TESTING STUFFS NO POASTY PLEASE

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Exile. That's what this was. What kind of world was this when a man couldn't smoke in his own office with a window open?





“Oh, and speaking of pants that should be taken off … Hey Sean! I like your jeans.”
He leaned towards Izzy and gave a little aside.
“Haha, rhymage.”
With a dazzling eighty watt smile he looked back towards the photographer.
“The detailing makes your butt look totally rad.”
"Excuse me? I think you mean my a** makes the detailing look totally rad."
“What? Can’t I say rad?”
“No, you're about twenty years too late on that one.”
"Hey, now--compliments never go out of fashion."


"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

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Izzy knew she stood out, but in her book that wasn't a bad thing. Walking down the hallway, she cast her I-DON'T-CARE bored stare straight ahead of her, ignoring everyone (no one was paying her too much attention anyway). In her black skinny jeans, plain tee and fitted leather jacket, her style was quite a departure from the many dresses and flowery skirts around. Not that she couldn't appreciate a good dress, but she just felt more comfortable in simple clothes, and had never really been much of a girly-girl. Not on the outside, at least. Izzy Fontaine wasn't trying to impress anyone with any sort of bad-a** attitude, it was just that she didn't like telling everyone about her secret hobbies. Maybe she was slightly embarrassed by her tendency to form entire dramatic stories around the people she knew, but who wasn't embarrassed by some guilty pleasure or another? Hell, she even made up scenes in her mind involving people she just saw walking in the street--that man would be walking around the corner, bump into the girl of his dreams and spill coffee all over himself. That couple would face total and complete ruin when they got home to find her other boyfriend waiting for them. Things like that were what people watching was all about to her, and it kept her entertained daily when most other people were dragging their feet along.

At Petals to the Metal, she had been a big fish in a small pond. Here at Rose to the Occasion, however, she was just another guppy in a huge ornamental lake, and being surrounded by so many women was a bit irritating, actually. There were some quality people working here, and then there were people like Gabrielle. If Izzy didn't like you, you knew it--though she didn't go out of her way to be mean, she wouldn't fake being nice. The boys from Petals were her boys, in her mind, and they had worked together for so long that she felt comfortable around them. Riley Carter was a powerful lady in a position of authority here, and for that and her no-nonsense hardass attitude earned her respect from Izzy. It seemed like a lot of people were afraid of her, but Izzy wasn't really bothered by her sharp words. There were a couple women that worked at Rose that the flower girl turned spy actually enjoyed spending time with. Though she looked at first glance to be the sweet meek little old lady type, Arlene Barker was one of the coolest golden girl she'd ever met--not only was she hilarious, but she was spunky and full of energy. Nicole Jones was someone she had only met a few days ago, but they instantly clicked--their personalities were similar enough for initial friendship, but Izzy was beginning to think that Miss Jones was someone she would miss working with when they went back to Petals.

Although her loyalties lay firmly in Petals to the Metal, this odd excursion to working at Rose to the Occasion was extremely good fun. Just thinking about it, Izzy could have hugged herself. Surrounded by so many handsome men was like a dream come true--having so many beautiful women around wasn't so bad either, because it gave a lot of spark to her imagination and fodder for her made-up stories. There was one person that she liked the most out of the entire Rose staff, and when she looked up to see his smiling face a lazy grin broke out on her own. After just one meeting, JC Garcia had become her favorite person here--not only did he understand her tendency to make up stories about people in her head, he encouraged it. Talking with him was like talking with a tornado--she liked that she didn't always have to think of something to say, because he always had a subject at hand. His energy was infectious, and he looked to be in a bit of a tiff as he swept over to her.

“Whaddup b***h?”
“Hey.”
"Ohmygod, Fuhrer Riley’s got this joint under an iron fist. Look at this top!” Izzy cast a skeptic glance at the mesh top JC was waving around. She knew she wasn't a fashionista, but she still wasn't sure that it was something she would have picked out--so she didn't say anything. “I mean, if this don’t bring in customers, I don’t know what will. It’ll practically devour the gay market. Seriously, it’s gay people who usually buy flowers anyway.”
“I've never worked at a place that required you to wear a uniform, so I can feel your pain, it's all very odd for me. I have no idea what gay men like, but it would certainly...” she grabbed at it and held it up to look through the mesh holes. “...show off your beautiful muscles, lovey.” Their attention was diverted when a couple passed through. They stood in comparative silence for a few moments, and Izzy knew what was coming. A story was already forming in her head, and as she was feeling a bit whimsical today, there was a dose of comedy laced into it. JC spoke up first, making a comment on her clothing--naturally. He was, after all, known as the fashion police and she always loved the way he phrased his comments.

“Aw. That one’s allergic to pollen. Poor dear. Too bad that shirt’s too small to use as a hanky.” He turned to look at her, and she instinctively knew what he was going to ask--ever since he'd found out her hobby, he'd egged her on at every opportunity by either asking what she was imagining or building onto it.
“So, what’s the story?”
“Well, you see, he's actually only with her 'cos--”

“OHMYGOD! It’s Gabbers!” When JC nearly squeaked in delight, his full attention on the ditzy blonde walking through the room, Izzy couldn't help but feel a stab of irritation and sighed. “Oh god.” Though an echo of his words, they were muttered with an underlying scoff and a dramatic eyeroll. JC Garcia might love Gabrielle Odiele, but she was the one person in this place that Izzy had yet met that she could honestly say she hated. Gabrielle might be a nice person, but everything she did annoyed Izzy, and her almost irrationally instant dislike of the girl wasn't something she was going to keep a secret. JC surprised her when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along with him. “No, really, I don't wanna talk to...”

“Heeeeeeyyy Gabster. Have you met Izzy yet? Of course you have. Can’t miss her. Plus, she’s cool. And yeah, she’s with me, so she has to be. Anyways, you guys are tight, yah?”
“Actually, I really--” Cutting her off again, JC laughed and his attention was quickly caught by the most hideous looking man wandering about the room. “Fashion disasterrrrrr!” This was the second time that he had cut her off, and instead of being annoyed with him, her anger was misdirected onto Gabrielle. It was all her fault--if he wasn't friends with "Gabbers" then he wouldn't have interrupted her earlier, and now she didn't even get a chance to voice her real opinion on the subject of Gabrielle's "coolness". Oh well. Izzy didn't really care about the man, she only liked the soap opera worthy stories celebs spewed forth into the media. Although she wouldn't ever buy a gossip magazine, she sometimes read columns and blogs online. When she met JC, she found a new source for gossip--he always seemed up to date on everything--and now was just another example. “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you bitches! Did you hear that Geoff was totally caught with some fat whore of a stripper? Speaking of sluts, hey Arlene!” Glancing up at this aside, she spotted Arlene Barker, ostensibly on her way to carry out some important business. “Arlene.” she greeted the eccentric lady with a simple nod of her head and a lazy smile, and waited for JC to get back on track. She loved the man, but his mind hopped from subject to subject more than a rabbit on crack. “And now, he’s claiming that his pants were too tight, and she was just helping him get them off.” Shaking her head and snorting in derision, she crossed her arms and glanced off to the side. “Does he honestly believe that anyone will take what he says seriously? It's not like no one knows he's a manslut. God knows how--I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole, and not just 'cos he prolly has every STD known to man. s**t, he's not even attractive, an' he's certainly not as famous as some.”

“Oh, and speaking of pants that should be taken off … Hey Sean! I like your jeans.” Izzy forgot all her composure and whipped around to find Sean Cowan, her newest heartthrob. He was unbelievably sexy with his flashy clothes and deep voice and his charismatic personality. She was too busy staring at Sean to hear what JC was saying, and she nodded vaguely. “Sorry, his eyes are too loud” she said absently. It made sense in her head, but without all the other thoughts behind it to explain it sounded a bit crazy. “The detailing makes your butt look totally rad. What? Can’t I say rad?” Having snapped out of her stare, she had heard JC's words and was trying not to laugh. “No, you're about twenty years too late on that one.”

“JCSPEECH”
“SPEECH”
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

“I found a few of those around. I just figured they were yours” Sighing as he confirmed her suspicions, Quinn stifled a laugh (as this situation wasn't really very funny) at his expression. It unfortunately confirmed the theory that someone else had entered into this competition, but Jasper had a look of such forceful ponderation that it seemed like his brain was running at a speed it wasn't accustomed to. He might be smart, but she was inclined to believe him the type who was brawn rather than brains, and so that look on his face just tickled her humor just right. When his face clouded over, her curiosity piqued because she had no idea what he had just thought of--had it really taken him that long to realize that it meant someone else was bugging the place? No...it's not possible. He must have thought of it immediately! Mirth was quickly suppressed when his next words were uttered with vehemence. “You ******** little CIA agents!” This sudden change in demeanor shocked her enough that she stood there, brows lifted and mouth hanging open. Recovering herself, but still maintaining an incredibly bemused expression, she wondered what on earth he was thinking, and was more than a little indignant. Turning on the spot to watch Jasper march off toward Emma. A bit worried as to what his intention was (as he was looking particularly frightening right now), her calculating gaze traveled over the counter, Emma, and finally lighted upon the figure of a young man hanging about, his body language screaming flirtation. Wondering if this was Emma's new beau, she smiled and shook her head. As much as he thought he was furthering his own goals, he was really just setting everything up to help Quinn--the meaner he was to Emma, the more she would turn to Quinn's friendliness, and while he would have to wrest information when he could, Quinn would have simply to ask. As she walked toward them to separate Jasper from the poor man, she froze in place as the he turned around to face Jasper.

