Cassie rises finishing off her wine and placing it upon the table, with a smile to the others in her lilting accent. "After dark we go to the opera, well I cannot wear this. And Drake I have tickets for all." she plucks at the lapels of her jacket.
"You Helmet-cats are lucky, so beautiful and no clothing required....Now, how do you get out of man's clothing?" she says quirking her eyebrow in irony. "I suppose I'll have to fumble..." she jokes as she turns to leave.
It'll take her until nearly dusk to get ready for the ball in the most stunning outfit.
Ysillith arches an eyebrow,
"Ye misunderstand me, luv. I din't say I weren't goin'. Just fer me t'will be business and not pleasure." She corrects the young man. Ysillith then deftly shifts her chair back and rises as well, smileing invitingly to Cassie,
"M'dear? Might I have yer assistance as folks be gettin' ready fer this high and mighty coming t'do? A tad help in sortin' through the meager wardrobe which has survived me journey here, t' this realm?" She inquires sweetly.
"Perhaps yer skills can help me find somat amongst the meager kit I have left what will work a treat fer every one's benefit?" Ysillith tilts her head slightly as she awaits Cassie's reply. Ysillith turns to master Drake.
"Sorry luv. Perhaps we can get t'know each others tales at a time when other things be not so pressing?" She apologizes to Drake for leaving, though offering a smile and some humor as well of recompense.
Vorian joins the others, looking somewhat better off than before, "We are all going to the opera, then?" he asks no one in particular as Cassie leaves. "Regardless of how many of us do, we will not go unnoticed. In all honestly, I do not have even a sliver of faith that this will proceed smoothly. The Baron knows we are here. Who knows what how far he will go just to kill us?" He pauses for a moment, taking a seat. "I would not exactly call that my idea of fun," he finally adds, frowning profusely.
Ysillith pauses as she crosses the threshold of the room, deftly resheathing her blades from where she's politely placed them upon a side talbe. Her eating utensil simply disappearing back within the folds of her clothing some where. As meets Master Voiran for the first time, she gives a slight courteous bow to the fellow,
Ah well. Havin' met somethin' of this Baron Von Rookoo I must say they've a good amount of pull." She sighs,
"Miss Rashida an' m'self were attacked by some o' this feller's goons not too long ago." Ysillith smiles.
"We give 'em a good 'What for' an' thence the slip by scootin' through a lot of 'back ways'." The Captain gives a long glance back towrads the people at the table.
"While the Meowselsworth's have taken me on fer me nautical skills'? I be quite handy at puttin' down almost anything ye might be wishin' t'call a threat." She smiles again and now there is nothing but predator within her dark amber gaze.
"Of course, Captain Ysillith. It'd be a pleasure, you have the.... " she waves her hands vaguely, "stature to wow everyone there." Cassie jokes whilst thinking seriously about putting her in some appropriate but evocative clothing.
"Now, I do have some beautiful dresses. Something in burgundy? Black?" she muses as she wanders out of the door.
Ysillith tilts her head head a little as they walk along,
"Well...why dun't we stop by my quarters, I'll gather up me little amount of clobber and we can mix an' match, hey?" Ysillith asks with a grin, then she looks down at herself.
"As fer me accoutrements,? T'tell th' truth I in't nuthin' special." She admits, "I've a cousin who's far more strappin' across th' chest than these." Ysillith admits quietly and honestly.
"I would be honoured to have such a beautiful woman, and seasoned captain, upon my arm. We will surely be the talk of the town." Drake smiles engagingly to the horned woman and takes her hand to kiss the top of her fingers before she leaves, looking up at her with deep brown eyes from under rich lashes, "Please, take all the time you wish even though I await your return anxiously."
It is a double entendre due to his interest in seeing what this woman would be wearing and his disinterest in the opera itself. He sits back and sighs as Vorian shows up and gives the older man a glance, "Oh going to the opera will be exciting for all but this makes it more so. Ah, but I must order a steak to be able to get through this thrill. Would you ladies wish for some as well?" He asks the helmet cats the last bit.
Drake lifts his hand and orders a medium rare steak, receiving a dirty look from the servant as they had already eaten a delightful buffet, "I am sure to be through this before the ladies return. So? Do we have any ideas on how to survive this upcoming excursion, Mr. Ritter? Squirrel, do you have any advice for escape plans? Maybe we should find a way to obtain a map of the opera house."
The leather garments were tigher than Rashida was accustomed to, and very form-fitting. Though they were quite comfortable, something about them made her feel naked, a level of discomfort elevated by appreciative looks given by the menfolk as she ducked through the narrow back streets. Wish I had gotten a longer jacket. I wonder if this is how Cassie feels all the time. How does she stand it?
One does not need to look for a sign to an alchemist's shop, as one's nose can lead straight there. Rashida slipped in through the door, mortified by how loud the bell rang. The proprietor hustled out, cutting short his bow as he saw her outfit. The lack of respect shocked the young noble, until she realized it was a sign her disguise was working.
"Do you have pharmacopeia?" she asked softly, and the proprietor's eyes narrowed over his bushy white whiskers. "If you are licensed for them, young lady."
Rashida withdrew a tiny leather folio from her pack and displayed the contents to the man, whose eyes grew wide. "Yes, Lady Massri. Back here." Rashida followed to a smaller room whose carved wooden shelves were crammed with bottles, vials, bunches of herbs, and wooden boxes with all sorts of exotic labels. Nodding to the man, she moved among the shelves and benches, touching a few with a long, gold fingernail. "This... four grams. This, two. This - do you have it powdered? - two grams of the powdered." She exclaimed at the sight of a small glass box containing a fine green powder, double-checking the label.
The owner exclaimed as she picked it up, but she ignored him, being deep in thought. At last she decide, handing it to him and requesting five grams. "But Lady Massri, this is extremely dangerous," the man objected.
"I know what it is and how to handle it safely, though I appreciate the concern," she replied softly, shooing him away to do his measuring and packaging while she surreptitiously wiped away an unwanted tear, examining the other shelves to hide her face. She accepted the well-wrapped package with a nod of thanks, tucking it in her bag as she withdrew coin. "How much?"
"Oh, no charge for the Massris, Lady, the honor of being of service is enough. And if we might mention we have served you, it would be ever so helpful to our business."
Rashida smiles benevolently. "Of course. You have been most helpful." She sweeps from the shop without a backward glance, ignoring the obsequious bows of the proprietor. An ancient clank trundles from the back room, creaking and popping, and the man leans his elbow upon it, blowing out a breath. "A Massri, Bucket! Never expected to see one in here." The clank keeps its opinion to itself.
Ralph shrugs at Ysillith's response then grins "Well technic'ly I'm goin fer business too, but I ain't tink anyone said we couln't have boat. Since I'm goin anyway might 'swell have a real pleasur'ble date while'm at it right?" After hearing they got into some trouble with some Rookoo person's goons Ralph offers "Well I can prolly get us dere witout anybody findin us, it's once were inside dat could be da problem."
He departs to get ready as well, though doesn't do nearly as much gussying up as Cassie. When he sees her again all done up in her most stunning attire, he looks at her wide eyed for a moment then goes over. "Wow... sweethart, I tought girls only looked dat good in da story books. I hope I ain't gotta fight off too many Joes ta keep ya tonight, lookin like dat is how a girl causes wars."
Cassie places the bag upon the bed; "Well, I need a shower at some point. I have all my dresses here."
"What would you like to emphasize? I was thinking of a backless sleeveless dress. We could something that emphasizes you legs or your bosom?" she wonders.
At Ysillth's cabin, after the Satyxis has removed her banner from the door, she stalks in and deftly works the controls upon the large, gun metal silvered box upon the table. After but a few moments of clicking and clanking an only smaller case rises from within.
