"Must be a sorcerer that wrapped this damn thing." Jerod mutters to himself, noting the passage of rooms as he makes his way to the studio, working the crinkle wrap of the package carefully. Sometimes there were disadvantages to be very strong, especially when dealing with fragile things.
He stops as he reaches the corner, listening for a moment to the intermittent humming, smiling slightly as he recognizes Folly as the source. "Where else..." he thinks, before continuing forward.
He takes a quick view of the room, surveying the interior once more before knocking, holding the package in one hand, balanced carefully on his upstretched fingers, waiter style.
As he looks into the room, it becomes immediately obvious why Folly's humming was so apparent from the hall: she is standing at a set of chimes that look as though they were fashioned from exhaust pipes; but instead of using the mallets in her hand to play them, she is humming into the ends of each in turn, trying to get them to reverberate with and amplify her voice.
At Jerod's knock, though, she looks up, smiling brightly when she sees who it is. "Jerod! Have you come to jam?"
Jerod enters the room, looking curiously as the chimes. He transfers the silvery, crinkle wrapped basket to his other hand and taps one of the chimes, listening to the tone. "I'm not sure." he says after a moment. "Not sure whether violins would mix in a Goth Industrial meets Georgian Chants environment." and he taps another pipe. "Though it could be quite interesting I suppose."
Folly grins.
"As a matter of fact, I was looking more for you. I found something while coming in from Paris that I thought you might...approve of." and he proffers the basket, the crinkle wrap opened up sufficiently now to allow for the wafting of a variety of scents, but most strongly...chocolate.
"If I didn't know better, Jerod, I'd suspect you had lots of practice managing the moods of a crazy pregnant person," Folly says, grinning broadly at him. More earnestly, she adds, "Thank you -- this is very sweet of you." She takes the basket and peers curiously into the wrapping.
"Consider it a survival trait." Jerod says in his most diplomatic tone, belying the smile on his face as she riffles through the package, identifying chocolate, exotic dried fruit, various candied nuts and some unusual confections made from the combination of chocolate, rock sugar and salt.
"How was your trip back from Paris?" she adds as she inspects the contents, opening a bag of the sugar-and-salt chocolates and giving them an inquisitive sniff, followed by a cautious nibble.
"Busy." Jerod says, letting her settle first before he does so. "Went looking for something I needed and got caught up in the shopping mood. Turns out to have been a good idea so for the official record if anyone asks, I totally planned the whole thing.
"Found a shop in this city I came across, little back-alley place run by this couple. I'm not sure how they made any money but the storefront was packed near floor to ceiling with different stuff. I had the immediate impression of you getting loose there and not coming out for a couple of days so shopping was the next immediate step. I hope you enjoy it."
"I think I may have a hard time not eating it all in one go," she says with a laugh; she has already finished one sugar-and-salt chocolate and started on a second. "But I suppose that would defeat the part of the plan where I spend the next couple of months lounging about eating bon-bons. Would you like one? They're quite good." She holds the little bag out to Jerod in offering. Several of her fingers are splotched with traces of paint in shades of yellow, brown, and blue.
"I'm sure the King will be able to wish up a suitable supply for his pregnant friend and band member." Jerod replies, rapidly picking out what looks like a candied slice of mandarin, with iridescent flecks, and pops it into his mouth. "One of those it's good to be the King moments. Another good reason to be friends with the King too - free chocolate." he says, nodding approvingly at the taste.
"I was speaking to Martin. He mentioned again that he'll be hanging here for the next while, keeping an eye on you and dealing with stuff close to home. On that note, I thought it wise to play catch up with my favourite cousin. I will plead negligence for my time away due to being busy in foreign lands.
"And I wanted to see how you're doing."
"Martin probably told you we've only been back here for a couple of days ourselves," Folly replies. She settles onto a beanbag chair, one of several scattered about the studio space, and gestures for Jerod to make himself comfortable. "We took a detour by Amber and brought another bunch of ships back with us -- including one that had been lost since the Sundering and only just made it home. Only to find that 'home' really wasn't, anymore." She stares wistfully into the middle distance for a long moment, thinking, and then asks, "How old were you when you first came to Amber, Jerod?"
"Duodeviginti feriae." Jerod says immediately. "My 18th birthday. We had a celebration, my mother and my sisters. Grandmother even held the party for me. That was...unusual. There were only a few of us, family really. A few retainers who were close enough to be called family too. It almost felt comfortable.
