"Indeed," says Fiona, "this other red-haired woman certainly has made an impression on you. I must hear more about her," Fiona replies to the young man. Suddenly finding Constance sitting alone at a table nearby, she heads in that direction, halfway tugging on Jean-Michel's arm. "Here we are. I'm sorry, Constance, you must have thought you'd lost me. You very nearly would have, if this young man hadn't realized that we really weren't acquainted." Moving to present the young man to Constance, Fiona purposefully continues, "Constance, this is Monsieur ....?"
Constance arises gracefully, fluidly, and smiles charmingly at the young man, her eyes twinkling, dancing as if he were a prince. She nods her head to him, a flow of golden brown locks spilling over one shoulder. She extends a dainty hand to him. "Greeting sir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Gently, Jean-Michel takes her hand in his, as delicately as one would offer sanctuary to a butterfly or grasp a rare flower. A trifle huskily he murmurs, “Enchanté…” and there is perhaps more truth to that particular phrase than he realizes. Yielding to a sudden, overwhelming impulse he bows slightly, raises her hand to his lips and lightly kisses her fingertips, all the while gazing at her in rapt fascination.
The most exquisitely beautiful creature he has seen on two continents, indeed in his entire life, is treating him as an honoured equal even though she is completely unaware of his identity. Indeed, she attends him as graciously as if he were someone of vast worldly importance notwithstanding the fact that she is utterly uninformed as to his origin, or his family, or his place of birth, or even his name. Name….name….name…that word is important…? Nom… Nom de nom, he has done it again! Twice in the same hour….!
Hastily he releases her hand and busies himself with the task of retrieving two of his cards. The fire in his blood, kindled by the Fairy’s touch, reorganizes and, after a moment’s debate, opts to centralize its presence and reestablish camp in a more visible locale, the better to view the proceedings.
Jean-Michel feels the first touch of a blush burn across his cheeks and he wonders if the Parsifal might have an overlooked design flaw which could conceivably cause the floor of the dining room to collapse, hopefully the section directly beneath his feet… The much anticipated event does not occur before he secures the cards, perforce he is now obligated to introduce himself. The matter is further complicated by the fact that his command of the English language has chosen this moment to filer à l'anglaise; he is able to manage a reasonably acceptable introduction nonetheless.
“Je m’appelle Jean-Michel du Pont-de-la-Vierge,” he declares as he hands a card to each of the lovely ladies.
Fiona watches Jean-Michel's reaction to Constance with mischevious amusement.
"Good Lord," she thinks to herself, "he
certainly wears his feelings on his sleeve!" Accepting his card,
she smoothly places her own card in his hand in the same
movement. It reads,
Constance smiles charmingly, a slight blush coloring her cheeks at the Frenchman's delicate kiss on her fingertips. She lowers her eyes demurely. "Enchanted to meet you as well, my dear sir. I would be most honored if you and Fiona would please join me in sampling this most wondrous repast the servants have brought me."
She gestures slightly towards a pair of empty chairs, and lifts her eyes to catch Jean-Michel's, twinkling with good humor, and perhaps a touch of coy mischief. She pauses to take the proferred card, and read it. Then she frowns softly, and looks up at Jean-Michel. "I'm afraid I cannot produce a card for you, dear sir. It has been made quite clear that the use of Faerie magick would have a detrimental effect on the ships "Engines", whatever those might be. I do offer my humble apologies."
With that, she sits down, gracefully, and motions for the pair to join her.
Jean-Michel draws back a chair for Miss Rohling before taking a seat himself. The brief delay allows him to rally his wits and, with somewhat more confidence in his demeanour, he smiles and reassures the Fairy. “Please do not concern yourself over the card, mademoiselle. Rest assured both passengers and crew appreciate your restraint for, should the engines malfunction, at the very least the journey would be delayed and, in the event of a critical failure, it could present a danger to all on board. Later, at a more opportune moment, I should be honoured to receive such a keepsake.”