Ysillith sets the dark brown case aside and works the controls again, to have second case appear. Eventually there are four such 'traveling trunks' placed about the room. To Cassie's comment Ysillith just tilts her head,
"What d'ye mean 'sag'?" She asks, sounding very puzzled. "As fer scars...Satyxis don't.." She informs the other woman, though Ysillith laughs,
"Heck! If all the nicks and cuts a person gets during a good fight were t' leave there mark?" She shakes her head, black mane shifting and moving like silken water, "Why? I'd have more ridges on me hide than any crumpled map!" She continues to chortle quietly at the strange and silly thought. Possibly catching an equally puzzled look from Cassie Ysillith explains further,
"Oh! That in't t'say if a gal gets right banged up there won't be a mark left. Lose an eye an' that's a patch fer sure. Unless ye want t' pay fer somat mechanika, of course, though most don't. Preferring to pay fer serious magic, usually with a vengeance in mind, t' make matters more right. Then, there's things left over from maybe a poisoned edge...Or sometimes a nasty infection will cause things..." Ysillith's voice trails off as she simply begins to casually disrobe, completely unconcerned about the nature of privacy.
At Cassie's mention of 'Shower' Ysillith indicates the bathing chamber where just before she herself had luxuriated in the waters offered by the ship's plumbing.
"Now...since I want t'be able and ready t'fight, how about something simple? Also, I like sleeves...ye can always use the space fer a little trick or two." Noting that Cassie seems intent upon fabric around the legs Ysillith leans back against a counter while she thinks how to best come to some arraignment between what she thinks will be practical and what Cassie knows will be fashionable. Cassie cannot help but be regaled by Ysillith's pale, amazonian form as the well toned Captain goes about her endeavors.
Not bothered by the other ladies casual nudity, shows her European tendencies though Cassie blinks in surprise at the accounts of battles. "I have been in a few scrapes, but...." with a lilt of her head; "I suppose old age wouldn't be a problem then."
Slipping off her waist-coat and top; exposed upon her stomach is a short red line held together with stitches. "Jumped onto a knife, hopefully it won't scar. That Drake has soft hands." she points out with a cheeky smile.
She looks slightly sad as she slips out of the tight britches; "Sounds a brutal life you have. Really it's not that bad here, especially if the worst thing you have to worry about is 'sagging'" her hands skim over her body.
Cassie gets out a pistol and holster from her small bag, the silver weapon seems to be much larger than the bag. "Usually, I strap this to my thigh and dress with a slit in the leg. For easy access." she quirks an eyebrow. "You certainly have the legs to pull it off." she eyes the muscular but curvaceous limbs comparatively.
"Aye, well...we Satyxii? We get...different as we get older..." And that is all she says upon the matter at the moment. Noticing the wound upon Cassie's torso Ysillith strides over and moves the other woman, with firm strong hands, to the bed and makes her sit down.
"Here, give us a look at that." She orders Cassie, even pushing her to lie flat on the bed for a moment. Ysillith's fingers do no more than butterfly touch the wound, though her face is close enough that her warm breath can be felt.
"Aye, that's a scratch. Nice silk work though." Ysillith tilts her head even as she moves back to her cases and pulls out a small folded leather pouch which she brings back and sets upon the covers besides Cassie.
"Who did the work? I'll be lookin' 'em up when I get scrapped next. Ye do use silk here, right?" She chats away as she opens the bag, revealing many vials, smaller satchels and little pockets full of various other implements all of which are obviously for use in the chirurgery trade.
With deft hands Ysillith pulls out a small ceramic vase, the muscles on her arms showing briefly as she works to break the seal. Slipping a finger through the grey paste, Ysillith then smears a thin film over the wound.
"There, that cream will help both the skin and such. It'll even deal with the silk, so no worries there." Putting said item away Ysillith pulls out a small fabric patch and thence some more vials. quickly mixing the vials, she makes a small amount of fluid which she applies to the edges of the white, gauze fabric cloth. Then presses the patch to Cassie's skin. After a moment of firm pressure, she takes her hands away and the patch has remained stuck to Cassie's stomach.
"The skin grease don't like air..or a lot of water...or sunlight. Though a little moisture seeping through the bandage will do it good." Ysillith explains as she puts away her second amount of gear.
Her hands hover over a group of glass vials, three of which have a cerulean blue fluid in them, one of which is empty. Ysillith looks at Cassie, obviously thinks about the vials for a few moments more before her hand drifts down to a different collection, these filled a strange pale yellow, green fluid,
"Now...this stuff doesn't have the best of tastes, but it won't make ye puke." She smiles ruefully, "Not like Elf's kiss, any way." Ysillth indicates the blue vials.
"That stuff? Very first time it were forced down me gullet? Took the pair of gals workin' t' patch me up t' hold me down and keep me mouth shut so's I couldn't heave it out!" Ysillith offers the yellow green filled vial to Cassie, leaving the decision to swallow the medicine offered up to her own judgment.
"That's a concoction of herbs and moss and stuff. Called 'Troll' something or other." Ysillith winks and grins "I have it on good authority that's just descriptive and there's no Troll at all in the mix." (^_~)
"Now, a fer me life? Of course it be brutal. Life's like that every where. Just 'cause ye've got shiny t' keep ye padded from what's outside don't make a difference any where.' Yasillith looks at Cassie, her large, deep amber eyes at this distance so obviously showing how not human the creature before Cassie is.
"Take that young gutter snipe? Squirrel? If the machanika-cats hadn't vouched fer him? I'd be stalking him later enough through the corridors. Guttin' him quick like and then dropping his hide out onto the tarmac or where ever else I could get rid of it." Ysillith speaks plainly, no rancor nor anger in her tone of voice. Her words just the exposition of her thoughts. The horned Satyxis openly reveling to Cassie how her alien mind works.
"Now then? About that shower? I could use maybe another scrubbin' and I've some unguents which would go a treat through the hair.' Ysillith reaches into another pouch of her traveling trunks and pulls out a couple of bottles. One ceramic and one metal.
"Payed a small fortune fer these. Very expensive alchemical concoctions. Each of 'em gives off...um.. a scent, I s'pose ye'd call it." Ysillith gives Cassie a long, languid wink.
Make the gettin' of any bloke so much easier than smackin' em over the head and having t'carry them off. When the prey wants to walk away with ye? That's when the joys of takin' 'em on the mattress is all the sweeter." She grins lasciviously.
Letting herself be pushed upon the bed, she quirks her eyebrow in amusement; 'Seduction? This demoness is direct, but she lacks the finesse of a French woman.'
Her mind drifts into the white-zone whilst her body is worked upon, she just about hears the questions. "Oh; the silk works - that was done by your for the evening." her tone cheeky; "He could work on these silks anytime." her hand flicks to her lingerie in a sensuous motion rolling down the yielding lines of her body.
"I don't..." Cassie dithers over drinking the unction's, Taraz's paranoia and her natural training taking over. "No, I can deal with pain." she says resolutely.
She rolls over at mention of the Squirrel so she is on all fours upon the bed. Her eyes shine in passion; "NO! You do not hurt him, he's under my protection. As is Rashida, either of them annoy you... Take it out upon my body, do not harm them." She says plainly, with a hint of passion and sorrow at the edges of her voice. "Of course, I would prefer some notice." the tone light and all hint of threat drifts away.
Watching the Satyrix, go to the bathroom Cassie smiles. 'So many new people and so beautiful'
"Dahling, a subtle perfume. Well, you shouldn't need the scent just a flick of that." she nods to the swell of her posterior "Well the men would be queuing up."