"I came above the waves the next morning. Dad was a stickler for punctuality, at least in the early days.
"Prior to that, I had been above the waves only a couple of times, and never into Amber proper. The times I saw my father were either in Rebma, or what we might laughingly call neutral territory. They arranged it as equitably as they could."
Folly nods thoughtfully. "During your minority -- especially your young childhood, if you can remember it -- was it your mother who was your day-to-day caregiver, then? Or was it mostly nannies and tutors? And how much were you involved in court life, directly or indirectly?"
Jerod frowns ever so slightly, at Folly's line of questioning, something that she has never done with him before. But the frown fades quickly, curious as to where she is going with it, and ever the opportunist to learn something new about others, or himself.
"I remember a great deal of my childhood." he says. "I'm only 46 after all. Give me a few hundred years and I might start forgetting a few things.
"Normal care-givers in royal families would have several servants and nannies involved. There was very little that was normal about me I'm afraid. Martin had a Triton for his upbringing, both as protector and monitor, as tradition would dictate given who Morganthe was. I would have had one too, if my father hadn't been Eric. Dad forbade it and Moire did not decide to challenge him on it. I'm not sure as to mother's feeling on it, as I've not spoken to her about it but I suspect she agreed with dad.
"After I was old enough to start being educated, to be able to read and write, most of those who were with me were family. My sisters were heavily involved in raising me along with my mother. She was the overseer mostly, though she took pains to ensure that specific lessons or instruction were taught her way as needed. My sisters were involved moreso than normal because I was male, so the normal sister rivalries would not be an impediment to their efforts. They could dote on me as needed, be the firm hand as required. That I was the son of a Prince was only theoretical to them. I don't think they fully appreciated that I was just as dangerous as any sister they could ever had, until I was much older.
"The only constant companion I had was Lamell, my mother's retainer and sorcerer. He's family, even if he's not."
Folly takes that all in for a moment. Then, perhaps having noticed Jerod's little frown, she explains, "The captain of the ship we were on had a younger brother on board -- very young, born during the Sundering. Martin thinks the boy could be Lucas's. He's certainly sharp enough. I spent some time talking with the captain -- not about the boy's parentage directly, although I think Martin brought it up later, but more generally about his upbringing -- and it got me thinking: what if it turns out to be true? What advice would I give?"
She leans forward a little and says earnestly, "It's just not clear to me how much good it does to little kids to be brought up too close to the royal family, you know? Granted, some of that comes from knowing about Martin's childhood, which--- well, you know how that went, with a dead mother and an absent father and no one really stepping in to take their place. But it also hasn't escaped my notice that many of our parents' generation deliberately raised or fostered their children away from the castle -- far away, in some cases. I was just curious if you had a different perspective, having grown up close to court life and with two involved parents, even if one was only sporadically present. If you could go back and give them any advice, would you have had them do anything differently?"
She lays a hand lightly on her belly: it may occur to Jerod that although the captain's young brother may have been the catalyst for this line of thinking, he's hardly the only child on her mind.
Folly's comments solidify Jerod's suspicions concerning her original questions, but it is her physical movements that confirm it. That she faces something as difficult as court life with a child is not something he would have wished upon, had circumstances permitted otherwise. That she might be unable to handle the challenge of such a life is a thought that does not even begin to enter his thoughts.
"I've seen that many of my cousins had an opportunity that I did not, a life unfettered by court responsibilities and the day to day politics that go with being Family." Jerod says. "Even those who lived in Shadows in positions of power or wealth, I would have to say, with just a hint of arrogance..." and he smiles. "...were only in training. Here is where it's the real thing.
"I would not begrudge them the time that they had, or what their parents had sought for them, but I think you might want to consider the environment that our elders found themselves in and why they would think it necessary to place their children outside of Amber. Oberon's rule, and the competitiveness of the various brothers would not lend itself to the raising of children and would certainly seem, at a certain level, to give one a disadvantage, a weakness that could be exploited.
"However, you asked if I would give my parents any advice, if I could go back had I the chance. I would not." he says. "Mostly because hindsight is rarely wrong, and because it does not take into account the difficulties that one faces when dealing with the unknown. There are things I do not like about how my parents raised me, but given the outcome, I would not change it. And the reason for that can be found in the role of parents and gods.
