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 Posted: Sat Jul 16, 2011 2:09 pm
WHO: Grand Magus Estratus & Sir Sloane (Snoof), Wickwright Finch & Hopkin (Kota)
WHERE: The heart of Anica, an imposing Fellowship fortress
WHEN: Mid-afternoon, nearing meal time
WEATHER: Characteristically frigid with patches of warmth from sunlight
Rumors of a certain 'blood lady' had quieted, though not entirely disappeared, tapestries of the Fellowship were accompanied by the Estratus coat of arms, staff and resident Mages alike were more at ease. Still, no one's guard had left them completely, least of all the new Grand Magus. Changes were in her as well, but only those who knew her well detected them even the slightest. Her public appearance was much the same as ever but she seemed to be taking more pains to look the part of her current status; not enough so that it intentionally caused intimidation to those who didn't warrant it but it was well believed by the woman, as she told her knight, that in such a position of power she would need to forfeit some of her rights and conform to a 'proper' appearance, lest she not be taken seriously.
This day, however, was one of those uneventful and lazy days where most working under the Anican roof need only do the bare minimum before enjoying the rest of the daylight hours. While most Shyregoedians didn't spend clear days such as this running around and playing games in the snow as wantonly as those in the Southern regions, there was still fun to be had and indeed it needed to occur; if nothing else, morale was key to survival in such a harsh climate as Shyregoed and the plague ridden Panymium.
"Is Blaithe not with you?" the Grand Magus murmured as she looked over a few letters upon the head seat of a lengthy table.
Her knight, armor clad from neck to toe, took a seat at the side with a single chair between them. It appeared she noticed, raising a brow in scrutiny, but did not question his intentions. "She's with the other Excitos. I felt it best she have a reprieve," Sloane smiled fondly to his Grimm, though even in his swirled eyes it was easy to detect a hint of longing.
Lady Estratus' fingers calmly flicked back the parchment of her collected letters, amber eyes drawing across them quickly. Once done, she tapped the bottoms against the table and stacked them neatly to the side. "I've only a bit of paper work to finish today," she began listlessly, "I suppose I could fritter away the afternoon--" The doors at the far end of the hall opened, interrupting what Sloane could only imagine as a sarcastic joke from the tone her voice had taken, as a guard stepped in and bowed.
"Apologies, Grand Magus, but there is a member of the Council seeking audience."
What had been a slight grin upon his Lady's face turned curious and she rested her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table, "Mm, perhaps this day won't be wasted after all. Their name?"
"Wickwright Finch, milady," the guard shifted uneasily, perhaps still getting used to Lady Estratus' mildly fluctuating mannerisms. It was to be expected as she was still getting used to herself as well.
The name was unfamiliar to both Sword and Shield but their interactions with the Council had waned in the last year or so despite their continued alliance. Lady Estratus nodded to the guard, motioning airily toward the table with a free hand. "His audience is granted."
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Posted: Thu Jul 21, 2011 9:11 pm
Wickwright Finch's hands shook as he adjusted the book bag on his shoulder. Some mental debate had occurred on whether or not to bring the accursed thing, but to leave it behind was to leave Hopkin, and he'd be damned if he'd abandon his book even for the Grand Magus. With or without the bag, he was still hardly presentable for such company, even his best clothes were old and worn, and he looked like nothing short of exactly what he was no matter how he tried to hide it: a tired old mendicant. Amongst Jawbone Men, it hardly mattered, indeed, was something to take pride in. Jawbone Men did not acknowledge class, but rather, knowledge as worthy of respect. Finch was perfectly able to give Sir Tyrone O'Neill cheek, but in Anica, in this fortress, he was not representing the Jawbone Men, nor addressing O'Neill. He was on Council business, representing men who believed in a different kind of truth, and preparing himself to talk to a powerful figure who did not think in Jawbone terms. The situation didn't sit well with him, and not for the last time, the thought that if it wasn't for his damned Plague, he'd be living in scholarly retirement by now flashed into his mind. He was too old to represent the Scientists to the leader of a truth-forsaken faction. Too old and too poor and too irreverent.
Because he was a Finch, he braced himself for total disaster. Because he was a Finch, he went in anyway.