As Ysillith turns on the shower Cassie comments; "You only want to concentrate on a single aspect. Men can be simple when it comes to physicality and if you flash too many things they will put you in 'easily obtainable' category."
"So what we do is emphasize one area, legs or chest would be good for someone of your physique. " her tone is warm and complimentary.
"Since you like your weapons; are you or can you hide something in your cleavage? I'll let you borrow the thigh-holster if you wish." she offers trying to make friends as she leans against the doors architraves.
"Deal with pain? What are ye blathering' about? Ye drink that and yer wound will be gone in...." Ysillith thinks, "A day, no more than two. Simple as that." Ysillith mutters something nuder her breath.
As Cassie moves around upon the mattress the gaze she gives Cassie shows that, for a moment, their minds are working on the same 'level'. Though at Cassie's comments Ysillith huffs.
"Hurt th' todger? Nah luv...I don't work that way. I just kill, plain and simple." She does become slightly introspective for a moment, 'Though, some folks have said I'm developin' a bad habit of 'gloating' as I get older..." She sighs,
"No worries, you want to play with that pup? I'll do right by yer wishes. Though if ye want to keep him? Then best make sure he don't get me back up. I lose me temper an' I in't so...controlled..." Ysillith eyes Cassie,
"Ye ken?" She asks, hoping the other woman understand her meaning. As Cassie asks about 'notice' Ysillith smiles,
"Aye, well...if'n th' men folk around here run as fast as they do back home? I might have t'take ye up on that offer of assuaging me tensions." And there is a smouldering sothing for a moment in Ysillith's eyes. Then she glances down over a shoulder to where Cassie indicated.
"Really? Never really noticed that end, well except fer the times I've taken a scratch there and sittin' on it's a might a pain in th' stern." She smiles at her little joke., again enjoying the pampering of so much free hot water over her skin and hair. Ysillith takes some time with her ablutions.
"I want some where I can conceal me bustle. Though I'll also need some time t'check the mechanism...Also, some where to strap on knives." Ysillith's discussion of clothes is interpreted she lathers small drops of both concoctions into her mane, then lathers and rinses.
"I see by the styles that more fabric and less metal is the way things are worn. Might have t'settle fer knives strapped about the place. Which is a good thing, since such items are small and t'is easy to carry a lot of 'em." On the topic of guns Ysillith sighs.
"I think we've a very different experience with men, luv. Where I come from? The flighty little buggers know too well of my kind's reputation. Keeping them from running away screaming is actually a lot of hard work." Ysillith pouts.
"Squirrel cannot be kept, he's a wild animal." she says with vivid recollection of their adventures so far.
Cassie remembers an English 'gent' she once 'stepped out' with. "Todger! I have no interest in it, no matter how impressive it promises to be." she lies in a flustered. Approaching the showering Captain with a soft stalking manner, despite knowing that the Satyrix senses her approach.
"Try to hurt him and we'll dance." she whispers in her ear lowly as the water pours down them. "As thrilling as that might be, you shouldn't underestimate me. I like a good dance." Cassie looks to the woman, quirking an eyebrow and trying to get a read upon the lady.
"Let us not argue, we have to prepare you for tonight." she says warmly, slowly rubbing the satyrix's shoulders and finding them muscular and powerful. 'She must have strong upper-body to hold those horns up. Which means she'll use more punches than kicks, so similar to fighting men. Duck and weave.' she assesses whilst still enjoying the sensation of the soft massage.
"Certainly it's a nice bustle you have." Cassie replies watching the soft white soap suds roll down the 'bustle' invitingly. "Yes, it'll be a queue rather than them running away." hotly saying; "Not that you want a queue of men."
"Anyway, I know what you need." Cassie words are low and hoarse as to be almost inaudible.
Upon the bed is a slit legged dark skirt, to contrast against the Satyrix's skin, it's a soft floating material and will allow her to have the leather boots beneath. There is a holster for a small weapon to be strapped to her thigh.
A creamy blouse with billowing sleeves perfect for concealing things, and coming around to a low scoop neckline. With the corset provided it will provide an impressive bosom that'll attract the eye.
An exposed corset allows blades to be concealed beneath, whilst the embroidery makes the ensemble turn from peasant-like to a bohemian rapture.
Cassie gets herself clean and dresses slowly and contentedly.
Cassie comes back into the dining room, with a backless elegant gown. The midnight blue silk cascades down her, flowing gently as she moves. Hair piled and carefully coiffured, a few strands curl around her face framing the lightly made up visage.
She smoulders into the room; "You my perky Squirrel are too kind." putting her bare arms around him. The exposed shoulders and arms shows her graceful and toned physiques, however the jewellery she uses to accessorise the costume is a spill of thin gold necklaces. It draws the eye down.
"I think I might be ready." Cassie says simply. The soft fragrance lingers on her.
Drake smiles as Cassie comes into the room and he grins at Ralph's comment, "And you probably thought you were not capable of silver speech." He jokes to the other man, "I cannot say it any more eloquently, my dear Cassie. I fear you take our breaths away."
He has stood to give respects to the women as they arrive and now awaits to see what has been done to the behorned woman who would be his date. Seeing the exquisite view of Cassie he wonders what she has done for the other lady not that the Captain would not look wonderful. He; however, did have an eye for artistic beauty.
If that is true, then how is he still talking? Vorian thinks to himself sarcastically, in regards to Drake's compliment. And yet surely enough, the sight alone of Cassie leaves him speechless. Was the opera that much more deserving of such finery than Von Ryuko's party? I'd be damned if it isn't, the gentleman concludes with a wistful smile before averting his gaze. He turns his eyes back toward the city with a knowing look in his eye. He had one last errand to run before they headed out.
"I am afraid I am feeling a little self-conscious in the presence of such remarkable beauty," he says abruptly, before turning to approach the Phantom's gangplank, "I am going to take another short run into town. I saw a few clothing shops along the way that might have just the thing I need." He looks to the others one last time. "If I don't get back in time, we can meet up at the opera, no?"
Pedicabs line the sides of the cobblestone streets, though not nearly as many as there were earlier in the day. Many of the common folk had already turned in for the night, and those that had somewhere to be were already there. The nobles however had their own places to be, and their own means to reach them. The black of night made for the perfect veil to hide their machinations. Surely enough, a single, large vessel stood out from the line of bicycle-driven cabs. A flash of recognition passing over his face, Vorian approaches the rather large carriage.
Moving closer, the noble catches a glimpse of the sizable beast tied to the transport. The massive steed was taller than most men, its build sleek yet muscular. As the noble reaches the carriage, the pitch-black horse looks over at him as though to assess him with its crimson gaze; with a grunt of dismissal, it huffs out a cloud of steam, before facing forward once more. A faint grin forming on his face, Vorian tugs open the carriage door and climbs in, shutting it behind him.
“It is a great relief to see that you are well, Lord Ritter. We responded to your telegram as quickly as possible.”
Vorian sits across from the elderly gentleman, the man being dressed in formal clothing far less extravagant than his own. Despite his stated relief, the gentleman’s face is as expressionless as a statue. Upon closer inspection however, Vorian notices that the man’s eyes are tired, and that the ends of his thick gray mustache were in his mouth. With a palpable sigh, Vorian sighs and nods.
“It is good to see you as well, Hubert. I trust that you did not come all this way in this?” he says, gesturing at the enclosed space around them.
“Of course not,” is all Hubert says on the subject, before promptly clapping his hands together a single time. “Let us get a move on then, shall we? I believe Lord Ritter has somewhere to be.”
