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Once more Lisette's mouth twitches subtly. That will be the reasoning she will eventually use -- if she is lucky enough to coax Petra into staying with her. That such words should be reserved for those moments which absolutely require them --

"Then you are wise beyond your years," Lisette tells her for now, just as seriously, as she leads the way around a corner. The area in which they walk has been steadily improving around them, the homes growing nicer and nicer and larger and larger. Now the street they are on is nice enough that it has its own private guards, elaborate lamps that are surely lit at night, and high walls to shield the owners of these homes from the noise and bustle of the street. It is at one of these nice houses that she stops, delayed only briefly when the gates are opened for their small party.

Just inside the gate there is a wide open walk, presumably for when guests arrive in carriages and on horseback, though the inside walls are covered in flowering plants. Lisette does not lead her into the great big door, aware that such an event might shock or frighten Petra, but directs their steps around the house, down a thin little path towards the garden that rests behind the home. It is a lush, impressive space, kept in the fashion that mimics wild land while at the same time being perfectly maintained, replete with tiny half-hidden nooks everywhere, shaded by trees, trained vines, and "ruins" that just so happen to form little tables and comfortable seats.

It is to one of these little nooks that Lisette intends to lead them, without even a stop inside. The doorman will inform the rest of her house of her guests, and she has them well-trained enough to know that they will anticipate her wishes and bring tea out here. This is not the first waif that she has brought home, and doubtful will not be the last.

But having brought her here, Lisette intends to keep her -- though she knows this game, having played it before, and bringing her to the garden instead of the house has several important purposes. For one, as grand as the gardens are, the house is going to be a worse shock. Two, the path back to the front is clearly visible, and the gate was not (deliberately) closed behind them, which is meant to give Petra and Spokelse both the sense that there is still a route of escape available should they feel they need it. Three, Lisette can seat them with their backs to the house itself, looking only on the carefully cultured wildness of the place, the flowers and the trees and the vines.

She herself sinks onto a shadowed bench with a sigh, for she is not as accustomed to walking as Petra; it is only of late that she has been forced to walk longer distances, as Moira grows large enough that traveling in her little carriage becomes troublesome.

"Do tell me, Lady Spokelse, what your opinion is on the Swan; are there enough Guardians there that you feel you have any sort of regular conversation?" Her words are languid, her tone not at all impatient, as if she has become drowsy now that they are seated.

Lisette listens with all due courtesy, as Moira comes and begs at her lap until the grand Lady -- in her elegant dress! -- sighs and stands again, only to sit on a rock just barely off the ground so that Moira can curl up beside her and lay her head contentedly in Lisette's lap. Lisette's hand runs idly over the top of her head, stroking her ears.

"I believe I must agree with her," says Lisette, again with a smile. "That is an enchanting idea .. of course you are more than equal to such a man, but to have others recognize it is something else altogether."

A maid arrives then, with the first of what Lisette blithely referred to as 'tea.' Because she doesn't mean just tea, of course, although that popular beverage is involved. This silver tray has a two teapots with two small cups and two large, broad ones, more like shallow dishes. There are also small plates full of little sandwiches, and other plates with slices of bright fruit and crisp, fresh vegetables. The maid seems to know what to do; the shallower cups are laid out first on saucers, one in front of each Guardian, and a very mild 'tea' is poured into the dishes, smelling faintly of flowers. Only then are Lisette and Petra offered the smaller cups, a much more fragrant brew that smells of roses and honey. The plates are set out on a section of bench in between the two ladies, that they might take what they please, and then the maid will discreetly return inside.

"Do help yourself," Lisette encourages, perfectly aware of the devastation that even one hungry child can wreck on several plates of food. Food is an excellent lure, and if Petra is full, perhaps she will not be as nervous.

"It is my greatest pleasure to share it with you," she says in return. "It is rare that I get to spend time with another Chosen, and I confess I have never met a Guardian so eloquent." She smiles apologetically to Spokelse as she selects a few pieces of chopped carrots and offers them to Moira, who accepts the treat neatly from the palm of her hand.

