, imagine their face to face meetings as going exactly as she would have planned them. No awkwardness, no disappointment. This really was putting everything on the line. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, she gasped and her heart started racing.

There was one person she most wanted to meet and most wanted to avoid. His username was Personal Library, and he was a well respected book critic on LN. To be honest, Teegan had a bit of a thing for him. It was nice to talk with someone about books--although she'd be far too embarrassed in real life to show anyone her writing, online was different--it was already there for everyone to see, and she was fairly confident in herself as she'd accumulated quite a substantial number of her own followers. Although they didn't talk as often as she'd have liked, every time she saw a new comment or message from him, her heart beat raced. Although she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was she liked about him, she was torn between hoping he would show up and hoping he wouldn't. At least she knew that Yun Hee and DS were going to be there--Macy Macklin was her best friend at school, but Yun Hee and DROWNING SORROWS were her best friends online. There was not a time she could remember ever feeling awkward talking to them, and she was looking forward to being able to make it more of a solid friendship by meeting in person. It was with slight trepidation and a container of pasta that she returned to the hotel to prepare for the masquerade ball.


▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ☁ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

Pasta was probably one of the best inventions in the culinary world. Italian cuisine was definitely Teegan's favorite, and she loved any kind of past and almost every kind of sauce. When it came to food, she was a lot less picky than most would think--as a very opinionated girl with many dislikes and pet peeves, it was easy to assume that she was that way with everything. If she was well aware of what she liked and what she didn't, at least Teegan gave everything a fair chance and wouldn't turn down the prospect of doing something new and novel. One of her many lifetime goals was to travel for a couple months to as many countries as possible sampling the local cuisines and exploring the history and modern culture in their countryside and their cities. For now, she would simply find delight in the food that the city had to offer, trying as much food from privately owned bakeries and shops and street vendors. Eating the pasta right out of the to go box it had come in, straight from an Italian deli. Chatting up the man working there for the thrill of hearing his thick accent and vast knowledge of food, she had gotten to try a few cheeses for free, and made a mental note to stop in tomorrow to bring some food back for her and her father. She would have to bring something back for her mother, but she wasn't exactly sure yet--something flashy, because the former Mrs. Breckenridge was a woman who loved luxury. Teegan's father was an intelligent but nervous and sometimes haphazard man who had married someone who could only be described objectively and subjectively as a gold digger. She was pretty and he was wealthy enough, so it had worked well enough for a few years. In middle school, her parents had separated and Teegan had stayed with her father for school. Soon after their divorce, her mother had married a surgeon with more money and square footage than Mr. Breckenridge and while Teegan couldn't say she didn't love her mother, she didn't exactly look forward to the weekend a month she spent at Mr. & Mrs. Dagobert's house.

Most people would probably be surprised to hear that Teegan's feelings toward her mother were relatively neutral, more like what someone feels toward an eccentric aunt rather than a mother. Mrs. Dagobert was kind and affectionate in her own odd (and slightly selfish) way, but she had never been the mothering type, more inclined toward acting like an older sister with no real intention of taking care of everything. Now that Teegan was older, she found there was nothing they had in common but genes, and even those were not apparent in anything but their mutually bright red hair, for Teegan's personality was much closer matched to her father's, tempered by her own independent and resilient nature. Speaking of father... Glancing at the clock on the bedstand, she moved from her perch at the window overlooking the bright lights of New York to her desk where her laptop was open and her cellphone sitting beside it. Trading her box of pasta for the phone, she quickly gave a call in to her dad. "Evening, father." Sometimes awkwardly formal in her speech, it was an exchange that was no less affectionate between father and daughter, though to an outsider it might seem cold. "No, I didn't go to the museum today. Tomorrow I'm going shopping for presents to bring back for the family." After a slight pause, she shrugged. "And Macy." After a short conversation with her father just to check in, she hung up and signed onto LN to see if anyone had posted anything new. After reading and replying to a few new comments, checking Personal Library's page, and reading the newest comic from SAS, she pulled up a movie from her files and watched while she finished her dinner.

