orangetoughguy | log post II

[Do something, Newendyke.

The man with green eyes is the first to break their gaze only to utter, murmur, whisper words to himself. You're not going to get hurt. They believe every bloody word because you're super splendid. Beneath all the voluminous dresses and pantaloons no one can see L'orange subtly brush his own heel against his other boot. His only court-approved weapon is still holstered there, out of sight. Move.

Seeing a serving boy pass, he takes a single grape to press between his own lips before approaching the taller darker gentleman.]

[Ah. So then the moment is truly lost with the other grains within the hour glass. One mustn't become to involved in such fleeting ideals. He looks away as well not catching the subtle movements of his lips. Instead Lawrence retrieves his pipe and tobacco and is but a match strike away from a smoke. As though commanded once again his eyes stray across the room. This mysterious sir is in the process of dining of one fruit. Only one. His hands must have only touched the thing with the tips of his fingers in aristocratic fashion.

It is only his first full day after traveling so far across the countryside. Surely it is restless nerves that make him behave in this way. There shall be business. That will cease the slowly forming hopes that this will be a meeting that will lead to other meetings. A soldier of lower rank cannot presume so freely. At his lordships approach all the same he removes his pipe from his mouth and steps to a bow.]

[That he bows before his approach is to be expected for men of their respective stations. That Alfred finds himself enchanted is another matter entirely. Don't show them your hand by showing your spirit, Newendyke. How does one halt a brightening in his own eyes? He is a good looking gentleman and it's not hard to see therein wages a war between truth and tradition, likewise honor and honesty. But Alfred must remember what he's here to do.]

Sir. [L'orange surfaces. Polished. Practiced.]

You appear engaged in an affair to which all but yourself are blind, and if I may be bold it seems most stimulating. [He leans towards the taller man to keep these words between themselves.] Tell me your secret.

M'lord.

[Polite as one can be approached in such a casual manner. Perhaps he was too bold and thusly will suffer the consequences L'blanc reflects as he straightens.]

A secret shared becomes less of a secret. [Cheek for cheek. Bold is the man asking for another's secret. He knows not at all what he wants. This close his eyes seem more peculiar, dare he think comely. Lawrence looks the man from styled wig to satined heel as though doing yet another bow only with his eyes before replying. ] However I will indulge you with the knowledge that I have made a small fortune in a wager.

[L'orange tilts his head in great amusement.] Gaming? In these halls?

[Of course he knows some men game even on palace grounds.]

Most are too preoccupied with social affairs and elevating their own stations to take such risks. They have no conviction in their champion or in themselves. [He smiles at the stranger.] You have good reason to be merry.

No. Before I arrived within the walls of Paris. I have come with more coin than planned.

[A sensible reason to be cheerful, not unheard of either. Even in the highest of circles though one could see it as a vice for men with little money to begin with.]

Risks are for the bold. I daresay this world is short of bold blood.

[How strange a thing to say to a man that chances to speak with a stranger of lower station. Peculiar, but for those with little care for gossip and even less for a trifle for the sake of amusement it is nothing therefore L'blanc should have no particular thrill from this conversation. None whatsoever.]

[Keep the lid on your jar of enjoyment well tightly shut, Newendyke. For this response the stranger evokes another warmer smile from Monsieur Orange.]

I had the same impression until a breath's moment ago, I fear I may have underestimated the world by a single man.

[It's all speech and mannerisms, the carriage of a charmer and a man who can wend his way into anyone else's favor. It's what he's supposed to be, perhaps who a part of him wishes to be.]

[Perhaps this is a man who is not yet versed in the frosty demeanor that has come en vogue. Or, Monsieur White considers, he does it so well one cannot tell between true kindness and his manufactured demeanor meant for all. It would not be something that has never happened before, though like his eye for gemstones usually L'blanc would be able to tell.

This man is not ordinary. That is certain. The how and where for are not to be seen.

Can he possibly be talking about me? I have done no tremendous feat.]

Is that so, sir?

Edited 2011-05-22 08:27 (UTC)

Please, Monsieur Orange.

[Alfred nods once, only slightly bent at the waist for a quick polite but bordering informal bow. There is something about this man that continues to lower his guard. Is it not fully within his mission to be at ease with all others in this palace world? If he can enjoy his time too well that makes it better. Better than all other hours he has spent here since arrival.]

[An introduction! My. This was not foreseen when this man came into sight across the room.]

It is a pleasure. Officer Blanc, at your service. [Surely this is a coincidence... unless he is in direct acquaintance with Lord Cabot. Lawrence wonders if perhaps a letter had been intercepted. Then again, there are coincidences. He returns a bow, not of the same grade of approach but still keeping the ritual of such meetings.]

I find it a surprise Monsieur Orange that my actions would be found to be so noteworthy.

[And not at all used to mock.]