“This is the Geek Center counter. I can help you over here with your DVDs and such and direct you to the cash.”
“It’s alright… It’s boring here anyways, and we were talking about something else. And he's a friend, so I can handle it.”

The set of her mouth, smile swiftly fading, showed her to be clenching her jaw. Looking as though she had seen a ghost, her face had a shocked pallor to it that swiftly changed to a flush of anger, quickly banished to a look of general irritation and confusion. Trust Andre to throw her off her game so well that she stood there, seething in a variety of unpleasant emotions. Her loss of control was discomfiting, but she knew that if it had been necessary she would have been able to restrain herself. Fortunately, working at Best Buy meant she could just let loose and no one would try and kick her in the face while she was mentally occupied. Andre Gallo was someone from her past. They had been quite close at one time--or so she had thought. It was weakness that Andre played on, and he did it so infuriatingly well that she hated him with a vehemence that surprised even herself. He used everyone recklessly, but they just laid down and let him run right over them. What made her hate him even more was that he had shown her how weak she really was. It had taken a lot for her to overcome the betrayal of her CIA partner, more effort than she would care to admit to anyone. Always priding herself on her control and her professionalism, it had shaken her to know she was not as tough as she had always believed herself. The effrontery of his appearing ever again in her life was almost too much to handle, but she quickly enacted her self control and prepared herself for an unseen and very difficult complication in her plans.

Smoothing her features into a natural smile, she sauntered over and resisted attempts to lay a hand on Jasper's shoulder as it was awkwardly out of reach. "Jasper, I'll handle this. You go finish the...inventory. Continue looking for just that item and make sure you have a complete log of how many we have." Giving him what she hoped would be a telling glance, and hoping that he could understand her not quite clear suggestion to find all the bugs that she now knew had to belong to Emma's new amour. Mouthing "sorry" to Emma with an expressive roll of the eyes, she turned and flashed a smile at Andre. He was maddeningly calm, smiling so easily at her. She could tell he was mocking her just by the sparkle in his eye, and that infuriated her even more than his presence here. By all rights, he ought to have been even more shocked than she, but she swore at him mentally because she knew he was a good agent--he must have seen her here before. Damn him! Feeling herself a bit beaten by the newcomer, she put on the theatrics. Sighing and shaking her head as she glanced after Jasper's retreating figure, she grinned ruefully at Andre. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she began. "Mr. Jackson just started work here today, and I'm training him. Ah...attempting to train him." she corrected, grinning at Emma. "Unfortunately, he seems to have been born with a gruffness that is particularly terrifying when paired with over-zealousness, but hopefully he's got a hidden talent for interpersonal interactions that just needs to be...drawn out." Lingering for a moment to ostensibly hear an acknowledgement from him and thus a dismissal, she was hoping that Emma would detain her to introduce Andre to her.

If that's the game he wanted to play, then let it begin.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT
"JASPER"
"EMMA"
"ANDRE"

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Rapunzel had never honestly given much thought to her appearance, having never had much choice or need to wear fancy clothing. Practical and comfortable though plain, her gowns were not much to look at. Flynn had been struck by the idea that she had no looking glass in the tower, but there had never been a real reason to have one--certainly once or twice she had wished to know what her reflection would show, but as she saw no one who would care at all, she'd never learned to fuss about it. Sebastian's question made her sigh as she thought about the beautiful silken fabric that had suffered such a rough treatment in their escape. "No," she said a bit wistfully. "It wouldn't have been very practical, after all." Romanticized notions of sleeping in a bed of leaves seemed a bit daunting in a luxuriant gown, and her plain clothing would not show the strain as much. Flynn's words elicited a laugh, and she resisted the urge to spoil a joke by asking if any of them really expected her to sew a dress in the middle of the forest while they were on the run.



“Are you even going to the ball, Rapunzel? It was awfully presumptuous of the prince to offer up an invitation, and even more rude of me to accept and modify it without your consent. What do you say to the invitation, Rapunzel?” Casting a speculative glance in his direction, she wondered what his motives were. She hoped that she had seen enough of him to presume to guess, and she rather thought the impulse he had given in to was fueled at least partly by a desire to make a mockery out of the foolish prince. Rapunzel couldn't deny that it would be funny to watch the prince searching for her, and couldn't help but fantasize about going to a royal ball, gowned in a beautiful dress and hidden behind a mask. It had too much of the fairy tale about it for her to resist, but she still had a recklessly child-like fear of being left on her own. Though she felt that she was strong enough to go on her own if she had to, she knew she was clinging to Flynn like a log in a river--although they had just met, he was something that was familiar, that connected her to the world outside, and as a bandit...well, he had more knowledge of the world than probably most other people. And he promised! Thinking it over, she knew that there was no other answer she could give. "If you are going to escort me, then certainly." she cast a grin at him. "Although I'm afraid I'll not be going unless I can contrive to somehow dress myself properly. I know I'm rather ignorant of the world, but you just can't fool me into thinking they'll let me in dressed like a peasant!"



Extremely glad to follow Flynn's example for taking a rest, Rapunzel wished she could just climb into her bed. Running about was fine and all, but it had taken it's toll--unused to such continuously rigorous activity, she was exhausted from what seemed to her to be a trek--although it had been exhilarating at first, the muscles unused to such usage were quick to take a little of the glimmer out of the world. Although everything still thrilled her, there was an edge of tiredness that made her a little less enthusiastic. Wishing her shoes had something stiffer in them, she sat down at her first chance and was relieved to lift her slippered feet off the ground. Resolute to never utter a single negative remark to Flynn (who was really being a better friend than she could have ever imagined to have), she was finding it difficult to resist whining. She knew that every time he pulled her away from something with a little hint of irritation lurking at the edge of his words, it was because she was being reckless. No one knew better than she how necessary it was to get away quickly, and she rather hoped she hadn't been too trying.



“Rapunzel, I know this is a strange question, and forgive me if I’m intruding, but is Rapunzel truly your Christian name? I mean, did your parents give you another name, or perhaps did they have any other name meant for you? Or did the witch never say? How about your surname. We must have some way to locate your parents. What do you know of them?” Reaching into the folds of her dress, she pulled out a small sheet of paper. "I wrote down everything Galiena ever told me about my parents. I don't know how much (or, if any) of it may be true, but--" Realizing that her speech was not exactly likely to inspire confidence, she broke off and cast him a look of defiance. "No matter what, I will find them!"




“How had the day been for you? Exciting, I must imagine. Have you ever walked so much in your life? I do imagine that you pace quite a lot in your rooms, but there are hardly things like roots and logs to stop your way.” Flushing with embarrassment at how true his words really were, she wished she had somehow prepared better for leaving--she'd always rather believed that she had a lot of energy and a robust constitution, but it was only now that Rapunzel realized that these were easy things to have if you never left your tower. It was a bit difficult to get sick when there was nothing to induce an illness, and nothing more taxing than braiding your hair--well, it was perhaps natural if a bit disappointing to have found her powers of activity falling short of what she had believed they really were. "Oh! Yes, very exciting. I've seen so many things today that I could never have even imagined! I suppose that everyone else must just see things and not really notice them, they're so...normal for you. I have never seen a stream before! I'm sure I cannot imagine an entire ocean of water. I feel like I don't have enough eyes to take it all in." Laughing, she shrugged off the rest of his comment. "No, I suppose I've never really walked much in my life, but every new experience makes my life that much more exciting. I will try very hard to pay more attention to where I place my feet," she brushed off some dirt that was on her skirts from having fallen already. "But it's really not very fair for everything above the ground to be so interesting and yet to have your path strewn with such obstacles designed as if they were intended to trip you up." At these words she sniffed indignantly and turned her nose up, casting him a look of reproach for being so crass as to remind her of her graceless tramping through the forest, belied by the mirth reflected in her eyes.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT



❝ ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʟετ doѡɴ τʜɣ ʜɑiʀ τo ϻε ❞
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The sun was beginning to set, and Rapunzel had walked about as much as she would be able to that day. It was getting to the point where she considered just falling on the ground and living there for the rest of her life, when to her great relief she was given to understand that they would be setting up camp soon. It didn't sound very luxurious, and all the romantic notions she had ever held about sleeping in the forest was wiped away by the desire to sleep on a soft bed. Watching as Flynn dumped everything down, she did no more than cast a cursory glance about the small clearing. It was slightly off the path, large enough to lay down in, and without further ado, she gathered together what bedding she could contrive, and didn't pay much attention to what Flynn said, other than acknowledging that he was going to have a look around. Putting her head down on the pillow she had brought with her was heavenly, and she pulled her cloak over herself and promptly fell asleep. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she heard the snap of a twig, and her heart thumped alarmingly as her breath caught in her throat, ears straining to see if she could hear anything else. Turning slowly and hoping that it was just Flynn coming back, she looked up to see an older man with a mocking smile staring down at her. With a shriek, she bolted up and attempted to run away, only to find that a younger man had popped up behind her. "Now, now, missy." He flashed a smile at her that caught her off her guard, and she allowed herself to be guided back to her seat on the ground. The other man threw his hands up in the air and gave an exasperated sigh. "Seriously? Why is it that women always run screaming when they see me, but all you have to do is tell them to sit and they do it. Sometimes I hate you, Maddox." His words disagreed with the smiling face, and she regarded him with curiosity, a small smile escaping her. Not so flustered anymore that she couldn't appreciate the excitement of the situation (real bandits!), she became rather swept up by their bantering dynamic and their cheerful appearances.

