De Pooh Family/Pandora/The Gambit

Aila Storme

“Stand back, stand back!” The City guards shouted at the crowd of peasants being blocked off from entering one of the main squares of Perdan City. For the last year there have been work crews of all types not just working on the Museum itself but the square around it. Fresh paving stones arranged in patterns reminiscent of waves surrounding the rather large ship braced upright in the center. The Wayfarers gambit had been restored to full glory, it’s mast towering high above any surrounding buildings and sails still neatly tied as if ready for the order to drop them at any moment. The entrance to the massive ship begins at the end of a sturdy permanently placed gangway, crafted with burnished wood to match her. In usual Aila fashion, the entire area was bursting with flowers hanging from the windows of every window facing the square, creating a cheery space around them all with the last of the palace gardens summer blooms.

The Duchess of Perdan is satisfied with the wide berth maintained by the city guard waits on the deck, leaning on a gleaming brass rail while peering down at the other nobles, minor and otherwise as they begin to gather in the square from the busy streets. High above her a Gyrfalcon does the same, her piercing eyes of a hunter flicking over the crowd and back to Aila protectively.

At the entry ways to the square commoners squeeze together trying to get a glimpse of what the nobles are planning and doing- none of them have heard of this gathering but some murmur rumors of the Queen possibly arriving.

When all have gathered at the selected time, the Young Duchess leaves her place on the rail above them and descends the gangway carefully. Her outfit for the afternoon is as carefully selected as most would expect, a fine green makes up the bodice and skirts, layered to flaunt just how many panels of rich fabric her dressmakers have spared. It is understated enough for an afternoon event but braggingly expensive, with details of lace and some beading. Her jewelry is silver in reference to her heraldry, but the crown of blonde braids arranged on her head is enough gold for anyone to wear at once.

Once the crowd of nobles has settled into their places Aila speaks over them in that well practiced Perdanese accent that carries well over large spaces; she has had a lot of practice. “Thank you all for coming to the Opening of the Wayfarers Gambit Museum”

As she begins her speech the low mumbling of the crowd dies to silence, even the commoners pressing against the barriers can hear Aila’s voice. “Today we celebrate the Naval history of our Great City and indeed the realm. Following the disasters which characterized the end of King” A pause, half a heartbeat of hesitation paralyzed the well spoke woman. “Smiddich, Fontaine… He commissioned this great museum to be made from his pride and joy, this ship he affectionately referred to as his Gambit rather than see her dismantled”

Aila turns slightly, to refer to the ship with a graceful sweep of her hand “It is my honour to welcome you all onto her decks for the first time in a very long time. Come, learn, and see what I have been working on all these long” Lonely “Seasons. Please follow me to the main deck where you will be allowed to explore the ship and her exhibits at your leisure.”

Short and sweet, she knew that the caliber of people who had come today did not come to linger on the cobbles and be gawked at. When you climb the gangway the deck is left clear, it is gleamingly clean and polished as brightly as the days when Smiddich cared for it. Brass rails surround the decks that are also polished to shining in the afternoon sun. As the nobility begin to file in, soft music is played by bards positioned around the ship to keep a calm and serene atmosphere while people observe the artifacts and art left out for their pleasure. Some light drinks and dainty morsels of cheeses and sweets are available to sample while you chat and enjoy yourself.

Almost every room of the ship is open for the nobility, even those which will be locked for the public openings. Parlors filled with paintings of old Perdanese ships, captains or fleets on the horizon, tattered flags displayed in glass cabinets. Navigation tools of all kinds are left out to touch or use while others, rusted and delicate are kept away from hands reach.

Books make a great portion of the collection, one of the larger rooms has been fashioned into a library so laden with books and papers that the builders in charge of helping the Duchess with this project had insisted the library be put dead center to avoid the whole building tipping in strong wind. There are books left open in cases with pages open displaying short stories Aila has particularly enjoyed and wished to share.

The captains quarters are left as-is, with the personal effects of the previous King locked away out of sight. The bed is made up with Fontaine colors and the desk is fully stocked as if someone would come sit down and work at it any minute.

Without a set tour or schedule everyone is free to wander and look as they please. The Duchess herself stays on deck greeting guests, some she knows and some she doesn't with well practiced ease. Compliments on her dress are met with a kind nod, comments on her project itself are appreciated with a wide grin. She has put a lot of work into this, but she is no sailor and can’t help but wonder the whole time if this is all up to Smiddich’s standard.

Isana Everlight

Isana and the Stormfront Arrive back from the tournament in Kalmar on a bright afternoon. Perdan city is abuzz with some excitement. She looks to her captain Henrik, who shrugs and shakes his head to the unspoken question.

As the group makes its way down a main thoroughfare toward the palace, to one side where the Wayfarer's Gambit construction site has been is now a massive throng of excited people, the ship itself surrounded by crowds and resplendently bedecked in bursting bouquets of every bloom imaginable.

"Oh! They've finished it!" Isana exclaims. The ship was the site of the Gala where she had first escorted her lady love and shared a dance as a couple among the peerage. After the ship had been washed ashore she often looked upon it regretfully as she headed home to the palace, sad that it would no longer be the site of fêtes and festivities.

"It looks like a grand opening." She squints at the figures in the distance. "Is that Aila up on the gangplank? Ced, come with me home to take the armor, I'm going to get dressed to visit the new museum!"

Reno Belmont

The youngest Belmont had arrived early to the new museum. She stood quietly in the crowd, turns slightly as her eyes flitted around searching for one particular person among the sea of faces. Reno wore her goth-like standard of black. A thin collar wrapper her neck but otherwise opened to reveal a modest amount of her bust. The fabrics on her shoulders were puffed like clouds, but didn't continue as sleeves down her arms. She wore a tight bodice that was crimson red with black trimming, and underneath her dress bloomed outward in layers for black ruffles. She wore a pair of tight, red gloves that went to her elbows, and of course the tiniest top hat, with a red ribbon, was pinned her to snow-white hair.

Like a forest in the winter, her sage-green eyes continued to scan the crowd as she gently nibbled on her lower lip.

Delphine de Montigny

Delphine watched the Gambit from her carriage, the driver had brought it around three times already, being told not to stop at each passing. This time he had parked it a ways out, just close enough to barely make out the nobles attending the event. Midnight was sleeping on the bench next to her with his head on her lap. She stroked the large can out of nerves, trying to calm herself.

The Gala was a long time ago but still very fresh in her mind, at least the parts that weren't too fuzzy. She could still see prince Nemean standing on the main deck, smug as ever, whispering sweet words in her ears. She was torn, would she ever see him again? She missed him...

The party had been going on for a while, but was still far from over, she wanted to see the ship again, the Pirate Captains private quarters... the young girl. It was time to make her entrance. "Bring me to the Gambit" she ordered confidently to the driver.

She exited the carriage, with midnight by her side. This was after all where they first met, how could she not bring him along. Besides, she wasn't in the mood to engage in small-talk politics with the nobles of the realm, she wanted to forget about her duties for a night and enjoy herself. Midnight would certainly deter those that didn't really want to talk with her.

She was waring the same jade dress she had worn at the Gala, the ruby necklace and matching hanging earrings. The newer knights, those that had not had the chance to see her out of her usual armor that she wore most of the time, would probably not recognize her right away. As she made her way aboard, ignoring any of the greeters, she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Aila seemed quite in demand, as was the Duke who threw the last party on the ship had been. Nobles flocking to try and gain some pull, showering her with gifts in hopes of receiving favors in return. She would have time to see her friend later. She was planning on staying in the capital a couple days anyways in case they didn't have a chance to speak.

There were only a few that she wouldn't really mind striking up conversation with, but right now, there was one lesser noble that she needed to find. Finally she spotted the young woman, no longer a girl, standing alone amongst the crowd, looking as vulnerable as ever. There was no mistaking the little hat, it had to be her. Delphine made her way through the crowd, the big cat helping to easily open up a path. Ashe she grew closer, time seemed to slow down, each step taking longer and longer. She could feel her heart racing, but not sure why. What did she expect? What was she hoping for? Why was she so nervous? Finally within an arms length, she tapped the girl on the shoulder. There was only the two of them at that moment.

"Hi Reno, nice hat."

Reno Belmont

The White-Haired minx had been standing in the crowd for quite some time, searching desperately foe Delphine. Being as short as she was didn't help her as he would stand up on her tippy-toes to look around. She had been reaching a point of defeat, ready to give up, which made being tapped on her shoulder a bit of s spook for her.

"Hi Reno, nice hat." -Delphine, General of Perdan's Armies

She lit up like roaring bon-fire as she turned to see Delphine before her. Reno was so caught off guard that she didn't even hear what Delphine actually said to her, and in her fantasy-driven mind it may as well of been,

"Hello my love. We're together again at last." -Delphine, Goddess of Sex and Lust-filled dreams

There was hardly a moment for Reno to take in the woman before her, or even the Panther that stood at her side. Delphine with her scarlet-red jewelry and peridot--green dress practically glowed before the young woman. Not even a second could pass before Reno was rushing in, fearless as ever, to embrace Delphine, that she may affectionately nuzzle her brow and cheek along the contours of the woman she had been dreaming of for years.