[What did he say? Officer Blanc? How common is the Blanc name? Not common at all, and he was told that he would be meeting a Monsieur Blanc for this mission. Why do these chips fall as they do? Monsieur Newendyke's brow furrows. Perhaps the expression is too subtle for anyone else to capture, but to an officer, to a man of Blanc's caliber--if he is indeed that Blanc--it may as well be written on the wall.

This was unexpected. You are too kind and genuine. I have been fooled.]

Don't be.

[It is not just his own brief reaction that Alfred has noticed with glaring clarity. There's a spark of recognition in Monsieur Blanc too. He only looks at him now with green eyes waiting to see if the older man will take the lead.]

[He must tread with care. No doubt there is a detail of affairs to be settled here. Young Edward Cabot should have been present or at least in supply of any developments. There must be words. And soon.

Already his companion Msr. Orange appears to be closing off. Lawrence finds himself feeling like a child who is left in a room after a candle is doused.]

It would seem we may have an acquaintance.

[With all of the care of a high stake poker game he continues without tipping his hand.]

[He nods once, twice.] So it seems.

[What are you doing, Newendyke? Remember your place, young man. Remember the role you will play in this. Orange clears his throat softly before that knowing smile of his returns. A little cheek only adds to his character and it's the unfortunate truth; he must be a character and by doing so have no character at all. A lightly freckled hand settles under Monsieur Blanc's elbow to usher them away from the main crowd.]

I came under the recommendation of Duke Michael after a brief engagement in northern country.

[Though he may be sensitive to the motion to move this way or that by a touch of the hand Lawrence is ever so focused on the man's words. Sure enough, Lord Cabot did say that a contact of Duke Michael would be within Paris. It is not such a large city after all. So ends the mystery of this man. Duke Michael may have given a description to him which is why he sought him out so efficiently.]

Then we are allied, monsieur.

[And the better of it. L'blanc privately marvels at how deeply rooted the beginnings of attachment are to this man. Ridiculous. Absolutely unfounded. After all, what good are a pair of eyes in the end? Are not monsters of jealousy those with eyes of green? There are two looking directly at you. Have your wits about you.]

I would wager that true and I would be a richer man for it.

[He quips with ease. Alfred leads them from the hall to an atrium and from the atrium to the plaza. Out here at this hour the people present are less huddled in bunches. Out here they can speak more freely and Monsieur Newendyke can continue to do that which they all say he excels; being paid to be someone he is not. But he rather likes Monsieur Blanc. Is that not a treat? A sweet morsel in the gruel?]

I confess I have not the experience of yourself or those with whom you surround yourself, but I am a fast learning man. I think on my feet.

[Once again Lawrence bids himself to consider the nature of the situation to lessen the thrill.]

Wise is the man that accepts his short comings.

[Oh. He considers Monsieur Orange's stature yet says nothing else. There is no insult meant. In private they can be eye to eye. Naturally they must become well acquainted. He couldn't be more pleased and conflicted. There is no mistaking the nature of these feelings blossoming in him.]

Worry not about experience. Consider me your mentor and guide, all will be well.

[Mentor and guide he is. It doesn't take very long for Monsieur Newendyke to find himself in the company of one Monsieur Blanc the most out of all of them. Even when he and another man left to procure the appropriate carriages he found himself returning to Monsieur Blanc's side. By now he knows he is not just Monsieur Blanc, he is Lawrence Dimick, not Parisian but absolutely good at playing the part. He is a nice man. Alfred enjoys talking to him even when it is during an hour of business matters.

The comings and goings of servants preparing the palace for the evening's ball is still at a low buzz. No one will find two men upon their respective mounts at a distance of the gardens particularly suspicious. They are outside of earshot and they are alone. Monsieur Blanc himself and Monsieur Rose?]

You two take the keymaster and make him give you the diamonds. We're there for those stones, period. Since no courtiers are being toyed with no bells should sound.

We're out in two minutes, not one second longer. [Over yonder a young working man refuses to lighten his all too heavy load with the assistance of a friend. As a result he drops a small vase that shatters on the ground.] What if the keymaster won't give you the diamonds?

[Intrigue and a light mist hang in the air with their ride. Monsieur Orange is knowledgeable in his inexperience. Just when he thinks that there is an end to his marvels another appears. Most impressive. Standing and surveying the palace he bids his mount to remain still, petting his neck. Every detail must be secured.]

Be mindful in this situation not a soul will want to lay down their lives and others may think them lucky to be living still. There should be no resistance for they have no arms. Individuals with enough gall to filch in this manner will hold no scruples, yes? One must show that they are the living image of this belief. If a guest or keymaster believes he is Hercules smash their knows with the butt of your pistol to save the charge. The right strike will cause panic for his fall and for the blood staining the tile. All who see become mice.

[The horse tries to stroll, L'blanc allows him to wander to circle back around Orange before coming back to his side.]

Should a harlot may attempt to slew venom from her mouth, tell her that she shall be the first of the next session. Suddenly she is mute. [Woah, there we go. Still again good steed.]