“To Elodin’s Fine Wear,” he says, before looking to Hubert, who has now raised a bushy brow. As the carriage begins to move, Vorian offers a shrug. “I need an outfit fit for an opera. These are borrowed garments, fit for a gentleman like myself… and yet I cannot help but feel guilty accepting another’s charity. Besides, it was the only excuse I had to get out of the ship… though I suppose I could have just told them.” Pausing for a moment, he takes a moment to admire his outfit’s fabric before asking, “So, I suspect dear Hansel is alright? Did he do what I asked?”
With a sigh, Hubert leans back in his seat. “Not so well, I am afraid. He has been most concerned about your safety, even before your departure. He never did trust Von Ryuko…” As the gentleman trails off, Vorian bows his head, all too aware of the warnings he ignored. “As a matter of fact, he demanded that he come here himself – fortunately, I was able to talk him out of such foolishness. As for what you asked of him, well… there have been difficulties, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
“Yes…” the older man says, nodding, “What some of your usual contacts told us does not match up with the League daten we managed to peruse. Unfortunately, we were unable to access financial records. If one of the high noble houses afforded Ferrus Lupus’ services, we were unable to tell which. There is no proof that they were even deployed to begin with, let alone that Von Ryuko himself killed anyone.”
“Utter nonsense,” Vorian mutters angrily, look out through the carriage’s small window.
“I am afraid there is more,” Hubert says almost reluctantly, in an uncharacteristically nervous voice. He shifts in his seat, before looking around as though someone could hear them. “The Margrave, Donner Wolfkrone, has put forth the claim that a terrorist organization is responsible for the assassination of the Duke Leto Atreides, who with his vast spice fields, was well on his way to becoming a member of the League.”
“Terrorist organization?” Vorian says with a scowl, “He cannot possibly mean my companions and I! We have only done what has been necessary to survive, everything else has been Von Ryuko’s doing!”
“Indeed. And yet in the League’s eyes, Baron Eichorn Von Ryuko poses no more of a threat than a vermin. None would ever believe that he would be so bold as to attempt to assassinate so many aristocrats at once, and those who have sworn allegiance to him only serve to propagate that false truth.” Hubert pauses, looking to Vorian with a dire expression. “Wolfkrone is doubtlessly one of them. If the League votes in his favor, then Von Ryuko – no, the League itself – will be able to do everything in its power to hunt you all down, without consequence. Even if it means razing this city…”
“Mein Gott…” Vorian murmurs, shaking his head. With an abrupt jerk, the carriage comes to a halt. A quick glance outside shows him that he has indeed reached his destination. He had more questions, needed more answers, but he knew full well that he was almost out of time. “I cannot afford to jeopardize you, Hubert, or Hansel for that matter,” he says sadly, reaching to open the door, “If what you have said is true, then I cannot afford to return to Halbschattenbereich, much less with my companions.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Whatever my companions deem fit… I owe a great debt to them. My own needs are of little importance to me. Have Hansel continue to monitor the League’s activities – he is good at that sort of thing. They tend to take their time with their votes, so I believe we will be out of here well before it comes to that. I will only have a stable line of communication with you if – when – we reclaim Virago.” Opening the carriage door, Vorian begins to step out. “I am counting on you, Hubert. Noblesse oblige.”
“Farewell, Lord Ritter,” Hubert bids with a faint smile, before adding, “Do take care of yourself; you are looking rather haggard tonight.”
With Vorian out of the carriage, the horse lets out another huff before moving on laboriously. Left alone in front of the store, the noble takes a moment to contemplate what he had just learned – of yet another enemy far out of their reach. The hand through which Von Ryuko controlled Ferrus Lupus. With a sigh, he enters the shop. Perhaps an opera was all he needed to lift up his spirits.
Ysillith continues with her ablutions, even as Cassie comes to stand behind her and assist with rubbing and washing her back. Quickly they wash, finish and wrapping themselves in towel move back to the bed room and to where the clothes have been payed out in preparation.
As Cassie finishes drying her hear she lowers the towel from her head to see Ysillith standing beside the bed...looking at her. The Satyxis' hair already a sheet of flowing sable, the towel held taunt in her fists, between two well toned arms. The dark amber eyes stare intently at Cassie, where after a few moments more Ysillith seems to come to a decision.
"I'll let ye in on a secret of two, lass." She says quietly, "Where I come from, me an' mine? We're monsters. Killers of the blackest heart. Men run from us because...well...we play very rough. Remember, we don't scar. We don't mind a little ripping and tearing when we tussle." Ysiullith has been stretching the towel taunt as she speaks, the soft fabric actually creaking in protest.
"We raid. We pillage, we plunder, we rapine, we murder. We strike with out warning and we fight to win or we die unloved and un-mourned. So...when I say I don't play with what offends me? I do truly mean it. When I warn ye about how I might react t' those who don't see the monster before them? I make no bones or lament about their mistake." Ysillith slowly releases the twisted towel and drops it casually upon the bed, Cassie realizing the Satyxis had been holding it as a weapon.
"Now, normally there's a pack of us. A swarm. A tide of lust filled aggression sweeping off the deck of the Pirate ship onto what ever vessel has been slow enough to be caught, or sleepy little town who's walls and soldiers have grown lax enough to forget." Ysillith nods as she begins to dress slowly,
"You and yours? Your in luck 'cause there just be me -an' a lone Satyxii? Well..they think different. Different instincts come to the fore. Different imperatives." With sensual, feline grace Ysillith dons her undergarments, her lower garments.
"So...when I tell ye t' protect that which ye said ye've claimed? I do mean it. When I suggest ye reconsider what ye think ye see in me, standing before ye? I truly do advise it. When I tell ye that I don't make threats, nor care about the spilling of blood? I do truly swear it." Ysilith puts on the silk blouse, testing the wonderful silk sleeves before deftly beginning to hide numerous blades and other weapons about her body.
"When Rashida returns? Ask her about the men who were sent to try and kill her. The...monster this Von Rokoo had." Ysillith smiles warmly as she puts the finishing touches to her dressage, placing the scarf to her brow which sweeps away the monster horns with its glamor,
"I hope we've come to an accord? Maybe we can even work out how t'be friends?" Ysillith suggests pleasantly. (^_^)
Captain Ysillith, he hair held back by a silk bandanna/scarf which also seems to ave hidden her solid accoutrements saunters into the room behind Cassie. T
he taller woman dressed in slit legged dark skirt, to contrast against the Satyrix's skin, it's a soft floating material and will allow her to have the leather boots beneath. There is space that a holster for a small weapon might conceivably be strapped to a thigh.
A creamy blouse with billowing sleeves perfect for concealing things, and coming around to a low scoop neckline. With the corset provided it will provide an impressive bosom that'll attract the eye.
An exposed corset allows blades to be concealed beneath, whilst the embroidery makes the ensemble turn from peasant-like to a bohemian rapture.
Captain Ysillith observes those gathered, smiling and nodding to those eho pass her greetings.
"It is our pleasure, Lady Massri, and shall we deliver these for you to -- oh, where was that again? Was it the Phantom?"
Rashida curses mentally but smiles pleasantly at Madame Rossier. "Of course not. To the Grand Hotel, penthouse. Do you really think I would stay on an airship?" Her voice drips disdain at the thought. "Think how awkward it will be tonight if my hairdresser and lady's maid are at the Grand and you deliver my dress to an airfield!"
The plump, grey-haired woman's eyes widen. "Oh, of course! I naturally thought it would be to the same place. Forgive me, Lady Massri." The woman gestures and her staff flies into action, packaging the magnificent gown carefully in gauzy tissue and tying it with satin ribbons into a fine, protective linen bag. "You had best hurry, Lady Massri, or you will be late."
Rashida smiles loftily. "Oh, I plan to be late. It's the only way to make an entrance." She gazes absently out the window to where a large carriage drawn by a pitch-black steed pulls up across the street. With some alarm, she recognizes the passenger the coach discharges as it pulls away, but the older man with the elegant carriage pays no attention to Madame Rossier's.