Not a word escaped her lips. Her heart was beating far too quickly for her mind to catch up.

Dustiria Noire

Seeing Aila surrounded by nobles she gives a nod and slips by in her simple black dress. Holding Burr wearing his little bow tie she wanders from display to display until she reaches the study. Dustiria's eyes roam the room taking it all in until she sees the desk looking like Smidditch would walk in any moment. Instead he had sailed away without a word. Then feelings she had been ignoring came flooding. Burr sensing her distress starts to loudly purr as Dustiria reaches to hold onto the chair. Seeing it all it finally sinks in the man that had always been there for her was truly gone. Since she was a toddler her had always been in her life. When she found the courage to walk alone to Perdan and become one of the Nobles here, he greeted her with open arms, like he had when Bescanon was still Perdan. He cheered loudly when Bescanon was returned and visited with her family once more like he had done when she was little. Whenever she had need him he was there. For the first time she wondered why he had been. Why was he so close to her family and why did he act like an uncle? How could he have left without a word?

Finally under control again Dustiria smooths her black linen dress with purple accents . She picks up Burr and her composure back to the usual expressionless face she leaves the study and heads to the library. Her eyes set on the drunkard from the other night reading and she squeezes Burr. The orange and white fluff ball gives out a cry of indignation.

Oliver Laststar

Standing at the base of ship monument with the rest of the noble crowd, Oliver had decided to dress quite formally for the occasion; as to show off his style. This event seemed to be important to Lady Aila, so he took it seriously as well. Decked out all in white, he would be almost blazing like the sun if enough lights were shining on him, purposely enough to stand out from the group. His entire ensemble matches his house colors, his coat and leggings create a field of snow, embroidered with a few green designs of his house's emblem horse on the shoulders. The coat is open in the front, revealing a just as pristine—yet somewhat frilly—white vest with verdant green lacings all across its front, and around his neck is a small fashionable golden scarf. To top it all off, pointedly matching the pirate-esque theme of the venue, is Oliver's long and narrow snowy tricorn hat; one half of its brim is tastefully fanning out to the side, while the other is folded up to the crown with a long feather peaking out.

Overall, the spotless regalia would look quite handsome on him, but it's spoiled by his natural glare; of which he's hopelessly unaware.

At least Oliver did not have to wait too long as Aila soon began her speech after he arrived with his attending captain of the guard. If the duchess made any vocal foibles as she addressed them all, Oliver didn't quite catch them; nor understood them, her history with the previous king still mostly unknown to him. So he politely clapped along with all the others, applauding in part for the grand opening and for their hostess's skill with words.

And as Aila leads them all finally up the gangplank to the main deck, Oliver can't help but feel the repurposed ship is like stepping back into history; or more he realizes, like into a tomb. Which unsettles him some, but he keeps his courtier's smile on.



When he had reached the top Oliver chose to enact his own scheme as the bards played their music in the background. Hovering in Lady Aila's vicinity, close enough to be spotted, but not easily in speaking distance; he eyes the duchess from askance and allows the other nobles to distract her first. Next, he opens up one of his cuffs and pulls back the sleeve to reveal a falconeer's leather vambrace he had come prepared with. Taking a glove from his attendant's belt, Oliver tries to flag down the keen-eyed protector up on the faraway mast.

Luna suddenly snaps her attention to him, spotting the man close to her mistress, his carefully chosen bait—a raw skinned rabbit's leg—could not be resisted it seems! Thankfully, giving Oliver some relief, the gyrfalcon recognizes him and swoops right down in a flurry of feathers on a direct course- also giving him a twinge of fear. The noble creature lands hard onto Oliver's vambrace and immediately helps herself to the free meal. Oliver looks awkward with the bird of prey, but tries to put on a nonchalant and cool attitude as he balances it on his arm. While with his other hand, he slowly and carefully attempts to pet the distracted bird.

He forces himself to look away from Luna for a moment, to glance aside towards Aila with a small satisfied smirk.

Aila Storme

Countess Dustiria’s quick nod and disappearance was an expected jab at Aila, the woman had been frigidly cold and distant lately, despite many invitations she continued to avoid Aila while sending her semi-sweet letters. Perhaps this afternoon might be the time to corner her and finally speak about some of the things that needed speaking about.

While pondering Dustiria, a less familiar face greeted her, complimented her gracefully, and left with great indifference; After a short moment she realized who he was and her worry went from Dustiria to what that man must think of her after seeing her retreat from the fire.

There would be little time for her to worry about his opinion as Sir Oliver dressed as a storybook prince stole the attention of the crowd by effortlessly summoning the Duchess’ own prized Falcon. Minor nobles clapped timidly around the large animal as the young knight strokes the soft feathers on her chest. To the shock of the people who had taken notice, save Aila herself, after a few seconds of ferocious eating Luna drops the bare bone of the rabbits leg, and her beak shoots down to greet Oliver’s hand to a chorus of terrified noises made by onlookers.

Large and formidable, with sharp talons and cold eyes, this hunter's companion began affectionationely nipping the fingers of the man she knew from the gardens with her handler. This handler who watched on with the others from afar looks very pleased with the display. Aside from his obvious affinity for animals, Oliver had remembered Luna, thought of her, and even brought her a little gift.

As Oliver looks to her, his smirk breaks through her serious Duchess veneer and she has to beam back at him clapping happily, the queue for everyone nearby to do the same. Aila alone is brave enough to approach Oliver and joins him in praising her falcon who seems to thoroughly enjoy the attention. After a few years of lavish spoiling, this beast was more akin to a pet now than anything else. “Sir Oliver! I’ve never seen anyone call Luna like that… I’ve never seen anyone even pay her mind.”

As Aila joins in scratching, her falcon begins nipping onto the daintier fingers in favour of Sir Olivers. “She -loves- you. When I come to see you in Bescanon I want to take you hunting with her.”

Oliver Laststar

His gambit had actually worked. Oliver preens almost like the falcon itself, standing in his flashy outfit like he was born in it, and smirking oh so smugly to what the smattering applause. A quick glance lends him to believe not a few of the nobles stand in the crowd with envying eyes at his attention. Among them, he spots a peculiar noblewoman with hair as curiously pale as his own clothes and wearing a dress of black and red; the sharp contrast with her hair very much catching his eye. He carves an eyebrow at Reno Belmont, if she met his gaze, before looking on.

Oliver's success is even more grounded, as he notices Aila beaming back at him and he notes—forgetting—the nobles she was just talking to. Undoubtedly proving to many minor functionaries present they can't hold a candle to him, as was his plan all along. His gesture silently suggesting he can take her attention at any time.

He doesn't immediately respond to her, instead merely sharing the moment with her admiring the mighty Luna still perched on his forearm. Thankfully raptors aren't all that heavy. Until finally, he sets his smug grin on Aila again, their height difference leaving him looking down at her.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint if you were expecting a treat as well." Instead the young knight teases in his soft voice, and there's a clever gleam growing in his eyes, "Though I admit it would be entertaining to see you snap and heel to attention."

The thought of them hunting together does surprise him as he pushes on with an oily smile, "I was looking forward to seeing her again. I'll have you know I actually did quite a bit of falconing as well when I was a youth," He simply says ignoring the fact he was only seventeen, while the first and only other time he held a falcon before was on a trip he had with his father at eleven years old. His mind races to keep up with his act.

"In fact that's a spectacular idea to go hunting, maybe I could teach you a-" Suddenly there's a storm of feathers. Luna flaps her wings nearly in Oliver's face as she tries to correct her balance on his arm. Freaking the young man out, and forcing him to lose his such carefully crafted cool and poise he had put so much planning into.

The gyrfalcon's wings nearly knocks his stylish hat off, and he panics trying to hold onto it; while having to let the falcon fly off his other arm in the sudden flurry. It's only for a brief moment Oliver looks like a panicked noble out of his depth, before he then straightens up again back into his stern poise. He doesn't notice the few new feathers drifting down over his hat and landing on his shoulders. Oliver doesn't say anything.

Aila Storme

Oliver’s prideful boasting was thankfully interrupted by the falcon as she flapped her wings in an attempt to take off from a handler who was not used to her. Seeing him struggle the Duchess reaches out to help him as she did the last time they had met. With her grip on his forearm she pushes it up to help Luna get her lift and with feathers raining down the large hunter flies off to peer down at them from the rigging again.

Aila has released her grip on Oliver’s arm but not let him go far quite yet, reaching out to collect the few feathers that have handed on his lovely outfit and pulls a pin from her hair to secure them to his lapel deftly. As she makes it clear she is handy with a hairpin she looks up at him with a shrewd smile stating simply that “They match. I love your outfit. Perhaps we should trade contacts. I can always use more dressmakers, tailors and the like...”