He had prepared a speech on the way, and as he stepped into the hall, he cleared his throat, preparing to give it with all the dignity he could muster. He didn't look like much, but if there was one thing Wickwright was confident in, it was his ability to out-talk most of Panymium. He could match the scientists in eloquence, if not esoteric knowledge. Bone's sake, Fleck was a Scientist and he could barely wish a man a good day without tripping over his own tongue. Yes, though Wickwright was underqualified in every other way to stand in this hall at the moment, he was more than qualified to spew fancy nonsense at people until they surrendered their information. It was practicallly his job.
However, whatever he had prepared, Sir Sloane and Lady Estratus would never hear it. He made the mistake of looking up to address them and immediately burst into laughter, which he quickly disguised as a bad cough. Wickwright Finch had seen many things, but he had never seen a woman wearing pants before. Gasping for air, he waved a hand at them, weakly adjusting his bag (which was now protesting in a barely audible squeaky voice) so it couldn't see, and straightened himself up. "Please forgive me, Grand Magus," he said weakly. "The journey has left me weak." There was nothing for it now. He had just had a laughing fit at the sight of Shyregoad's own Shield. If she felt offended, he was sure she could do all sorts of unpleasant things to him, but at least he felt more comfortable than before. There was nothing more damn ridiculous than the sight of a woman in trousers, and his nervousness was forgotten. "The Council sends their regards," he began again, "And request to know how their allies in the North are faring in such troubled times. They have heard many disturbing rumours, as you have, no doubt, heard of them as well. They have sent me here to send their condolences on the passing of the former Grand Magus, and to offer my assistance in any small way I may be able to." The last part was added in, but no matter what else Wickwright was, he was still too nosy for his own good. He had heard rumours on the way through Shyregoad, and was more than a little interested in what he heard.
From his bag, there was a small addition, one that Wickwright was not quick enough to stifle. "Is the blood lady true? How could such a thing be possible?"
If they were not walking on thin ice before, they were now in the middle of the metaphorical thawing lake.
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 8:52 pm
Accompanying the creak of the old wooden doors as they opened to reveal a tired old man, two figures rose from their seats at the lengthy dining table situated in the center of the room. The room itself was fairly cold but well lit with candles and chandeliers, the warmth not quite reaching out due to the sheer size of the hall which was only proven by the unnecessarily long length of the table now more often used for meetings than resplendent meals. The Grand Magus stepped to the side, standing next to the table as she rested one hand on it while the other hung calmly by her side.
The red headed knight beside her kept both arms at his sides and stood straight in greeting, taking a second to subtly blow a bit of hair away from his eyes. He offered the old man a professional smile while taking great care to keep his monstrous teeth hidden. One of the last things he wanted to do was give the poor man a heart attack before he could even sit down after his no doubt rough journey through the treacherous mountains. If he was unprepared for such things, however, his eyes may have done that on their own.
Once the man known as Wickright Finch properly approached the table, the most peculiar thing happened; he took one look at the Grand Magus and began to laugh.
Lady Sage Estratus was a stoic woman, proven by her stance, etiquette and expression upon his entrance. One eyebrow raised as he laughed, offering only a harsh scrutinizing gaze. Her index finger tapped against the polished surface of the table, the noise of her nail calling the action to everyone's attention between Mr. Finch's breaths. The elder "Student"'s mind must have been deteriorating, and any hope of coherence during this meeting soon melted away. Awkwardly, the Plague knight attempted to silence the outburst with a clearing of his throat but the man who was just doubled over seconds before gave a quick apology.
"Then it would be best if you had a seat," she answered curtly, gesturing toward the many empty seats all across the table that were available to him. With such a large number of choices, Sloane assumed this would be a small test of sorts. How close or far Mr. Finch decided to sit from them at the table would tell his Lady something but he would not know what until the meeting was over and the Councilman was dismissed.
After the offer, the Infitialis pulled his chair back and returned to it, watching his Lady do the same. Briefly their eyes caught and she stared for a moment, lowered her gaze, flicked them back up to meet his own, and then her attentions returned to the old man. What this indication meant was momentarily lost on the Plague and his brows knit in worried confusion as the gears in his mind slowly turned. He attempted to envision all sorts of strange things that could be under the table and require indication but didn't dare break the professional air and look (it would be rather difficult for a man of his height to do so without calling attention to himself). Finally, with a quick glance to the man, he understood. This gentleman was quite old and probably set in his ways. While Sloane had grown up with it, it was likely that women wearing trousers even occasionally was not nearly as common across the rest of Panymium as it was with his Lady or the harsh region of Shyregoed. Still, it was rather uncouth of the man to laugh at someone for it, especially a woman in a position of power for an entire faction -- the entire Fellowship across the continent.