At just past 6 PM, she got up with a sigh and began to prepare for the ball. Not that she wasn't excited, but it was tempered by equal amounts of slight anxiety and a little bit of initial laziness, which was easily overcome as she began to spread out her prepared outfit on the bed. "Suppose a shower first, then." she muttered to herself as she went into the bathroom. It didn't take long to finish getting dressed, but she still took her time to relish in the luxury of dressing up and preparing for a masquerade, as she didn't think it would be an experience she was likely to see again any time soon. Her hair is what took her the longest, discarding the first two styles she had tried and settling for something of a modern reinterpretation of Regency styles. Dressed and made-up, she surveyed herself in the mirror one last time before double checking that she had everything she needed, and fastened her mask on. It was just a little before 7, the time given for the start of the ball. Although her usual protocol was to arrive early, Teegan was unsure whether it would be better to enter early or late. Too early and there would be no one to talk to...too late and it might be...well, there wasn't much she could think of that would go wrong if she was late--except perhaps being shut out, but that seemed extremely unlikely. Deciding to sit for a few moments, she waited until she couldn't stand it anymore--fiddling with everything that came to hand, she stood up, took a deep breath, and pulled her gloves on. Stepping through the door, she shut it behind her and walked with her head held high down the hallway to the elevator. The main room was bustling with activity, people already filing into the ballroom. Approaching at a slow and leisurely saunter, she surveyed the gathering crowds with interest, as there was every range of color and material one could imagine--the variegated fashions eye catching and each captivating. The males looked dashing in their suits (and some casual) and the females stunning in their range of dresses, skirts, and casual wear. Those wearing more casual clothing didn't surprise Teegan in the least--everyone had their own sense of style, and if it was offensive to her tastes she didn't have much of a chance or inclination to say anything, which was rather rare, but she was out of her element, for as soon as she had put on the mask, she had become Zephendine.

"Here I go." she whispered to herself in encouragement, a smile spreading cross her face.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT






livenotebook post code


xxxxxxxxxxPOST HEADER
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxPOSTED AT time ON month day 2011 BY ~username


POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE


livenotebook message code


TO: USERNAME
FROM: USERNAME
SUBJECT: SUBJECT


MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Sitting on a bench in the subway station, Danny shivered slightly as he waited to catch the subway back to the station nearest the hotel with his cousin, Pete, who was bundled up beside him. They had arrived in New York City just the day before, having only enough money between the two of them to pay for three nights. Yesterday was spent mostly wandering around looking for a place to eat, as it was way too cold for the southern Texas boys to stay outside for long. Despite their warm clothing, it was horrifically cold to their minds and it was disappointing how little time they had spent out and about. New York City was an interesting enough place (or at least the little he had seen of it), and he wondered if maybe sometime he'd have a chance to come again--during the summer, preferably, when at least it would feel closer to a temperature he could handle. Pulling off his gloves and exposing his hands to the cool (though thankfully still) air of the underground room, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Flipping it open to access the keyboard, he sent a text to Alexa Hunter, one of his best friends. He actually felt kinda bad about not telling her he was going to be in New York City--he had told her that he and Pete were going to a convention in New York, but that he hadn't been sure where it was and that he was following Pete's lead. He had been about to tell her he was going to a LiveNotebook convention, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell her about his online life. It was way too embarrassing, though he wasn't sure why he felt that way--his comic was pretty popular.


