oh, for the good old days [Lion!]

[Anonymous]

There should have been something more. There should have been a great ship breaking the waves in the harbour of Cerenis, its hull a mass of carvings, its bow crowned with a mahogany figurehead and emblazoned with dragonfly emblems. It should have had a deck made of teak and cherry wood and other precious woods aside, and sails coloured with rich, patriotic island dyes. There should have been silk pennants flying, there should have been tawny trumpets winking in the sun, and burnished armour on heralds, shining bravely. The ship should have been bucking in the bright waves, guided to its mooring by the rhythm of ceremonial oarsmen manning great oaken oars; row upon row upon row. That would have been right. That would have been fitting. That was how nobility from a great House of the Yoreiq Isles was supposed to travel. There would have been a story in that, it would have been a sensation. There would have been crowds.

However, there were no crowds, just a dock bustling with the day-to-day business of the port. And there was no great, fluted ship - merely a quite innocuous merchant trading vessel, one that made port at Cerenis quite frequently, and was no out-of-the-ordinary sight. It wasn't that the Fairweather Shanty was a bad ship, thought Lady Orienne na Castellan, who stood on deck, with a hand on the ship's railing. It was just wasn't right. Orienne sighed into the seaspray. With the available money in the House's coffers, passage on a merchant ship was all they could afford, although the Captain, of course was under the impression that the Doyenne preferred to travel with a low profile.

She became aware of her chief herald and advisor, Caspar of Ligne, standing just behind her right elbow. "We are almost moored, Lady," said the courtier pointedly, dipping his silvering head. Orienne was watching the activity below. "Yes, Caspar, I can see."
Caspar shuffled his feet, but felt there was a point he needed  to mention to his young Mistress.
"It is likely he won't come himself, you know, he'll-"
"Send someone, yes." They spoke of Viscount Alistaire Dacre, the kingdom official in charge of liasons with overseas visitors. "That's how it is, now."
Of course, in times past, when the first members of the House had come to Le'ranna and established holdings here, the news of the arrival of people from the Isles would have been enough cause for a Festival on its own. Cerenis would have been buzzing with it, and there would have been a procession along the mainstreet. Accounts were written in the family diaries. The delegation would have been sure of a warm reception at Court. Now, things were less sure.
"I am sure he and his household are most occupied with Festival preparations." said Caspar, more for the sake of hearing the words than anything else. Sometimes the Doyenne's down-to-earthness worried him.

Orienne shook such nostalgically dreary thoughts from her head. She needed this to work. And she would see that it did. Besides, they had a Festival to attend. When news of Serendipity's great celebration had reached the Isles via a magical missive, Orienne had decided that this was an invitation for her, and that she would use it to make something of the responsibility she had been given.
Below, the moorings had been secured, and descent ramps were being slotted into place.
"Ravenna, attend me." said Orienne, rather brightly, turning away from the railing and towards her small party. Heralds arranged themselves. Guards put on suitable armed-guard expressions. The raven-haired lady's maid she had called swirled to her side, bending to re-check the arrangements of her lady's dress and hair. Orienne could feel the girl quiver with pent-up, pre-Festival excitement. She could only wish she felt the same way.

The disembarkment was quite a spectacle. Two tall guards, resplendant in copper House armour, and a standard-bearing, liveried and generally smartened-up Caspar preceded their Lady. She herself was tall and bronzed, her face and wide brown eyes serene in their beauty. Her long hair, black under the brightly coloured silk that it was plaited with was arranged in several skeins and curled into an elaborate bow. Dressed in the Yoreiqan style, as she was likely to remain throughout her visit, she was indeed colourful. The slender girl who attended her appeared to be almost skipping as she walked from over-excitement. Behind them, on the shoulders of four litter-bearers was Orienne's preferred mode of transport: a shining, silk-swathed, noblewoman's  litter, made of some stout but unidentifiable wood. Chains of bright, subtly glowing flowers wound around the litter's canopy. Following the litter were two white mules burdened with wooden chests and pack saddles, and closed in at the rear by guards. Orienne descended slowly, her eyes busy in the dock-crowd and around the scenery of the port-city. There were no banners. There were no flower-sellers by the wall. There was no music, nor any sign of particularly high spirits in the faces of those locals moving about near the ship. To the young noble, this didn't look like a town in a kingdom in celebration. Granted, she was in a foreign place and things, including festivals, were done differently in Le'ranna, but still...
It occurred to Orienne that she and her delegation appeared to be the most festive things in sight.

OOC) Ya, so I might have gotten a little carried away with description, so you'll have to wade through that, sry. But hey, welcome to the noble-plot thread!