"When we're children, our parents are gods to us. They are the givers of life, the fonts of knowledge and wisdom that guide us in our early steps. They protect us when we cry and prod us when we are weak and lazy. They give us moments of joy and take away our pain. They are ever-present in our lives and seem to be omnipotent. And then, we start growing up, and we rebel against our gods, defiant in our actions because we believe we know how the universe truly works. But if we're lucky, and I think that I was, we are sometimes granted the opportunity to see our parents not as gods, but as people, who are flawed and vain and who make mistakes.
"Some look at their parents at that moment and despise them, thinking that they betrayed us for not being gods, but not realizing it was we who placed them on that pedastol, not themselves. One day, I remember when my parents, my mother in particular, told me to undertake a task. What it was is not important. What happened then was that I did not want to do it, so I said no. And it was not a child who said it, it was an adult and she recognized that. And at that moment, I realized who my parents were and what they were. That they could be flawed and vain and make mistakes. And I also realized how much strife and struggle they had faced, how much sacrifice they had made, for me. You cannot help but respect that, and love them for that. For they were not gods. And given everything that they had faced and all the trials they had endured, their efforts were no small feat."
Jerod leans in just a tiny bit. "So that said, are you asking if you think you are strong enough to raise this daughter of yours in this new kingdom, with your husband? I already know the answer. The question is, do you?"
"I do, but I'm not sure it's the right question. I mean, just because I'm strong enough doesn't make it the best choice." Folly hesitates, thinking. "You talk about children growing up to learn that their parents aren't gods, but in some ways the thing I'm concerned about is the exact opposite: that my daughter will grow up thinking -- knowing -- that she is a god."
"Then it is precisely the right question." Jerod counters. "Are you strong enough to face precisely that situation, given the issues we've heard that have occurred with aunts and uncles in the past who have succumbed to the godhood disease. I have no doubts concerning the answer.
"Why do you think this may become an issue?"
"Well, as you point out, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?" Folly observes with a rueful smile. "If she grows up in the castle, what lessons are being reinforced by her very daily existence? That her grandfather is king; that we live here, above and apart from the common people; that we command and they obey. There are other lessons I can teach her, of course -- but I know as well as anyone that one's attitudes are shaped by far more than those of one's mother, no matter how strong."
"That her family is the royal family is certainly one lesson that should be taught, whether or not it was desired." Jerod says. "My parents knew this is where I would be in the end, no matter what path I might start out. It is the same for all of us, even if we attempt to avoid it. So if that is the case, what are the options? If you cannot prevent a thing, it is best then to use it is it not?
"I had some very interesting tutors when I was growing up. My parents I think chose wisely, in that those in my life were always there to give me something that was outside of my own experience. Very few of my tutors were of the royal blood, mostly from Shadow in fact. But there were a couple that were from Amber or Rebma, enough to serve as a reminder of what my duties were, of what I might expect when I was growing up. You and Martin will need to find a couple of others who fit that bill. Are there any uncles or aunts that you would think appropriate for those tasks?"
"I think it's going to depend at least somewhat on her personality and talents: a kid who is comfortable learning from Uncle Gerard is not necessarily a kid who is comfortable learning from Auntie Florimel, you know?" Folly grins, and her eyes twinkle. More seriously, she continues, "I do expect that her Uncle Garrett will be a big part of her life, regardless. And there are many others of our generation to whom I would trust parts of her education, if they and she were so inclined. Mostly, though, I'm trying as much as possible to keep open the paths we and she might someday choose -- whether that be life in court or down dockside in Xanadu, schooling in Paris, or visits to her kinswomen in Rebma. Assuming the political situations at the time would permit such things in reasonable safety, of course."
She cocks her head and regards Jerod thoughtfully. "What's your take on the current situation in Rebma?" she asks with genuine interest. "Do you think my daughter will ever be safe to visit the realm of her father's birth?"
"When she comes into her own." Jerod replies simply. "Not before."
Folly gives a slight nod -- she's probably had similar thoughts herself -- but asks, "What do you think are the greatest dangers to her?"
Jerod thinks for a moment as he considers Folly's question, sifting various options before deciding on what he thinks is most appropriate, if somewhat...unusual.
"Her greatest dangers? Those will be the decisions she makes that she cannot take back." he says. "Friends and enemies change over time for immortals, but the decisions we make remain with us forever. She must be careful that what she decides to do is rarely permanent."
Folly's eyebrows arch. She hesitates, then ventures, "But if she never commits fully to anything, what good is her word?"