“But that is a matter for another day! We are on a ship afterall. What do you think of it all, Sir Oliver? I imagine for a man not from Perdan yourself it seems like quite a spectacle.” As Oliver had noted the minor nobility had accepted defeat and left the Duchess alone for now, they had a moment.

Lorelai Chamberlain

A peacock attempting to hold a war falcon. The irony was not lost on her as she observed the arrogant fop trying to snare the Duchess, Aila had more than enough guile to cool his ardor with two words and a glance.

She was not fond of boats, and as she noted with a grin the ordure streak down Oliver's back she came to the swift conclusion that she was unlikely to see very much that pleased her more at this event... she needed to see the Duchess, but she was not sure this was truly her place for now.

Oliver Laststar

He had collected himself and stood with a rod-straight spine, not letting any possible embarrassment show through his stony and stern expression, even as Aila pecked the fallen feathers off his garment. His eyes end up tracking the falcon's path back up to its roost with a particularly severe frown, but then he noticed Lady Lorelai off to the side looking amused over something; now frowning at her. What is she smirking about?

His brooding is interrupted when Aila makes a swift final flash of her pin, striking a few snowy feathers to his breast. His brows lifting curiously, he touches the feathers and looks to his companion for an explanation.

“They match. I love your outfit. Perhaps we should trade contacts. I can always use more dressmakers, tailors and the like...”

“But that is a matter for another day! We are on a ship afterall. What do you think of it all, Sir Oliver? I imagine for a man not from Perdan yourself it seems like quite a spectacle.”

Ah right. The ship. Looming and his expression still rather severe, he turns about to glance at their surroundings; but even he manages to twitch his lips into a smile at the duchess's obviously high spirits. Some of his own warmth breaks through.

"Mm. Back in D'Hara sailing on ships and barges was quite the norm. Though I have to say this is a particularly fine vessel, or at least it was once." He eyes Aila, watching her face carefully for any changes. "I'm surprised to see it renovated as such... This would make for an excellent locale for dining and wine, I think. Maybe you could even host a gala on this deck?"

He glances again to the nobles nearby, and then back to Lady Aila with a small smile, barely a smirk. "I'd ask you for a personal tour of the rooms, but I should leave you to greet the rest of the guests first. I'll try to find what else there is to do—hopefully there's a bar down below."

Aila Storme

There is something to be said about a man who knows when to take his leave, even if the words that accompanied it caused a bit of a sting. Sir Oliver was relatively new to Perdan and so had no way of knowing that there had been a gala on this ship before, remembered as one of the best nights of her life. The only response she could squeak out before departing quickly was "There are refreshments available on every deck".

He had made an impression on her regardless of how the encounter ended. Unaccompanied now the Duchess travels further into the ship, among the arts displayed in the interior rooms, watching the crowd for signs of anyone she knew. Dustiria had caught her eye early on but wandered off. For a brief moment she is alone staring up at a large painting of a ship on white waters, a servant offers her a dainty cup of sweet wine off his tray which she takes to sip while she contemplates the painting.

It had come from his study, "The Pirate King's Study" the day she had lost the rulers election the staff had begun emptying out personal belongings for the next in line. Her stomach twisted at the memory of watching a lifetime of belongings taken away like mere clutter; but settled as she resolved that at least they had a home here. She had carefully chosen new homes for all the awful, gaudy, manly décor and oddities that he had been gifted in big piles at every event, and had to imagine their previous owner would at least appreciate that they would not be packed away in some dusty cellar in the palace.

Oliver Laststar

Sir Oliver was left frowning after her in confusion as the Duchess Storme made a swift escape. He doesn't know what he could have said that had turned Aila suddenly curt; perhaps she had put great stock in this ship-turned-museum more than he realized. Turning around to see the rest of the top deck, Oliver doesn't notice anything else amiss, but Lady Chamberlain still seemed to be there.

So thus another idea pops into his head. He decides to break the ice, and thus approaches the ex-marshal with a small coy grin—grabbing two glasses of wine off a servant on the way.

One glass he holds out to Lorelai in a polite peace offering, with his fingers holding it by the rim. Standing straight and proud with Luna's feathers pinned to his breast, he exudes his confidence while speaking softly, "Lady Chamberlain, I hope we can mend our bridges over what happened. I am young and with ever so much to learn... Perhaps we could still be friends? I would like to know more of one of our realm's foremost commanders."

He puts on a pleasantly warm smile, maybe looking a tad smug. "I'm sure there is much you can teach me."

Lorelai Chamberlain

He looked... he looked again... then the great white peacock descended his perch and began to move in her direction. Her eyes vyed between squinting suspicion and wide horror, before she controlled herself with a neutral face. He had two glasses... she looked down at the small cup in her hands and quickly stashed it on a ledge behind her.

He was comely, if a little effete for her tastes, and even as he smiled there was the unfortunate note of a sneer. Confidence though was attractive, even in a man whose behaviour had cost her so much.

"Lady Chamberlain, I hope we can mend our bridges over what happened. I am young and with ever so much to learn... Perhaps we could still be friends? I would like to know more of one of our realm's foremost commanders."

The words were soft, bringing him in closer than she was entirely comfortable with and she remained wrong footed by his approach. He continued: "I'm sure there is much you can teach me."

She took a breath, looking down at the glass he had so smoothly placed in her grip. She was not entirely sure whether this was some mockery or a game, but good manners none the less had to prevail.

"I am hardly one of the realms formost commanders now Sir Oliver..." she sighed, "I can forgive youthful follies and exuberance, my difficulty is that you asked the queen for permission to ignore my orders and she for whatever reason decided this was fair and right... I could have taught you much... but not now."

She decided to take things on face value. Benign indifference became frosted smile as she attempted to tame her upset. "That was quite the trick with Luna," she noted drinking deeply from the glass. She leaned in whispering: "you may like to lose the cloak..." she nodded to the bird. "She has rather extensively expressed her gratitude down your back..." His lips twitch upward when the Lady Lorelai had finally accepted his drink. As though he won the first part of some unknown battle. Still wearing a smug expression over his stern features, he nods and cants his head politely at the proper times as Lorelai speaks her turn. Her Ladyship's own frosty mannerisms doesn't dissuade Oliver in the least; her sentiment is something to be conquered and overturned, which he views as an entertaining challenge.

Oliver Laststar

He looks nearly about to say something- but the mask slips when Lorelai warns of a mess on his backside, and with frown that deepens in severity, he looks and swishes his cloak to find it partly ruined. He sighs. At least he had it there to protect the rest of his outfit. "Well. I've always thought cloaks and capes were a little droll for my style anyway." He admits in disappointment, nose crinkling with genuine distaste.

Oliver unbuttons the ruined garment and tosses it carelessly towards the nearest one of Lady Storme's ready staff. It would be burned or thrown away for all he cared, he could buy another.

The loss did little if anything to spoil his appearance. Without the cloak he still had his natural height to assert his presence to any room; of course added in combination with his fashionable coat and laced vest of alabaster dyes, which helps.

His natural resting frown sets its sights on Lorelai; as he turns back, straightening and patting himself down from the brief embarrassment. Whatever handsomeness she may have thought of him may be marred from the cutting look. "Perhaps I fed her too much at once." He growls in a soft jest, and takes a deep breath. "Now..." There's a small grimace when realizes what he wanted to say was ruined. "Back to the topic at hand... About before."

"Maybe there's a way I can make things up to you, Lady Lorelai?"

Lorelai Chamberlain

His face was like a book of woodcuts, while his mouth made all the right noises, every rogue emotion could be seen. It was quite endearing in a strange way. Already she could feel herself warming to the man despite herself, as she imagined an enraged Oliver hopping from foot to foot as he burned his cloak in a furnace... that the facts of the matter were that he would just shout for some servant to dispose of the article did little to remove the merry image in her mind.

She smiled a little warily at him. She had seen him try to make a fool of good Pandora so recently, she determined not to let her feelings of loneliness out weigh her natural skepticism.

"You are only half to blame Sir Laststar," she conceded, "my problem was far more in being undermined and abandoned so readily by the queen - despite years of loyal service... but in fairness to her I am unsure whether she truly gave any thought to her actions either." She stopped her musings wondering why she was actually saying anything.

She drained the glass - turning her attention fully back to the young man before her. She was not one for grudges and without the hat... he may have made an attractive escort.

She unclipped her own cloak as one of the servers approached to refil her glass. Her gown was a deceptively lightweight pale blue peplumed over light gold. It gathered at elbows shoulders and under the bust to emphasise what could be made of her décolletage. "I find it is rather too warm for a cloak..." she explained as she slid her arm into Sir Olivers, "perhaps I can show you some of the sights... though I have been here but once, I imagine it is once more than you Sir?"

