Nothing was perceptible in the darkness of the room, besides the narrow sliver of greenish-yellow sunlight that somehow wiggled its way through a crack in the stones that densely surrounded darkness within. Beyond the scurring claw-steps of the rats moving about the corners of the room, there was the distinctive rustle of scrunching clothing - fabric being folded in the most uncomfortable way, with great alacrity and surprise. It was almost as if the material was crying out in shock.
The disturbing crunch, then another - but similar - noise. A quieter one...like the cloth heaving in relief.
The two sounds that constituted a nod. Imperceptible, except to those accustomed to relying on other senses.
The sounds are repeated in succession. Once. Twice.
"Bien," said the same voice. "Enciende la luz!"
At that point, the darkness of the room was suddenly swallowed by the flames of white-hot brightness. Floodlights.
Quote:[7:42:05 PM][6:51:36 PM] Igor (Smokey): btw terry
[6:51:48 PM] Terrance Cooper: Ye?
[6:52:00 PM] Igor (Smokey): nothin
[6:52:03 PM] Igor (Smokey): just sayin btw
[6:52:05 PM] Terrance Cooper: <_<
Quote:Johnny_Haas: you shot anti criuse speed rockets!!!
Johnny_Haas: but why????
Johnny_Haas: ??
Johnny_Haas: why you shoot criuse speed rockets?
There was the sharp sound of wood against something softer, something soft enough to allow a loud, yet dull, crack resound through the room. The sound was immediately accompanied by a grunt.
"Your full name."
"Roland Bristol."
The first voice, a slightly accented, higher voice, seemed to draw in breath, waiting in anticipation for something. When the next part did not arrive, the owner of the voice simply sighed.
The same sound was heard again. This time, louder, and followed by a louder grunt. There was another pause.
"Roland. Bristol."
Another pause.
This time, there was simply the sound of wood clattering down on some kind of harder surface, most likely some kind of stone. It was followed by the quick thuds of boots against flesh, each quick blow accompanied by a low grunt.
"Again," muttered the first voice. "We can keep this going, you know?"
The figure rose from the ground and stared the speaker down. Broad shouldered and deep chested, the man had the air of a soldier around him. Stomach tucked in, chest out, and shoulders square, he stood, rising from his knees. His face resembled a roughly cut side of a marble block. His greenish-gray eyes resembled the eyes of the stone itself. A thin coat of reddish hair covered his scalp and a beard ran across his face wildly.
Without his discipline, he would have passed easily for a wild man.
"Name?"
Another pause, but this time, with a proud breath, the man spoke.
"Roland Bristol, Earl of Scarborough."
Scarborough stared at the smaller, thinner man before him. His interrogator smiled.
Quote:[7:42:05 PM][6:51:36 PM] Igor (Smokey): btw terry
[6:51:48 PM] Terrance Cooper: Ye?
[6:52:00 PM] Igor (Smokey): nothin
[6:52:03 PM] Igor (Smokey): just sayin btw
[6:52:05 PM] Terrance Cooper: <_<
Quote:Johnny_Haas: you shot anti criuse speed rockets!!!
Johnny_Haas: but why????
Johnny_Haas: ??
Johnny_Haas: why you shoot criuse speed rockets?
Worcester Palace,
Marlborough Complex,
Planet New London,
New London
0200 Hours
It was the inner sanctum. The last scrap of the realm left to her, a simple suite of rooms; foyer, bedroom, a half and a full bath, a breakfast nook and a reading room. There were 3 hidden passages, of course, for servants to come through, but each of them had a large desk, or vanity, or bureau, each filled in with roughly two metric tons of superdense solids. They were doorstops, and they weren't moving. Not anywhere. The doors were shut, and here, in these few rooms, her name was Carina. Simply that. No accolades or attachments, no jewels nor jaded glances, but merely her, just a woman...a woman getting four hours of sleep regularly, and needing her wits each day. Today there were corsairs, and another threat from the DRA...and of course that Windsor girl...more a warrior than her uncle, all dressed up trying to defend the Royal Fleet on a battlefield she was never taught. Picking up the peices after that lass was more than enough. And will be again tomorrow.
Carina was asleep before her head reached her pillow.
Worcester Palace,
Marlborough Complex,
Planet New London,
New London
1900 Hours
DAY 3
Sam fidgeted in her gown, crimson tresses and the Windsor Crest flowing from her shoulders to a short train on a cloth of silver bodice with matching spidersilk gloves. Shoulder length gloves, that bunched around the elbows. Not at all like the rubbery skintights of her flightsuit...this side slit gown and the heels...She sipped a white wine from a goblet she knew she was holding wrong, and tried not to crumple the papers as she wrestled them into her shoulderbag. Red, of course. Rather, pink, this time. With thorned roses and a hussar embroidered onto the sides. The hussar side she had to keep facing her midriff, as the queen had informed her the image of the ship was an affront to fashion, but she would be damned if she didn't have something connecting her to the Queen's Own. Papers successfully signed and inserted into her bag, she slunk back to her corner to watch the proceedings, intent on protecting the letter of marque for one Erik Nantz, and a promotion with honors for the new lieutenant, Sir Roger Brinkley.