"I suppose if it bothers you, you shouldn't sneak up on them like that. I was, after all, trying to sleep."

"And you shouldn't be out on your own. Didn't anyone tell you this forest is full of bandits? Have you any jewelry with you, I wonder?" He glanced pointedly at her belongings, a smug little smile on her face. His words brought up an indignant anger in Rapunzel--they didn't seem quite as bloodthirsty as brigands were often painted, so she stared up at them in defiance. "When my friend Flynn gets back, you'll be sorry!"

She was surprised to see the look on the bandits' faces at the name. "Wait...did she just say Flynn?" All sense of triumph faded as the bandits nearly fell over laughing.

"Is...is that funny?" she asked a bit helplessly, completely bemused. "Do you, perhaps, know Flynn?" frowning in her confusion, it was a few moments before they collected themselves, and as Calvin threw himself down to sit beside her and Maddox more gracefully lowered himself to the ground, she couldn't help but hope that maybe they were friends of Flynn. After all, wouldn't an enemy of Flynn's do something terrible? They certainly wouldn't sit on the ground, heedless of the dirt. "You can't possibly mean Flynn Roeland. The bandit? He's your escort?" Calvin snorted, but maintained his composure despite a rather twitching smile. "Ay, I know Flynn well enough. I'm Calvin, this's Maddox. I can't think of how you came to let him take you about, miss." Rapunzel didn't need such a blatant invitation to tell the tale of how Flynn helped her escape. After recounting a rather brief but dramatic retelling of the escape with heavy illusions to Flynn's cleverness and bravery, Calvin just chuckled.

"Honestly, though, isn't that just like Flynn to leave you sitting here, all alone."
"You're just lucky we're not savage brigands." Maddox waggled his eyebrows, and Calvin let out a clip of laughter.
"Not sure which one's worse in your case, Maddy."

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT



"CALVIN"
"MADDOX"

for later: the first place galiena will look...is at the haswells
she seriously adores flynn. he's not only charming and handsome but he's totally her savior.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

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The feel of the Earth beneath her was comforting. The strength. She sought the heartbeat, ancient and unwavering, and could feel the Energy slowly seeping into her. Sylvia sat cross-legged in the dirt, her palms laid flat on the ground, fingertips brushing against some rogue flora. Drawing a deep breath helped to gather the Energy, a feeling of warmth like stepping into the sunlight spreading through her body as she relaxed. Each breath smelled like flowers and wood and dirt, the taste of honey and spices following close behind in an almost overwhelming flood of sensory experience. Opening her eyes to a decidedly moonless night, a smile was impossible to suppress as she saw the golden-brown threads of Earth energy settling about her, bringing with them a shining light as bright as day. The song of birds rang through her mind like a fading echo, followed by a comfortable silence. Calming her excitement, she focused her will upon the energy she was drawing into herself, forcing the tendrils of power to slowly weave themselves about her, gathering tighter and tighter as it went. In her mind, a forest took shape around her, enveloping her in a cocoon of magic. The woven fabric was forming a dome about her, though invisible to those without Sight, it was seen to the three brothers that stood and watched with approval. It had taken a long time for Sylvia to achieve what came most naturally to them now (and always had to Aiden), and it was a breakthrough that their father had certainly never expected to see. To them, the light was more like a dull glow, but to Sylvia it was like high noon. Spreading the protective sphere into the ground like roots into the earth, she could feel an energy gathering outside of her sphere, cooling the warmth in her face as a green glow surged into existence, like a wave splashing up around her. It was mobile, the Water energy of Calder's shield moving across her own solid barrier like the ebb and flow of the tide, bringing a saltiness and a refreshing breath of air. As suddenly has it had come about, the green sphere crashed back down. Her own sphere unraveled much slower, peeling away as she let the energy seep out and back into the ground.

Grinning triumphantly up at her brothers, their unspoken congratulations evident in their faces, she felt happier than she had since Lilura appeared.


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The humiliation of her position had not faded for Sylvia, but she had grown to accept it. Essentially on the run, penniless and homeless, she had to resort to camping in forests with makeshift tents of old canvas, her once fine clothes worn and a bit dirty. What little food she and her brothers could find in the forest was augmented when scarce by food begged from a church. The pain of such degradation was not unperceived by her brothers, but for the most part they spent their days and much of their nights as swans, indifferent to social status and clothing. When they bathed as swans, it carried over into their human form, in body and clothing--and so their clothes were still presentable, if a bit worn. Today, she felt really clean for the first time since she had left her ancestral home, for she had been allowed to bathe at a church, and given clean clothing that if much simpler than her gowns she had been accustomed to wearing at home, they had been washed with good soap, and not worn out in the forest for the past few weeks. They had even given her a precious little pot of salve for her hands, which were covered in tiny scratches, her scars from working with the nettles. Most of the time, she wore gloves over her hands that were imbued with a healing spell that Calder had worked into them, that helped her hands heal quicker. Unfortunately, as the spell that would counter the curse required blood sacrifice from the weaver of nettles, she had to remove the gloves when she did her spell work.

Standing at the lake, she flung her arms out wide as she stretched her muscles, now quite built from so much walking and carrying her belongings. Much of their things had to be left behind as they traveled, but she had found she could carry quite a lot on her back. As she gazed out over the rippling surface of the lake, Sylvia was struck by how material a change she had undergone. Physically, she was more muscular and a bit more tan than she had been before, and much, much skinnier. Having gone the past few months without the luxuries she'd had her entire life, living the life of a lonely gypsy had given her the ability to make do, even without the basic amenities. She could sleep anywhere, eat anything, and had learned so many things--how to hunt, gather edible plants (she seemed to have an ability to pick out what was safe to eat--perhaps due to her earth magic blood), weave and sew, build a fire, and much more. Looking at the swans gliding across the water, the smile left her face. She wasn't the only one changed--they had all undergone so material a change that their father, had he met with them again, would not have recognized his children in these serious, hardened creatures. Calder had always been a bit distant and aloof on the outside, but where there had once been a childish reticence there was now a serious stony facade. Aiden was the least changed, and Sylvia found herself mourning over Bernard. The youngest brother had felt the greatest impact from becoming a swan, and had changed throughout the ordeal. Once, she remembered he had always been quiet in a thoughtful way, quick with a kind word and always with a gentle smile. Regrettably he had become more withdrawn--they had always been the closest in age and in relationship, and although words had never been as necessary between them as with the others, he seemed confused--as if his mind was wandering too far and didn't always come back to him when he regained his human form.

Aiden hadn't really noticed much of a change in his brothers, but he was torn between horror and delight as he watched Sylvia practicing her magic by the pond one night. Although anyone could see how adaptable she was, he was sorry to see her forced to grow up in this way. If it was the maturation these past weeks had forced upon his young sister that had helped break down whatever barrier had kept her from her powers, he was sorry to see it come about in this manner. He wouldn't have wished any of this on his family, and his pride was wounded whenever he had to see what they had all been reduced to. Counting his blessings was not necessarily something that Aiden was often in the habit of doing, and although he was very glad that they were all alive and together, it still infuriated him that they had been forced from their home, he and his brothers reduced to beasts and their sister to a roving gypsy, slaves to the curse. No one talked about Lilura, and rarely about their father or the curse--but it was something he couldn't go for five minutes without thinking about. His days as a swan were the only relief he had from the ferocity of his desire for revenge and his hatred was burning him from the inside. Calder sometimes managed to drag his mind away from the subject by annoying him (as usual), something which Sylvia had realized was the warlock's own peculiar way of helping.


