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A few nights have passed since Jacob was kicked out of the Swan for getting too handsy with the girls -- which meant that for every night since then, he has collected Veer and gone to the Cockerel to bemoan his trouble, get drunk, and brood. Thankfully, the Cockerel is, more or less, a safe place; they know him here, he knows how to act when he's had a few drinks in him, and he has Veer to haul him bodily out of the place if he gets too rowdy -- though it's questionable whether Veer could do so, given that Jacob is almost half a foot taller and about fifty pounds heavier than he is.

A few rings glitter on Jacob's hand as he looks sideways at his friend over the rim of his half-raised glass of wine. And then he scowls. It's a familiar expression, and he has a whole library of them, each with different subtexts: this one is the 'you need to help me enact revenge' scowl. "What do you think we should do?"

They have been discussing doing something about the Swan, but to little avail.

Jacob snorts. "I bet she does," he says, looking at his friend sideways. The joke is a bit off-color, nothing he'd ever say on the street or in polite company, but this is the Cockerel, and anyone who's here to see a Sharpe say such a thing is still sitting in a burlesque house themselves.

"That skinny little idiot from the Colony is a bouncer there." His mouth pulls off to one side. This is still a sore spot for Jacob. He had a black eye for awhile after being thrown out of the Swan, and played it as an unfortunate fall from his horse. But Ursa wasn't grown then -- and in Jacob's mind, the now-adult Guardian could theoretically be capable of doing some damage. "I don't know why someplace like the Swan would hire such a --"

He shakes his head, tips back the rest of his rum, and then calls for a round of something strong. Whatever they have that strong.

If he can't get through to Veer he may as well join him. He mutters the rest. "Maybe we could break some windows."

Jacob is unable to control his expression at that -- and though he's mid-swallow, a look crosses his face that is equal parts surprise, indignation and consternation. He almost chokes.

Instead, he puts the glass down carefully and then takes a moment to regroup, ignoring half of what Veer's said. "Then we do it while he's not there."

Jacob shrugs, an idle motion of one broad shoulder. And then sighs -- watching the girls on stage change out, as another routine is about to begin. "What blonde? There are a few of them there." The grin he gives suggests he knows them very well. "It's usually quiet around the small hours of the morning."

These rapidfire questions are too much for Jacob to parse in such a state, and he bad-temperedly puts his glass down a little too carefully. Not even the alcohol is helping things along at this point. Running a hand through hair kept artfully tousled and loose -- Jacob having been in a mood to fish for the ladies tonight, perhaps -- he then pinches the bridge of his nose. "I mean early. Early in the morning. Three or four. You ought to bring Janah."

"Eh, Ursa'll keep her in line." Ursa keeps everyone in line. The doe is bigger than most bucks he's seen; she's like a draft horse is to a pony. He shrugs, ponders getting up to leave and go home, to catch a quick catnap before their activities. "Shall we do it tonight? Tomorrow? Will you lose your nerve?"

The answer is simple, punctuated by a curl of Jacob's mouth that means nothing good will happen for the next few hours or so: "Get drunk and find a woman, I'd say."

And of course he will, because he's Jacob; all it takes is a flash of his green eyes and maybe a careful shrug of his broad shoulders -- and for him to drop his last name in conversation, allude to his barony -- and Jacob will set himself up with a petite blonde thing. Veer is left largely to his own devices, but Jacob will at least make sure he isn't alone for the night, that he has someone on his arm by the time he retreats upstairs.

Which means that any plans for having gone to the Swan any point in the near future are probably forgotten, at least for a little while.

--

It means that it's about a week later before Jacob shows up at Veer's gate, on horseback, with Ursa pacing sedately behind him. The rumors of the awakened Guardians have not yet reached the Sharpe estate, or else Jacob just hasn't heard them (out of some combination of willful distracted ignorance and bad luck) -- so he does not, perhaps, give Ursa the distinction she deserves. He has noticed people looking cautiously at her, but Ursa is so large that this is commonplace.

When Veer emerges Jacob will twitch back the hood of his cloak and grin at him. It is snowing, and flakes settle and then melt in Jacob's long hair. "Are you ready?"

Jacob digs a spur into the horse's side as it dances away from Veer, presumably picking up on the other man's annoyance. It irritates him, too, and the bright flash of green eyes dims to mild annoyance as well. "Are you with me or not?" And then, "--where is Janah?"

Ursa, behind him, snorts -- and then stomps one of her hooves as someone approaches her, one hand outstretched. In it is held a cluster of slightly wilted flowers. Ursa is not the type to accept strangers walking up to her on a good day. This -- this sudden flux of attention -- makes her not nervous, like Janah, but angry. Which of course makes her Chosen equally tetchy. "Nevermind. If you don't want to come, you don't have to -- but there's something else going on."