She felt his eyes drift from chest to face with a hint of uncertain suspicion, and she offered him a warm smile as she began to walk, forcing him to fall in beside her.

"Nice hat, Sir Laststar," she stated with an innocent earnestness. "I believe my Grandmother bought one just like it last season."

Oliver Laststar

He continues to watch Lorelai with a stony interest, continuing to be alert for any details he may find, and barely remembers in time to find his glass of wine again for a sip. Compared to Lorelai, he had barely touched the beverage, having it forgotten so far with the matter of the cloak and all.

Whatever his plan is with putting himself into Lorelai's good graces, at least for now, seem to be working. Even Oliver is surprised with the woman's lack of bitterness towards him, though she easily is able to condemn their queen more so. And when she turns to inspect him fully, Oliver is barely able to contain a twitch of an eyebrow. What is she thinking?

He had been expecting a curt dismissal to be coming soon, being that he thought himself having failed to much to impress her in the end. And yet she does the opposite, her cloak abandoned to reveal a dashing dress and a dangerously low neckline; then draws to his side like they were more familiar than they really were—Who was she dressing to impress? Thoughts slipping from him, there's little resistance from him as their arms link up; and even as his eyes widen with surprise, they soon turn to suspicion.

Oliver does glance over her dress, a person's choice of style can say much of their mind, and Lorelai's is impressing him. From his tall stature, the young knight has steel himself not to stare right down her plumed blouse; especially now, as they're side by side. His parents had taught him better manners than that, and so, he swivels his gaze from staring stiffly ahead- to keeping his eyes on hers. The dangerous trap out of sight, out of mind.

"I agree." Oliver admits softly while walking linked with Lorelai, watching the deck around. "It would be better to tour around together, it is my first time..." "And you've already shown me one sight already." He keeps his tone even as his eyes dart back to her; not deigning for any flowery addendums or for any outrageous flirting other nobles may choose.

"I'm glad you like the hat." He continues, smiling knowingly, and adjusts its brim. Catching her teasing. "And that My Lady's grandmother has such a good taste in fashion. I can also tell you must have picked your gown on her recommendation." He wonders where this tour will take him, and it wasn't Lorelai's arm he was expecting to be pulled around by this evening.

Lorelai Chamberlain

She raised an eyebrow, pleased despite herself that he paried her jibe so effortlessly. She led him to the great hall, how and why a boat would have such a place puzzled her first time she was aboard and was even more perplexing now. The vast space appeared more tawdry in daylight with far fewer people ensconced as had been there at the night of the Gala.

"Its strange," she confided, "I have been here but twice. The first time... at the Gala I was announced as Vice Marshal to the Paladins... here and now I am here with.... well with you."

She ran her finger along the top of a rosewood desk... she wasn't entirely sure of its relevance, it seemed a nice enough desk... heavy and functional, and now well polished. "I was 17, I barely knew what to wear never mind how to address my betters... and today, I wasn't really sure what to wear either, but be assured it had little to do with my Grandmother!"

She found again with ease the curtained corridor that led to the inner bed chambers. Leading him through she cared little for those who may be observing her. "So, Sir Laststar," she began, as they idled past a particularly decadent bedchamber. "Have you known many women?"

Oliver Laststar

He finds the interior of the ship somewhat surreal as he's pulled along. The vessel is sizable enough for sure to satisfy any man or woman, but to have these decks dedicated like the floors of a keep gives even Oliver some awe. It's a unique venue, and Oliver had never been to a gathering on a ship before, it at least earns some style points for that.

His companion serves him a mystery to chew on, he couldn't be distracted by the decorations too much. The woman linked with his elbow seems to be acting nonchalant on purpose to try to unsettle him, or perhaps she's merely just very candid. She could just not care much of what others think of her. Oliver's thoughts roll.

The corner of his mouth curves at her humor, and he finds something else she said fascinating. "A vice-marshal at seventeen? How impressive." He was about to say some charming comment about her fellow youth when she suddenly turns them down another corridor. Bedchambers? Oliver thinks suspiciously, now peering between her and the luxurious fabrics just beyond their reach. She said she was familiar with this ship. Why here?

Then Lorelai finally reveals her question, and Oliver now becomes very conscious of the warm body at his side, the arm tucked near his ribcage. The scar along that very spot twinges.

"Have I known many women?" He repeats in a soft tone of surprise, glancing aside to Lady Lorelai and finding she seems to be serious enough. Whatever he said is bound to be mocked, so he frowns in discomfort and doesn't look at her in case she's grinning, "I suspect you mean noblewomen..." He answers honestly. "In which case, only a few."

"Why do you ask? What of you—many men?" His eyes zip back to find hers again; still wearing his customary scowl, barely aware of it.

Lorelai Chamberlain

"A few?" She smiled at him encouragingly. "So young, yet so full of experience.... I imagine you have some tricks and skills." She stepped back from him casting an appraising eye over his lithe frame. He had the decency to blush a little.

"You do know, that suckling on your wet nurse doesn't count Sir Laststar?" She chided playfully. "This was a Kings bedchamber." She indicated the large room still draped with the Fontaine colours, Ailas preservation of it gave much away about the young Duchess. The walls were adorned with the products of a life at war, trophies and honours, the things that meant far more to those who cared about a person more than those who received them.

"This is your competition Sir Laststar... all of it, a life of honor and valour, of responsibilities both given and taken. These artifacts and trinkets are the marks of respect of both friend and foe." She paused arms crossed, regarding him as she did her troops. "You see respect is a commodity earned in spades by those who join in valorous pursuit... Smiddich and I were unlikely to be friends, but I respected him, not just as King, but for the man who wore the crown."

She cast her hand around the room. "If you achieve even half of what this man did, you will have lived well, and you will have earned respect beyond that which is merely offered to title... when that day comes, when your comrades look at you with respect for that which you represent rather than the indulgence of a mischievous titled little brother. On that day you will learn that nobility is beyond station."

She stepped back from him. "You said you wished to learn from me, take this as your first lesson. I hope one day it will lead to friendship."

She turned from him, heading back for the great hall.

Oliver Laststar

Oliver was left alone in the captain's bedchambers with only the flamboyant drapes and silk coverings all around for company, as Lady Lorelai left him. He had felt indignant from the teasing treatment, he was tired of being treated as silly teenager- which he of course still was. When looking around at the room, he had seen the trophies of a long, successful life as well. A life to be respected to be sure, he'll grant that.

Lorelai had mentioned the old Smiddich as being personal competition, and he became confused. Unfortunately though, she didn't leave any more hints, and Lorelai's bedroom lesson soon came to an end with Oliver stewing and rather unsatisfied.

It had all happened so quickly, Oliver's fists were clenched in frustration; especially at being lectured. Towards Lorelai's retreating backside, he says quietly, unsure whether she'd even hear. "Hopefully I won't turn out to be the same as the old king, as you say he wasn't your friend in the end."

Oliver chose to let her go. He takes a long deep breath. Then with his hands behind his back, turns to inspect a few paintings inside the chamber by himself. Aloof and standing stall in his familiar pose.

Oliver Laststar

The sea churns with a sinister kind of violence only nature can control, the chaotic waters are more like rolling waves of pepper and salt crashing together; beating at the magnificent ship in the painting's center. Whoever the artist was, they set the perspective so you could see the entire vessel fighting through a typhoon in full force, besieged by the ocean below and billowing thunderclouds above.

To Oliver, standing in the captain's bedchambers still with his arms clasped behind him, he couldn't tell if the painting was supposed to be a story of surviving by the skin of one's teeth, or of valiantly spitting in the face of mother nature. Perhaps the more he stares at it, he'll eventually find its meaning. Maybe something on these walls will help him understand what he should be doing, after Lorelai's lecture earlier.

Close to some grand revelation on the cusp of his thoughts, his reverie is suddenly broken by the sound of rapid footsteps coming through the door behind him. He turns, with a shock, to find Lady Storme carrying a thundercloud on her face, and walking through the frame with her arms crossed under her breasts as though she can just barely contain her anger. His gaze locks with her square on, and he senses her accusations soon coming.

Obviously, she had come to give him a tongue-lashing, or worse.

Oh no. What did I do? Oliver thinks in a blink. Ah... It's that. "Lady Aila." He stands with his back straight, and faces this overwhelming danger with a grave seriousness. He keeps his voice quiet and even a hint regretful. "I should have known you would find out." It was really a long time in coming, and finally the moment is here.

"I have to apologize for what I've done. The perfumes..." He sighs wearily, and rubs at his own severely knitted brows. "I thought I used little enough for you to not notice, but I promise I will pay you back in full. You have my word as a Laststar."

Some time ago while Her Grace was out of Perdan, Oliver had helped himself to Aila's own palace and chambers for a gloriously decadent day or two. Afterwards, having quite enjoyed the scents and oils in her bedroom and baths, he had spent an embarrassing amount of time hunting down the duchess's own personal designer brand and seller for his own use. In fact, Oliver came to the Gambit today wearing a familiar cologne of Aila's. Thus he had thought she came to him seething over that.