"Indeed." Jerod says, with a smile that hints at Folly's hesitation. "What do we put our name to? And is it right when we do it? Do we commit to something that may be destructive, but deny it's nature because we will not admit fault or failure? Or do we hide from conflict and confrontation because we cannot divine the future, because we cannot be sure of the impact of our choices?
"For myself only, I can answer that I will always stop for a moment when I can, to consider whether the course of action I would undertake is truly necessary and right. I'm not talking about whether it might hurt me or garner me power. But whether it is right. Those are the choices I must face, and that I must consider when I choose to exercise the power that I hold as one of the blood. It is a terrible power if used poorly, and I have the chance to use it poorly. It can lay waste to swaths of Shadow, and yet it is most brutal when we exercise it to hurt those closest to us, for whatever reason.
"It's something she will need to learn, and for all the lessons and tutors that you may provide, it will ultimately be the one lesson that she alone must face, on her own terms. You can't do it for her. You can support her, guide her, and let her know that she can come to you if she needs help, but in the end, it's on her alone."
Folly contemplates that for a moment, and then nods. "Thanks, Jerod. You've given me a lot to think about. Not to mention snacks to sustain me while I'm doing it." She gives him a warm smile.
"I'll be sure to tell Martin where the shop is. So we can be sure you'll be well supplied for the future." he replies, returning the smile.
Raven carefully navigates her way back out of the palace, with a few
fits and starts. As much as the offer of a drink from Prince Gerard
sounds good, and as much as she figures she really ought to find this
'Gilt Winter' person the King was talking about, there are really only
two things on her mind - namely, her ship and her family.
All in all, by the time she reaches her ship, Raven's mood is like a
storm cloud sweeping down the face of Kolvir: dark, and angry.
If she doesn't immediately spot the sailor she sent off to follow her
mother, she'll corner the nearest of her officers to find out if he's
made it back, or if Mom has eaten him for breakfast.
The men salute her, and look nervous. The man is at work on the rigging
below, and is brought topside.
He tells her that he saw her mother, and she went to what passes for the
bad part of town. He thought she was looking for sites to set up a tavern.
Raven snorts and mutters, "It figures," under her breath.
She sighs, which does nothing to soften her annoyed expression, and
gestures a dismissal to the sailor. "Go on, and thank you. As for
the rest of you." She looks around the deck, focusing her attention
on her first mate. "We're for a refit. I got family business to
finish, and as like as not, there will be more news after that. I'll
be back."
Barring any questions, she'll leave the ship again and set off for the
relatively bad part of town...
Raven finds herself in an alley full of the typical alley contents--trash,
vomit, offal, noise, smoke, and unidentifiable unpleasant smells. It also
has a back entrance to a warehouse that has the kind of back entrance that
needs two guards. Word is, Scarlet went in there.
This does nothing in particular towards improving Raven's mood, but
she does make an effort to not look quite so pissed off. It's at
least partially successful, in that it would probably take someone
that had met her before to tell, and she has managed to calm down a
little after seeing her crew's reaction. Best not to terrify people
she doesn't mean to be shouting at.
With that in mind, she approaches the guards. "Begging your pardon,
lads, but I heard tell that a woman that's kin of mine came down here
on some business. Don't suppose you could help me find her?"
The shorter guard looks Raven up and down. "Scram, sailor boy."
Raven snorts. "Ain't gonna happen, boyo. You want to try being helpful
again?"
"Helpful isn't my job," says the short one. "Kitten, be helpful to the
sailor."
Kitten looks to be about six and a half feet tall, six and a half feet
wide, and six and a half feet smart (which is to say he almost gets halfway
off the ground floor). He doesn't say anything, but his fist is about to
attempt to be helpful to Raven's kidney.
Raven dodges; she's not interested in a fist to the gut, after all.
And then she swings a fist of her own, towards his face and with a
particular disregard for which bit of his face she happens to hit.
This is not improving her mood any...
Raven is not where her assailant is swinging and uses his momentum against
him. Her fist hits solidly across the bridge of his nose, which breaks
with a satisfying crack. He spins once and goes down hard on his back.
"Hey, you hit Kitten!" says the more talkative of the two. He pulls a long
knife, or perhaps a short sword. He doesn't seem to care which it is.
Kitten starts getting up, looking mad.
There's a stirring from inside at the commotion, but nobody is
investigating yet.
