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| Viewing Single Post From: A Chance Meeting | |
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| Patrick | Jul 1 2009, 11:25 PM |
Pirate
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How a pirate ever received an invitation to a ball was beyond him. Not only did he not really know how to dance, aside from the simple ones like the waltz, but he also didn’t own anything fancier than a white tunic and black breeches, and that was only if he had washed them. He spent more time than he had ever wanted to talking to tailors and seamstresses trying to buy something more suitable before the day of the ball. He didn’t dare go in his typical green or brown shirt and breeches, even though he would have been far more comfortable like that. He didn’t care to be the laughing stock of the entire event. In the end he couldn’t afford anything too extravagant; not his modest pirate’s salary, which was really only what he could steal or sell. He purchased a simple linen tunic of emerald green, almost a perfect match to his eye. The vest he had selected was the most intricate, and most expensive, article of clothing that he had ever owned. It was made of pale grey velvet and had braided cords around the edges. In a way it reminded him of the foam that collected on the waves of the ocean. He refused anything with puffy sleeves, and they couldn’t have forced him into hose if they had tried, and they did try. Instead he wore linen breeches in a shade of grey so dark that it was almost black. He had worn his own simple black boots, though not until he had spent some time shining them up as much as he could. He had to admit; he didn’t look half bad, even it felt the vest was cutting off circulation to both of his arms. He had of course ridden DawnStar to the location listed on the invitation. He knew that he was already fairly late, having spent so much time shining his damn boots and trying to keep his naturally messing hair from at least lying flat. He honestly had no idea what to do with it, and he figured that the ride over would simply return it to its natural messy state. But he knew that if he walked, he would only get his boots dirty again, and that defeated the purpose of all the time he spent cleaning them up. Honestly, how did nobles do this every week, or even every day? It seemed like far too much trouble to go to simply to attend a big party. When he reached the location specified by the invitation, Dawn stopped dead atop a cliff that dropped into the ocean. This didn’t seem right. All he could see was a large pile of rocks that somewhat resembled a castle of sorts. A glitter caught his eye, and he finally noticed the glass walkway, if only because another latecomer was just rushing across it. He carefully led his gentle mare towards the glass walkway. At first she was skittish, what horse wouldn’t be when approaching a nearly invisible path hundreds of feet above jagged rocks and crashing waves? He managed to coax her along with soft words and promises of sugar cubes and apples. She moved carefully and more slowly than usual, but he didn’t mind. Just so long as she kept moving. The site of the enormous citadel appearing from the piles of rocks was breathtaking, even for a simple sailor who knew little of magic. The glass of the building glittered with reflected light from the stars and the moon. He caught glimpses of the gardens as he passed, wondering how they would compare to the Immortal Gardens. He was just wondering what he was supposed to do with DawnStar when a blank faced man in a grey outfit appeared before him with a flourish and a bow. He said not a word, but simply took the reins of the mare and offered a hand for Patrick to dismount. He did so, cautiously, and almost at once the man was leading the mare off, whispering something about ‘stables’ and ‘retrieve her at any time.’ Well that part he didn’t like one bit, but he knew that a horse had no place in a ballroom so he would simply have to let her go. There were several people, and couples, milling about the front of the building and wandering into the gardens. Now that he was here, in sight of the grand building and others dressed far more extravagantly that himself, he felt out of place. Part of him wanted to turn right around and quit fooling himself. Another, slightly stronger part of him, wanted the free food and drink that was being offered just beyond those huge wooden doors, if only he could make himself enter them. He didn’t really have a good reason to though. Even though he had been invited to this soiree, he didn’t know anyone else who would be attending, aside from one tailor’s daughter who had hung around him much longer than necessary when he went in for a fitting. Honestly he had no desire to see her tonight. He glanced up at the stars, feeling the cool sea breeze dance across his face and taking a deep breath. Maybe he would just stay out here a little bit longer… He took another glance around the outside of the building, and finally something familiar caught his eye. A kitsune dressed in black silk was seated just past the front of the building on the glass walkway. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t noticed her the first time he passed by; maybe the dark clothing or just his amazement at the sight of the citadel. He wasn’t even sure if it was the same fox at first glance; not at this distance. He hair was definitely different, but that was to be expected after having an extended vacation in a cell. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from a pocket on the inside of his vest, unfolding it slowly. It was one of the wanted posters displaying a crude drawing of her face, full name, and alias. He had torn down the first one he’d seen shortly after she had escaped and had kept it with him ever since. He wasn’t keeping it for the large sum of money to be paid upon her capture. Instead he told himself it was so that he would remember her face if he ever ran into her again, so that he could return that which rightfully was hers. That wasn’t the entire truth, but he wasn’t entirely sure why he held onto the poster. He had no idea of whether or not she would even be here, but he figured if he received an invitation, why not her? Ever since the posters had appeared in Madrid, where he was still spending a great deal of his time, he tried to find out as much about her as he could, which wasn’t actually very much. The guards that he questioned, sober or drunk, said very little, and usually their words had more to do with her looks than history. Apparently they didn’t get many females in lockup. He refolded the crumpled parchment along well worn lines and replaced it in his inner pocket. Another deep breath found him walking slowly closer and wishing that his boots didn’t make so much sound against the glass of the walkway. She seemed preoccupied by something in her hands, and he actually managed to get right up to the edge of the walkway, though several feet to her left so as not to startle her, with her noticing. It was then that he noticed the white flower falling gently towards the waves. From this view it was obvious that it was her, and it was obvious that she was crying. “Don’t cry, princess of thieves.” He held out a small handkerchief just as green as his shirt. He hoped that his voice wouldn’t surprise her too much; it was a long drop off the edge of this walkway. He seated himself on the edge of the path just as she was, leaving several inches of space between them. He remembered their last meeting, how she wasn’t too eager to touch him as they rode to the gardens, at least not until Dawn sped up and she almost fell off. Had that really been a full year ago? It didn’t seem like it had been that long. “Oh, I have something that belongs to you.” He pulled on the silver chain around his neck, and it fell from beneath the layers of his clothing to reveal a seemingly simple, slightly tarnished, ring hanging from the chain. The ring that she had given him hadn’t fit any of his own fingers well enough for him to wear it around without worrying about it falling off every time he moved his hand. Her fingers were far more slender than the hands of the pirate, which were used to working a ship. He had filched the chain the about a month after she had left him in the gardens. He had asked around to see if anyone knew what had happened to the kitsune, and it wasn’t until he met a couple of drunk guards in a tavern one night that he heard that she had been jailed. He had kept the ring on a chain around his neck ever since then. Somehow he figured that no cage could keep her locked up forever. In a simple motion he slipped the chain off of his neck and handed the whole thing over to her. He didn’t need the chain anymore. |
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