Wickright's brief discourse was listened to carefully by Grand Magus Estrauts but Sloane found himself fading in and out, catching only a few stay words here and there. A faint scent caught his attention, a particularly familiar scent that made little sense for it to be present. Anica being as large as it was, it was not unusual for little ones to be running about its halls but he was certain there were none in this particular room prior to Mr. Finch's entry, which left one or two options: either Wickright Finch was infected with the plague... or he was carrying a Plague.
The Grand Magus entwined her fingers, hands rested on the table edge before her, as her amber eyes were locked on Wickright's own. "Pray tell, Mr. Finch, what has the Council heard? Word of mouth is unreliable and I fear things may have gotten twisted in the journey from Shyregoed to Imisus." Her words rolled out calmly but Sloane could detect the subtle dissension in them. It wasn't often she used it but now that he understood what the man had been laughing at he couldn't blame her and it was, hopefully, discreet enough to not be taken as a direct insult.
"Is the blood lady true? How could such a thing be possible?"
While she did not bat an eye at the sudden voice, likely having detected the owner's presence long before the scent crept its way over to Sloane, the Infitialis double-taked and raised his brow in interest toward Wickright. He couldn't place precisely from where but there was no mistaking a voice that small, that delicate -- it was an Excitos, of that he was absolutely certain, and he could not contain his smile then. Rows of sharp teeth revealed themselves as he stared directly at the old man, claws gauntlets resting eagerly at the edges of the table and nearly digging the tips into the wood. It had been so long since he had met a new Excito, at least one that was haunting a human properly. Quite a few of the keepers dotting Anica's many walls were not Grimm's proper, but merely taking care of a stunted Excito or two.
Better yet, when the young Plague's words sunk in, Sloane's smile only grew more unintentionally fearsome as fond memories of the "Blood Lady" pooled into his thoughts. It had been a long while since he had last interacted with her. Too long, as far as he was concerned.
"She is. I can tell you after matters are discussed," despite his expression his words were spoken calmly, in Wickright's general direction. He could tell the voice was male but for now it was impossible for Sloane to detect how 'old' the Plague was in terms of mentality. His Lady did not glance to him, preferring not to distract matters further.
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2011 10:08 am
She had noticed. Wickwright mentally winced- women wearing pants had Notions, he supposed, and the Grand Magus in particular was especially sharp, or at least sharper than the company that poor mendicants usually kept. And unlike O'Neill, she could afford to reprimand him, which would be a fair embarrassing bit of trouble for Finch to get into. Being scolded or worse by a little lass in pants, even if she was the Grand Magus, was not the most dignified prospect to consider. The Finch family name had already been dragged through the mud by one woman in trousers, and he wasn't about to make that two, so he took a seat. For a moment, his gaze traveled across the table, as he deded precisely where that would be. He supposed that courtesy dictate he sit at the other end, but it would be bloody well difficult to have a conversation that way, so he sat closest to the Grand Magus. Practicality came first, and proximity would make this conversation marginally less awkward.
Marginally.
Her tone was not best pleased with her next statement, but Wickwright set his book bag down on the table, and from within, tiny hands passed him the document he was looking for. He unrolled the sheets of parchment he had removed, and spread them out for the Grand Magus to see. "I have taken the liberty of making a record of the rumours I've collected from Imisus to Shyregoad. They grow more fantastic the farther one goes from the hub, Anica, but their bare bones are all quite similar." For the sake of appearance and accuracy, Hopkin had taken the notes- They were written precisely as they had been heard, and in his tiny, meticulous Gothic script. For the fact that Hopkin could not imagine anything very well though, Wickwright had illustrated the pages, illuminating the events as they had been related to him in each different narrative. "It's a full report, and I can make a copy if you wish to have a record of the rumours concerning the event, but I fear that I must ask to keep a copy as well. I have need of it for my own purposes." Even though his book was destroyed, Wickwright was still concerned with keeping records of stories. He was a Finch Man, it was his bread and butter, and though Hopkin could memorize things perfectly, he wasn't sure whether Plagues ever died of natural causes. Parchment, he could be sure, would last as long as it was preserved carefully.