"What, you thought I'd stand there and take it?" Raven snaps. "You
got one more chance to give me what I want, boys; it ain't hard, and
I'd hate to have to hurt you." She's watching the two of them
closely, but she's going to let them decide whether to continue the
fight or not.
The guard stands his ground, but doesn't attack. He looks at his partner,
on the ground. He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles.
"Should'a taken me out, stead'a talking, sailor."
Call it a hunch, but Raven is pretty sure backup will be along quickly.
"Could've, and probably wouldn't've broken a sweat doing it, shorty.
But I didn't start off with the idea of plastering your ugly faces
from here to the docks. I might've thought I was dealing with folks
what had sense." Raven shrugs. "Guess not."
She advances on Mr. Talkative, meaning to disarm him - and then send
him to sit with Kitten with a broken something of his own. Broken
anything handy, really: nose, jaw, arm, leg...
The knife swings towards her and Raven effortlessly sidesteps it. A tap on
the wrist and it falls from his numb fingers. A foot on his knee and he
crumples forwards, only to have Raven catch and throw him at Kitten.
There's an enraged roar from the door behind Xanadu's newest Captain.
Raven knows a few things about enraged roars. The most important of
those things is to get the hell out of the way, because it's usually
followed by something big, dumb and annoyed trying to fold her in half
the hard way. Or, in one particularly memorable instance, trying to
eat her. So when she turns to see who or what might be in the
doorway, she's moving sideways as well. Just in case.
The giant being behind her looks like he should be chained to an oar
somewhere--all arm and back muscles and a wild-eyed look like he's about to
kill the coxswain. He's probably eight feet tall, and he doesn't seem to
like what he sees.
"Get'em Grimey!", says Kitten from underneath his partner. It's the first
think Kitten has said.
Raven sees her mother in the back of the doorway, with a bunch of other
people. Then her horizon is filled with Grimey. He's very big.
And Raven is very much not interested in being flattened by a
man-mountain right now, so she finishes dodging out of his way. And
then, just for good measure, tries to trip him. She raises her voice
as she does. "Mother, get them called off. We got things to talk
about."
She doesn't say "or else", but she's thinking it _real_ loud.
"Grimey!", Scarlett shouts, and the man-mountain comes up short. "That's
my kid."
Grimey turns around, waiting. Everyone looks at Scarlett, who looks at Raven.
"What're you following me for?", she asks.
"I weren't following you," Raven answers. "Had one of the lads do it,
seeing as how I figured something like this might happen. We got
things to talk about, about me and about the boy. It ain't going to
take long. Then I'll leave you alone with your..." She looks around
at the men she's just been fighting with. "'Friends'."
"Invite your boy in, Scarlett, you don't need to talk out here. It's
hardly private enough for a family reunion." The speaker seems like the
person in charge of this place. He's better dressed and a better talker.
Instantly she is "Why of course, Flannel, so kind of you to host us. We'll
just take a quiet corner table, then?"
The mooks and goons all fade back into the bar and the path to the doorway
is open. Grimey has helped Kitten to his feet and they've all gone towards
the second floor.
Only Scarlett and Flannel are still near the doorway.
Raven makes her way to the door, but not before she offers Flannel a
nod and a polite, "Sir." It's not entirely his fault that his goons
are morons without the good sense to answer a simple question, after
all. She gestures to Scarlett. "Do lead the way, Mother. I'm sure
you know the best table for this already."
She nods. "I'd say 'mine', but in a way, they all are."
Raven eyes her sideways at that, but she doesn't say anything.
Scarlett gestures to a table. It seats two and one of them is in the
corner. The other faces away from the seedy bar.
"Now then, what couldn't wait?"
Unless Scarlett beats her to it, Raven will take the corner seat. "I
been up at the castle," she says curtly. "I got two Royals telling me
I'm one of them, and another one wanting to know if the boy's one too.
I ain't going to waste my time asking if you want to tell me about
it, because you usually don't - but if I have to parade you in front
of every damn one of them until it all gets sorted, I will, so you
might as well start talking."
Scarlett leans in. "It ain't smart facing this lot if you're wanting to
tell secrets. They say Rebmans can read lips, you know." She sits back
and crosses her arms. "Although, if they find out and you survive, that
could be mighty useful to us. You thought about that, kid? Ain't a one of
'em went hungry when the city was sundered."