hey lex u do ur eng hwmk yet

Schoolwork was not Danny's strong point. Give him a videogame and he'll figure it out in minutes. Give him a pen and paper and he'll produce a work of art just for you. Give him a Douglas Adams book and he'll finish it within the next hour. Give him Jane Eyre and a test tube filled with acid, and he's through--totally done for. Always excelling in his art courses and doing pretty well at Math, his grades were disappointing--and sometimes even abysmal--when it came to English or Science. It didn't matter that math was a part of Science, it was just as if his brain shut off. The only books he read were science fiction and sometimes some fantasy or fiction, but when it came to the classics, he just couldn't get his eyes to focus. Although he didn't know what the English homework actually was, he knew it had to do with Shakespeare--that's what they had gone over in the last class, after all. Reading Shakespeare was like reading French, and it just wasn't worth it. Couldn't they just watch the movie? He knew there had to be value in them and that he was an uncultured buffoon to most people, but he couldn't very well force himself to be interested in it. Actually, thinking about it, he hadn't done any of his homework over break--as he was in some of the lower level classes, he didn't have as much as other people did, but the only work he had finished was his art assignment...but that wasn't really homework. It was doodling basically, and as it was a hobby of his it really wasn't work. He hadn't brought his math text book with him, which was stupid, but he didn't want to have to bring a big suitcase--he just had a duffel bag with some clothes and the barest essentials (which did include his sketchbook and pens and pencils, but not his school notebooks or any books for that matter). He slipped his phone back in his pocket and picked up his sketchbook again, pulling the pen from behind his ear, held securely in place by his beanie and began sketching something that had popped up in his mind earlier.

"Hey Pete." When his cousin looked up, Danny handed the sketchbook over and watched Pete's face intently--people could lie with their words, but unless they were really careful their faces gave them away. When Danny asked for someone's opinion, he wanted the bare truth, even if it was brutal. Somehow, he had escaped the incredibly human tendency to be sensitive to what others thought or said--even people who claimed to be immune to it weren't, and of course there were exceptions for Danny, but he was too stubborn to let it bother him. On the contrary, he actually liked the conflict sometimes--it could be very entertaining. Pete was one of his closest friends in addition to being his cousin, and he knew that he could usually count on him to give an honest account. Pete's lips twitched unconsciously toward a smile a few times as he read the comic outline, and that's how Danny knew that it had passed muster. "Brilliant. I wish that's what had happened!" They laughed, commiserating without words about how they hadn't experienced as many crazy people as they had hoped to. The train that would take them from their current location in Brooklyn back into Manhattan and their hotel was approaching. They only had a couple hours, and Danny wanted time to post on LiveNotebook and see if more people had posted what they were wearing that day. He was pretty excited to meet up with some girls that he'd been messaging with--a little anxious, because he knew he wasn't the most suave of people. They liked him well enough online, and it was all things he had said on his own--so that meant it was really just the anonymity that aided in his womanizing behavior (if it could really be called that). Since he'd be wearing a mask, they wouldn't know who he was--and he felt confident that he looked good in his suit, and his mask was sure to entertain everyone.

Danny and Pete had gone into Brooklyn just to explore--the subway was a bit novel to them, so they had enjoyed just riding it to different destinations and wandering around, picking random lines and taking them wherever they felt like. Boarding the bus, there wasn't much sitting room, though it was a lot better he had found than this same time leaving Manhattan. He liked to stand on the subway, though, it was more fun that way--sort of like what he liked to call "bus surfing", where you stand in the aisle and try and stay standing without falling over because of braking or turns. The subway moved much faster and Danny held onto the bars just in case (he didn't want to end up toppling all over a bunch of people). Pete had his headphones on and was bobbing his head to the music, and he held out his hand as if in request of something. As the only thing Danny was carrying with him that Pete could possibly want was his sketchbook, he placed it in his cousin's hand. Most people weren't allowed to handle his sketchbook just any old time--it was a privilege given to his friends (and anyone he wanted to try and impress), and while they stood in silence amongst the chatter on the train and the ambient swarm of mechanical sounds raging around them, Danny took to glancing about and surveying the people. The two of them were a little tired from their explorations today, but that's one of the reasons Danny wanted to get back to the hotel early. They'd pick up something to eat on the way, eat it while watching tv, and get their second wind before getting psyched to go to the ball. It was a fancy soiree, which was usually not Danny's scene, but it was exciting and grand, another adventure. There was sure to be lots of beauties there, and everyone looked good in a dress or suit and a mask--even Danny. Or so he liked to think, even if his mask didn't make him look dignified or dashing, he was still quite proud at the idea of sporting it.

