orangetoughguy | log post II

[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.]

Whatever I can manage. Horses, dueling, sparring man to man though more sparingly as of late.

[Do any of these things please Monsieur Orange? Again and again his thoughts push the limit and each time he finds that he is not afraid, just concerned at the implications. He will be coming to a sharp stop at any time. One word or fancy shall be one too many.]

Do you allow yourself to enjoy any sport?

[In the meantime then Blanc must enjoy it all until it is gone like the cheese and wine. He dabs his mouth with a cloth napkin.]

[Man to man, he says. Alfred pushes certain thoughts out of his mind because surely Lawrence doesn't mean what first came to him, right? He just spoke of women and women's bodies for God's sake.]

A few, yes. I can duel and I've hunted. I'm no good with a racket but I know my way around balls.

[How many puns could possibly reside in one remark? Orange crafts a little grin only to further push forward the idea that he spoke it to be clever, not to be enticing. A palatial ball can be a sport, after all.]

[In context he meant for sport and sport alone. Damage done. Consequences all belong to Monsieur Blanc posthaste.]

A hunt. Ah. That I have not done in many a year.

[As for racket ball or lawn bowling or the like...they are not his sports though to hear Msr. Orange speak about it? How could he refuse. Lawrence is drunk not on the wine but the conversation. It's sweet, strong and going to his head. Soon it shall reach his loins if he is not careful.]

What kind of game falls prey to your appetite? Any large beasts?

[He leans forward only a little.]

[Alfred has reclaimed part of his meal only to nibble it some then put it down again. He feels as if he may or may not regret speaking to Blanc of these matters. It is personal in the respect that it refers to Alfred Newendyke, not to Monsieur Orange, but Lawrence wouldn't know that. How unfair and cruel you are, Newendyke. No, Holdaway would say this man would not return the favor. Oh but he would for such is the trust I've cultivated.]

My grandfather taught me to shoot fowl when I was a boy but I found the game poorly matched against our superior weaponry. It wasn't unlike shooting fish in a barrel. I insisted we seek out fairer game, even a buck would do. Once in colder country we chanced upon a very large bear and I daresay after that experience I chose not to take up such bigger game ever again. But it whet my appetite for the challenge, only preferably in another form.

[And up again to his mouth. He finishes the meaty morsel, looking somewhat disappointed in himself that his story did not have a more adventurous ending like the stories of the crew aboard the Fantastick or Lord Iron.]

You slew a bear?

[Even if he did not, Lawrence is pleased so very pleased that Orange is not wholly the man of fashion and title he appears. In the same way he found Joseph Cabot to be a man like any other with rank and influence to back his name, it makes a person more likable. Though liking has been no issue here. It all has been flowing as naturally as any easy matter.

He is laying waste to a portion of meat and cheese on his side.]

Killed or not I see you are capable of engaging in savage ways.

[Now the devious desires have grown so that a plot is formulating within Lawrence's head to get Monsieur Orange to his abode. Even if no tryst...tryst this is sensational...happens, he will at least know what the man looks like in his temporary quarters waking. Escorting him into the land of dreams for many a night hence may not be a challenge after.]

Tried to. Surprised is the word I would use, although to my credit I think the bear had a story to share upon returning to its den. I refused to lose too easily.

[It's Lawrence's own manner that encourages Alfred to smile and laugh again, validation of his own engaging ways. He consumes his wine until it's a little less than half a cup left.] No one can call himself a man if he's not willing to get his hands a little dirty and his pride hung out to dry. To have it hung out to dry by a bear? That's not terribly shameful.

[He is feeling warmer again, oblivious to plotting but just as much willing to extend their company.] A beer or two after the wine, Monsieur Blanc?

[How many pitchers have come their way? The conversation has been carrying from here to there on music, talk and more sport Lawrence has neglected to pay attention. No matter he has enough coin for it.]

The hour has grown late so soon.

[Embolden by the spirits he sets his hand upon the man's knee beneath the table. Gloves prevent him from feeling exactly what manner of fabric separates them. His intent may be considered too friendly. If that is what pleases and comforts Monsieur Orange may it be so.]

We should depart else the bill take my funds for room and board. It is not so far from here.

[Brown eyes look into his face before continuing steadily] You may rest there until ready to depart.

[Still yourself, man, Orange is finishing his cup. Ah, that was a good one. He sets the vessel down like a gentleman unlike what some foreigners might do ahem. Now then, green eyes looking quite more caramel than jade settle on Blanc. Monsieur Blanc. Lawrence Dimick. Alfred is so very lucky he hasn't called him by familiar, beyond Blanc of course.]

Has it? You're right.

[Monsieur Newendyke concludes without so much as a second thought. That's how right Blanc is. His cheeks are very warm but he is not too inebriated to be considered a drunk. The hand on his knee does not go unnoticed for what some might say are the wrong reasons. It feels good. It sends pleasure right up and down his whole leg. Alfred likes to be touched.]

I wouldn't wish such a misfortune upon you, Blanc, but if I may add I could still drink you quite under. [He smiles, joking, could be the beers talking.] The least I can do is escort you there.

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