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The swans were close by but unseen as Sylvia bent to fill her waterskin from a small stream. Splashing her face in the bracingly cold waters, she sighed and prepared herself for a long day's work. Removing the gloves from her rough, scarred hands, she slipped them carefully into a pocket of a pack she carried on her back. It held the sweater she had finished and one that was a current work-in-progress, as well as her tools, some food, and what little odds and ends she still had. Pulling the strap of the waterskin over her head, she shoved it out of the way and stood and glanced about the clearing. Nettles were proving more difficult to gather in great amount than she had thought, but at least they were abundant enough. The awakening of her powers had given her much more to work with, and it wasn't very difficult to cast about a little tendril of power to point her in the right direction. Tramping along through a forest path, she felt carefree enough that she had to almost work to stifle the desire to hum. Taking in the lovely surroundings as she walked, it was a short hike before she found a patch on an incline. Allowing a thread of a song to play in her head, harvesting the thorny plant with as much cheer as could be expected despite the pain (which she was really almost used to by now), it was some moments before she realized that there were sounds coming through the trees other than those usually present in the woods. Freezing every muscle and straining her ears, she stowed her pack amongst the bushes and marked the place with her usual arrangement of stones. Pulling the little knife from it's sheath at her side, she crept through the trees until she came to a ledge where the thinning brush overlooked a path. It was neither steep nor tall, but a fall would take her tumbling haphazardly into the path. For now, she crouched as close as she could, shoving forward until she could reach a vantage point from which to spy on the path--she couldn't chance Lilura or anyone sent by the witch seeing her. Not now--not when she had so much work left to do before she could save her brothers. As she was shifting into place, she concentrated entirely on listening for the approaching people. Hoofbeats reverberated through the soil as what seemed to be more than a single horse thundered down the path up ahead. Just as she caught the pleasant murmur of cheerful conversation, a cracking noise startled her. Sylvia had no time to react when she realized that it was the branches snapping, and she attempted to catch herself on the rocky ledge. Her hand slipped as the rock came loose, and she had to clasp her hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking as she catapulted forward, scratching her arm on the broken branch as she tumbled down, dislodging small rocks and a lot of dirt along the way. Falling flat on her back knocked the breath right out of her and sent her head reeling as she lay prostrate, sprawled out. There were no thoughts but confusion as her throat spasmed, trying to take in air. When the gasp finally came, her first thought was that she was very glad to be wearing the breeches rather than her skirts, followed by the certainty that she was going to be run over by stampeding horses to Lilura's glee.


LILURA - michelle pfieffer
HAROLD - alan rickman
SYLVIA - anna speckhart
AIDEN - pawel siergiej
CALDER - ollie edwards
BERNARD - matt egan

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

William Courtenay, Earl of Devon
Lord Devon
28 years old

father died when he was 8 years old
mother is the Dowager Countess Elizabeth Courtenay, Lady Devon
she's got a dominant personality and is controlling and a bit scary
family is very wealthy
his current heir apparent is his cousin Hugh Courtenay
sister is Lady Emily Courtenay, like kitty bennet....nice but silly and a bit stupid, easily led

country seat: "county of Devon. Their seat is Powderham Castle, near Starcross on the River Exe"
london residence(s): Belgrave Square (Devon House)

went to school at: oxford? cambridge?

very spoiled, used to his every order and whim being satisfied
accustomed to eligible ladies setting their caps at him
bored with london's social life
bored with pretty much everything
has no real intention of marrying
likes to flirt outrageously
is a bit of a rake
belongs to gentlemen's clubs like White's, etc
loves to ride and drive carriages
isn't much of a betting man but he's always game when it's suggested

should he be a dandy? maybe a little...


HUGH COURTENAY
styled Lord Courtenay as a courtesy title
the son of a baronet and will's father's sister
his name has "ugh" in it, which is exactly how will thinks of him
they don't get along
hugh thinks will is a snob
will thinks hugh is just generally worthless and likes to annoy him at every possible turn
hugh is a big gambler and is always trying to leech money from will
he's an extreme Dandy and wears outrageous clothes
has limited social skills and flirts recklessly
probably in danger of being denied vouchers from Almack patronesses if he keeps it up
being really stupid, i mean
he whines a lot and has no valid opinions, can't ride or drive his horses very well, likes to think his opinion is always the wisest, talks endlessly.

EMILY COURTENAY
blahblhblah

LONDON SERVANTS
butler:
housekeeper:
emily's abigail:
head maid:
housemaids:

chefs:
confectioner:
kitchen maids:

valet:
footmen:

tiger:
grooms:
stable boy:

accountant:

ainsworth
archer
baines (thin person meaning 'bones')
clemens
espenson
forester
hambledon
jenkins
jernigan
langley



sophia wortham
cousin & companion/chaperone to
at age 24, considered "off the shelf" and a bit of a spinster



breakfast

chocolate
ale
toast
beef
eggs

eats it really late in the morning, usually waking up around 11 or 12

dinner
start with soup
then meat/fish/fowl and a variety of side dishes
then salad and cheese
then more side dishes
then fruits and desserts
macaroons, cakes, sweet wines & liqueurs, biscuits, ICES (in tasses à glaces), small favors in the shape of pastillage baskets with candy in them at each place setting
each setting has a place card with coat of arms, etc

ladies retire to the drawing room
gentlemen drink wine in the dining room
then they join the ladies
and everyone has tea
plays cards


accessories
watch fobs worn attached to watch chain

four horse club

Club rules stated the the barouches should be yellow bodied with 'dickies', the horses should be Bays, with rosettes at their heads and the harnesses should be silver-mounted. However Mr Annesley - a club member, drove roans, Sir Henry Peyton drove Greys so the colour of the horses wasn't as strictly enforced as the colour of the carriage.

The uniform of the club was strictly enforeced. A drab coat that reached to the ankles with three tiers of pockets and mother of pearl buttons as large as five shilling pieces. The waistcoat was blue with yellow stripes an inch wide, the breeches of plush with strings and rosettes to each knee. It was fashionable that the hat should be 3 1/2 inches deep in the crown.

The first meeting of the Four-Horse club was held in April 1808 and subsequent days of meeting were the first and third Thursdays in May and June. The members assemble at Mr Buxton's house in Cavendish Square

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Unlike the prime example of Foppery posed before him, Lord Devon was a man of taste. Though he was undeniably dressed in the height of fashion and clothed by the very best tailors, his clothes were a far cry from the outrageous styles his cousin and prospective heir chose. Staring through his quizzing glass at the boy, he felt the vaguest amusement at the uncomfortable expression on the young Lord Courtenay's face. William didn't think much about the fashionable affectation of the quizzing glass, but as a social weapon it could yield spectacular results when wielded by an expert, and he loved nothing more than making people feel uncomfortable, except perhaps for his hobby of giving set-downs. The quizzing glass was constantly swinging on his finger, ready to be used at a moments notice if anyone started being too provoking. His heir came under the close scrutiny of his cousin more than he would have liked, and Hugh moved stiffly, his nose raised in indignant defiance. The starched shirtpoints that stretched up to touch his cheeks kept him from moving his head from side to side, his necktie was a froth of fabric that tickled his chin, and the padding in his coat broadened his shoulders to accentuate his waist, tightly bound in an extravagantly striped waistcoat. His pantaloons were decorated with an incalculable number of fobs and seals, glinting at his waist like the many jewels that adorned his fingers. His hair was messily done in a style that didn't suit him, and every attempt he made at fashionable dress was ruined by his short stature and ill grace of movement. Macaroni merchant. William let his quizzing glass drop, a look of disgust easily read on his face. The image of a noble gentleman that his cousin was always apeing without success, William Courtenay achieved effortlessly, and he knew it. As Will recognized it as one of many sources of Hugh's hatred of the Earl, he flaunted it in his heir's presence as much as possible.

Finally standing as if to greet his cousin, William ignored him and strode over to the looking glass on the wall, checking his impeccable reflection merely to draw Hugh's eye to his perfectly executed and complicated Mathematical tie about his neck, his perfectly coiffed brown locks, shoulders that needed no padding in the coat, and the highest class of tailoring. Hugh, starting with less and gambling all his petty allowance and independence away, was forced to bring his custom to less illustrious tailors than those that enjoyed the current Lord Devon's patronage. There were a number of tactics that Will employed when dealing with Hugh that served to put the younger Courtenay in his place, and this particular one had two techniques in one; not only did it show how inferior his styling was, but ever since Hugh had entered the room, not a single word had been uttered by Will, just to make him sweat it out. Hugh only came when he wanted to be particularly annoying, and only stayed silent when he wanted something. Growing bored with this battle of wills that Hugh had no chance of winning, William took the opportunity to begin the process of breaking down Hugh's self confidence, inevitably making him storm out of here with his request fulfilled, but losing his pride. "Don't waste my time." Hugh seemed startled for a moment by the sudden breaking of the silence, but recovered quickly with a halting smile. With his back turned to give Hugh the opportunity to be heard when he so chose to turn around and direct his attention toward the unworthy Hugh, he began to grow impatient, so he turned and stared at Lord Courtenay with all the force of one who had the power of inheritance and title over a lesser family member. Seating himself behind his desk, he picked up a piece of paper without looking at it and offered a vague and obviously annoyed smile to Hugh, whose abortive attempt at speaking had been quelled by this discouraging behavior.

