(1310-09-04) The Importance of Names
Summary: Desarae encounters Edmund on the beach by the port, and there's a dancing around of questions and answers.
RL Date: Tue Sep 04, 1310
Related: None
edmund desarae 

Beach - Port of Marsilikos


The annual tournament held by the Lady of Marsilikos had kicked off its first day of competitive play yesterday, and there had been a surprise winner of the archery contest in the form of Lord Jehan-Pascal Aumande de Baphinol. Not a person generally known for his prowess with a bow, so much celebrating had been had at the close of the day, with the Night Court more than a little busy into the early hours of the morning. The hour is now around ten in the morning, and though such a time might be unconscionably early for some of the revellers, for others it is not. One for whom it is not, would be the young woman that picks her way between the rocks that scatter the beach beneath the port walls. She walks close to the towering edifice upon which the plaza above sits, her gown today much the same as a variety of others she has worn of late; being dark almost to the point of black beneath certain conditions. Her hair is worn loose, the inky lengths whipping about her head in the stiff onshore breeze that blows in from the sea. Behind her walks a man in drab grey, the polished vambraces he wears on his arms marking him as undoubtedly a Brother of the Cassiline Order. Where is she heading? Who can tell. Where has she been? Her footprints would answer. They track back along the beach towards the promontory upon which the Citadel stands. A long walk indeed.

The Night Court may well be the primary attraction of Marsilikos, leaving the beach and ports to the interest of only those with the necessity or mind for shipping or sailing. A good reason, then, that the lady would be traveling with a Cassiline Brother. Fortunately or unfortunately the same cannot be said for the apparent figure ahead, who seems at least for the moment to be standing alone.

Distance does obscure the figure slightly, but he appears to be standing on what might be a stone staircase leading down to the sea and the ships birthed there. His hands appear to be held behind his back, and there is no movement on his part to continue the descent to the port, or to turn and make the ascent back towards the city. No, he moves not at all, and might almost appear as a statue of sorts to decorate the stone path were it not for his color. Black hair, black coat, black pants, and shoes or boots to match, which, is not yet discernable from the distance, and the former two only so due to the color and the way the wind causes them to flutter this way and that.

Desarae doesn't alter her course, nor does the progress of her steps falter when the figure is spotted. With every step that draws her closer, both would be afforded the opportunity to study the other in detail, and should Edmund do so, then he would see a young woman of likely middling-teen years. The gown she wears is clearly expensive, the fall of the silk, its weight and the manner of its cut, something unlikely to be found upon all but the wealthy. She stands at around five foot four in height, and is a proud looking creature both in carriage and looks, with a face that's piquant, pale and fragile, and within which eyes of the most brilliant green burn. And they burn now on Edmund as the distance between them is closed. She mounts the lowermost steps. "Florent. Do we know who this is?" Her words are quietly spoken as she twists her head over her shoulder to address the man in her wake, though perhaps not so quietly spoken that they won't carry further up the steps and to the ears of the man in question.

More than likely it is the approach of the man accompanying the young lady that would draw ones notice, and it does draw Edmund's attention when the pair is first noticed out of the corner of his eye. The only change in his posture is the slight shift of his head to afford him a better view of the pair as they approach.

With the new found proximity there is more to note of the individual before the pair, his dress is dark as first expected, and although from a distance the dark color might have been thought to be navy, it is in fact simply black. A gold waistcoat however can now be seen at the drawn about the torso of the figure, visible primarily when the wind pulls at the jacket. It is also clear that he does not wear shoes now, but instead boots, and likely a wise choice given the abundance of sand that would easily enter shorter form of footwear. His complection resembles the young ladies quite closesly. Pale skin, but not unhealthy at all, in contrast he appears quite healthy and fine in appearance. The primary difference are that is eyes are blue, and more sublime than brilliant.