[Lion]

[Oh no worries about that.  As a matter of fact I rather enjoyed reading it. :] ]

Though he preferred to ride solo upon his dapple gray stallion, Ronan, Rafe listened to what better sense he had and took his private carriage instead.  It was large enough to seat four, but only four and, as usual, his childhood friend Stellan Sefton had to tag along, so that only left two empty seats.  One for his primary passenger and the other for whoever was chosen as the final companion.

Stellan puffed on his pipe as he observed his friend with a vaguely concerned glance.  Trying to form an 'O', he made an effort to calm him, "How now Rafe?  There's no need to carry about such an astringent face."  He made a few more attempts until he ran out.  Thusly he dumped out the ashes on the side of the carriage and discarded it back into his pocket.

Rafe was lost in thought, recalling the last incident with his father.  He had just returned home from looking at a new batch of horses from an acquaintance of his when he was summoned to Alistair's hearing.  "If you do not wed within due time you will inherit nothing!" he had said with a look of deadly determination in the eyes as black as his soul.  Rafe recalled seeing himself as dreadfully astounded as he was when his mother had passed on.  But apart of him assured him this was nothing like death while another concurred that it indeed was.  To him, marriage was a trap that binded a man from his freedom.  Sure it offered stability and a clean start at a reputation.  However, he did not want this, he was sure it to his very soul.  The sole reason he had avoided marriage all these years, despite being the eldest Dacre child, was because he resented being tied down.  All of his experienced set in stone that marriage was a thief of freedom.

He was jerked suddenly from his thought as he pulled on Ronan and Shiloh's reins, slowing the horses' speedy trot and veering them in the opposite direction of the idiotic pedestrian.  "Damn, why Cerenis is so damned busy this time of day is beyond me," he cursed loudly.

"Rafe don't be a god-damned fool.  You know this city is the busiest of all of Serendipity's ports, especially since it's so close to the Isles.  So of course, as a matter for trade, the merchants are going to rise at the butt-crack of dawn to set up shop and sell as much as they can.  They strive, like all life, to make ends meet and survive.  I don't know about you, but the whole concept rather intrigues me."  Stellan pushed his top hat up from his brow wherein Rafe returned to his good humor.

Laughing heartily, he replied, "Well, as one deeply interested in anything that has to do with the primal instincts of all creatures, I'm sure that you would be, Stel.  Thank you for bringing me back.  From one gentleman to another, I must say that was quite honorable of you."  Amusement tickled him lavishly today.  From the look at the two men riding in the in black carriage painted with a golden osprey, the family emblem, on each side, one might consider them dandies, gentleman of the same class group.  Albeit this may have been true for Stellan it was due to the fact that he fit into the role with the ease and grace of his noble birth.  If one thing was for certain, it was that Rafe was not a gentleman.  At least not by the traditional standards.  Sure he could play and act the proper man, but the costume always felt a strange one.  Rafe would rather people establish their own beliefs about him than tell them straight out, lest it take out the fun of the guessing game.

"Alright, man here be my stop," Stellan said before Rafe pulled on the horses reigns and hopping down.  Hanging to the side, "And don't worry about your father, Rafe.  At his age who knows what he'll remember today or on the morrow.  And when you do nab yourself a bride, there's always the thought of having a mistress on the side."

"Fie, you bastard!  'Tis'll be my decision as to whether or not I'll choose to be unfaithful.  It's no business of yours.  Now shut the hell up and unhitch your damned gelding from my carriage."  He managed a laugh after kicking Stellan's fingers from the side of the structure.  After waving a goodbye, he made off to the main port area dodging the morons who managed to escape the path of the pacing horse.  Finally he turned to the dock area where he spotted a woman in brightly colored garb.  "By my soul, is that her?" speaking to himself, the accent of a Northern Serendipitian quite evident on his voice.  He absolutely had no idea what she would look like or even if his father had mentioned the foreigner would be a woman.  But she and her band were the only one's dressed this way in a city full of people attired in rags or livery like himself.

Scratching at his closely-trimmed beard and slapped the reigns down.  People, smartly now, moved out of the way of the black carriage, some men eying him with angry curiosity.  "Jealous bastards," was all he muttered, paying them no mind.  As he approached the descent ramp, he steered to the left and hopped off, his riding boots thudding on the stone street.  With the vague thickness of his accent he said with a hunt of direction, "Are you the Lady Orienne na Castellan?"  Hardly taking the time to notice the people around her, all he could think about was getting this matter over with, however much he saw her as quite a beauty.

[Anonymous]

Just then, Orienne was beginning to feel a little diminished by the swirling throngs of Cerenis locals - by the horse-and-cart traffic congestions, the catcalls and muted conversations in unfamiliar accents, the darting games of children on the docks. She was beginning to realise she was going to have to strike out in some definite direction in order to show some leadership. Unconsciously she trailed to the right a little, away from the ramp so as to distance herself from the obviously merchant-class ship. Golden ospreys, that was what she ought to look for. Golden ospreys.