"You know very well why I've come." Hugh Courtenay wasn't necessarily frightened by William, but he knew that his future (and present) happiness was completely dependent on the Earl, and angering him to the point of no return would not be a good course to pursue. Little did he know that showing some backbone would have been more likely to earn a little grudging respect from his cousin rather than the contempt than the petulant tone he had taken up. The smile on Lord Devon's face broadened, but Hugh knew him well enough to recognize that it was definitely not a good sign. Hastily amending, he stepped forward. "I'm afraid I'm a bit stretched, old boy." Grinning broadly, he took the opportunity to sit down in front of the desk when William said nothing and ostensibly directed his attention to the papers he had been holding in his hand. Anyone who knew him would be able to tell that he wasn't actually reading what was in front of him, but he liked to know that he could pretend to be busy. The charade being outed wasn't something William was worried about--on the contrary, he made no real effort to pretend to be preoccupied, and the better that Hugh knew that William would rather waste his time staring at a stupid piece of paper than to listen attentively to what he had to say, the better. William might be cold toward his cousin, but he was never cruel--rather backwards in his generosity, most people didn't recognize how freely he handed his money out to those who were tied closely to him by either family blood or friendship. His assistance was always earned through fighting for it, because he didn't like to give anything for nothing--even if he had planned on giving Hugh a draw on his bank from the beginning, he wasn't going to let Hugh think that he could just come anytime he wanted some more money and it would be produced out of thin air. Besides, he didn't like Hugh above half, and the less time he spent happily in this house, the less William would have to see him.

"I suppose you expect to draw on your inheritance. I shan't give you more money. You have already overdrawn your allowance." A cloud passed across Hugh's stormy countenance, and he bristled at William's pinpointing the truth so blatantly. "Nonsense! I don't need your permission to do anything--I've my inheritance from my father, I don't need yours to keep myself up! I merely came to...alert you. As a precaution." He was obviously lying, coming up with his words on the spot. "Dash it, Devon, I ain't in Dun Territory." At this sulky tone, William unbent enough to laugh at his cousin's stupidity. "No, Hugh, that's doing it rather too brown! You know you never visit unless you want something from me." Before the fop had a chance to respond to this slight to his dignity, the door opened and a young woman rushed in, her attention fixed on some papers in her hand. "William, I've finished the seating arrangement and the menu for your party and I need you to--oh! Hugh!" Already a few steps into the room, she seemed to be completely surprised to see her cousin enjoying a tête-à-tête with her brother. "Why, Hugh, they did not say you were visiting us! How stupid of me, I must have interrupted an important conversation. Shall I go?"

Will had been pleasantly surprised but not taken aback to find his younger sister waltzing into his library without precedent. A genuine smile came and went, enough for Emily to know that she really hadn't interrupted anything important. "No, Emily. We are done here." Dismissing Hugh with a wave of his hand, Lord Courtenay sputtered at Emily before turning an angry glare on William. Turning on his heel and strutting out with as little dignity as he had left, William was hard put not to laugh. Emily turned to watch the doors close behind Hugh. Placing the papers on the desk in front of Will, she smiled excited and leaned down, speaking in hushed tones. "He was asking you for more money, wasn't he?" With a raised brow he cast her a reprimanding look. "You should not be talking about your own cousin in that manner, and you will refrain from speaking in such a way--it makes you sound quite like a village gossip. However..." Pausing for a moment, he leaned forward and a smile flashed in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, he was asking me for money." Leaning back, he eyed her suspiciously as he picked up the papers. Her excitement had nothing to do with catching Hugh looking foolish, so he could only guess that she was about to bore him by actually making him look at her plans for the party.

"Will you look over them for me?" She gestured to the papers on his desk, which he rifled through. "Silly little puss, you know very well I ain't going to tell you how to host a dinner party." Although Will knew that he had to at least pretend to look at them, everyone knew it was really Emily's dinner party--it was just his money financing it. "I know you dislike Hugh, so I thought that now would be an appropriate time to bring you the plans to approve...was I wrong?" she cast a look of such innocent worry that he laughed, a grin transforming his face in a moment. "Oh, you imp! You know me too well, Emily--thank you for driving him away for me, or I should have had to become very disagreeable. Let us see, then..." There was nothing that William cared less about than social gatherings, and especially ones that were happening under his own roof. Though they were the most boring way imaginable of spending a perfectly good summer's night, he could never say no to anything his sister asked him. Having already been out for a season, at the tender age of 19 she had already been hostess dozens of times, officiating all manner of gatherings in his town house. Their mother, Lady Devon, spent most of her time either at their country seat in Devon, or in Bath taking the waters for a change of scenery. That left no one but the young and energetic Lady Emily to preside over William's table, and she did it with great gusto. Addiction to society was something that William had never bothered to even attempt to cure in his sister, and so she was allowed free reign. The many friends and suitors that came with her amiable person, pretty figure, and notable consequence, were forever coming to save her from the boredom that she hated so much. Though he was sure she always conducted herself with propriety, she never sat down at dances and never turned down an invitation. William might say she was a bit silly, but it was usually said with indulgence.

On this subject, his thoughts wandered as he pretended to pore over the papers in his hand, but he merely cast a cursory glance to see what they were. When he came to the seating chart, he passed it by to look at the next page, as it was of paramount importance: the menu. His steely gaze was a clue that he was actually paying particular attention to the words written in beautiful copperplate by Emily's hand. Satisfied that all of his favorites and none of the dishes he hated were to be served at the dinner party next week, he was about to hand the papers over. Looking up at Emily's expectant face and sudden look of relief as she held out her hand, his suspicious nature took over and he paused a moment before going back through the papers. There had to be something...the seating arrangement! That look must mean she was worried he would find out her plan, which was probably to seat him with either some great bore or some single lady. Lord Devon was what was known in the "Marriage Mart" as quite the catch. Young, handsome, wealthy, and titled, his fashionable person far outweighed the lack of manners he often displayed. Although William could be charm itself if he exerted his powers, more often than not he was content to sit bored and idle, passing judgment on anyone set before him. Honest not by virtue but for his own personal amusement, he could make biting remarks if he felt someone was stepping out of their place, or if their stupidity was just too much to handle. Even peers did not escape his ill will, but he adopted a careful civility toward all the powerful figures. He could be pleasant enough to keep everyone from ostracizing him, and he would have been a bit offended to learn that the fashionable ton had made it a sort of game to see who could talk to him and get a compliment or last five minutes without an insult to their person. Being seated next to a person that he detested at a dinner party was sure to cause trouble--trouble that he wouldn't even try to stop. Satisfied that he was sitting next to tolerable people, one whose company he may even enjoy, he skipped over the guest list and everything else and handed it back to her. "On your way."

With a squeal of excitement, she grabbed the papers out of his hands and practically ran out of the room. He sighed as he watched her go--Oh, I hate parties.

-----

Lord Devon woke to the muffled sounds of footsteps outside his bedroom door. Langsley, his personal valet, opened the door and pulled back the curtains to let the light into the room, rather shocking William's sleep sensitive eyes. Although he felt well rested, he also felt an inclination to lie abed for awhile. "Langley," he grumbled, throwing an arm across his eyes. "I shall break my fast in bed this morning. Where is the paper?" Without looking, he held out his hand and felt the valet place the weighty stack of ironed papers into his waiting palm. Curling his arm back toward himself, he slowly allowed his arm to drop from his eyes, blinking in the afternoon sunlight. William made a point of never waking up before noon unless there was something of great importance. It was well known that he slept late, and arriving anywhere earlier than 2 o'clock was considered a great condesension. "Of course, my Lord." The valet bowed himself out, and William picked his head up to watch the retreating figure before tossing the paper back on the bed, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. Today was going to be a rough day--he only would have a few hours to himself, and he could tell the house was already bustling with activity in preparation for the dratted dinner party tonight. Even if he hid in his study for the day, he'd still just know they were all out there, getting everything ready for just the type of social event he hated. Flirting with pretty girls at Almack's was always entertaining, but dinner parties were a great bore. He could enjoy his food much better in familial solitude, without having to make small talk with all the guests, usually people that he didn't care much to see. Luckily, a few of his friends would be attending to keep him company, though only one of them was seated next to him. It would certainly keep him from dying of boredom at his own dinner party, which Emily was kind enough to point out would be considered rather poor behavior and not at all good ton. Allowing his thoughts to wander about, he wallowed in self pity for a while until Langsley entered the room. Sitting up to watch him place the platter of food on the table in the corner, William swung himself out of bed and stepped into his slippers, waiting for his man to gather his dressing gown and help him into it. Tying the fabric belt about his waist, he shuffled over to the bowl filled with cold water, splashing his face.