"That, er, tall lady who was with you earlier - she is your maid, Lady Massri?" the shopkeeper pries, and Rashida gives a delicate snort as she answers, still keeping an eye on the gentleman outside. "Her? Of course not. She is - was - my bodyguard. She offended me with her familiarity, so she is now unemployed. The clan will send another. Not that I need one here. This place is as peaceful as an alb." Ritter strolls into Elodin's, jauntily flourishing his cane but appearing quite preoccupied. Rashida breathes a tiny sigh of relief, then realizes that Madame Rossier is speaking yet again. "...such a crass thing as payment, but shall we put this on the Massri tab?"
Rashida skewers the shopkeeper with a flat, black glare. "Of course. What do you think?" Her moue of disappointment clearly conveys what she thinks of the clumsy crudity of the transaction, and the twin serpents twined about her wrists shift and hiss slightly, causing poor Madame Rossier to flinch back in some alarm. A glance out the window confirms that Vorian Ritter is no longer on the street outside, so Rashida sweeps quickly towards the door, chiffon fluttering in the haste of her passage as Madame Rossier springs to open the door lest the divine noble sully her hands upon the door handle. "Thank you, Lady Massri, thank you," the woman murmurs, curtsying along with her staff as Rashida exits without acknowledging them, her eyes already fixed on a jewelry store in the middle of the next block.
Madame Rossier sighs with relief once the door closes. Watching her girls package the gown, she murmurs quite ungenteely, "Bloody Massris. Too good for titles like normal people. If it weren't for their gold, I'd have nothing to do with them." Her seamstress looks up and nods. "Something creepy about all of them. Did you see those snakes move?" agrees the tall, bony lady with a measuring tape wrapped around her wrist. All the women glance up guiltily as the shop bell rings again, fearing to have been caught by the target of their gossip, but the newcomer is a gentleman, darkly handsome, and straight and elegant as a blade. Surprised at the male intrusion into their feminine world, the women stare in silence, until the stranger favors them with a charming smile.
"Forgive the interruption, ladies, but I am a stranger in town and need directions... but first... was that one of the Massri Clan who just left?" There is a near-audible crack of breaking ice as the man's deep blue eyes meet those of each of the ladies in the store, perfect white teeth gleaming as his conspiratorial smile thaws the cool reserve of the normally proper shopkeepers, and they begin babbling like common gossips.
"Yes, the Massris visit Friederichshafen from time to time... That was Rashida Massri. Isn't she lovely?... They're so incredibly wealthy!" The women clamor together and the gentleman holds up a gloved hand for silence, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I suppose they have a palace here in town where they stay then?"
"Oh no, they simply have everyone removed from the penthouse at the Grand Hotel - where we're delivering this soon - and usually the floor below it for their staff," volunteers Madame Rossier, scarcely believing how long and thick the man's dark lashes are, and wondering in a way she hadn't for a decade or more just how it would feel to run her fingers through his shining black hair - once she'd torn off his top hat and hurled it aside, that is.
The man shakes his head as he marvels with them about the overblown egos that wealth can bring. Eventually, having drained them dry of Massri gossip, he requests directions to the Opera House. The ladies watch him leave, each quietly heartbroken in a way they would never admit to one another. They finish their work silently, only the occasional deep sigh breaking the quiet of the shop.
Ysillith stands coolly and casually, having said hello to Drake with a pleasant smile, before moveing so as to be next to the mechanika-cats to which she is having a conversation with either or even both. Those listening over hear her asking questions about the airship and its operation, delving into all manner of details both technical and departmental.
"You!" Her eyes pin one of the new crew, who jumps to a smart attention as Ysillith takes a stride towards him,
Name! Position!" Ysillith barks,
"B-b-boatswain second class Ellis! Ma'am!" The man's training returning answers even as his mind catches up and he looks to the woman who is issuing orders.
Bosun Ellis!" Ysillith snaps, "You are aware of the room on 'F' deck, stern?"
"Aye Ma'am!"
"Go there. After knocking four times upon the right hand frame, take down th' ensign flag upon th' door and enter, retrieving the brass staff. Touch nothing else..." Ysillith warns. At the man's slight hesitation Ysillith barks,
"HOP TO IT!" Causing the fellows' training to hurry him along, again as his mind caches up with the fact that it is a strange woman giving them. Ysillith returns to chatting with the mechanika-cats, picking up her discourse technica from whence she left off.
Ralph smiles and happily wraps his arms around Cassie when hers come around him. He chuckles softly "Too kind ain't one I hear real of'en. Ya better be ready, if ya make yerself look any better'n dat yer gonna stop ma hart." He leans in closer to her and says in a lowered voice "It's poundin purdy hard al'reddy."
Drake receives a look, and then a smile as he talks of silver speech, Ralph turns to face the others, but keeps an arm around Cassie's waist. "I just says it how I sees it Charlie, I guess sumtimes dat's silv'ry." he shrugs as if he hadn't intended it to be silver speech just his honest opinion.
In the brief moments Ralph's attention is away from Cassie he spots Ysillith and his eyes widen a bit "Ooh Cap'n yer lookin like ya might be stoppin a few harts 'o yer own." He smiles to himself at her interaction with Ellis, she might stop that poor man's heart for a different reason. He calls after the man as he hurries off "Hey pally, see if ya cin find me a hoity-toity style hat while yer at it, not from da same room dough."
Ellis dashes off and returns a few moments later, lugging a long, brass staff with some difficulty, as if it is far heavier than it looks. He snaps to attention before Ysillith and offers it to her. "Ma'am!"
Once relieved of his burden, Ellis salutes and backs away, then briskly approaches Ralph, offering the remaining item in his posession. "Sir! This is what I could find, sir. I hope it suits?" It is a black velvet top hat with a silk band, a jaunty red plume sticking up from the band on one side. It is definitely rich and hoity-toity, though of rather unusual style.
Darkness descends upon the town; the mountains possessively steal the waning light amongst their hoary peaks. A chill rolls in from the lake along with a light mist, draping the town in a translucent sheen. Harsh edges of the architecture are softened and the world takes on a eerie mystique.
Lights lining the street flicker into life. Illuminating the residences in a pale blue cast which it fights futilely against the mist. The white rendered buildings creating a ghost-town with wraiths moving through the streets. Sounds are muffled; giving a distant feel even to people in close proximity.
The carriage rumbles through the streets, the ebony horse taking them down the spectres of boulevards. The light chatter and soft flirting continues inside the carriage, making it feel much warmer than the chill outside. The soft fragrance shared by the ladies is light, and as thrilling as the conversation. The ladies barely need their stoles to drap over there shoulders, as the sit next to their respective dates thighs in soft contact. The beautiful helmet-cats hold the attention and respect of all, especially with the light jewellery they wear.
Through the streets they smoothly travel, with accompaniment from the clatter of hooves. Past the tall clock tower rising high over the city, rivalling the giant ship-yards, a dark sentinel with a gruesome history featuring hints of the supernatural.
Soon they approach the Opera House, rising from the shores of the lake a Cyclopean monster beaching itself. The pale façade glimmers in the reflected light of the still lake, waters slowly lapping against the quay for naval patrons.
The dark carriage pull up towards the front of the building a speck against it's wide pale stone frontage. Intricately carved columns rise up to give the stout building a graceful feel. Gargoyles stand upon the spouts and cornices watching visitors silently. Dark huge windows stand dark like dead eyes; observing the cities inexorably march to progress. Balconies surround the upper story, where individuals stand back lit turning them into mysterious shadows.