As soon as they got back up to the hotel room, he dropped the sketchbook and box of pizza on the desk before planting himself face first onto his bed, his feet dangling off the end in a comical fashion. "Yo...I'm gonna take a shower now. Don't ******** start eating without me." Danny's words were muffled by the mattress into a series of unintelligible noises, and Pete laughed, picking up a chair cushion and throwing it at Danny. As it smacked him in the back, he pushed himself onto his elbows and turned to throw a glare over his shoulder. "I don't trust you not to eat it all, you goddamn pig." Danny sniffed and turned, flopping back down and turning his head so his face was free from the fabric. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Secretly planning on hiding the entire pizza under his bed just to annoy Pete, he waited until Pete shut the door behind him. Turning on the tv and creeping over to the pizza, he picked it up and was about to slide it under his bed when the tantalizing scent of warm freshly baked pizza hooked it's claws into him. Unable to resist, he opened the box and took out a slice, enjoying the view as the cheese stretched. Eating that one slice turned into a second one as he devoured the first one, a sudden attack of ravenous hunger overwhelming him. Practically inhaling the second one, he took out a third and then quickly moved to stow the pizza box under his bed, only to find that there was no space under the bed--probably for ease of cleaning. Staring frantically around the room, he settled upon the desk and the wardrobe. Going for the wardrobe, he barely managed to get the box to fit under it. Settling back and flipping through the channels, taking his time in eating the third slice to savor it and in hopes that Pete would walk out while he was eating it, because if he didn't catch Danny eating it then he'd have to just smear some of the pizza sauce on his face and pretend not to know what Pete was talking about.

Luckily, Pete came out just as Danny was taking a bite of his pizza, and as he opened the door followed by a vague mist of steam, his hair wet and wearing a clean pair of pants and shirt, they both froze in place--Danny with the pizza halfway to his mouth, Pete with his hand still on the doorknob. Quickly stuffing the last few bites into his mouth without blinking or looking away, he managed to accidentally smear some pizza sauce on his mouth. Wiping his fingers on his t-shirt, he stared innocently at his cousin, whose gaze narrowed, breaking from their odd staring contest to stare at where he had previously left the pizza box. Danny attempted to chew the large piece of sauce drenched bread that was puffing his cheeks out like a chipmunk, while Pete stomped over to the desk, feeling the empty space as if Danny had turned it invisible. "Urfrur ohw burhfen, ompuahr." Chewing furiously and quickly swallowing the illegally obtained pizza, Pete turned on him, a strangled sort of laugh coming from of him.

"Where the hell did you put it?"
"Wha? I dunno what you're talkin' about."
"Stop repeating yourself! Where the hell is my damn pizza?"
"Only if you'll stop repeating yourself. I haven't seen any pizza. You must be insane."
"It's all over your face, dipshit. Stop yanking my chain. I will beat you up."
"I don't doubt it. Under such an easily backed up threat, wouldn't I tell you?"
"No, probably not."

Pete paused, thinking hard and glancing about the room, before squatting down and pulling the sheets of Danny's bed up so he could look under it. As it wasn't there, he dropped it and swore liberally, causing Danny to fall into a fit of laughter as he leaned back into his pillows and continued to search for a show worth watching. It was a stroke of luck that Pete happened to look under the wardrobe first--Shouldn't have gone with a place right next to the bed. Dammit. Thwarted finally, Pete stood up in triumph and brought the pizza back to his own bed, clutching it. "You a**!" His words were exasperated but laced with laughter, and Danny grinned without looking over, as Pete must've just opened the box to find almost half the pizza gone already. "I hate you. So much." Danny laughed in an obviously comical manner, settling upon Mythbusters. "Bwa-ha-ha-ha. That's why they call me a loveable rogue." Pete muttered something, probably in disagreement, and Danny just grinned. After a few moments, he rolled over and grabbed his laptop from where he had last left it, on the floor beside his bed. It was time to surf LiveNotebook and make his own post. "Looks like a lot of peeps are going to the masquerade." He commented to Pete, who was busy devouring his own pizza. "Oh yeah? That Erica girl wants to meet up with me." Danny waggled his eyebrows at Pete, who grinned. "If nothing else I'll just steal one of the girls." Danny snorted, going back to reading LN entries before a trilling song emitted from his pants pocket signaled a text. Pulling out his phone, he flipped it open to reveal a text from Alexa.