Just then, someone hailed her.
Orienne looked around. She was confronted by a young, close-shaven, and typically Serendipitian-looking nobleman, wearing livery. The young Doyenne noticed Ravenna go quite still beside her. From further back in the column, she could here some female mutterings in the Island tongue. Phrases such as 'green eyes' and 'in those arms' reached her ears. It seemed that based on first impressions, her maids, along with her lady-in-waiting, would be quite happy in Serendipity. She ignored them.
There was an osprey on the door of the black carriage. Guards stepped to the side, bringing Orienne to the head of her own entourage. Caspar fell in beside her, on the side not occupied by a still wide-eyed Ravenna.
"Are you the Lady Orienne na Castellan?"
She had made sure to spend time conversing with the few Le'rannans who had wintered with the Yoreiqan Court, however understanding their accents was child's play compared to the many-layered, deeply local, but nevertheless high-bred tones of this gentleman. This was something else she was going to have to apply herself to.
Orienne bent into a graceful bow, accompanied by a soft chiming sound from the various charms about her person. He may have expected her to curtsy, but Island women, once they reached a certain rank, showed respect always through bowing, the same as their male counterparts.
"I am she, yes, and it is pleased I am to be here." She swept a hand to the side. "Please also allow me to present Caspar of Ligne, my Chief Advisor," - Caspar gave a reserved bow, the set of his jaw betraying to Orienne what were undoubtedly less-than-optimistic thoughts - "and the Lady Ravenna, also of the House." The sweet-faced girl curtseyed hurridly, concentrating very hard on not blushing.
Orienne adressed the nobleman once again. "If you will indulge me, sir, I might guess at your own name."
She had quick eyes, and had assessed him already, comparing his appearance with descriptions of nobility and family trees and insignias she had learnt in conversation back at home, and also in part from the captain of the Shanty. It seemed Dacre had sent his son.
"Do I have the honour of adressing Rafael Dacre, eldest son of that name?"
She sounded, even to her own ear, unnecessarily formal. One of the limitations of learning a new language was that, without experience, it was difficult to judge when certain inflections or levels of formality were socially appropriate. All she hoped was that she appeared respectable enough that their less-than-extravegant mode of travel might be overlooked. If he asked about the ship, she was going to have to have some appropriate reply ready.
Caspar, meanwhile, had noted that none of his Mistress's characteristic forwardness had been lost in translation. Internally, he gave a withering sigh. He was not entirely sure he approved. Orienne had often told him there were too many things of which he did not approve. His concern never seemed to do any good. He could see that now, as always, the Doyenne was not about to let another direct the conversation. Ah, and they were not even on their own soil! They had been here a span of what... five minutes? and already exasperation was setting in.

OOC) I'm not entirely sure about her speech. Suffice it to say that although orienne has been a studious student of her second language, her speech will still be slightly.. off center. I'm going to experiment with it, I think.

[Lion]

[I am SO sorry for that looong delay.  Feel free to smack me upside my head if you want, I totally deserve it and I'll completely understand.  And try out the language game. *puts two thumbs up* And if I had a third thumb, it'd totally go up too!]

The young man standing at the wharf of the prosperous seaport town, clad in a purple velvet jacket, one that obviously bespoke of his standing wealth, and the mustard-colored, embroidered silk waistcoat that complemented it, could hardly be guess to be above the age of twenty-six.  The smooth lines of his face were bestowed the generosity of all youth's graces.  It might be said that when this man awoke in the morning he might have been exceedingly meticulous on how he prepared himself for the day: His full-length beard not covering his cheeks but completely lining his jaw edge and linking his sideburns; close-clipped mustache trimmed to perfection, complete with the shaved split directly down the middle; blonde hair, supplemented with natural oils making it silky to the touch, parted at the left and both sides equally slicked back and glistening in the sunlight.

Despite the few rebellious strands of hair that still hung in his face, Rafe cut quite the elegant figure as he grinned expectantly at Orienne awaiting his name.  It did not surprise him that she guessed correctly, he was a very well known person in this side of Serendipity.  Or rather, would infamous be the more precise term?  "Aye, milady," he said as he bowed exaggeratedly.  "'Tis Master Rafael Dacre at your service.  But Rafe, will do."  Upon his way back up his left hand swooped into her right and kissed her hand as any proper gentleman should.  He did the same with the speechless lady Ravenna at her side.  "How do you do?" he asked rhetorically, bowing his head so that his eyes were angled up at the maiden's, reflecting the soft glow of sunlight.  Though not a lecherous man, Rafe always took joy in charming a young woman or two.

Now was Caspar's turn.  Of course, Rafe being Rafe, he did not kiss the sturdy-looking man's hand, but instead nodded his head in acknowledgment.  "Sir," was all he commented before turning back to the Doyenne and finishing, "Lady Orienne, welcome to Serendipity.  I hope beyond hope, that you enjoy your stay here and feel free to scrutinize any custom our barbaric society offends you with.  Including the fact that you don't have to be so formal on first acquaintance."  He chuckled slightly as he stepped toward the osprey carriage among the riffraff of traffic and opened the door as any proper chauffeur might towards the seat in the back.