There is a buzz to the crowds that circulate, some milling in the foyer whilst others are headed straight for their seats. The wide open space hosts a great bustle of people, though it's not too hard to pick individuals out of the crowd. This is certainly not a scant attendance. Waiting staff, besuited hold a number of light canapés and drinks upon platters. The soft melody of the hidden orchestra drifts around the atrium.
The Opera, Don Giovanni, this is certainly an Event.
Rashida observed the opera house from the top of the church for a moment before she pulled herself into the bell tower to descend. It was lit now, bright next to the darkness of the lake, tiny carriages pulling up and discharging brilliantly dressed patrons. She had always wanted to attend an opera, but with school, well... when was there ever time in a student's life for recreation? Then after had been endless drilling and training until the party, when the family lost contact with one member and decided to send her - useless as she was - to find him. No time to play, no time to laugh, no time to live, until after the party. Until she found friendship and warmth and love in the midst of her enemies.
Don Giovanni. Why did it have to be that particular opera: the story of a wastrel who lived hard and fast until he was dragged into the pit for his sins? The thought sent a chill of superstitious fear through her belly as she wondered where her wastrel was. Tonight, once she was secure, she would try to find him. It had worked once. At least she might be able to be in his presence, however insubstantially, once again. Otherwise, she knew, she would never be able to sleep.
She pulled her jacket collar up and hurried through the misty streets, desperately hoping that neither her contact nor any spies were following, losing herself in the mists of the Bodensee.
Both Mittens and the Duchess seem glad to exchange information with Ysillith on the ship. Mittens seems like a fountain of information on the actual workings of the ship from the mechanical side, mostly because she wants to brag about how much she knows about mechanics. The Duchess is more familiar with the structure and layout of the ship, and she is calmer about sharing such information.
When it comes time to head to the opera, Mittens opts to stay behind to watch over the ship, while the Duchess goes forth as it is her idea in the first place to head over to the opera. She has friends and contacts there, who might be able to help them out with the issues that they are presently faced with, or at the very worst keep an eye open on their behalf.
As Ysillith enters the room Drake looks to her with a timid smile, his eyes alight with pleasure as he sees the wondrous outfit she is wearing looking all the more attractive in the bodice than he could have believed. He bows his head courteously as he puts out his arm for her as much a gentleman as ever.
"With you upon my arm no one shall ever see me. You are a beauty unto your own, Captain. Shall we proceed?" Just as he is at his most gentlemanly the captain gives a man trouble and sends him running. Drake's brow rises and then he sniggers, "Well my lady, I sure do not need to be the ones with the pants now do I?"
He stops for a moment, opens his mouth, closes it, goes to say something then gives up realizing that he just gave everyone an opening if they were ever going to take it so shuts up to save a tiny bit of his dignity so it could be squashed later.
Through the ride he is pleased watching the goings ons and stays quiet as they move along then when they get into the opera house he dips his head and keeps his nose in the itinerary for the show in a polite manner as much as possible.
Ysillith does smile warmly at/with Drake, even as she entwines her arm with his -the brass staff deftly being manipulated with her other hand/arm.
On the ride to the Theater Ysillith's eyes are scanning every where. Her posture upright and her attention alert. Once at the theater Ysillith nods and helps Drake to his seat, then begins to prowl the corridors behind the booths/boxes, still watching and waiting.
As our intrepid heroes arrive, they are treated to quite the sight. Thornburghaufen's Clockwork Theater was not as famous for the actual theatrical performances as it was the incredible use of technology to enhance the possibly mediocre opera and ballet. While the exterior still showed the ancient architecture of a different era, the interior was full of clockwork, steam, and spirit engine technologies. Many were set up in such a way as to be functional, such as the pipes distributing colored steam from the prismatic boilers in the basement up to carefully placed vents over the stage itself. Where they broke the floor or ceiling they were incorporated into the interior design or strategical placed for a secondary purpose.
Serv-Bots run to and fro bringing fresh washed glasses and trays of food to the stands and small buffet tables littered throughout the grand lobby. The ticket taker is a helmetcat with an artistically designed helmet resembling ocean waves that washed over his head repeatedly. Merely an optical illusion of course, but one never knew with helmetcats. He exchanges each ticket for a special pin shaped like two large letters, a 'D' & 'G'. The wave helmetcat encourages everyone to pin the tastefully crafted pins to their clothing to identify their level of ticket.
Our heroes enter the lobby in a small fanfare. The Ament has been seen and everyone wonders if the Lady Rashida Massri will be arriving soon. The Phantom's arrival was also observed and the guests coming directly from it are immediately accosted by Frau Gretel Stuptsmann who is the current owner of the Opera House having inherited it from her late husband Viktor Thornburghaufen. Once it becomes clear the Massri of The Ament isn't with the party, she merely displays the correct level of courtesies as one Opera House patron to another then sees to the arrival of many other well-to-do theater-goers.
"Tanks pally dis'll do nicely." It certainly looks hoity-toity enough, and shouldn't look completely out of place with Ralph's suit, although it is a bit out of the ordinary, maybe he'll get compliments on it.
He chuckles a bit at Drake's choice of phrase, but let's what seems to be a perfect opportunity slide instead he claps the man on the shoulder with the arm that isn't around Cassie. "Good man Chucky, no shame in lettin a dame take da lead, an' who better'n our luv'ly cap'n?."
During the carriage ride Ralph chats with anyone who would like to talk with him, though he focuses mostly on Cassie. When they've arrived and enter the opera house he slips his arm around Cassie's waist to walk with her instead of just offering his arm. Once inside he leans in to speak quietly with her
Ysillith saunters coolly and casually up the front stairs along wwith the others who['ve arrived from 'The Phantom'. Initially she steers Drake such that they are behind the servant who is carrying the pillow upon which The Duchess is perched. Ysillith waiting patiently as their particulates are noted and she and Drake walk inside, her brass staff not being given over to the waiting functionary-mechs who are taking evening shawls, coats and other frippery from arriving guests.
"An...injury..." Drake smooths over the affair, "An unfortunate skiing incident, not quite healed." He directs any medical inquiries to the physician Master Vorian Ritter.
Once through entry foyer and into the milling crowd Drake notes that the woman who's arm his is entwined with is aggressive enough that they are simply walking together, though Ysillith seems content for the moment to allow Drake to steer where ever it is they should walk.
Ysillith's eyes slide across everything. Noting nooks, crannies, flitting shadows. Taking in the gait and stance of the other Opera guests as well as staff. Most she instantly ignores...others however, her eyes slide back to as she surreptitiously begins to monitor their motions and movements. It might be noted that indeed some of these patrons and staff begin the same covert monitoring of Ysillith in return.
Ysillith leans closer to Drake and begins to asks questions about the art, colours and designs for the place they are wandering through...
Smoothing down the slightly wrinkled lines of her posterior as she exits the carriage, Cassie smiles to her new friends tonight will certainly prove to be quite the event. It had been a while since she had been to an Operetta and this House was renowned for the visual effects they used as well as the quality of direction.
Cassie clacks open her fan and walks up the steps to hand over the tickets that had altered their composition to be perfect replica's. Frau Gretel seems a lovely woman and Cassie is perfectly polite to her hostess.
Happy to have such a partner on his arm as not to make many demands and only ask straight forward questions Drake starts to feel a bit safer in the environment until he accidentally lets down his guard while pointing out the intricacies of one painting Ysillith has asked about.
That is when a young woman starts jumping up and down while pointing at him then a painting down the hallway, "IT'S HIM IT'S HIM!!" She screams in admiration then runs straight for the man.
Drake looks about quickly but notices they are surrounded then more people notice and women start yelling, "IT'S DRAKE RAMORAY!"
