& sixth

[quu]

With the essentials arranged and the party more or less outfitted, Joffrey led them from the armory. And as they departed, he nodded to his darkling lieutenant, who stayed behind. Evidently she had some words to share with the guards.

"I think it is unwise to rouse any further suspicion," he declares, not to anyone in particular. "We shall have to disguise you, if you are to leave the city unhindered. A troupe of actors, perhaps. Or merchants. Your transport awaits outside."

Attentive members of the team may note that for some reason there are very few persons of any sort wandering the halls in Joffrey's wake. Either he is leading them into a less-used portion of the palace, or perhaps it is only the late hour that was to blame. The torches and candelabrae struggle against the cool black syrup of the night; footsteps echo louder, and the sinister penitent hissing of night-beetles creeps in through the windows.

Eventually a rough stone gallery opens before them. In the overhang outside, the party might espy an empty carriage of six seats, and a team of horses whose color was lost in the low light.



A crisp, brisk thrill hangs in the air: the promise of adventures to come.

Joffrey draws the group into a rather musty little room and shuts the door behind them, which plunges them all into pitch blackness.

Comments

FOURTH STEP

[yowokomete]

Some quiet murmuring ensues before Shonagon opens the door.

"I wish I knew," she sighs. "I'm beginning to think it's the upholstery." She flaps her fan, attempting to force some of the stench back towards the carriage and away from the obviously suffering guard.

[quu]

The guard glowers angrily at Shonagon as if all smells in the world were her specific, intentional fault.

"That's the first time I ever seen a student flap around like that!!!"

The accusation is distinct, aggressive.

"Who's all in there with you, miss?..."

She eyes up the motley crew who hover behind Shonagon's elegant person.

[yowokomete]

"Believe me, I don't want to be doing it," Shonagon says softly. She's deliberately meek towards the guard, trying to make herself seem exhausted in a play for sympathy. "It's very tiresome. But the alternative is polluting the whole town with this stench."

She folds her fan and gestures in. "Feel free to take a look," she invites the guard, banking on the combination of "nothing to hide" and that awful smell to discourage her from looking too closely. "Though I should warn you, one of my friends is suffering from a bit of a stomach bug. She ate something in town that just didn't agree with her--I think it must have been a cheese."

[quu]

The captain frowns grievously and slaps the side of the carriage.

"SKRIPACH!" She shouts. "VOVA! GET OVER HERE."

At her command, two guards wearing the tall, rounded helmets that foreigner-guards are forced to wear shuffle over. The one is a sweet-faced young man with dark, curling hair; the other is a rather handsome older man with a face full of long-suffering patience. The latter flicks away his cigarette.

The captain backs away, holding her nose. "Ask 'em about their particulars!"

The dark-haired one is the first to speak; he is making every possible attempt to be good-mannered, and he has a sort of naturally docile, friendly approach, very disarming.

"I was a student myself... what sort are you... all?"

One can see the physical determination with which he avoids making a stinkyface.

The older fellow (this is Vova, by the way,) begins to circle the carriage, looking for suspicious items.

[yowokomete]

"Literature," Shonagon says promptly. "Specifically, foreign poetry."

She smiles at the young man. "Where did you study? We're going back now to the University of Kettles-and-Netsford."

[quu]

"You look like a foreigner..." He says it more apologetically than anything. There is an appealing sort of kicked-puppy sadness about him. "Nn, I am a foreigner myself, as you probably already know."

He touches his hat.

"Study? Oh, I was a student of music..."

He seems completely in her sway.

[yowokomete]

"Music!" Shonagon exclaims with genuine delight. "Do you sing, or play? I'm sure you have a lovely voice!"

[quu]

"Well, I played the violin..."

A loud report from the other side of the carriage. Vova has been checking the compartments. He opens the other carriage door, glaring disgustedly across the aisle at Skripach (the disgust is for the smell, not Skripach, though the latter reflexively blanches as if he were guilty.)

Vova speaks very quietly.

"You've got some things back here, don't you."

[yowokomete]

"Well, of course," Shonagon says, and her laugh is light and carefree. "Who goes anywhere without wine? It's a necessity, especially for someone who reads poetry all day. Half of it can't be understood sober."

Please, please let him be a drunkard, she prays. Please just take a few bottles and let us go.

[quu]

While Skripach frowns, gentle and troubled, Vova proceeds with a sharp look on his face and a hand rather possessively on the carriage doorway.

He is still speaking very quietly.

"A lot of axes and knives, for students. Skripach, close that door and come over here."

[hagswallop]

"I-insects..." Cludig meeks out. Holding her stomach she hunches over. Oh crumbs, thats the smart word of Crawlies right?

[quu]

This answer clearly grosses Skripach out, and he is clearly incapable of arguing with it. He just nods submissively, wholly convinced that Cludig must know what she's talking about.

[nicecollarbones]

Hei pushes himself up. "Ah, astronomy. I am currently working on a project concerning dark space particle autonomy in the orbital ring of interplanetary radiation-- ah, it's really interesting, actually, I can tell you more about it if you'd like." He has straightened as he spoke, and now eyes Skripach with an eager spark in his eyes.

[quu]

Skripach eyes this newcomer with a fearful admiration in his dark eyes. He understands somewhat, but, you know, one doesn't like to reveal ignorance, and this is not the sort of thing covered in the polytechnic he is on leave from, and...

"You're a real scholar..." Is all he manages in response, and this: somewhat forlornly. If he had only paid more attention in school himself!

[tigerbomb]

"Commerce, mostly!", Zell pitched in. "And the art of song. We've noticed people tend to be more amiable and haggle less when there's someone singing."

[quu]

For Skripach this is a deeply ironic statement and he can't help smiling, though it's not a very warm smile.

"You know any good songs?"

[tigerbomb]

"A couple, but they're not very good. My father was way better at it, so he's sending me to learn." Zell lowered his voice to a whisper. "He thinks I might be tone deaf."