Feeling a bit less groggy, he dismissed Langsley and made a greedy beeline to the food. Setting himself down, he tapped his fingers on the silver cover before removing it to reveal a sumptuous breakfast. Starting the morning off with a cup of hot chocolate and tea instead of coffee, he quickly devoured the meal consisting of toast, eggs, kippers, ham, and a soft roll with butter, finished off with a mug of ale. Stomach full of food and the morning's paper to occupy his thoughts, he felt much better about the whole dinner party thing. It was something to worry about when the time came, and was no longer occupying his thoughts--instead he was wondering how he ought to spend the later hours before the party, and decided that instead of taking a stroll about the park, he'd take out his bays. When Langsley returned, as eerily punctual in his arrival as if he could read Will's mind, he ordered his barouche and matching bays. "The yellow bodied, my Lord?" The all-knowing Langsley asked, face expressionless save for an arched brow. "Naturally, my good fellow." Bowing, the valet removed the dishes from his repast and exited the room, leaving the tea behind. When he returned again, he began to draw out the clothing for William's approval. One of the reasons why Will kept Langsley around was because of his impeccable taste--it ran exactly to his own, and he seemed to have an intuition for what Will felt like wearing that day. Pulling on the ensemble of light pantaloons and shining black Hessians, a cream-colored waistcoat and bottle green coat, the crowning glory was the black spotted neckcloth tied in the traditional Mail Coach that pronounced its wearer a member of the renowned Four Horse Club. Although he accepted Langsley's assistance in dressing himself, he never left the neckcloth to the valet--it was always the mark of a true gentleman to achieve the monumental task of a magnificently done tie without the help of his man.

Surveying his reflection, Will pronounced himself ready and accepted his gloves and hat and put them both on as he hurried out the door. Checking his pocketwatch as he excited to the street, he noted that quite a few hours had passed since he had woken up. The day was already a bit late, though the fashionable elite of London were just stirring from their houses. Early hours were for the poor and the country-bred, and William was neither. Taking the reins from his groom, he declined his tiger's offer to join him. "Thank you, Archer," he cast little but a glance to the gruff but presentable groom. "I think I shall tool about Hyde Park today, nothing exciting." Archer was a scotsman with rough cant, but he was loyal and useful and he cleaned up well. Out of all of his servants, Will had the best relationship with Archer--there was something bordering on friendship between them, as they had been through a lot together. When he was younger and on a jaunt in Scotland, Archer had helped him out of a sticky situation, and Will had immediately offered him a job. Although he was a demanding master, he had an eye for people--he could generally tell when someone would fit in well with his staff. Although the steward usually appointed servants, it always required William's approval. The type of master who never demanded of his servants what he didn't believe they could readily accomplish, coupled with good pay and a rather more harmonious hierarchy than many of the great houses enjoyed, they remained dead loyal to their Lord despite his rather here-and-thereian ways. The butler, Baines, a stiff old man with a perpetual grim look about him watched his master mount the seat of the barouche and set out for the Park. He made little haste on his way to inform Lady Emily that her brother had departed, as he never rushed about. "My Lady, my Lord has left to ride in Hyde Park." He bowed, addressing her as she sat in the library. "Oh! Then we may begin the decoration. Please tell Espenson I wish to see her immediately, Baines. Thank you."

---------

William's return to the house was of mixed reception. The servants greeted him with hurried respect, all looking a bit harried as they had obviously been working hard the entire afternoon that he was absent. Casting a look about as he handed off his gloves, hat, and riding cape, a sardonic smile in response reminded him of why he had escaped so readily. Having passed a lovely afternoon in the Park, meeting with a number of acquaintances (not to mention a few lovely ladies that he would likely be standing up with at Almack's if he so chose), he'd had some boringly polite conversation and some mild flirtation before heading over to St. James street, stopping in at White's to sit for a few glasses with his fellow gentlemen, winning a pleasant amount of money at cards before losing it all again. So agreeable an afternoon put a damper on his evident discomfiture at coming home to an extravagantly decorated foyer. He shuddered to imagine what the kitchen must be like (not that he had ever stepped foot in that room). Like a warzone, I'd imagine. Not that he knew what one of those was like, either--an occupation was simply not something a member of the nobility had any use for--perhaps a youngest son might join some worthy line like the clergy, or the navy, but never the heir--what use would he have for it, anyway? Work? Hah! Not if his life depended on it. William was indolent and always sought his own comfort, rarely stirring himself to do anything that went against his desires except where his sister was concerned--tonight was proof enough of that. I spoil her too much. Mounting the stairs followed by Langley, he prepared to wash, shave and dress for tonight's revelry.

Almost an hour later, William stood in front of his looking-glass, his valet at his shoulder with an armful of starched, pure white neckties, ready to hand his master a fresh one should he fail at the complicated knot he was currently working on. Averaging two failed attempts a day (an impressive record, but one that he had worked very hard to achieve), he changed his cravat at least three times a day, always fastidious in his personal presentation. Having formed more than a passing acquaintance with that paragon of fashion, Beau Brummel, William had learned so much more than he had growing up observing members of the Ton. Quality rather than the extravagance of clothing was what defined Brummel's sense of style, and the quiet elegance displayed by a well tailored but unobtrusive suit was a startling contrast to the eccentric flashy pieces worn by some who aspired to Brummel's following. Although Beau Brummel's attention to detail and delicate taste had been passed onto his friend, the fastidious perfectionism that kept Brummel for hours before his mirror seemed a bit extravagant, even to William, who was always careful in his personal presentation. His clothing was fitted so well that he needed the aid of his valet to shrug on the dark blue long-tailed coat over his white waistcoat. Fashionably skin tight knee breeches in black satin over white stockings set off a lithe figure that showed he was no Corinthian. A Nonpareil with the reins, he was a notable whip rather than an athlete, given more to leisure than sports, his build tall and lean rather than muscular. Langley helped him on with his black polished shoes, and handed him his fob and seal and signet ring.

Dressed for the impending dinner party that he had been dreading all week, he retired to his study and forbade everyone but Langsley entry, giving the order to say he was not at home to guests. No one would be arriving any time soon, and he didn't want to have to mingle with any of the guests when they did arrive. He was always fashionably late (except to Almack's and important events, of course) and could be counted on arriving at least ten minutes after the arranged time. Tonight he was not going to fail that expectation, despite the fact that the event was to be in the next room over. Will's plan was to allow Emily to greet her guests (as she was the hostess of the event) and seat them before he joined them. That way, they would all be assembled, and he would only have to sit for dinner and endure conversation during those hours. After the party his time would be taken up by dancing at Almack's, and hopefully the night would not be a total bust. Sitting down to write some letters before reading a book, he prepared to await the arrival of dinner time.

---

"My Lord Devon." The footman announced his arrival as the other two held the doors to the dining room open for him, and he stepped through with great dignity and struck an elegant pose as he surveyed the room, filled with guests and candlelight and crystal. Pausing to take it all in and allow everyone to get a good look at his resplendent figure, he was nearly physically thrown off balance as his roving gaze fell upon a certain Mr. Myles Wexley, heir to a family of shipping magnates. His gaze hardened for a moment before his society mask went up, a small and insincere smile fixed upon his face, belied by the boredom that shone in his eyes. Will wondered who on earth had allowed that base-born, newly moneyed country bumpkin to step foot into his house. The person that had invited him over the threshold of his front door would be paying dearly afterward, because it was well known in this house (and abroad) that William Courtenay positively desteted Mr. Wexley. A wealthy merchant was not the type of friend that a member of the peerage wanted to have--they simply weren't good ton, and William was definitely the Pink of the Ton, something he wasn't going to give up for someone as lowly as Myles. Seething underneath the veneer of indifference, it was all he could do to sit down in his seat, greet his guests, and motion to the servants to serve dinner. To his left was the lovely Lydia Mifforte, a diamond of the first water. One of his few female friends, she exhibited not only great beauty and taste but an intelligence of the type he could appreciate. Their opinions were often in step with one another, and when they disagreed it was easily smoothed over. Their favorite pasttime was discussing the latest on-dits of society, and she was a veritable font of knowledge. Flashing an almost genuine smile smile in her direction, he hoped his countenance wasn't too strained from the tainting presence of Mr. Wexley.

"I see you are in fine nettle tonight, Lydia. I suppose all young ladies love a party." Falling into gentle teasing quieted his jangled nerves, and he addressed this last comment in part to the neighbor on his other side, a young man he had known for some time on friendly terms. "As there will be not a tolerable face at Almack's tonight, my dear Miss Mifforte, I humbly request that you stand up with me for a dance, or I shall be mired in the sidelines."




"SPEECH"
THOUGHT
"HUGH"
"EMILY"

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

olga serova and sam claflin

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

sophia emily anderson

soph(ie) / frost ● superhero / job ● 26 ● female ● #6495ED ● sheldor the CONQUEROR

public calls her jackie frost, play on Jack Frost, where she takes her name from

maxwell jonathan baird

max● the boyfriend / the editor ● 28 ● male ● #8B4C39 ● sheldor the CONQUEROR

[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...