As he spoke, his eyes could not help but glance every so often to the Plague at the Grand Magus's side, in the same way, he supposed, that a rabbit might be forced to regard a sleeping fox. He was a blasted Grimm, but even a Grimm would be frightened of the Lady's plague, he supposed. Its alignment confused him, for the Jawbone Men had done some small research on Plagues, and knew of the three alignments an excito might grow to be. Sir Sloane, as far as he could tell, was an Infitialis, but one of his eyes looked like a Locos. It was something to ask about if the topic came up, he supposed. He couldn't imagine what a mixed Plague would look like as an excito.
At the very least, he had the power to introduce the subject of Plagues sitting in his satchel. He reached into it for a moment- after all, Hopkin had already spoken, and he didn't think his coughing trick would convince the Grand Magus for a moment. At last, he reached a decision, and pulled Hopkin from his hiding place, the excito letting out a short cry of surprise as he clung to Wickwright's fingers and glanced around his new location curiously, his gaze finally settling immovably on Sloane.
"My plague, Hopkin, transcribed the narrative," explained Wickwright to Sage. "Hopkin, the Grand Magus and her Plague."
Hopkin looked back at Wickwright desperately, as if to ask 'why', but turned back nevertheless, carefully setting himself down on the table and bobbing his head to each hesitantly. Turning to Sloane, he quavered, "Th-thank you, I would quite like to be informed of the true nature of the tales we have been hearing."
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Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2011 3:30 pm
With a glance to Wickwright, Lady Estratus silently asked if it was alright to lay hand upon the parchment before gently taking a pale finger and pulling the sheet nearer. Her amber eyes scanned the sheet as he continued to explain, appreciating the concise and uniform writing thereupon while her brow was lifted in surprise at the imaginative and colorful drawings spread all about. So used to her own boring scrawl that any sort of illumination or accessory to written word was almost bewildering, but not unpleasantly so.
"A copy would be appreciated, Mr. Finch," she uttered calmly, dispersing the previously curt tone while keeping a professional air. From what she skimmed, it seemed that he had not exaggerated that the rumors grew increasingly unbelievable while the simple truth of the matter that haunted them so was just that -- simple. Accusations had apparently flown left and right, concerning her own allegiances toward the Fellowship; one such rumor alluded to her having conspired against Grand Magus Waldgrave in order to usurp the thrown, which was one that could easily be believed compared to some of the others. One such ridiculous rumor consisted of her own Plague's blood having birthed some strange woman that killed the Grand Magus. Stranger still were the rumors that implicated no one to truly be at fault, a strange one asserting that Lady Waldgrave had simply begun aging in reverse and was now a baby rather than having been killed at all.
As she read, a quiet scoff came from the Grand Magus which caused the Plague beside her to twitch slightly, a brow quirking questioningly. The more her eyes scanned and she learned of the most fantastic, idiotic and ludicrous things those unaware were coming up with, the more her brows knit. Before the older man or her knight could detect it, she brought a hand over her mouth so she looked all the more terse but beneath it grew a very awkward sort of smirk, one that might occur at someone's funeral if one did not know how to deal with their emotions, which was precisely how the current Grand Magus before them was.
Taking a moment to calm herself and return to a more expressionless face, Sage clasped her hands upon the table and cleared her throat. Preparing to speak to Mr. Finch about the matters at hand, she paused along with her Plague as a rather large excito was pulled from the satchel at the old man's side and gave a shocked squawk as he was placed in front of their eyes. He, Hopkin as it turned out, seemed horribly nervous and ill at ease in the sudden presence of strangers, but he did his best to nod in acknowledgement. That was all Sage could truly ask for, it was not as though Plagues, especially excitos, were at the beck and call of influential leaders, especially not ones they had no affiliation with.
The Infitialis grinned to Hopkin, showing only the tiniest bit of white in his smile. Nervous as he was, Sloane did not want to set neither Plague nor Grimm off at his intimidating teeth. "She is lovely," he assured Hopkin quietly, but spoke no more on the matter for now, turning back to his own Grimm. She was the leader in this place, and in this discussion, and so he would not veer the topic off course despite how very much he wanted to sit and speak at length with this new Plague.