Dude, it is an essay…
It’s due on Monday and you haven’t even started?
You’re doomed. When I get home I will come over and help you.
Stupid head.


FRACK ME. wut is it on :'(

Well, at least he didn't have any physics homework, or he'd be really out of luck. The math homework would be easy--he could just do it during lunch and if she needed to, let Alexa copy them down. Shrugging it off, he went back to reading LN. Danny was a fantastic bullshitter, and as long as he could scrape by by the skin of his teeth, as long as he didn't fail anything he was happy with Cs. It's not like he was planning on becoming a doctor or anything--he was going to study art somewhere or something (still hadn't really figured that part out yet to his parents' chagrin). There was a new post in his updates--it was by Restless Random Toupee. She was an amateur movie critic, and they had a weird...thing going on. The girl hated him for no good reason--and he loved to harass her by sending her flirtatious messages and comments once in awhile, and he grinned to see she was going to the masquerade.



TO: Restless Random Toupee
FROM: SUPER AWESOME SKILLZ
SUBJECT: masquerade


hey bby. i see you're going to the masquerade ball in nyc. i'll be there...don't worry, i'll save a
dance just for you ;) don't be too jealous if there are a lot of other girls around me
though--i've only got eyes for you. i'll be the tuxedo mask trolling your masquerade ball. lololol
love, your clark kent


Snickering to himself, he sent it off. He had a little less than an hour to get ready, so he set aside the computer and went to take his shower. Getting dressed in his nice dress pants and a thin undershirt, he styled his hair and brushed his teeth, sitting down carefully on the bed so as to not crease his pants too badly, picking up the computer again, typing up a post of his own.



xxxxxxxxxxi tried climbing the empire state building and almost died
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxPOSTED AT 6:47 PM ON DEC 31 2011 BY ~SUPER AWESOME SKILLZ


cos i'm in nyc baby! that's right. seven's in the big apple. i'm here for the livenotebook convention weekend thing. don't
worry, i'm still updating on time. i made a few comics before leaving so that i wouldn't have to worry about it, but i've
been sketching when i have down time. i'm here with my cuz pete. he's going to the masquerade tonite. we'll be hard to
miss as we both will be going as internet memes...specifically coolface and rageface. i even got all fantsy pants for this
shindig. i've taken a number of pictures and you can read about the adventures of seven & pete on my personal blog, here.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

just click on the picture to see it up close. anyway, i figure i'll stand out really well, so if you see me feel free to come over.
next post will be the comic, sooooooo
peace out girlscouts

Before submitting it, he put on his shirt, bowtie, and jacket. "Hey Pete, take my picture so I can post it on my LN." Pete obliged, taking the camera Danny offered him and waiting patiently for Danny to put on his mask. Snapping a few photos, he handed the camera back to Danny and then put on his own mask. "Same for me?" When they had finished their little impromptu photoshoot, Danny uploaded the pictures and emailed Pete's to him and put a link on the LN post before submitting it. They had about fifteen minutes left, so he prepared a post for his webcomic update. After submitting that as well, he shut the computer and picked up his mask. Putting it on, they exited their room and headed down to the main room. Passing through the doors, he sent a carefully contemplated text to Alexa.


lex, ur fam is in nyc rite? pete n i are in manhattan! busy tonite but hangout tomo??

Snapping his phone shut and slipping it into the inside pocket on his jacket, he grinned to himself and stared around, looking to see if he could pick out anyone he knew.


"SPEECH"
THOUGHT
"PETE"

TEXT





livenotebook post code


xxxxxxxxxxPOST HEADER
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxPOSTED AT time ON month day 2011 BY ~username


POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE POST HERE


livenotebook message code


TO: USERNAME
FROM: USERNAME
SUBJECT: SUBJECT


MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE
MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE MESSAGE HERE