As almost an after thought the young man, who while older than the young woman does not appear terribly old himself, likely not yet thirty, takes in the appearance of said woman. "If I may…" he cuts in, the words having obviously traveled, and as he speaks his eyes move up towards the man, and then back to the girl with him. "In all likelihood, you do know me, yes. It is unlikely however that I am known to you. Though I do suppose that may depend greatly on how learned you are, but given the nature of your company, and your attire it seems a small stretch to suppose that you are…" The man might have continued, and his lips even move as though more were to come, but there is no sound, caught perhaps by the arrival of another individual, this one clearly in the livery of the house Shahrizai, and this man's words spoken clearly interrupted whatever thoughts the other had as he was speaking.

It's to be a guessing game, is it? Desarae's thoughts show plainly on her face, and the smallest gleam of amusement is to be found in her eyes when they finally meet Edmund's. "Obviously you are of House Shahrizai," she notes, as much to herself as to the man before her, her cues being drawn not only from the blending of colours that he wears on himself, but more obviously so from the servant's arrival. Hands lift to her head, fingers catching the silken lengths of hair that flutter capriciously in the breeze, and she takes a moment to anchor them firmly behind her ears whilst awaiting the return of Edmund's attention. It does afford her the luxury of observing him longer, and there's no embarrassment to be found in her in the way that she does. Shahrizai, yes, most definitely so. The complexion. The hair. The essence of the man. She herself has Morhban blood running hot in her veins, and it causes her to keep her chin quite lifted and her shoulders pushed back, because what Morhban would wish to appear less than they are given the rivalries between the two houses. Still, a game it has become, and so she makes no introduction of her own, but stands there waiting quietly with her hair pinned 'neath her fingers and her skirts swept 'round her legs by the breeze.

Edmund offers a quick nod of understanding, and the servant than steps back several paces to wait until addressed. Free once more Edmond returns his attention to the pair which has for all intents and purposes come from nowhere. "…Or should be quite well so." There, the end to his original supposition. "You demonstrate already that you have some, so we may at least agree that you are indeed educated." A thin smile follows, and it's quite hard to determine if he's begrudgingly giving her a semi-compliment, or if he's being sincere. "Edmund." he somewhat bluntly adds, the pause between the end of his first thought, and the correction he offers now would almost have lead one to believe he had finished speaking and was waiting for a response. Following the introduction/correction, his hands unclasp from behind his back, and he turns fully to address the pair, one might note his thumb rubs against his fingers as his arm comes forward and ends palm up in a gesture of introduction. The hand remains out and extended towards the young lady as if he awaits her own turn of introduction, and nothing further seems forthcoming this time.

Desarae's hand is light in Edmund's, and a student of such things would note that her skin, clearly pampered and well-cared for, holds the warm undertones that bless those of House Mereliot. "Desarae." she offers by way of her own introduction, fingers curling correctly about his own. "Might I ask what brings a Kusheline noble to the shores of Eisande? It surely cannot be solely the lure of the tournament." Her eyes dig deep into his, and despite her tender years, there appears to be no lack of self-confidence on her part when faced with man who's so obviously older. "Did you arrive by ship, or by land?" She adds a further question to her first, allowing her attention to slip briefly to the servant that's now stepped back, before bringing it back full force upon Edmund. "But perhaps you must go, it must be something important that needs your attention for one of your servants to seek you out on the beach."

Edmund lightly curls his fingers in return, releasing the press a moment later as would be customary. His head nods slightly at the introduction in either recornition of merely acceptance of the offered name. "That is a long list of questions, at least when taking into account those that were not really asked but implied just the same." he observes with a glance over his shoulder at the man standing there. "I think if I should answer them all there would hardly be any time for inquiries of my own, or even rebuttles which I can only imagine you would have." He gives a shrug of his shoulders and cant of his head at this dilemma. "In all fairness to myself than, I believe I will answer and inquire in turns… Let us begin with the easiest to answer." There is the briefest pause that follows, and his blue eyes lift for a moment thoughtfully, likely composing his words in his mind before giving the answers he promised. "By land, it was faster. And would you believe it was for the weather?" There is a half smile to accompany the latter, perhaps because the answer is a question, or perhaps because he suspects he knows the answer. "And perhaps I must, though the one waits for the other, and as of yet I have not. In truth the former accompanied me here, and as simply returned from an errand." His hand lifts and gestures to her own companion, "Much as the case here I suspect, though of course minus the errand."