[Anonymous]

He was going to kiss her hand. This was not a custom that was practised in the isles - high-ranking men and women of her homeland greeted each other all in the same way, just as curtseying was foregone by Yoreiqan noblewoman. Fortune was with her, however, as one of her advisors had warned her about this. This was lucky - it prevented her from jerking her fine-skinned hand away or squealing indecorously or otherwise transgressing and doing something that would prove her to be barbarian in front of this debonair youth. As it was, Orienne endured this commonplace intimacy gracefully, with a small incline of her head, although she perhaps came off a little aloof. She folded one hand in the other as Rafael addressed her attendants, aware that Ravenna was probably fainting internally and fervently wishing that this hand-kissing was part of their island custom. Caspar looked civil but shifted slightly, dis-trustful of all new acquaintances.

Orienne was quickly analysing Dacre’s words. Scrutinize any custom? Barbaric society? Was he being condescending? Sarcastic, perhaps? Shrewd though she might be, the Doyenne could forsee she was going to have problems interpreting the inflections of a foreign tongue, after all. She decided to answer in kind. “very much, this is my hope too. we are all of us so enthused to be your country seeing in such good times as these.� Orienne was, of course, referring to the festival she still expected to materialize around any corner. Although, perhaps fortunately for her, her choice of words - “good times� didn’t betray this too clearly.
Island skin wasn’t given to paling very much from its bronze colour, so the Lady’s expression didn’t alter much as she discovered that yes, she had overstepped the invisible formality line. Decorum and grace, she thought, were tight-rope thin walks of faith. “But of course, Rafe. You must be my constant educator,� She replied, feigning a reliance. Her face was subtly radiant when smiling.

Shortly she turned her attention to the carriage, the osprey-laden carriage. It was a proud thing, to be sure. Raising her arms with her hands pressed together like a spanish castanette dancer ready to step out, she turned and spoke to the small entourage behind her. Orders and questions passed between them, until it was established that the litter-bearers and the white mules and guards would follow behind the carriage, while a two-man guard was to keep pace. The bright-eyed Ravenna and Caspar would travel with her of course, her constant companions.  
“To where shall we be adjourning, Master Rafe?� The question came from Caspar. Orienne was momentarily annoyed. As if she hadn’t been about to pose the same question. He was being overly-cautious again. Sniffing pointedly in the direction of her attendant she seated herself in the carriage.

OOC) Consider yourself totally slapped. It's okay, what with the holiday season and all. 8)  I assume Rafe will be driving? Caspar and Orienne need to have an in-carriage travelling conversation. Hey wait, is it a closed carriage?

[Lion]

[Ooc: Sorry, again for the delay.  Semester finals are coming up, meaning a lot more study time and a lot less posting time, but I'll try to find a way to keep posting regularly.  Oh yeah, Rafe is driving and the carriage is an open carriage but your characters could start speaking in serendipity tongue then, if and when they realize Rafe is eavesdropping, they can suddenly switch to their native tongue, leaving Rafe feeling like an idiot.]

After his two primary guests had been seated in the passenger seats, Rafe offered Ravenna the seat beside the driver and hoped in after her.  Taking up the reins in white gloved hands, he slapped them down on Ronan's rump as if he was a paid chauffeur and not the son of a nobleman.  Despite Caspar's inquiry being directed at him, Rafe did not like the rub of this man's words for at the corner of his eyes he had caught an faint indignation from Orienne but remained as silent as a stone.  But he once again put on the debonair's mask and replied politely, "Well, sir, because you are new to the country, it's in our government's best interests that I escort you promptly to the palace."

Rafe adjusted the snug cravat around his neck and cleared his throat before continuing.  It was such a tender subject to be discussed, but it had to be exposed no matter how sensitive the wound was to the kingless kingdom.  "However," he began, "I'm sorry to say that King Fenway suffered a terrible misfortune shortly after the ending of Serendipity's annual Midsummer Celebration.  So, instead, I'm going to take you to the foreign embassy in Arca.  It'll be quite the trip so to make preparations for a cavalcade, we'll make a quick stop at my father's estate just a few miles north from here."

Depending on the traffic conditions and the expertise of Rafe's steering, they shouldn't take more than an hour or so to leave Cerenis' busy streets and market districts to the much calmer surrounding countryside.  Talking about the king's kidnapping was a tender topic for Rafe for he held a high appreciation for the king and all of his generosity.  Albeit he did not care much for politics, he nonetheless looked up to Fenway.  However, as of now, looking at the emptiness of his ring finger, Rafe had problems of his own to worry about.