The women start to mob Drake and Ysillith as he backs up and puts a hand over his face, pictures being taken of himself and the captain while he grimaces as if in pain.
"Oh please sign this for me!" "You were wonderful in that operetta where Joey ..." It goes on and on the words coming out of peoples' mouths about how Drake was a wonderful actor and played the characters Joey Tribbiani and Drake Ramoray in an opera production.
Drake gives Ysillith an "I'm sorry" kind of look and looks for the others for help.
The pedicab suspended by a mini-dirgible balloon stops before the opera house, Clousuk the Kobold Investigator and the only Agent of the League of Aristocracy's Internal Review Committee jumps out. Somewhere between here and his office, Clousuk had managed to find a tuxedo coat and vest and a tail cuff that would have made him quite dashing...if any other kobolds were around. As it were, only he and Richard his secretary emerge from the pedicab. Clousuk's top hat and eye monocle feel a little silly, but he knows he has to blend in at such an social event.
A young girl in a newsboy cap and goggles jumps down from the pedal control seat. She grins and holds out her hand. Clousuk makes a shows of reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He offers the girl what's in his hand.
"Er, well, sir. I need money," she says bluntly. Clousuk looks down and sees the end of a mop in his hand.
"Braaaak!" Clousuk bursts out. Throwing the mop head away angrily, Clousuk begins patting down his pockets quickly. His nose droops dejectedly when he realizes his wallet isn't there. A long sigh is heard, and Richard offers the near-woman a few coins.
The pair make there way to the ticket changer where the helmetcat exchanges their tickets for some copper pins fashioned to look like letters. The two make their way inside as a crowd of clamoring women fuss over some famous actor or some such.
"Tut, tut!" exclaims the kobold at the melee, and having already forgotten he is missing his wallet snatches a wine glass from a Serv-Bot's tray destined for another party's table.
The kitchen staff of the Grand Hotel had left the back door propped open for air, as all cooks do. It was the work of an instant for the black-garbed woman to slip inside and trot quickly through the bustle, the chefs and sous chefs far too busy at their work to do more than fire an angry yell at the intruder. She slips into the back hallways and finally finds, among the doors for the laundry, supplies, and boilers, a door to the women's necessary.
She bolts the door and quickly wriggles and peels out of the black leather outfit, slipping her now-wrinkled chiffon garb back on and stuffing everything remaining into a light leather bag which she withdraws from the dark one she's been carrying. Everything fits, the assemblage having been carefully chosen. She slips her feet into golden sandals and finger-combs her dark hair, giving it a soft twist held fast by a single gold comb and settling her usual wrist decorations in place.
When she is satisfied, she times the door opening to coincide with one of the angry thumps which has been raining on the door for the last thirty seconds. The red-faced waiter stumbles in, nearly colliding with the golden divinity. His eyes fix upon the burnished snakes twining up the bronzed forearms and a slight whimper emerges from his throat. "Lady... Lady Massri... your pardon." In a panic, he lunges back, colliding with a cartload of towels being pushed by a maid. In the ensuing confusing of thrashing limbs, falling towels, Germanic curses, and yodels of apology, Rashida brushes past and to the front desk.
"Key, please," she requests of the front desk man, and he quickly complies, calling a bellman to carry Rashida's bag. She graciously allows him to take it and follows to the elevator, where the man manages the levers and valves expertly, sweeping them smoothly up the height of the building to the floor just below the penthouse.
"I'm sorry the penthouse was unavailable, Lady Massri. We could clear it for you if you like. It's only the Justicias, after all." The man proceeds with the bag and room key, opening the suite door and depositing her luggage in the bedroom, near the open armoire where her opera dress is already unpacked and hanging.
"It's unnecessary for now, good man. Send up the maid and hairdresser in fifteen minutes. Here's for your trouble." She hands him a heavy gold coin that widens his eyes and he bows himself out, walking backwards. The shower is lovely but short, as the opera will be starting soon and she wishes to be there at the end of the first intermission. It takes time to do things right, even when starting with something so lovely. She regards her reflection in the full length mirror, running her hands softly down her body. Amazing. Never in a million years did I expect to look like this. No wonder Rorenson was so taken. I could have any man... any, if I so wished. Divinity has its perks.
Ralph smiles at Cassie and puts his pin into the silk band of his top hat, the letters changing to an elegant calligraphy, and the coloring adjusting to match the plume in the hat. Leaning in to talk quietly in Cassie's ear again he slides his hand over the smooth skin of her back to rest on her shoulder.
Noticing the commotion he looks over towards Drake "Chuck shure is da pop'ler one ain't he? I can' even count all da dames 'round him."
As the gathering socialites begin to flock and swarm towards Drake Khoth Ysillith glares and moves to get between them and him. As the numbers of sycophants increase Ysillith drops her staff into the horizontal such as to hold back more of the crowd.
She tries to catch the eye of one of the Opera 'toughs' who's job it is to 'police' the area, to see if they might be coming to help or even control the situation.
"Your craftsmanship is most excellent, Elodin," Vorian remarks with amazement, admiring the sleeve of his new jacket. He had thought that the eccentric old man was crazy when he first entered the store, barraging him with questions utterly irrelevant to the matter of having clothing made. And yet within an hour of attaining his measurements, the artisan had woven the pieces to an entire outfit. Only a few key accessories - namely the boots, belt, and cufflinks - had not been assembled before his very eyes. "What's your secret?"
"Thank you, milord!" the shopkeeper says excitedly, continuing to make minute adjustments to the fresh suit. Surely enough it was a snug fit, neither too tight nor too loose. "I suppose I could tell you that I only use the highest quality fabrics in the world, but every tailor worth his salt does that much! The truth is a trade secret, I am afraid..." Removing one last pin, the elderly man steps back and removes his glasses, grinning at Vorian. "...but if you wish, I can give you a hint."
"No, that is alright," the nobleman says in amusement, reaching to adjust his sleeves out of habit, but finding it unnecessary, "We are all entitled to our secrets, after all. They are what make us special, no?" Turning to face the craftsman, Vorian raises a hand to stroke his chin. "So then, just how much will this cost? You threw it together without so much as giving me a figure or projection."
“Ah, I forgot, you are new here!” Elodin says, running a hand over the stubble on his own chin, “Nobles tend to stroll in here with no concern for how much they will have to spend. As a matter of fact, they tend to overpay by quite the margin! Let’s see… counting the costs of the materials in your suit, as well as the time spent to craft it, I would set its price at about… fifty thousand marks.”
The announcement of the price does not seem to faze Vorian, who simply walks over to collect his belongings from a nearby table. Flipping open his pocket book, he scribbles on it for a moment before ripping out the page and handing it to Elodin. The older gentleman quickly puts his glasses back on and begisn to read over it. “Take this to any bank endorsed by the League of Aristocracy. It should be honored without question.” Pocketing his personal effects and taking his cane, Vorian turns to leave from the shop.
“Wait now, Lord Ritter!” Elodin calls out, looking up from the note, “This says that the appropriate amount will be taken out of Lord Sefu Ajani’s coffers! Are you sure that this is correct?”
“Absolutely,” Vorian says, reaching for the door, “He still owes me a few favors, after all.” And I’m sure the rich bastard won’t count his losses after paying for one damned suit. He pauses again, remembering something. “Oh, and if you would – please have the garments I was wearing before sent to the airship hangars. I am sure the crew of the Phantom would know what to do with them. Thank you again, Elodin. I will be sure to tell others of your establishment!” With that he takes his leave, abandoning the bewildered shopkeeper.
I am running rather late… Vorian notes with a frown, taking a glance at his pocket watch. It would be rather difficult to find another empty carriage at this time of night. As he turns at the next intersection however, he sees another familiar face…
She quivers at the touch of his rough manly hands, so unlike the small ones of the prim courtiers. "Ah, thank you, My Squirrel." she smiles before whispering to his ear.
