orangetoughguy | log post II

[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.]

[No tale or indulgence of any triumphs? Don't look disappointed, Lawrence. Monsieur Orange is of a finer cloth. Any stains acquired in the heat of passion are kept out of sight. Now that he has allowed himself to think this much on the subject Blanc imagines what kind of a form is hidden beneath his clothes. How is his swordplay? Courage man.]

You have heard correctly. From the beaches to the countryside a man can rest at ease. I may purchase land.

[They take to a table only then does he remove his hat.]

There will be enough left from there to live off of. Yourself? Perhaps jewels for the ladyship?

You speak as if you mean to retire.

[He remarks curiously, not because it seems like a ridiculous idea for such a man but because he wishes to know what would make such a man decide to settle down. Without a wife or so sounds the implication. Alfred removes his hat too after Lawrence. Mentor and guide, one leads and another follows. Orange shakes his head at the mention of ladyship.]

I court no one. [Say it boldly and they will think it is because love is a dunghill and he a cock who climbs upon it to crow. That's what Alfred Newendyke is supposed to emulate. His execution of the concept when Lawrence Dimick is about is not so smooth.] Save for an indulgence in fantastic stories. I think that may be what I will do, recline and read. Perhaps in Spain too, since the weather seems so accommodating.

[The way Orange speaks suggests he is allowing Blanc a small well kept secret.] Wine?

[Alfred requires the distraction lest he show his hand again.]

Before a caper's ending I tell myself that it shall be the last, that I should rest upon my laurels. With the chance within reach it no longer seems appealing to me. For now that is my next plot.

[A gloved hand waves off the rest. Such is the sound of an old man's banter. Lawrence is aware that his twilight is coming. There are many in his profession dead and rotting.]

Court no one?

[Strange. This statement is kindle on the fire. It was his own doing speaking of ladies of the night, acknowledging his own yearnings. Go and burn now, Lawrence.]

Perhaps we may cross paths. There is much to see.

[Ah. Ys. Wine and food other distractions.]

[These words stir a curious feeling within Alfred Newendyke. A man who waves arms and steals by brute force is still a man after all. Could a judge understand that? Of course Orange here speaks as if a judge might not be corrupt himself. He would be the fool were Lawrence Dimick connected by personal means, these laurels. But he is tired too, at least that's how he sounds. They say some men cannot stop no matter how much he wishes to. Pillaging is in his blood, some are simply sanctioned to do so by the law while others are not. What is the difference between a pirate and a privateer?]

It sounds comfortable.

[Truly? Is that the best you can do, Newendyke? He curses himself the idiotic slip of words. Wine it is. And bred too. Also some cheese and sausages. Just because he is dressed like a noble doesn't mean he must eat like one. When the serving boy is gone green eyes turn back to brown ones.]

I would have to call for you, my knowledgeable guide, if I get lost in the Spanish countryside.

[A letter of mark and the protection of the crown is the difference between a pirate and a privateer. A pirate is his own man. Lawrence does not proclaim himself to be a sovereign nation, and he has done a service to his country. Such a man is not common. ]

The short time spent there was memorable. Thinking on it now warms me.

[The meal is modest and for a moment Blanc half thinks that Orange will require something more fine. No? Such a man he is.]

To your side then I would fly else I must claim you and make amends for any sorts of wrong done.

[A smile, a laugh, they come so easy. Lawrence pours the wine and takes up his goblet soon after.]

To our success.

You would do that for me? Or would harm come my way be an affront to your reputation as the best mentor and guide a man can have?

[Watch your tongue, Newendyke, now you speak too boldly. Oh good, he's turning to the wine too.] And our respite thereafter.

[Alfred nods once, goblet raised. He hasn't forgotten that Lawrence Dimick wishes to retire once this heist is over.]

But of course. Trouble in Spain, trouble tomorrow? What is the difference.

[It is out into the air before he can consider the exact nature of these words. No use now, he must continue.]

I have no fear of slander when it is a matter of honor at the core. Your health is not protected by verbal reputation alone.

[The wine flowing down his throat shall keep a few words at bay.]

For that you have my thanks.

[Is he...actually blushing? Blame the wine and the cafe and the weather, it makes one hot.] Tell me, do they play there? I may not be a gambling man but I could never turn down a rousing game of ball.

[The color in his cheeks is not powder of crushed flowers or shells upon more ghastly powder. It is beautiful, rare and alluring.]

Of course they play. There's no short supply of pleasure and amusement. After all, this is Paris, is it not? Save your money, sir. Don't play with the rabble.

[Then Lawrence would be forced to share. These thoughts.]

I'm sure we can find sport elsewhere.

[What? Alfred laughs again. How many times has Monsieur Blanc evoked laughter from him (and simultaneously a feeling of attraction)? He has to put his wine and bit of meat down.]

I meant in Spain, sir, but now you pique my curiosity. In what other sports do you partake?

[Wrestling? Swords? Riding? He appears to be an athletic man, with or without connotations of age. His form is clearly that of a man who takes care to keep himself in good condition, the better to survive.]

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