Desarae reclaims her hand, and tucks it with its twin in the small of her back. "Well I cannot fault you for that. The warmer climes here on the southern shores of Terre d'Ange bring many to winter here during the colder months of the year." A pause. "I will admit, however, that it is generally those of advancing years that seek it out for the health of their chests, or those like my cousin Ortolette, who's youth has been plagued with ill-health." She pauses as her attention is directed back and upon the man whom she's with. "Yes. Of course minus the errand, though sometimes I will admit that I would wish that he could." A soft chuckle escapes the lips of her Cassiline when she responds with that answer, and his arms cross heavily across his chest. He's a man of around thirty or so years, his hair close-cropped to his head and a face that brokers no arguments. Despite that, a smile shadows his lips when he speaks. "My Lady knows that my only task is to watch over you, and you have more than enough servants at your beck and call for the running of errands." His words earn a twisted smile of their own from Desarae, the two having found that delicate accord of their temperaments in the months since his placement. "Florent would rather have some ancient duc to watch over, for he'd not be forced to accompany me on walks such as these were that the case." A beat. "You must be a keen rider if you travelled by horse, or was it in the comfort of a carriage? And are you to winter the whole of the season in Marsilikos?" She's asked another question or was that three. Was it even her turn?

Edmund glances from Desarae to Florent as the conversation flows, following it easily but offering little in the way of facial expressions that might help determine what he thinks of the little back and forth the two of them share. Perhaps even more curious, he doesn't take the opportunity present to inquire about /why/ Florent might have been placed in her service only a few months prior. Instead addresses the latter portion of the conversation and the questions that were more directly posed to him. "I might well be a keen rider, but for such a journey a carriage indeed is best employed. As to the length of my stay, a time frame was not specifically set. I have found a trip knows best when to end itself, and will make it known to the traveller one way or another. Your features set you apart from the residents, so it is my turn to inquire what has brought you to the coast, you seem lacking of ill-health as it were, and seem less of age to need it than even myself."

And there it is. The question. The one that's destined to sober the blossomings of a smile that'd lurked out of reach behind the edges of Desarae's lips. "I was born here," she says quietly, a proud tilt of her chin. "My father is Armand Luc Morhban de Mereliot, the third son of the Marquis du Lusande. He was married into my mother's family, for she held title where he did not." A bite of her lip with the sobering of her mood. "I was born at Chavaise, our family seat, though came to the city when I turned six, given into the service of Naamah and fostered within La Rose Sauvage." Her mouth tightens about her words, and there's something quite haunting about her eyes now that levity's lost; as if she's seen rather too much for her youth and her years. "I have never visited Kusheth, nor the family of my father. I should perhaps do that, now that I am no longer restricted."

Edmund lifts his head as one might often do when enlightened as he now is. "I see, I would say you likely take after your father in that case…" His thoughts fall silent, perhaps given the somberness the mood has quickly taken. "You would find it quite different than that to which you are likely familiar, guessing then that most of your life has been lived here." As he states this he lifts his eyes to survey the sands and sea before them and slowly shakes his head. "Our homes I think take after the seas that boarder them…" he chuckles softly to himself at this comment, ammending, "Or the horses in them perhaps, the answer may vary on the lineage of the family you ask. I find both would be applicable from a certain point of view." He blinks his eyes as the images of home likely fade from his mind, and reality of where he is, and the company he currently shares come back to him. "I'm afraid Florent that all such Duc's are likely abiding in the City of Elua." he winces as he informs the Brother of this fact.