Had they been formally introduced yet, however? The Grand Magus leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips momentarily before bowing her head slightly, "I am Grand Magus Sage Estratus," her eyes drifted to the knight beside her, "And this is Sir Sloane."
Introductions were not her forte, but it seemed they suited her Plague well as he quickly rested a clawed hand over his heart and bowed as deeply as he could while sitting at a table, "Estratus' Sword, at your service." He carried that title with pride.
With that taken care of, Lady Estratus wasted no time on getting back to business where she felt most comfortable. "I suppose my first obligation to the Concil is to dispel all of these outrageous accusations," her black leather gloves groaned quietly as she tightened her hands grip upon themselves, tossing her head to the side to get hair out of her eyes. "I can assure you that the 'Blood Lady' neither killed the previous Grand Magus, nor was she born of my own Plague's blood, to start."
Sloane's eyes quickly turned to his Grimm, a slight frown curling his lips as his brows raised in abject confusion.
"It was not widely known, kept a secret even by Lady Waldgrave herself, but she too was a Grimm and bore a Plague, the Blood Lady Sanguine." Lady Estratus paused here, observing the reactions of the two newcomers. For all intents and purposes, she was ignoring her own Plague's silent questions, but after that bit of information was cleared up he relaxed a little. It seemed that he would not have to be the one to explain dear Lady Sanguine's origins, and perhaps that was for the best, but if Hopkin remained curious he would fill in the blanks later. "She is a Plague of blood... virgin's blood, to be precise," taking a moment to brace herself for the words that were about to flow, Sage paused and tensed, "Under our noses, the previous Grand Magus had dealings in dark magic. Assisting her were those black cloaked fiends scurrying about our country like roaches, the Obscuvans. Openly, she opposed them, but it seemed her vain desperation for power and youth was greater than her own morals or the lives of those under her. Especially more important than the lives of the dozens of young girls she killed so she could bathe in their blood..."
Beside her, Sloane watched his Lady closely. As her words turned more dark, so did her expression before she could no longer look upon those present before her and she closed her eyes, using most of her energy to keep her teeth from gritting and the righteous anger she felt at the one who cared for and watched over her for so long as if Sage had been her own daughter betraying everything she stood for, everyone she cared for, and everything she meant to Shyregoed and the Fellowship. A ripple ran through the Infitialis, his expression undeniably sympathetic, and his hand twitched upon the table as he resisted the urge to reach out and hold one of hers.
It would not be professional, not in front of two strangers who were here on business, and even if they were alone he knew that she would flinch away and tell him not to touch her. Never touch her.
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Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2011 8:58 pm
As introductions were made and Hopkin acquired information to attach to the strange new faces in front of him, he became more visibly at ease with his sudden change in circumstances, going so far as to hesitantly smile at Sloane, whose hair was a vivid shade of red that he found most pleasing to his eye. "I-I have heard stories about you, Estratus' Sword, and I am most eager to make your acquaintance. I've never met a character from stories in the Wide World before! You appear quite different from how you were portrayed to me, but I do not mind so much, as your hair is quite vibrant. Do all Anhelo have such wonderful hair? Might I eventually have it as well?" At length, he was finally distracted from Sloane's hair enough to notice his eyes, and his cautious grin turned into a concerned grimace. "Why are your eyes asymmetrical?" he wondered aloud, "That is no alignment I have ever learned of."
"Hopkin," admonished Wickwright, concerned that they would lose whatever favour they had managed to attain with the Grand Magus. He had brought the Plague out with the hopes that the subject would rise organically, but Hopkin parroted his own curiosities too readily and too abruptly. That was the risk with showing Hopkin publicly- besides being a Plague, he had all of his author's curiosity and none of his tact. Unless the Grand Magus or Sir Sloane introduced the matter themselves, there was still business to attend to, and Wickwright had already proven the pair of them to be unprofessional. Hopkin was merely driving the matter home with his aimless interrogations. "My Plague made the document from dictation, and so too can he make an accurate copy. If we might be allowed private space for him to work, he will have a copy for you within the week, I guarantee it," pronounced the Grimm, steering the conversation back the the matter at hand.