Scarlett smiles. "If you're one of the toffs, you can pay for information."
Raven laughs sardonically. "I ain't really in the mood to give a
flying f**k what your little friends read off my lips right now.
Ain't my secrets I'm interested in today." She leans forward. "See,
I had a nice little think on my way down here. Seems to me you've
been jerking me around on this for way too long. And seems to me that
it's your damned games that left me stranded on a ship full of men
wanting to get home, not knowing every morning if we was going to make
it there or if I was going to get killed because they'd decided I
wasn't trying hard enough. And now I've got these crazy-arse Royals
either shitting me or offering me some pretty good proof of just who's
been plumbing your depths," she illustrates with a crude gesture,
"telling me I may be losing the ship I spent sweat and blood on to get
home and that I'll be spending the next who knows how goddamn long
learning how to be one of them while one of them takes
'responsibility' for me, whatever that means. And you want money."
The word is positively derisive.
"Fine. Here." She takes her pouch and flings it across the table.
"There's your f**king blood money. I ain't got anything else; they
told me to go talk to someone they weren't arsed to tell me where I
could find him about getting rooms, and that's it. You want more, go
talk to the f**king king. Meantime, pony up. And remember I ain't
the only one going to take issue if you lie to me now."
Scarlett ignores Raven's tone. "Thank you Darlin', a girl can never have
too many sacks of coin when she's getting established in a new place." She
pulls out a cigarette and lights it.
"They're daft, they are. Your Da weren't no Prince. He was a noble
alright, and an up and coming Navy man. Probably an Admiral by now. He
never gave me his name, though. Not his real one."
"What name'd he give you, then?" Raven leans back in her chair,
crossing her arms. "And what's he look like?"
Scarlett smiles, remembering. It's easy to see how she could attract a
royal lover. As long as she didn't talk. "Called hisself Corby, and he
was dark, tall, and most of all, clean. I named you after him."
Raven bites back several comments on just how many men that probably
describes, and settles instead for, "It weren't one of the Royal
brats, was it? I heard tell that the Princes and Princesses was
breeding like bunnies while we wasn't looking, and that there's near
as many kids as there was of that lot."
"D'ye recall all those nights we stayed up late readin' the society doin's
in the broadsheets? All the gossip, who was who and who was having their
debutante ball? You don't because I don't know shite about 'em and neither
do you. We was too busy running a drinking house, and glad of the gold of
any rich noble who crossed our threshhold.
"Ye want to haul 'em all before the Halfhand and line 'em up, and identify
'im for ye?"
Her voice drops an octave as she mocks Amber's lead watchman. "Is one of
these gentlemen the one what you inconvenienced by having his bastard?"
"Oh, yes, Sir Halfhand, that's the one, I'd know 'em anywhere, because he
smells of soap. Nevermind that it was decades on. And I'm sure he'll just
happily admit it, too..."
"Roit, then, we'll just haul him before the King to deal with his crimes."
"Oh, thank you, Halfy, you are too kind to a poor widow just trying to get
along..."
"Not at all madam, the King's justice demands that we take the rich and
powerful to task for their crimes against the poor and weak, even when the
poor and weak did it on purpose and might even have enjoyed herself. Don't
let anyone tell you that if you raised a ruckus, you'd be floating home in
a trice."
"Oh, don't worry, your Lordship, I'm not worried that your friends will do
me up without your hand-and-a-half getting dirty. Why, I don't even know
what a 'trice' is."
She continues in this not particularly helpful vein for some time. [OOC:
until she runs out of steam or Raven interrupts her...]
"Don't think I didn't think about parading you around like you was for
sale," Raven interrupts drily. "But I figured you'd make a damn fool
of yourself, like you was trying to do with the Prince on the way over
here. When you're done mocking an honest question, you can tell me
about the boy's father."
She smiles. "I ain't mocking your honest question, I'm just tryin' to hide
the pain I have at havin' a child so dim as'te think that twas a good
question."
She leans back. "And as I'm done, it's me little one you want to know
about. Now,'im, I know his Da. He has men in town who have threatened to
draw me a second smile if I so much as tell anyone, including him. I'm
more scared of them than you, which is as should be, so I could tell you
about the boy's father, but I ain't going to."
"Of course you ain't." Raven doesn't seem appropriately impressed by
this description. "Suit yourself, then, and save us all some trouble
- try not to hump the Prince's leg if he comes down here asking
himself. He seemed to think that if the kid was Royal blood like he
thought, you might be set up for a while, at least 'til he's grown."