The Doctor was good at reading situations and people. Yeah, he could be so confident that he teetered on the edge of hubris, but he liked to think he was being modestly truthful when he said he had so much experience that it was difficult not to read the small details. The Artist's hesitance, therefore, did not go unnoticed, but he didn't hold it against her. It was certainly a very odd situation they found themselves in--they were the only survivors, and he clung to her with a thinly veiled desperateness that must give tension to all of their interactions. Perhaps with time the fear that he was actually insane and had made all this up in his head, that it was all just a lie to trap him, or that she would hate him for knowing that he was the killer of their race and the destroyer of their planet, perhaps it would all just go away. For now, however, despite the fact that they didn't necessarily even think of one another as friends, he would treat her with all the open cheerfulness of a long standing relationship.

The Artist pointed out a shop that they were approaching that advertised Ystuk, and although he was a little dubious about the idea of filling up on sweets, a warm drink sounded like just the thing to warm them up. The ambient city noise was amplified by the cavernous location and all the ice, but he still could hear her with clarity when she spoke up. "Oh yes, it sounds like the perfect thing. After you, then!" he scurried behind her into the shop and searched in his pockets. "Let's see, money money money...I don't understand how planet dwellers do it, worrying about money all the time. Ah, here we are." he held out some coins to drop into her hand, and nodded to the counter. "Mind ordering one for me as well? I'll find us a table." With a wag of his eyebrows, he turned around and stalked over to a seat, settling himself down as he took a private moment to collect his thoughts. He might be more acquainted with the textbook facts about this planet than first hand knowledge, but something was off. As he pursed his lips his brows drew together and he sat there, staring out the large frosty windows looking out onto the street, thinking.

Something he had seen earlier struck him as odd: a small trickle of water. Now, it could be nothing, just someone spilling something or accidentally melting some ice, but still--the incident niggled at the back of his mind. Time to review what he knew and try some good ol' fashion deduction.


Planet: Bevroren. Category: B2. Dominant features: Ice, snow, and water. Climate: Freezing. Brr.
Indigenous lifeform of higher intelligence: furred humanoid, short in stature.
Urban structure: underground cities connected by tunnels, accessed from hidden entryways at the surface.

He sighed, rubbing a finger on his chin as the rest of the room faded away, his entire focus turned inward and to his thoughts. The technology involved in the heating/cooling system is incredibly complex...keep indoor environments at what they consider comfortable, and always at a constant temperature. Regulated by the city, under the supervision of a Control staff. Because their city clusters are underground, the environment overall must be kept in a careful balance, because the slightest change in temperature could have catastrophic results. Even a small change over time...the stability of everything is paramount. While they were walking outside, he had taken a temperature reading with his sonic screwdriver, just out of insatiable curiosity. Now, he pulled it out from his pocket and examined the results, and frowned, looking up again. The results weren't very helpful--this close to all the cars and houses, the temperature was fairly warm. The cooling system kept the heat of the city enclosed in a sort of barrier, and it recirculated the already heated air back into the homes to keep it from rising up to the cavern ceilings and melting them.

There was no other way--they would have to travel to the very outskirts, possibly find a way to either get up above the city or even take a look at their system control center. It would be extremely problematic to lie his way in, considering that no one but the native citizens were allowed into these highly guarded plants. Breaking in was the only option, unless he could find some solid proof and somehow meet with an official and convince them to let him take a look at it. He started slightly as the Artist came over to the table, and his brow cleared. If forced to be honest about it, the Doctor knew that he had a tendency to search out problems and mysteries, and sometimes they turned out to be nothing. For now, he decided, I will keep my worries to myself. Plenty of time to investigate later, might as well let her have some fun exploring first. It had, he mused, been quite some time since she'd kicked up a lark and besides, not everyone liked a mystery as much as he did. Holding out an arm to accept the steaming drink, he nodded to her and arched a brow. "So, what do you think?" He threw out a hand in a gesture to encompass the general city and planet as a whole.



bevroren
ice planet with ice and open water
really sophisticated means of converting water to energy
shorter humanoids furred
live underground
it's starting to heat up in there because someone is tampering with the cooling/air system

"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]

Taking a drink of sweet, delicious non-recycled water, Kaylee smiled to herself, stretching her legs out so that the sunlight fell onto the bare skin of her legs. Her skin tingled in the warmth and she relished the luxury of being planetside. Not that she would give up her life on Serenity so easily, because she definitely wouldn't--besides, that's what made trips to planets so amazing was the little differences and things that you really missed while out in space. “Tsai boo shr! Kaylee!”

The familiar voice made her whip around in her chair, dropping the umbrella. Leaping up, she stared at Annaliese as though she wasn't sure if her eyes were lying or not. It only took a split second before a broad grin slipped across her face and she fairly launched herself at the slender figure. "ANNAAAA~" she flung her arms around her oldest friend, a person she had not seen since she had joined with Serenity. Close to crying with surprised happiness, she didn't even try to contain herself. “So this is where you’ve been all this time!” Kaylee stepped back and threw her arms out wide to gesture to Serenity behind her. "Yep! My house, my home!" she laughed and caught up Anna's hand to pull her over to where she could see into the cargo bay. "I'm the mechanic, take care of her." She reached out a hand to pat the doorway lovingly, staring about the newly washed walls. Serenity made her feel so proud, all sparkling and clean as she was right now. "Cap'n says he's gonna get me some paint. Be better than new." Grinning at Anna, she turned and leaned against the entrance. "Anna...I never 'spected you ta be here. Why're you on Persephone?" tilting her head, she tried to stem the hope welling inside her.

If you wandered this side of Persephone, you were bound to see nothing more than ships, all lined up and waiting to take paying passengers for some extra scratch. It wasn't that she couldn't guess Anna's goal in searching through the ships, but there was always the possibility that she was just bored. "If you're lookin' to go somewheres, you gotta come with us! Swear you'll love 'em all, crew of Serenity. We're like...one big family, y'know? An' it'll be so great to have you 'round! I missed you. Sorry I never sent you any messages, Anna. When I tell ya all the stories! Won't even b'lieve your ears." Hesitating a moment, she thought of a possible problem--she wanted to say Anna could just tag along, but she knew that things were always in dire straits with the Serenity crew. Their honorable natures kept them from a thriving underground trade, as they were known to pass up anything that hinted of something unsavory and immoral. Stealing, that was fine--killing or stealing from innocents and those that needed help, that wasn't something anyone on the ship was likely to agree to. There was no way around it, Anna would have to pay for fare in one way or another. "Cap'n'll have no problems if you wanna travel with us, but he'll be fierce disappointed if I ask for free fare for ya. Do a lot for me if I asked, Mal, but we gotta keep 'er goin', y'know? I don't suppose...?" she screwed up her face into an apologetically curious expression, more sorry to ask it of her friend than genuinely concerned that she couldn't pay. After all, Mal would probably give her a good discount as Kaylee's friend, especially if she agreed to help out on the ship in some way or another.

"Kaylee, if you're takin' the time to chat I hope you got a list of passengers long as my arm." Turning to face him, she cast him a cheeky grin. "More'n usual, Cap'n! This here's an ol' friend a mine, Anna. Anna, this's the Captain of Serenity, Mal. An' this's Zoë, she's first mate." Zoë waved in a rather disinterested manner before continuing onto the ship, obviously secretly busy with something important. Kayle frowned for a moment, staring suspiciously at Mal. "So...didja manage to come by some paint?" He laughed and patted her head. "If Jayne don't bring it back you can take it up with him. Nice to meet ya, Anna. You comin' aboard? We're setting off soon's we get everythin' loaded up."

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Captain Mal was walking along the corridors in the direction of his bunk, his mind fair buzzing with thought when a voice broke the silence. "Heya, cap'n." he paused and glanced up sharply, annoyed by the fact that he had been startled by her greeting. She stood in the adjoining passageway, staring at him with a brilliant smile. Answering with a suspicious glance, he turned to face her and a responding smile stretched his lips--it was impossible not to smile around Kaylee when she was in such an obviously good mood. All smiles, and yet...it seemed like she was about to ask him for something that he might not be able to give her. "Kaylee. Everythin' all right?" she nodded, but didn't respond immediately. Watching her glance about the corridor, he started to get impatient. Crossing his arms imposingly over his chest in what he liked to think of as his "domineering captain stance", he opened his mouth to tell her to spit it out already when she cut him off. "I was thinkin'..." and all he could think was a great big UH-OH!, which was only succeeded by a Ai ya...tien a! as she turned on the puppy dog eyes and the innocent charm that came so easily to her. Now doubly irritated because he was sure now that if he nixed whatever she was about to ask him, it would leave him feeling like the lowest scum on the earth. "Well I reckon that's a good thing. Assume you got a concrete thought t'follow that." he quipped hesitantly. For curiosity sake he wanted to know what she had to ask, and for the sake of his pride and all he wanted to get the disappointment it over with quickly. "Well, cap'n, I was wonderin' if maybe I could ask some a'the crew ta help me clean up Serenity." she took a deep breath and spilled her request out rapidly, finishing with a bright smile. He frowned--it wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. To be honest, he had expected her to give him a christmas list of all the parts she needed and that he couldn't afford. Mal was hesitant to give into her request, though--he couldn't force the crew to help her clean if they didn't want to. It wasn't exactly as if there wasn't a moment for them to spare, but it was work that many would think a bit unnecessary, and so be reluctant.