Any lord of title that is a task worth contending. One must break that bastard in two. If he refuses to cooperate, relieve him of one of his fingers. The smallest first, then tell him that his thumb is next. Thereafter, he will tell you if he wears women's knickers.

[The very thought of it evokes a laugh and smile. So much business to digest.]

I find myself famished. Let us hence to a cafe.

[As he's listening Alfred finds himself laughing too even has his horse shakes its head to move left, then right. What is that other steed doing? He calms the beast with a rubbing to the neck and loosening of the reins. Go where you please, animal, just don't buck. That would be bad. Fortunately all is well.

All is well, particularly humorous when he mentions the harlot, until Monsieur Blanc begins speaking of severing fingers. What? Is that what these men do? The fantasy gains another crack and Monsieur Orange's smile falters. His brow furrows and he worries. Does Blanc truly do such things or is he speaking only in the worst circumstances? When he turns against them what will happen to him? Orange has no time to further these thoughts when Blanc mentions his hunger. The smile returns. Business is over with, they'll feast instead.]

There's one only a walk from here. They serve meals or cider if you prefer a simple drink.

[Please partake in a full meal, he wishes. The more reason to spend time in his presence, to learn more about Monsieur Blanc. Only getting to know the enemy, that's what he'll tell Captain Holdaway. Alfred urges his horse to follow after Blanc's.]

It is the right hour for a meal. Let us dine.

[Enough talk of business. It is tiresome. Lawrence nods and sets stride. While he is pleased that their work has brought them closer together, it is also a wall. How well can they be acquainted? Already Blanc is certain that he wants to be a true friend to Orange. He should not have such feelings in a time like this. Unwise. Uncouth. The Paris air could be the culprit if it weren't for this man's mannerisms. Every easy smile and attentive stare are potent. He spares a glance to his companion along with a smile.]

I would hope I am not keeping you from another engagement.

[How polite he is to make mention of it. The truth of the matter is that Alfred Newendyke, for all his responsibilities and great risk in taking this mission--despite having to meet his superior in secret to discuss further plans--has no acquaintances who command his attention quite like Monsieur Blanc does. One might even say Alfred Newendyke has no real friends or no friends who know the real Alfred. Whatever the case may be, he has no prior engagements for the evening. Does that make him a boring little dunderhead?]

No sir, you're not. It's with pleasure I accompany you this hour.

[Monsieur Orange's charm returns with ease to save his breath. Orange is Alfred's support, he has this man's back under long rifle loaded and cocked.]

Unless you have an engagement afterward, I wouldn't want to intrude.

Hah. Quite the pair we are. I hold no other appointments. Anything else may be under a redlight--[this depth discussion is not of gentleman. Soldiers and highwaymen always yes, with Orange it feels as though they are old comrades. A roll in sheets may sooth his blood and mind. Perhaps.]

Your company is no intrusion.

[There is the cafe. White dismounts and hands over the reins to a valet. He waits to one side for Orange.]

Do you travel, sir?

You venture there often it seems.

[It's a joke, nothing serious, except by way of asking he might also learn if there's a mademoiselle waiting in the wings for him. It would only make sense to keep women out of these affairs while still finding comfort in physical loins over a hand. That's simply the way.]

A little. [Back to civil matters. He climbs off his horse and lands almost soundlessly despite his shorter limbs.] Only to lands within a horse's stride.

[Handed to the valet, Orange adjusts the pitch of his hat but does not remove it.] Yourself?

No more than necessary to gain the best of a woman's charms.

[Guilty and an absolution hopefully. Blanc enjoys the warmth of a woman's body. His appetites though are diverse of no fault but is own. Even putting blame on Paris and her air and ways is a lie.]

Travel keeps coin in my purse and food in my belly. It certainly removes options of attachment. Ladies hearts burn brighter for the man that can bask and soon burned in its light. The sooner they burn out is the joke.

[Into the cafe. The establishment is not quite as lively, no doubt effected by the events of the palace.]

I should think after this I'll seek warmer climate in Spain.

[Alone.]

[While this answer gives hint to the whereabouts of a mademoiselle, Alfred Newendyke would be a fool to fault Lawrence Dimick for that honest reflection. He would be a fool and he would be showing is own hand. Speak of women mounted on your sword, speak of lifting skirts and finding warmth therein, do not under any circumstances think of that man doing these things. It is wrong. Speak of Spain.]

I've never been although I hear tale of its warm beaches and the people there with the sun always on their shoulders.

[The broad bare shoulders of Spanish men. Those who were not noble enough to sail away on a galleon with the royal fleet. They toil in the soil and serve as the backbone of their kingdom. Alfred empathizes with them, to sail away for glory is not as glamorous as it seems. The cafe has seen more raucous days but the calmer atmosphere suits him.] And what will you do there with your riches?

[Orange smiles, he can't help but speak well of their plans. He's supposed to.]

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