Now Oliver stands there facing her, arms clasped behind him, and his face sternly set as hard as stone. Most like the ship in the painting. Bracing almost with a wince for the Storme.

Lorelai Chamberlain

Aila had two public masks for general use... her face now was neither of these. She trotted with the determination of seething blind rage. Lorelai briefly considered how quickly she could get Oliver out of the Kings bedchamber, and knew she had neither the time nor the familiarity with Oliver to move him quickly. Added to this was the likelihood that the wrong idea would be far easier to come to, were Aila to happen upon her and Oliver in Smiddichs bedchamber, especially with the thunderhead accompanying the Duchess.

Intrigued as she was, she veered sharply to the left finding herself in the library. Scroll cases lined the walls alongside more modern and conventional books and novels.

She wondered idly if Aila had managed to acquire or indeed commission a map of the new borders and lands of the East Continent. She had heard, without any certainty that her families old seat at Pucallpa had now vanished... she began to leaf through the maps, eyes darting to the door.

Aila Storme

'Oliver.'

He is scared of her, and rightly so- she is at the end of her wits with thoughts of scorn and revenge running so quickly through her mind that she is still frowning as deeply as she had when Pandora took hold of her little earlobes. He begins to apologize and her frown loosens into a straight face while she tries to understand what exactly he had done to her.

Her perfume. Paying her back for it?

She had no clue what he had meant really but she had spent enough time away from home to /imagine/ how someone might have gotten into her personal things. But how past the guards, the maids? Her mind is working overtime not about the perfume but about how anyone got into her chamber…

Both descendants of Dwilight and both with stern and still faces the Duchess wavers first, then abruptly turns away from him reaching out to push the heavy door of the captain's quarters shut behind herself. Something of his handsome garb and comely looks mixed with the terror on his face and a desire to try ladies perfume. She wanted to laugh, but she was so angry…

“If you really are my friend like then you won’t tell anyone about this” Aila approaches expecting him to run from her but very bravely he does, and Aila not lash out like he expects either. Instead she rather placidly embraces him with her cheek on his chest, and looks out the balcony doors where there should be water, but instead were just brick and mortar houses. Depressing.

“I worked for hundreds of hours and only now see that I've built a tomb. They think of me as a joke. ”

Oliver Laststar

The door shut with a dreadful click behind Lady Aila, and he notes her glower seemed to have melted to something sinisterly neutral. He couldn't even tell what she was planning from that expression, but then she says,

“If you really are my friend like then you won’t tell anyone about this”



Oliver frowned with confusion at whatever she was about to do. The urge to move his arms forward to protect his vulnerable stomach was great as the distance between them uncomfortably narrowed.

And then she hugged him, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. Oliver. Stiff as a board. Suffered it.

It was only with great tolerance he could accept hugs even in private from his mother at times. The experience is usually too much visible feelsy emotion for the young knight, and definitely not cool for the kind of look he attempts to cultivate. Great kings, powerful nobles and such don't display emotion. He learned that from his father. Now, Aila is trying to do something warm and expressively intimate with him. This time, without the excuse of an injury in the way.

He was about to let Aila know, courteously, that she was in fact hugging him. As if she didn't know this herself. But he doesn't get the chance. “I worked for hundreds of hours and only now see that I've built a tomb. They think of me as a joke. ”



The situation has grown undoubtedly worse. She is now opening up even further to him, and more embarrassingly, her cheek resting up against Oliver's lace covered vest. Where she could undoubtedly hear the panicked beating of his heart, which for countless reasons, is hammering against his ribs at the moment. Any conscious attempt from his mind to try to calm it only races the passion-fueled organ further.

Though standing there. With the young—and very much single he notes—duchess pressed up against him. He thinks. Actually. This is quite nice...

Oliver does hear the resignation in her tone, and he isn't quite sure who could be making sport of Aila; yet he finally does, slowly, bring his arms forward to pat her back and return what he could of the hug. At least she isn't mad about the perfumes.

"I... don't think you're a joke Lady Aila." He answers in his soft tone of voice, though stiff and severe, he tries to break through his qualms about feelsy subjects. "Whatever other people may think. Ahh... I believe, they're going to go back home green with envy and wishing they had everything the Lady Aila Storme has." He glances downward at the duchess's head, and he's suddenly struck with the urge to do something with his hands. Though he wisely tuck that reckless thought away into the deep corners of his mind.

Aila Storme

The little ahh, the pauses, the out of character softness of his voice; Oliver is struggling to even endure her and she knows it, but it has been a long time since she felt the hammering of a man's heart against her cheek. For a long moment she stays in place selfishly enjoying how it felt despite how much -sheer terror- she seemed to have struck into the teenager within her clutches.

After a few agonizing seconds it was over as quickly as it had begun, she finally let him go and gave him space to breathe as she stepped away with her hands on her hips. “I feel a lot better, thank you” with a short sigh her arms drop, she corrects her posture and in seconds she is back to her upturned nose and prim rituals of petting and straightening of collars and trim resumed. Like him she had been raised to save things for the pillow but to act as Duchess of Perdan so young and without a family, soft places to fall were hard to come by. She had tried but not found one here, however Oliver’s words remind her starkly of her father and that is enough to get her head back into ‘the game’.

“You are right of course, Sir Oliver. It is easy to forget when you live so well that most are jealous of you, most except...Your truest friends” A smile for him, and a real one too. There is no pageantry about the way she looks at him now. “Have you seen the library yet?”

Oliver Laststar

He sighs inaudibly in relief when Lady Aila finally steps back, and this young knight immediately straightens up and responds with a professional nod, as though nothing awkward happened at all. Brushing away the embarrassment, his hands pat his clothes back down—mirroring the Lady's own primly reset.

When she smiles at him, infuriatingly radiant, Oliver's stony façade nearly cracks. He spins right on his heels to seriously inspect the painting behind him again to cover the rising flush up his neck. Yes. A very important piece of art indeed. It's very interesting. Oliver would rather face the old picture frame than consider the implications of his shortness of breath, his chest still feeling constricted in a hug.

"Hm. Well." He states with a glower to the painting. His training left him clueless as to what to do with the duchess's fond sentiment. Some more characteristic bluffness comes back to his voice instead. "I actually haven't seen the library. Is it nice?" Taking a small risk, he peeks back at Aila out the corner of his eye.

Aila Storme

Sir Oliver's peek reveals a lingering affectionate stare from the girl beside him, something about making him squirm was adorable, and she enjoyed watching him pretend it didn’t bother him. Playing along she made no reference to the pinkness in his skin and instead answered him as most would expect.

“Only the best” Before turning back to the door and opening it up for them both “The builders recommended it be places square in the middle of the ship for balance; such is the volume of its contents” She slips into bragging easily while waiting for Oliver near the door.

“If you like you may come with me, I can show you the way. I am curious to see what the others think of it as well…” she had read a lot of gory sea tales picking out the best ones to display.

Oliver Laststar

Well, it looks like the woman isn't done with him yet. He takes a slow deep breath in front of the painting collecting his thoughts, and turns around with his flush faded, his chest swells up with pride and he struts back to the Lady Aila in his formal gait; effectively trained to make no wasted movements. He won't fail in what he was born and raised to do.

Oliver joins her at the doorway; where he politely proffers out his forearm so that they may walk together. Steely his expression may be as he tries not to smile- but there's a spark of delight behind his eyes when he comments, "Of course I won't miss the chance for a personal tour, and I'll have to judge this library for myself. My family kept their own extensive collection back home. I'll see if this one can compare."

There was more he desired to say, the young knight can't quite shake the odd feeling from how Aila had stormed into the room in a fury. She seems mysteriously to be in a better mood now though; for whatever reason unknown to Oliver. He better not ruin her moment with any prying questions on his mind.

Aila Storme

The Duchess leads Sir Oliver to the library, over the months she has gotten to know the way very well and can taken him there with ease. They enter the room from a second story gallery lined with bookshelves and overlooking a sizeable room lined with shelves built sturdily into place out of finely polished oak. As promised each surface is fully stocked with things to ready, most if not all pertaining to some aspect of facet to ships, naval life or history.

There are glass cases displaying particularly delicate, and particularly interesting articles placed throughout the room with placards explaining their significance. Above it all hangs a lavish chandelier, piled with white candles to provide reading light and of course show off how much expense one Lady could pack into a room.

She shows him each thing she finds of interest, with far less gusto than she had at the beginning of the afternoon.

Oliver Laststar

In his lavishly white attire, and holding his grim stoicness, Sir Oliver is pulled along by the Lady Storme; seeing all the refined furnishings so carefully planned and placed to inspire envy. He surely wished he had a similar duchy to outrageously tax. Yet not even his own stewardship role allowed him a chance at the long known bureaucratic art of embezzling to swell his income.