"Y'know, she don't get washed often...an' she's been lookin' pretty grimy lately. If we're gonna stop off somewheres soon, I figure maybe we could all pitch in an' get her all scrubbed up nice, and maybe we could get her started earlier. Maybe buy some paint er summat to fix up her paint too?" She jumped right into all the reasons why he should allow her her request, without letting him get a word in edge-wise. He was staring to the wall on his right--now that he thought on it, it did look a bit grimy. Maybe that was part of the reason that it had become a bit...grayer on Serenity. And a mite stuffier, too, despite the obvious recycled air. Reaching out a hesitant finger, he ran it along the suspiciously greasy metal wall. holding his finger up to inspect the suspicious film, he rubbed his fingers together, then with a look of thorough disgust, wiped them on his shirt. This plan was looking better and better already--as for that can of paint, he could probably find it cheap enough and it might keep her from asking him for expensive parts. Feeling quite happy that he could satisfy her request with a positive response, he puffed up himself with a deep breath and nodded indulgently to her. "Y'know what, Kaylee, sounds like a plan t'me. Ask 'em at dinner." Feeling magnanimus, he continued on with "An' you can get 'er some paint when we stop next." with a genuine smile he turned back into the passageway he had been walking in and continued on his trajectory for his quarters. The more he thought about it, the better an idea it was, and he was glad Kaylee had approached him with it.

He'd been wondering what to do about Jayne--the man deserved at least a little more punishment here and there. He could do penance by helping Kaylee, as Mal was almost certain that he would be among the first to voice a dissident opinion and a refusal to help with the manual labor. With all of these thoughts roiling about his mind, he retired to his quarters to think more on his problems in solitude, and only succeeded in falling asleep for half an hour.


------- dinner bell. -------


He was sitting at the table enjoying listening to Wash and Zoe's banter, and even Jayne seemed to be a bit mellowed out, despite the fact that Simon was sitting there with them, rather silent. Mal had thought that at first, what had passed between his mercenary and his doctor might have broken the huge amount of tension between the two men, but he couldn't help but feel that the almost peaceful lull after the events at Ariel had passed--and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was wrong. Simon hadn't seemed to do anything aside from the usual to piss Jayne off, and even then--Simon had had the upper hand, with Jayne trying to silently make up for the mistake he'd made by being extra nice to the others, but hadn't taken advantage of it--if anything else, he almost seemed to let up on the mercenary, which Mal could only figure meant he was either afraid of Jayne now that he knew how easily the man would turn on him and his sister, or he felt that Jayne was contrite enough to not need any more provocation (perhaps for the same reason?) Either way, it was with a wary glance that he watched the mercenary. His thoughts were interrupted by the welcome appearance of Kaylee with the serving bowls. The delicious scent of a homemade meal under the right care washed over him, and he drew a deep breath and tried to stop his mouth from watering. "Well, dig in!" He certainly didn't need any more of an invitation, reaching immediately for the rice sitting before him. Breakfast and lunch were always small and often unsatisfactorily boring, and dinner was often a family affair, with the most resources and time spent into making it and one of the few times that the entire crew usually came together. Not that you didn't get to see everyone every day--Serenity wasn't that huge, and it's not like they could step outside and go on a trip or anything. Everyone did have their duties, however, and had to see to them no matter how trivial, every day.

After everyone had gotten all their food and a few fork-fulls of dinner into their bellies, he directed their attention toward Kaylee, whose request was forefront in his mind at the moment. "Good dinner, thanks Kaylee. Listen up, everyone. Kaylee's got a proposition for all a'us." He nodded in her direction and gestured with a sweep of his hand that it was all her. If she wanted this to happen, she was going to have to step up and ask for it on her own--he wasn't going to tell his crew to help her if they didn't want to, and he wasn't going to do all the talking for her. Kaylee wasn't a shy girl, though--as he knew from the moment he met her. It gave him the creeps sometimes to think on it, because he didn't like thinking of his mei-mei like that! She was all innocence and childlike curiosity in his mind. None of those dirty kinds of things ever touched her, no sir! And not under his watch. Which was part of the warring feelings he had toward Simon. If the man did anything to Kaylee, he'd find himself in the cold with a strange lack of air for a few seconds. Like he'd expected, she stepped right up to the plate and addressed the assembled crew with her idea, full of modest hope. He glanced around at his noble crew to see who would volunteer--when no one spoke up immediately, he gave a pointed look in Jayne's direction and volunteered the man--as penance. "Well, Jayne'll help you." Attempting (futilely, it appeared) to convey the message to Jayne that he was not to refuse and that this was a direct order or else. "He's volunteerin' t'help you carry everythin' you'll need. Right?" There was a slight sputter from the hulking Jayne, though it was rather indecipherable around the mouthful of food. Mal could easily guess what he was saying--that he didn't want to help. Well, that was too damn bad--at least Kaylee had seemed not to hear anything but that Jayne had volunteered, and with the girl all smiles he stifled a laugh to realize that even Jayne was unable to disappoint her. “Fine. But I ain’t happy ‘bout it” he heard the mumble from beside him. The Shepherd responded, volunteering his help.


------- on persephone -------


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. 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.” With the assurance of one that knew his orders would be followed swiftly, he set off on the unfortunately well known path to Badger's "headquarters", mate and merc in tow.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

CAPTAIN MALCOLM REYNOLDS

"Well, well, well, if it ain't me favorite low lives. Wot ah you doin' here?" As always, Mal wished he could wipe that condescending smile off Badger's mug with the careful and delicate application of his fist. He hated the fact that Badger was one of the pillars of the underworld community, and it was difficult to come by work if you didn't maintain at least an outwardly polite manner toward him. Badger always knew when someone needed a job done, and it was most often through his agency that Mal and his crew found work. "Oh, y'know, Badger, just stoppin' by t'see an old friend." the sardonic smile was at odds with Zoë's stony face and Jayne's demeanor, and to anyone but Badger, who had set himself into the place so firmly that it would be close to impossible to kick him out by force, they would've presented a fearsome sight indeed. The little rodent was so smug in the knowledge that THEY needed HIM more than the reverse, so he was wont to take advantage of that whenever possible. "Mal, wish I could help, but work...it ain't always there." he shrugged and turned his back to them, and the only sign of annoyance in Mal's person was the slight flaring of nostrils and clenching of his jaw. Badger liked to play these tricks for some reason, but he knew how to handle the grimy little man.

"Don't lie to me Badger, you know full well there's plenty as needs doin'. You also know we ain't in the killin' and plunderin' line, so tell me what you got on that's fit for me an' my crew." Badger sighed and turned around. "Maybes I do got somefin' for ya, now I thinks on it." INSERT PLAN HURR?

Mal was as satisfied as he could be after the encounter, and he turned to Jayne as they excited Badger's tents. "Jayne, you 'member the list of things we need? Here's some cash, I don't think I gotta tell you to mind your prices. I'm sure you're hell to haggle with. Get a little somethin' for Kaylee if ya see somethin' you think she'd fancy. Maybe a pastry if you can't find somethin' else. Oh, and don't forget about the paint. Whatever we can afford. Try'n be back in the hour so we can get on with it." When he had the mercenary's grunted acquiescence he and Zoë set off for Serenity.


------- back at serenity -------

Mal quirked an eyebrow, quite bemused to see Kaylee in raptures over a stranger. In his experience, they didn't often meet with anyone that Kaylee knew except through the crew of Serenity, so he composed himself and threw on smile before approaching, Zoë already passing by and off to go tell Wash the plan. "Kaylee, if you're takin' the time to chat I hope you got a list of passengers long as my arm." She turned around with a broad grin on her face, and when prompted by her introduction he stepped forward to extend his hand to Anna. "So...didja manage to come by some paint?" He laughed and patted her head. "If Jayne don't bring it back you can take it up with him. Nice to meet ya, Anna. You comin' aboard? We're setting off soon's we get everythin' loaded up." He turned back to Kaylee and gave her a searching look, to which there seemed to be a favorable answer. As long as she could play even a little, he'd be willing to take any friend of Kaylee's as far as needed going. "Well, mei-mei, see you get everyone on and stowed away in good time, 'cos I reckon Jayne'll be back soon 'nough and we can leave." as she nodded, he entered the cargo bay and went to converse with Wash and Zoë.

"SPEECH"