She shrugs and stands up, clearly done with the conversation. "But I
guess bilking me out of every coin I own is good enough for you, aye?"
Scarlett feigns offence with the dramatic skill of an innkeeper. "Bilking?
I gave good value for 'at. I'm an honest merchant. And I gave you the
second without asking a price. I must have been feeling generous."
She leans back. "If the Prince comes to me and offers to protect me, I
could be more forthcoming. I do want the best for the lad, of course. I
just don't want my throat slit for me trouble."
Raven snorts. "One and a bit, maybe. It don't count for much if you
can't be arsed to give me anything I can take back but that you're
refusing to tell me. He already knew that was likely. So did I."
She shrugs. "You can argue your terms with him, if he means to come
ask you himself. Just be sure you're after telling him the truth; he
said that those what claim to be Royal and ain't tend to end up dead,
and I don't mean to see that happen to the boy."
She leans in, looking annoyed. "Ain't that many candidates, is there? You
just tell 'em what I said, which is that I am happy as a lark to tell them
what I knows, but I need protection from 'is father's friends." She
pauses. "I've no need to lie. I'll drive a fair bargain from those who
can well afford it, but I've got no need of lying about it."
"Well. I'll be sure to tell them you're the very soul of honesty,
then. As long as you get paid. Because you was always so honest with
me before and all." There are deserts less dry than Raven's voice.
"You mean to be here a while, I take it?"
Scarlett looks her up and down. She's not hot-angry, but this may be the
most real anger Raven has ever seen from her mother. Scarlett acts calmer
the angrier she feels.
"You ungrateful wretch, I gave you everything you needed, and more and now
you want me to have been honest? Honesty woulda gotten you killed, or into
a whorehouse more likely. You'd've had the stupidest dreams of rescue by
your rich Daddy and you'd still be scrubbin floors instead of captaining a
ship if I'da been honest with you. You needed what I gave you, and don't
you be thinking I done you wrong. You did fine. Now that you're all
important, I get to see how you mess it up on your own."
"And here I was starting to wonder if I'd made it home after all, what
with you acting funny and all. Nice to know I did." Raven shakes her
head. "You can go on thinking I'm ungrateful if you want, but it
ain't going to change the fact that you wouldn't've told me anything
at all if I hadn't handed you money. So go on - tell me how expecting
your grown child to pay you for information you ain't got any real
reason to keep quiet on any more is honest."
Scarlett laughs; if she were anyone else and Raven were anyone else, it
would seem friendly. "I didn't expect you to pay me nothing. I jes wanted
to see how you'd react to that. Turns out, 'like a toff'. I was surprised
you unlearned so much, so fast.
"Oh, yes," Raven snaps. "Because that makes a damn lot of sense.
Clearly it's on account of having been told all of a few hours ago
that I'm apparently one of them," a finger stabs accusingly in the
direction of the castle, "and it ain't got nothing to do with the fact
that I was pretty sure you," the finger turns on her mother,
"weren't going to tell me shit without being a pain in my arse before
I ever got here and just wanted to get it over with. Nooooo. That
couldn't be it at all, right? That's too easy." She smirks. "And
you're only ever easy if you want to be. Got any more creative ways
to tell me I'm gettin' above myself before I go? I'd hate to keep you
too much longer; I know you got plenty to do, what with the boy to
browbeat and arses to kiss and coins to count and all."
Scarlett leans forward and lowers her voice. "Now, don't lose you temper.
We're not amongst friends. Well, not your friends, anyway. I'fact, you've
done an excellent job propping me up here by picking a fight, so let's keep
at it. I suggest you leave in a huff and I come find you later. How does
that sound?"
"Like you're up to something I ain't gonna like," Raven answers
flatly. "You get yourself arrested, and I ain't bailing you out."
Scarlet laughs. "I'm touched by your care. You should shove off. The
lads are getting confused, and that makes them nervous."
"Yeah, real great friends you got there. Great mastery of things like
answerin' simple questions." Shaking her head, Raven pushes back from
the table. "And for the record? I already have lost my temper.
You're just lucky I had time to calm down a little."
And then, barring any further attempts at conversation, she'll depart.
It's not quite in a huff, but it should be pretty clear that she's
thoroughly irritated with the woman.
Last modified: 17 April 2011
Back to the logs