Luckily, he did not have to search at length for a means to quiet Hopkin, for as the Grand Magus began to speak, Hopkin fell perfectly silent. Presently, his mouth began to move wordlessly, and it was clear that he was mentally repeating everything she said, attempting to memorize the narrative to later record. This was a process that Wickwright and he had become accustomed to- stories were to be memorized no matter the source, and even Hopkin could tell this was a story of importance without further prompting. However, as the meaning of the words he was memorzing sank through in his mind, Hopkin's expression changed, and though his mouth continued to move, his bandaged face was turned to her with evident fear and concern.
Wickwright was first to voice his worries, face drawn and pale, formality put aside. "Obscuvians have broken into the Fellowship?" he queried, brows furrowed in concern. How far did their power base extend? For a moment, Wickwright felt sympathy for O'Neill, that perhaps he was right in fearing the Obscuvians would lash out at the Society for Hopkin, but shook the thought from his head. This was a faction feud. His own concerns were of a different nature. Still, Obscuvian activities were grim news for the Jawbone Man, and the fact that they had reached someone as powerful as the old Grand Magus was alarming. Worse still, it cast doubts in his mind about the present one, as well as their safety in Anica. Had it been wise to come here? Could it have been avoided?
Questions that came too late, he supposed. They were here, and she had seen Hopkin, and whether she was tainted by the Obscuvian faith or not, he had no choice but to give this pantalooned politician the benefit of the doubt. "What has happened to the Blood Lady?" he asked. "And the Grand Magus and her Obscuvian cohorts? You need only tell me the salient details, but I am afraid I must insist on a full narrative."
On the whole, he found he preferred the rumours. The rumours hadn't been half so alarming.
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Posted: Tue May 29, 2012 1:17 pm
The doll sized Excito before them was a veritable wellspring of conversation, all spurred on by his own quick lips. Sloane was holding back a chuckle, poorly, as Hopkin barely left room for he or his Grimm to get a word in edgewise on the matter. If there had, he surely would have taken the time to explain but the light, anxious tapping from the Grand Magus' nail on the table told him otherwise just as Wickwright's chiding to his own Plague.
There were more serious matters to attend to currently. Perhaps once these issues had been properly ironed out there would be time for such discussions and oh how Sloane hoped there would be. If any topic was a favorite of his, it was the issue of plagueology spoken with others of his kind. There was still so much none of them knew even about themselves that it was all so terribly fascinating.
"Of course, you will be allowed room in which to transcribe. However, I must place the condition that a guard be present to keep an eye on both you and your Plague. With the political situation as it is now, I fear we cannot dole out our trust so easily... You understand," Lady Estratus nodded to Wickwright and Hopkin both, gently gripping the edge of the table as she leaned back in her large chair. This was something that would not only benefit the Council but the Fellowship and perhaps the crown as well, to get a factual recount of everything that had happened in the past few months. "If you have need of any materials or further information while doing so, do not hesitate to ask."
Here, now, was the start of the true discussion. Sage let out a sigh, entwining her fingers carefully and pursing her lips into a tight frown -- her eyes, however, remained stoic and her gaze glued to the Jawbone man's. "For longer than I could possibly recount, yes."
Sloane's brow furrowed as he brought his elbows up to rest upon the table, hands holding one another while he placed his face against the cold armor. His gaze frequently shifted between his Lady's face, Wickwright's, and poor Hopkin's who now looked positively horrified at the current state of affairs. To think their blood drenched talons had sunk so far into the Fellowship's flesh that the wound had festered so, and now their minions writhed in it like maggots, so proud of their accomplishment that dared to cripple the Mage's seat of power.
"The Blood Lady remains here in Anica under my supervision," she explained curtly, moving quickly to the next topic, "And Grand Magus Waldgrave was felled by brave Queen Valhalla's blade in castle Colwe. Unfortunately, though investigations are underway, the Obscuvans have not as yet been rooted out..." Her voice trailed off slightly as her eyes hardened. The very thought of there being Obscuvans skittering about these very walls without her knowledge caused her stomach to threaten turning.
Again, Sloane's fingers twitched with the need to comfort his Grimm but still, for her sake and that of professionalism, he forced himself to refrain.
With a sigh, the new Grand Magus righted herself and resumed eye contact with the older Councilman. "I apologize for any lack of details outright, it is still somewhat difficult to piece together myself, but if you need more information I will attempt to be as forthright as possible given the circumstances." Some details, she knew, would only complicate matters to the public eye...
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