Each time they entered a new corridor, the young knight seems to preen with the attention given unto him; and when the good lady wasn't looking, he threw haughty smirks to jealous nobles watching the two of them- to spite their envy further. If his skin weren't so naturally pale, he'd be glowing at the moment. Such is his enjoyment.

Sir Oliver is impressed with how much space the library took up when they entered. On a normal vessel, two stories dedicated to pleasure like this would have been so wasteful. Though it seemed to fit this museum very well here.

At one point during their stroll, Oliver had recovered enough from the duchess's sudden ambush earlier to assume his usual keenness of mind. As they passed by an ornate bookshelf towering over the both of them, Sir Oliver leaned in to whisper an excellent joke about the old naval literature. His wry grin looking out of place for one usually so stern. The reader can rest assured it was indubitably hilarious; it gracefully placed with so few simple well-timed words, and delivered with a keen awareness for their context. It was such a moment of satirical kidney-killing brilliance it could have sent one to the floor. Or at least. Sir Oliver thought his joke was that good.

Tsingu Orobar

Tsingu woke up with a mouth as dry as a desert and a marching band having a party inside his skull. He had no idea how the evening in the Stump ended, how he got here and where here even was. Some things came back, though vague and blurry. Daario getting the attention of several young women, a lady with a cat on her shoulders. It didn't matter. What was the worst that could've happened, right? That night was legendary.

The Earl washed himself, got dressed and forced a copious meal down his throat, ignoring his protesting stomach. Once he found his way outside, it took a few moments to get orientated. Still in Perdan City luckily. And apparently something was going on, judging from the fuzz in the streets. Curious, Tsingu decided to follow the people all running in the same direction.

A few city blocks further, it became clear what the centre of all this commotion was. An enormous, excited crowd had gathered on what used to be a construction site. Used to, because the square looked finished, with the Wayfarer's Gambit as an exquisite centre piece. From the materials used in the construction to the small details like the flowers everywhere, it seemed like no expenses had been spared.

A few moments later, finding a good spot among the nobility, Tsingu carefully listened to Duchess Aila's words. Although her speech sounded sincere and from the heart, he couldn't help but notice her expensive looking clothing and jewelry. The girl seems to be better at spending her coin than she is at protecting her city.

After the speech, Tsingu made his way up the gangplank. He spotted Aila, approached her and bowed respectfully. "Duchess, excellent work. King Smiddich would be proud. I've heard rumors about the library here. If you don't mind, I'd like to explore it." And just like that, the Earl took off. He could have sworn they were in open waters, but it wasn't seasickness that made him want to throw up over the rails.

Tsingu loved the smell all libraries seemed to have in common, even this one in the middle of a ship. The smell of history, of hidden knowledge, mixed with the typical odor of yellowed paper and parchment. It felt familiar, like a warm embrace. The escape to any world imaginable, the wisdom waiting to be mastered, a library had some kind of attraction that had always appealed to him.

Although he had been a military man for as long as he remembered, reading for both study and pleasure was one of his favorite pastimes since he was a boy. Tsingu slowly moved through the room, which was bigger than he expected. From time to time, he stopped to read from some of the books being displayed, amazed by the collection gathered here. Some of these books he knew about, most were new. A real treasure on the pirate's boat, how fitting.

A servant approached to offer him wine, which Tsingu refused, though he did ask for some chilled water. While waiting for the man to return, he examined a series of old manuscripts. One in particular caught his attention. Surreptitious scheming, or how to raise yourself to the highest ranks of nobility. Interesting. The work was in a frail state, clearly from being read a lot. Tsingu carefully took it with him to a nearby table for a more thorough inspection.

The first chapter, Wealth and bribes, was skipped as it didn't apply to him. The second chapter, Seduce and reproduce, which was significantly more worn out than other parts, was useless as well. The third chapter, The art of manipulation, was where Tsingu started reading. By the time the servant came back with his water, he was so absorbed in thought, he didn't even notice he was being talked to.

...it is considered helpful to place yourself into an underdog position. Make others believe you are easy to control and pose no threat, and they will underestimate you. Much progress can be made in the shadows of neglect. Historical examples include...

An unexpected yet frightening hiss brought Tsingu back to reality. Looking over his shoulder with a rather surprised look on his face, he discovered a Lady standing at the entrance to the library. A white fluff ball, apparently the source of the sound, was draped around her shoulders like a fashionable scarf and formed a perfect contrast to her black dress. Although it seemed simple, the dress was elegant and accentuated her femininity. Her eyes, void of expression like she was hiding emotion, were looking straight at him.

Those brown eyes, the fair skin, the remarkable red braid, her feline companion, it all felt so familiar, yet he couldn't place it. His hearth started racing, an other familiar feeling. He got the strange urge to start singing. By the Gods, what do we have here?

"Milady, do come in. Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Tsingu Orobar, Lord of Clermont. With whom do I have the honor, and how can I be of service?" I was a fool to think this room was filled with treasure, when the real treasure just walked through that door. Tsingu quickly checked if his mouth wasn't hanging open by subtly scratching his chin. Luckily it wasn't.

Dustiria Noire

Dustiria reached to soothe the orange and white cat while her thoughts were in turmoil. The drunk Merchant was really Lord Tsingu from those nice letters. Yet he had been drunk as a skunk and singing....no that can't be the same man. Must be someone that looked similar. manners Dustiria.

"I am Dustiria Noire, Countess of Nascot. We have exchanged correspondence. It is a pleasure to meet you in person. You don't happen to sing do you?"

Tsingu Orobar

Strange how a single sentence could shake your world. Why would she ask that? Unless... In a fraction of a moment it all came back to him. Seeing her sitting at the bar, his drunken ramble followed by an incoherent serenade as a tribute to her beauty. Embarrassing. Tsingu felt the red hot shame trying to crawl from his neck to reach his face. He inhaled deeply several times to suppress the feeling.

"Lady Dustiria, what an honor to finally meet you. I've been looking forward to this moment. I enjoyed our letters, and I appreciate all the hard work you put in to help our southern regions."

Tsingu's mind raced as he tried to figure out how to approach the delicate matter of the meeting at the Stump.

​​​​​​"Milady, I owe you an apology. It was indeed me you met at the Stump. I took young Daario there to celebrate his Lordship, and to ask him the questions you sent me. Things got out of hand, and I was painfully confronted with the fact I am no longer a young man. I hope my words did not offend you? I promise to make up for this false start."

Suddenly, the expression on his face changed, giving her a warm smile."Looking at the bright side of things though, you met me at my worst, things can only get better from here. And you can't say I'm a liar. Your beauty deserves to be sung about."

Dustiria Noire

"Then it must be I who should apologize to you. If I hadn't asked you to do that you wouldn't have been in such a state especially since those questions no longer matter. I have a new knight now. "

At the flattery she just shakes her head, "You should sing about the true beautys such as our Queen, Duchess Aila or the Young Dame Pandora. The rumors of her beauty surpass all from what I have heard. I will say if that's your worst then you are truly remarkable indeed."

Tsingu Orobar

"Very noble of you, Milady, but your apology is unnecessary. I am responsible for my own actions. No one else forced me to have all those drinks. The night was enjoyable, I consider Lord Daario a good friend now, but I will forever regret this was how we first met. A burden I will have to carry."

As Dustiria talked about the beauty of others, he couldn't help but wonder if she felt insecure. Didn't anyone ever tell her about her eyes making it difficult to keep talking and not just stare? Or her fair skin, resembling the smoothest silk? Her elegant neck, as if sculptured by an artist?

"Perhaps you're right, Milady. But beauty comes in many forms. I can't help but admire yours. If you accept that or not won't make me change my mind."

Tsingu decided to change the subject, this conversation might make Dustiria feel uncomfortable, which was the last thing he wanted. "I'll leave it up to you to decide on my level of being remarkable. Likewise, I'd like to request an opportunity to decide on yours. I've heard and seen great things about you. It would be an honor to get to know the soul behind these actions. May I invite you to join me in Clermont on a non-work-related visit, when you find the time of course?"

Dustiria Noire

Surprised he offered a visit on their first face to face meeting she shuffles just a bit causing burr to chirp a little.

"After this gala I have to ride off to through your land actually. I am part of a new army Viscount Salem and I are forming with The Duchass Aila's support. As you know how often I have been in Clermont to assist. A non work related visit may not be possible but I could always leave my captain to watch over my troops and visit your estate if that would be an acceptable alternative. I am curious about the seed I received and where it came from. Mine is planted in a pot in my suite at the Perdan Bloody Stump so i know it is cared for. I am so rarely in Nascot these days"

am i rambling...why am i rambling? she wondered to herself

Tsingu Orobar

Tsingu hoped she wouldn't stop talking, her voice was enchanting, a pleasure to listen to. Why did he have these strange thoughts though, he never payed attention to such details.