"Most of the company I am required to keep is not so pleasant or so honest, and I have begun to think of late that I ought to spend more time in the company of those who .." She pauses, suddenly, for the first time seemingly without words. Finally, with another apologetic smile, she completes the sentence. " .. understand."

What it's like to be Chosen. What the future might hold. And why, always why ..

Lisette glances sidelong at Spokelse, surprised to find herself feeling a moment's kinship with the four-footed lady across from her: the both of them have been given children to care for. Not that this causes them to love their companions any less, but at times it makes things .. difficult.

Abruptly she puts down her teacup, leaving one hand resting on Moira's head, and looks directly at the white Guardian. "Lady Spokelse. I hope you will forgive me, as it is not generally in my nature to be blunt, but there are times when plain speech is called for. I should like to become Miss Petra's patron, and provide for her whatever is needful for her to become .. whatever sort of lady she wishes to become."

Even, her solemn stare suggests, a knife-throwing lady in breeches that can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a stiff Naval Captain.

To give her credit, Lisette .. listens. She does not shout or fuss or rage, though Moira lifts her head and regards Petra with a similarly shocked expression. The other guardian may not understand the speech, but she certainly recognizes the tone, and the only reason she isn't panicking is because neither Lisette nor Petra are. One nervous twitch from either of them and she'd be halfway across the garden before anybody could so much as say 'boo.'

But Lisette sits calmly throughout, and then when Petra is through she bows her head, suddenly grateful that Moira has not yet attained the level of comprehension that Spokelse has plainly reached. It would not do to have her Guardian somehow betray what she is currently thinking, not when it is already taking absolutely everything in her power to remain calm, collected, and exude an air of sincere regret.

"You are correct," she says, as humbly as she can manage. "And I owe you my apologies. You are a woman grown in spirit and experience if not in body, and I ought to have seen that; I hope you will forgive me for allowing my enthusiasm to replace the courtesies you were rightly owed. If you can forgive me, I hope you will still consider the offer. I do not mean to turn you into a lady, not unless that is what you very much would like to be; I would encourage you to continue your knife lessons -- we would be adding archery, I think riding would not go amiss for either of you, and there are several fencing masters who owe me favors."

She pauses to take a sip from her tea, a thoughtful look in her eyes now, her expression as placid as it was in the beginning. "Miss Petra, I am merely a hothouse flower with little to recommend me but my breeding, while the two of you are plainly something extraordinary. I do not have greatness, but I do have money, and I would very much like to spend some of that money on you."

(Because, Lisette thinks privately to herself, allowing no part of this to show in her expression -- she could almost scream with glee at how frightfully adorable that little temper tantrum had been. It's somehow all the more shocking when contrasted against Spokelse's appearance, as if Petra is the Guardian's angry little shadow. It. Is. Adorable. And the idea of unleashing Petra on an unsuspecting garden party gives her thrills of excitement. Oh, oh yes.)

Lisette does not seem to expect one: Petra is not the first girl she has taken in off the streets, and small gods willing, she won't be the last. She lets the heavy words exchanged sit between them for a time, as she sips at her tea -- content to do no more than enjoy the thin sunlight and the smell of the greenery all around them.

When she speaks again, she does not look at Petra, but stares lazily off over the garden, her hand gently stroking Moira's head. For her part, the other Guardian is content to sit and watch the proceedings, slowly relaxing once more now that Petra is through sounding so angry.

"Then you will learn," says Lisette finally, simply. "Will you be keeping your quarters elsewhere, or can I convince you to stay here? It would be ever so much easier for arranging your lessons if you were here." And she would like to see that the both of them are better fed, that Spokelse gets a chance at the grooming that makes Moira's hide gleam, that Petra gets baths and good, comfortable clothing.

"As you like," Lisette allows, since she had half suspected that this would be the case. "I hope you will at least allow me to provide you with a small stipend to ensure that you are able to find something adequate to Miss Spokelse's needs?" In other words, she does not intend to find Petra something -- and will leave the selection and the location of that place entirely up to the girl and her guardian. But by providing money and emphasizing that Spokelse ought to be well taken care of, she hopes that they will not end up somewhere too terrible.