Then she leans so that he can pin the D & G to the soft swell of her dress, upon the only available area of material since the spaghetti straps are too unsubstantial.
Cassie looks around for Rashida, apprehension growing and the soft dark feeling in the pit of her stomach. 'So many new-comers, so many people here who could be trouble.' she blinks slowly before she breaks into a smile for her escort. 'No, I trust she can take care of herself. I am a social butterfly, don't doubt yourself.'
Taking Ralph's arm she moves towards the throngs of people; "Well he cannot be the only popular one. Oh, there's Eliza Monstre, the singer." she says leading him in that direction.
Cassie bends down and picks up a folded brown leather wallet from the marble floor where it's been spilt. She opens it to a quick smiles and a twinkle of her eye, unfortunately this act delays her slightly...
For as she and Ralph approach the rotund form of Heimel Vaughn der Justicia, appears in her path blocking her from the Diva. His tight trousers barely containing his bulky belly. "Harrumph, Miss Monstre what do you think of the weather around here?"
Cassie looks slightly exasperated at the man with his innane question and trying to monoplise the singer.
Unfortunately, the familiar face also sees Vorian.
The monstrous mecha-coach sways and lurches as Eleanor, Dowager Duchess of Montresor, flings open the door and descends to the street in an enormous flurry of lace and feathers, powdered wig set firmly above the heavily spackled face with one determined beauty mark on the upper lip doing its best to look, well, beautiful. She grasps Vorian firmly by the arm, beaming into his face and sending vast clouds of brandy fumes swirling about his head.
"Oh how lovely to see you! In town and you don't look me up, hmm? Naughty naughty." One elderly claw slips down to firmly pinch his bottom, then she stands back to look him up and down as a lion might admire an especially plump gazelle.
"Oh my, you've been to Elodin's! That man can make anyone look marvelous, but you don't need his help, you know. But what have you been up to, dear Ritter? You must have missed my invitation to spend the summer at my little summer palace near Oslo? What a shame, we could have had such a good time!
Her pendulous jowls wobble as she nods towards the gaudy mecha-coach. "You look good enough for the opera, my dear! I have the most marvelous box now, you must come share it with me! We'll be late if we don't hop in the coach now, though. Come ride with me, darling Vorian, and tell me what you've been up to? You know how your adventures always leave me breathless!" She spreads a wizened claw over her vast expanse of exposed bosom, wielding her fan with the other.
Ralph smiles taking the pin and reaching around from behind Cassie to attach the pin to her dress taking maybe a little longer than is necessary, though not enough that it would be obvious he's stalling. He was careful not to poke her, and whispers in her ear once the pin is in place.
With a kiss at the base of Cassie's neck he moves away from her and follows as she takes his arm leading him towards a singer, he looks curiously at the wallet when Cassie picks it up, but doesn't say anything. Seeing his date's look of exasperation at being cut off from Miss Monstre he moves up and puts a hand on Heimel Vaughn der Justicia's shoulder giving a bow of apology for interrupting before moving past where he can interact with the singer. Playing the gentleman he removes his hat and offers the lady a low bow, he'll take her hand and kiss the singer's fingers if she'll let him. He looks over his shoulder towards Cassie and smiles holding out his free hand to her so she can come explain.
“Aha, my apologies, dear Duchess!” Vorian manages to muster with a robust tone, resisting the sudden urge to run in the opposite direction as fast as possible. His middling level of nobility was more often than not supplemented by his adventurous reputation. Not always in the good way, unfortunately. Nonetheless, he knew an opportunity when he saw one. Taking Eleanor’s hand, Vorian delicately places a light kiss on its back. “Business always has this nasty habit of calling, I am afraid. But that is all behind me now!”
Smiling amorously and dying a little inside in the process, Vorian escorts her back to her carriage. “Tell me Eleanor, have you ever been to the Americas?”
The dowager coos a delighted little laugh like a greatly overstuffed pigeon as Vorian's lips brushed the back of her hand and beams when he moves towards the carriage. "Well I should hope so, Vorian. It's long past time you stopped all this running about and settled down, you know! I'm so glad to hear you have changed your ways."
With the assistance of Vorian and her coachman (who gives Vorian the kind of pitying look which a noble should never receive from the help but which demonstrates the underlying sympathy of all mankind), the Duchess is heaved back onboard the sturdy mecha-coach, which steams, clanks, wheezes, and rattles into motion once the coachman closes the door solidly behind Vorian, trapping him with the elderly woman.
His question is apparently startling and turns the voraciously hungry expression on her face to a less threatening but equally repulsive one of puzzlement. "The Americas?" The bubbly bulldog snort which follows leaves no doubt about her opinion there. "Why on earth would I want to visit that land of savagery and horror? Oh Vorian, you rascal, I do believe you are trying to shock me! You little rogue!" Her trilling laugh fills the carriage with the sound of a thousand insane canaries. She leans forward to pat his knee, but the hand remains after the pat, slipping slowly up his thigh.
Cassie smiles and thanks to Ralphs help inserts herself into the conversation, with a grateful squeeze of Ralphs fore-arm. "I saw you that wonderful evening at the Conservatory in Lyon. You were enchanting, even..." she pauses in remembrance; "you were enchanting Eliza. May I call you that." Cassies eyes have lit up as have the Diva's in a shared joy of a magnificent performance.
"Lizzie and I were talking about the weather." the heavy mustashed man interrupts uncouthly. He looks at the the pair of new-comers; "Oh you again, and with a different man. I thought you were that kind of woman." he says snidely looking her up and down. Only in the back of his eye is there the lascivious spark long since nearly extinguished.
“Shocking, I know!” Vorian says, playing off the Duchess’ repulsion and awe. He was all too aware of the woman’s creeping hand, yet the most he could to preserve his sanity was ignore it completely. Calm down, now, you just have to make it to the opera, the noble thinks, as he tries his best to maintain his smile, You’ve dealt with this sort of thing all your life. Now think, good man. Just keep on talking, that should keep her busy… Suppressing a sigh through sheer willpower, Vorian begins his tale.
“But I would have you know dear Eleanor, that within those lands, there are great treasures to be found! Entire cities of gold, the people there have. They see the gleam of the sun across its surface, and they believe themselves to be touched by the gods. And I dare say, while it certainly was not divine by any meaning of the word, the sheer majesty of the sight was something to behold! Regrettably of course, one cannot simply fit a building in one’s pocket. Alas, the true treasures are those that can be held in your very hands. Take something and hide it away, and it becomes yours forever! It is for that very reason that I took a ship to South America, to find the glimmering jewel that was so painstakingly hidden! It all began when a compatriot of mine invited me out to tea…”
As the mecha-carriage moves on to the opera, Vorian’s story goes on and on, detailing his journey to the Americas, his run-in with his nefarious Russian nemesis, the deadly chase from the ‘savages’…
The great mecha-carriage squeaks and grinds to a halt in front of the ornate opera house as the crowds outside are thinning and heading through the front doors. The footman descends from his post and opens the door for the occupants, who immediately spill out onto the pavement, the dowager duchess looking flushed and slightly out of breath whilst Vorian Ritter, though still elegantly (and fully) dressed, appears a bit more distressed.
"Dear Ritter, you'll join me in my box, won't you? Surely that brief carriage ride is merely the delectable appetizer to the fine banquet that tonight will become in each other's company!" Duchess Eleanor warbles appealingly, one bejeweled claw outstretched affectionately to Vorian, "The music, the society, the wine, and after.... ah, what a triumph! Do come, Lord Ritter, we shall have such fun!"