"My father tells me that the seas off the coast of Kusheth are cold and cruel, and that many a ship has been wrecked on its rocks." It's a statement of fact more than a question, and Desarae takes a long pull of a breath before turning her face towards the sea and the wind that it brings. Eyes half-lidded, she stands motionless as her hair gets teased once more from where it'd been trapped, her arms now pulled from her back to get tucked about her waist in a small self-hug instead. "But now that you know my name, I think it only fair that you offer me more of yours. I am assuming that you are a Shahizai, though you haven't confirmed that as so, and I am oblivious as to whether you even hold title or not." The smallest of pauses is taken, along with a shiver that brings a frown to Florent's face. Oblivious to the fact, she does go on to add, "Regardless, it would be remiss of me not to welcome you to our city, and so I do. I hope that you find its distractions to be to your liking."

Edmund mirrors Desaraes change in posture, turning back towards the sea. He does however refrain from hugging himself, his hands instead returning to the position behind his back, though it is now noticeable that this thumbs tap against one another as he stands that way. "If I do not correct you, than there is likely nothing to correct. Confirming that which is already supposed correctly seems a waste of energy, and time." he answers. The pause that follows seems long given the circumstances, and the informality of the conversation. In that time were one to have noticed, his gaze seems to shift between the girl and her Cassiline companion. With a slow and soft exhale of breath his hands unclasp, he gives a shrug of his shoulders, and easily works his lithe arms from his jacket, offering it not to the girl herself but instead to the companion. "It is a bit of a cool breeze." he agrees then. "I like not being distracted. But thank you. And your father is quite correct. Cold and cruel are somewhat…" needing only one hand to offer the jacket his other hand rolls in the air as he seems to search his mind for the right word. "Well, they are simply one way of putting it."

Desarae nods to Florent, indicating that he might place Edmund's jacket about her shoulders. It settles heavily when he does, it understandably being made for someone of greater stature than herself. There's a reactionary shiver as the warmth it retains from being worn by Edmund settles about her instead, and her fingers curl about its edges to keep it anchored across her chest. "Thank you. This is very kind of you. I suppose that the weather really is on the turn, and it will not be long before the trees shed their leaves and we wake to the frosts. But I am confused now. You have indeed not corrected me, but you leave me still without the answer to the question I posed. The one as to whether you hold title or not. I could of course refer to you simply as Lord Edmund, or my lord, but if I am ever in the position of having to make introductions of you to another, then I would be quite unable to do so." There's the smallest twist of her head in his direction on the heel of her words, those eyes of hers bright with interest as they seek to hold his.

"You are accustomed than to having all of your questions answered?" he asks in return, his head turning slightly to look at the young girl again, as as their eyes meet his right eyebrow arches curiously, and a quick smirk plays at his lips and then fades just as quickly. "I hold no title of my own at present, aside from heir." his right shoulder lifts in a slight shrug of indifference. "My father is Lyon Theodore Shahrizai, and I at present am his eldest." The 'at present' remark draws another short lived smile or smirk. "As to the weather on the other hand, I always much preferred the spring to the fall."

Desarae gives the smallest nod of her head in response. "I hold no title either. I will in another two years, for my mother recently died and my father stands Regent. It was not something I was expecting, for I was third born of five." Her voice adopts the monotone quality of someone speaking by rote, perhaps because it's simply become her way of dealing with the harrowing events that plague her dreams still. "My mother was the Marquise de Chavaise." Her eyes drop from his, but not before sadness shows nakedly in their depths. She clears her throat. "But I should be on my way and you on yours. If I'm to attend the tournament later today as I've promised I would, I shall need to finish some paperwork now. If you will excuse me?"

Edmund inclines his head in acceptance of the request made. He takes several steps to the side to ensure that if the young lady and her guard wish to proceed this way back to the city that they are free to do so. The way back to their original point of origin would seem a much longer route to take after all. "You are excused." he adds, gesturing across his body and towards the city, further confirmation that she is free to go.

As the pair depart, in whichever direction they should choose, he turns his head back to the man in his house livery, "Louie, you may fetch the carriage, I do believe we're finished here as well."

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