"A perfect alternative, Milady. I'll be looking forward to your visit. Your Office must bring you lots of stress and danger, I hope to offer you a moment of worry free relaxation." Tsingu briefly looked at Burr. "Perhaps you could give me some tips on what our friend here likes? I'd like to arrange a luxury treatment for him as well."

On his chest, next the the heraldry of his House, he usually pinned a Clermont striped dewflower. Today was no different. While Dustiria talked about the flower, he took it in his hand and approached her. The purple flower consisted of three petals with mesmerizing dark stripes on them. It would fit beautifully with the purple accents on her dress. For a moment he considered placing it behind her ear, but he changed his mind last minute, looking at Burr. Instead he placed it in her hand.

"Please, consider this a token of my intent to make up for my behavior the first time we met."

Tsingu made a mental note to see if he could do anything about Dustiria's busy work schedule. Perhaps some days off could be arranged, so she could return to her lands. He heard and recognized the pain in her voice when she talked about Nascot. Her dedication to her duties was admirable, but he couldn't let her suffer.

Dustiria Noire

"Really you don't have anything to make up for. I live there and run The Bloody Stump Franchise . Add how I was raised and i have seen way worse. Bruce and I have a good chuckle at some of the things we see. " she holds the flower before offering it back.

he does know I live with Kenneth in Nascot and bescanon right? She wonders. I am in over my head here. No one ever ...she trails off her thoughts a jumble

Tsingu Orobar

Tsingu stood there, rooted to the spot. Did Lady Dustiria just refuse his gesture? Clearly he did or said something wrong. But what?

"You're far too kind, Milady. Still, that's not how a Lady of your stature should have been treated. I do intend to make things right." He paused a moment, looking for a way out. "Perhaps you'd like to enjoy some refreshments on the upper deck? Go right ahead, I'll catch up soon. I need to clean up here first." he pointed to the manuscript he had been reading.

Confused, he went back to the table and sat down. Who could ever know what went on in a woman's mind? He looked around at all the wisdom gathered here. If anyone ever cracked the code of understanding women and put it into writing, not even the introduction would fit in here.

Dustiria Noire

For once her own confusion was clear to be seen. He treated her like one of the beautiful nobles that the young knights swarmed over. his letters were always so enjoyable to receive on her long rides. Did he not know about Kenneth did he not care? Or was this a simple offer of friendship? what was going on here? Clean up its just one book. Nothing made any sense.

"yes refreshments would be nice. I will meet you on the upper deck."

she took her leave and went grateful to the upper deck. A drink was just the thing she needed. Dustiria looked around as she entered the deck to see who was there and try to flag down a server. Burr purred content draped around her shoulders. The orange and white cat clearly was enjoying himself at least.

Tsingu Orobar

The moment Lady Dustiria left the library, the atmosphere in the room changed from radiant to bleak and dull. Exactly what Tsingu intended. Thinking proved to be difficult around the woman, their short meeting left him confused. He needed a moment to get his head straight. Carefully placing the manuscript back on the shelf, he weighed his options.

The way he saw it, there were a few ways to approach this. He could accept defeat, live with the fact they'd never be more than pen-pals. He could double his efforts trying to win her over. Or he could avoid and ignore her for the rest of the day, possibly the rest of his life. Tsingu wasn't the kind of man to run away from a challenging problem. Certainly not if it had such a charming cause like this one. He once commanded the Perdanese armies against the combined forces of the northern realms. He was a fool to believe that was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, but he wouldn't give up just like that. He'd duel Dukes and Kings if he had to.

Game time. Take a few breaths, stay calm. Plan ahead, play your cards right. Don't be greedy, let her come to you. Tsingu made his way to the upper deck, planning to talk to some of the other nobility first. Let her wait a while, make eye contact from time to time. Give her a smile. He felt like a young knight riding to his first major battle.

Dustiria Noire

Dustiria takes a glass of mead from a server as she wanders the deck. So many she didn't know so she went to look off the railing still confused by Tsingu. nothing some good mead couldn't fix.

Tsingu Orobar

It had gotten quite crowded at the upper deck since Tsingu left it to visit the library. Lower nobility engaged in conversation with wealthy merchants, enjoying drinks and delicacies. A few upper class nobles, who's face and heraldry were unknown to him, seemingly busy with their own business. And of course a Goddess. It felt like a sin but as he saw her, he turned around to find company elsewhere.

Some merchants were talking about the newest agricultural innovations and how they would change everything. He saw their mouths moving, their hands making gestures. From somewhere very distant he heard their laughs. None of it got through to him. Right over the shoulder of one of the men, he saw Lady Dustiria. Very discretely, he followed her every move, nodding from time to time to appear involved in the discussion. How he envied the cat, choosing that delightful neck as his residence. It wasn't hard to understand the wise animal, he too would never leave it if he got the chance to admire it from up close. He imagined how it ran down, slowly changing in to her back and...

Suddenly, as if she felt his eyes, she looked right at him, interrupting his rather heated thoughts. Tsingu nearly dropped his glass, his heart jumped into his throat. Luckily his years of experience came through, letting none of his emotions reach his face. He gave her a short smile and quickly changed his attention to the ongoing conversation, proud of what he considered to be a master move. Let's see how you take that, Milady.

Dustiria Noire

Finally compsed she turns from looking over the side and peruses the crowd looking to see if any familiar faces were about. the mead having done its work to relax her. Eyes catch hers and she sees Tsingu smile before turning back to his conversation. Relieved she hands her empty glass off to a server. Clearly she was mistaken. He has no interest in her.

Tsingu Orobar

He couldn't be entirely sure, looking from the corner of his eyes, but he didn't see her react in any way. Tsingu had to fight the urge to go talk to her. Stick to the plan. She seemed to be quite skillful at this game. The way to her hearth wouldn't be an easy one, but he'd overcome every obstacle, one at a time. Finally, a worthy opponent. Our romance will be legendary.

The excitement of this game made him feel young and wild, though he wasn't to proud to admit he could feel the uncertainty deep inside. Did she just not care? What should be his next move? Dustiria didn't strike him as being the type of woman that would be swept away by flowers, perfume and expensive jewelry. No, he saw regular reports of her charging into battle. She was down-to-earth, fearless and brave. Not afraid to do some dirty work herself, unlike some others.

Something she said before came back to him. How she was working all the time, how she missed her lands in Nascot. While he was in the library, among a series of historical works, he saw one about Nascot. He didn't pay much attention to it then, but looking back now it might prove something helping her feel at home when she needed it.

One hour later, the book, fields of abundance, the history of Nascot, was in his possession. It took some stealthy manoeuvres and quick hands. No one saw a thing. All was fair in love and war, but Tsingu did leave behind an amount of gold to cover for the costs of the book. He was no ordinary thief.

Inside, on the first page, he wrote: 'When the nights are dark and lonely, let these words be your companion, a dream of hope and home.' Tsingu placed the Clermont striped dewflower from his chest on the page and closed the book. He ordered a servant to give it to Lady Dustiria, and left the boat.

Dustiria Noire

Just as Dustiria decided to take her leave since she could not find Aila she is stopped by a servant. The book is handed to her. before she looks at it she hands the servant a note for Aila that says

Aila you have out done yourself. I am sorry i did not get a chance to tell you in person. Smidditch would be proud of all you have done. Hopefully when next I am in Perdan we can find a quiet moment and just chat. I look back on the time we relaxed and smoked fondly.

until then

Dustiria

she then takes the book and reads the cover before opening it to find the flower and the written inscription. her finger traces the flower before she closes the book. then she heads to the stump. Soon she would ride to Viscount Salem for monster hunting but first she would get a good night sleep after a soak in the tub. Dustiria had things to think on .

Tsingu Orobar

It had been a long and hard march back to Perdan. Tsingu got wounded during the battle in Leibo, forcing him to hide and rest, which in turn caused him to fall behind. By the time he recovered, enemy troops were everywhere. The only safe way home was through Perleone, but he fell behind even further. Tonight, they arrived in Brive, where they would rest for a short while before they'd start the last part of the journey to Perdan City.

Sitting by the fire, a rancid smell reached his nose moments before he heard noises on the road behind them. Looking back over his shoulder, he could distinguish three silhouettes in the distance. The noise was a mixture of a woman sobbing and whining, a man cursing and a child spewing out gibberish. When they came closer, he could see it was a family of beggars, covered in rags and dirt. Clearly they had been living on the streets for a while.

When the woman saw him sitting, she ran towards him and fell on her knees. "Good Lord, I beg you, please help us. I don't want your gold, but please, the boy, he's insane." Tsingu looked at the youth, who was nervously looking around. "He's coming," he kept mumbling.

The woman continued. "One day, he came back from the woods completely panicked. You could see the fear in his eyes, as if Death himself was after him. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep. He soils himself. All we got out of him is a man in armor on a snow-white horse started counting down and chasing him once he reached zero."

Tsingu laughed, nearly dropping to the floor. The hardship of the last days forgotten. This was the best thing he heard in a long, long time. He could imagine how it all went down. Hilarious! "Ha ha, this can't be. I need to tell the rest about this. Seems like your boy got served some classic poetry."

Salem Belmont

"Excuse me, miss. Would you please join me in the Museum?"

Salem had found Dame Pandora among the crowd. He had his hand reaching out to her and a warm smile on his face. He's wearing a lot of black with purple trimming. His coat and gloves are leather, and the vest over his purple, collared shirt is as dark as his currently dilating pupils. In typical Salem fashion, he wears a kilt, black with purple, gray, and white tartan. His hair and beard are well groomed.

"T'would be quite awful to experience such wonderful treasures alone."

Pandora de Pooh

Pandora's ears perked up at her favorite sound as she huffs warm air into her hands. All of her fingertips squeezed onto the tops of her warm and oversized, cherry-red blanket scarf in attempt to keep her palms warm from the cold. Pandora's golden hair was partially tucked into the scarf. As she turns to see Salem in her vision, she falls completely silent. The collar shirt underneath his vest did look good on him.

Pandora was more conscious of her own dress attire suddenly, since it was rather plain. Below the cherry-red scarf, a dark-grey long sleeved cotton sweater was layered underneath a sweetheart neckline. Her crepe dress was almond-colored, an A-line that reached down to her ankles.

It was an awkward pause while Salem waited for Pandora, to hold onto his leather-gloved hand. She had grasped her scarf gently and a small cloud can be seen as she slowly exhales whilst staring at Salem. Reliving her memory of being kissed, it suddenly wasn't cold anymore. Her eyes transitioned into a smile and she reaches out to hold onto Salem's hand.

"We're going treasure hunting?"

Salem Belmont

With their hands held together, Salem gently tugs her close to him so that he may wrap her into his arms, “I’ve already found my treasure, dearest Pandora.”

Pandora’s hands reach under Salem’s leather jacket in an embrace to shield her hands from the cold while blushing, giving Salem’s chest a light squeeze. Her lips curl into a smile as she indulges in Salem’s response, stealing his warmth by resting her forehead underneath his jawline. She asked softly, “What did you want to see first?”

“T’woud be rude of us not to greet our host, so I believe that would be in order first. As for touring the Gambit, I wouldn’t mind seeing the library that was spoken about.” Salem nuzzles a cheek along the top of Pandora’s head, taking some time to enjoy a moment of sweetness for himself.

Pandora gets on her tiptoes to gain some height as she gives Salem a light kiss on the cheek before she pulls away and takes off one of his gloves, putting it into her pocket. She then takes his hand and leads him towards the gangplank, away from the crowd that was admiring the new spectacle from afar. Despite not knowing who their host was, Pandora’s excitement beamed in search for this person with Salem by her side.

Their fingertips felt around each other until both hands reached an agreement of how things would be placed comfortably. With their fingers intertwined, Salem walks with Pandora, being sure not to pull on her as they make their way to Duchess Aila on the Gambit. A warm smile that only kindness would prominently reveal his crow’s feet for, Salem dips his head gently to Aila and says, “I cannot begin to express how much the effort you have put into the project means to me, my liege. The only other thing more stunning to be seen is yourself.”

Salem gestures to Pandora, introducing her. “Your Grace, this is Dame Pandora de Pooh of Bescanon. Pandora, this is Duchess Aila Storme, the woman behind the great inner strength of Perdan.”

Pandora peeks from behind Salem’s shoulder, previously distracted from the paintings and soft music playing by bards. The woman’s posture had deepened Pandora’s respect for the duchess, the green tone of her dress had brought out such a delicate wash from within her cheekbones. Aila’s blonde hair was neatly braided up, the stray hairs bouncing elegantly to the sides of her face with innate balance.

Pandora had admired the radiance in her skin, bringing the focus to Aila’s eyes that were of a honey-brown, glass-like reflection from the polished floors. Behind those eyes, Pandora had felt a lackluster soreness from them, telling of a life with many great past experiences. As she gave her curtsy, Pandora suddenly remembered from her letter correspondence with Oliver Lastsar, “I admit Lady Storme is something of a role model for virtue, true noble bearing, and fine dress, she has done nothing but impress me at every turn.”

Aila Storme

De Pooh, a ridiculous name to have to walk through a lifetime with, in some ways in was a pity, in others side-splittingly hysterical. The girl standing beside Lord Salem was even less intimidating than the Duchess, though pretty enough with her petite body and rosy cheeks, complimenting the fact that she was yet another golden lion to roar among them with her golden mane of hair. Aila supposed that was why Belmont took notice of her; With any luck she could ensnare him in a marriage and save her children from another lifetime of De Pooh-dom.

A long moment of silence stretched between them as Aila considered it all, stifled it all, and then flashed a big smile of shining, straight white teeth; the girl was young and timid hiding behind Salem so Aila would hold her comments about her unfortunate last name for now. “Thank you for introducing us My Lord. What a fine time to meet the famed Lady. As expected you are too kind, -such manners- for such a new knight.”

There is an ease to the way Aila joins herself to their group, making it a party of three with a friendly arm linked in Pandora’s, the remnants of her drink held steady in the other. “Tell me about yourself Pandora; It is such a unique and beautiful name. Did you grow up in Bescanon? Why did you decide to serve Duke Kenneth?-Whom I am very fond of by the way-” she tries to be transparent for the young girl. There was a time and place for intrigue but she had created this time and place for learning, why not learn about the unfortunately named. . .

Dame of De pooh.

Pandora de Pooh

Pandora, being the youngest of her siblings had never understood the importance of upholding her family name. Really, she could have had any other name and it wouldn't have made a difference. Yet, she understood that her parents had taught Pandora that it was important to them and of course, out of love, she half-heartedly complied.

Following Aila's footsteps was seemingly a little more difficult than expected to match her anxious pace arm in arm with her white almost-perfect teeth. Pandora had looked over to Salem wondering if he had any confidence in her answer to Aila's questions, her eyes darting back straight ahead in the direction they took. They headed towards a conversation Pandora had not been prepared to answer.

“Tell me about yourself Pandora; It is such a unique and beautiful name. Did you grow up in Bescanon? Why did you decide to serve Duke Kenneth?-Whom I am very fond of by the way-”

Pandora wondered the reasoning behind the flurry of questions thrown her way. A duchess throwing an extravagant party on the deck would stop to think of the humble beginnings of a new knight? How strange. The feeling of being challenged starts to screech, the uncomfortableness seeps in. Nonetheless, Pandora would play her part in this game. Gaining back her composure, their footsteps align and Pandora's demeanor changes.

Pandora tugs on Aila's ears to make her face towards Pandora gently with innocent childish energy, "Duchess Aila, oh you look so lovely today. Your teeth! They are just so impeccably white and even. Were they always like this?"

Pandora's eyes sparkled with wonder, her lips curl upwards observing Aila's face up awfully close before releasing her from her grasp. Her hands had gently stabilized Aila's head to gently tilt her chin back and forth to examine her teeth structure. In a second, Pandora had gotten annoyed for a second thinking of the tone Aila used on her words, but held onto her patience. Her hands were back to her side, and both of them were given some breathing room.

A mischievous smile slips, while her voice unwavering and brilliant, "What were we saying? Ah- yes. Duke Kenneth has been a wonderful lord, just like the estate he has allowed me to live in. Bescanon is such a lovely place, there is only the finest honey available year round. Oh- you may have wanted to try my family's specialty before. Would you send me a letter? This event has been so splendid I will make sure to send jars of the finest honey to you in honor of this event. The work you put into this ship must have taken hundreds of hours, dear Duchess. It's beautiful here."

Aila Storme

There is not a second of Pandora’s display that Aila doesn’t take as a challenge, the tug on her ears made her scowl her deepest Storme scowl; there was no way to scowl even deeper as the girl carried on. Her Lord did nothing to stop her, she went on and on and both Aila, and Salem let her dig this hole deeper and deeper.

A simmering anger, and silence stretched between them as Pandora backhandedly complimented the Duchess after manhandling her so wantonly. Aila’s eyes are trained on the girl, working through whether or not to simply lunge at her or go about things in a more insidious way.

Her eyes flick to Salem, she decides then that she hates him as well and her scowl turns to a sneer as she rebuffs Pandora completely “You have a smile like row of shanties; Why should I want your tooth rotting honey? And Keep your hands to yourself. If you weren’t so clearly mentally incapable I would have you thrown overboard; ” and by overboard she of course meant plummeting down to the cobblestones far below.

One slender finger points at Salem with the same hand holding her tiny half full glass, it is his one and final warning: “Keep this one out of your army she is trouble I won’t fund”

Sincerely wishing to resist pummeling the girl in her new dress, Aila leaves then with arms crossed and still scowling as she charges straight for the the captains quarters, to cool off before visiting the guests in the library.