Bien mieux, matters appear to have become more normal. Unfortunately he finds he is still easily distracted by the Fairy’s beauty; the situation very much reminds him of an incident in his younger days when he was presented with a snifter of brandy which was rather more potent than his palate was, at the time, accustomed to. In this instance, however, he cannot simply ignore her as that would be most rude. There are further complications to consider: If he leaves the conversation to Miss Rohling she shall certainly inquire as to Captain O’Hoolihan, a subject best left unremarked, and if the Fairy (what the deuce is her full name?) assumes command of their discourse he runs the risk of becoming trapped by her beauty, much like a moth is drawn towards a flame. Well then, it behooves him to guide the conversation and endeavour to present himself in a more favourable manner than he has achieved so far.
At the sight of the tropical fruits an idea takes form. “Quelle surprise!” he exclaims. “Why, I have not seen fruits such as this since the Caribbean!” He pauses momentarily to ensure he has their attention, then continues.
“We had arrived in Havana, Cuba with a load of machinery parts from Atlanta; as I recall, the parts were destined for one of the many local distilleries. There was a bit of difficulty with Customs due to our inexperience with Cuban procedures so we were obliged to remain there several days longer than I had anticipated.
“Both the crew and myself made the best we could of the delay and enjoyed something of the local sights, including what they call the Plaza de Mercado. Besides offering for sale animals such as chickens, hogs and goats, the marketplace was nigh unto overflowing with handcrafted goods as well as fruits such as these we see before us. There were oranges, which is that round one there, and mangoes, which are the other orange coloured fruits… yes, with the reddish patches… as well as bananas, while I believe the fruit yonder is a papaya. I regret I am not familiar with these other sorts, and there were several other representatives of Nature’s bounty in the Cuban market that I do not see here.
“Despite the delays, the shipment was successfully offloaded and sent on its way. Then I discovered that our seeming misfortune in unloading was actually a blessing in disguise, for the deferral resulted in my being in a position to acquire a goodly shipment of the finest Havana cigars as well as a respectable allotment of Cuban rum. Even before arriving in Cuba I had considered crossing the Atlantean and establishing myself in New Europa and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Cigars are a remarkably light commodity, yet fetch a handsomely large price for their weight and size. It was a fortuitous happenstance which I certainly could not ignore.
“We took on a few passengers and, after a very brief stop at Haiti to allow certain of the passengers to depart, we arrived at Porto Rico. Once the disembarking was complete we further loaded a small shipment of Porto Rican rum, which many deem superior in quality to the Cuban sort. As this was the last available patch of land before the Canary Islands we took on as much fuel and water as the Nuage could hold then, at last, we were bound for the Old World which, ironically enough, for both myself and my crew was new.”
Jean-Michel omits mentioning the aeropirate attack that occurred east of Porto Rico, as that is not a subject suitable for present company. With brief pauses to enjoy the fresh juices, he describes various wonders of Nature and other unusual phenomena witnessed during their voyage; as he regales his beauteous companions he becomes more spirited as he regains his usual verve and joie de vivre.
He details how the Nuage’s shadow briefly intermingled with the submerged forms of a group of whales… of a sunset where one of his crew took oath she had seen a green spark emerge briefly from the sun… of the night where St. Elmo’s fire slowly crawled for nearly ten minutes among the rigging from bow to stern before fading away… of the afternoon when a black shadow raced just beneath the ocean’s surface, travelling faster than the Nuage, leaving only a white wake behind; possibly it was a sea monster or perhaps it had been the Nautilus but Jean-Michel merely shrugs in typically Gallic fashion.
Before recounting their arrival at the Canary Islands he realizes he
has lost track of time and pauses. He certainly does not wish to
be the cause of their arriving late for dinner or any other appointment
they might have made.
Looking keenly at Jean-Michel for signs of renewed wariness or discomfiture, she asks him earnestly, "Please, I must know whether this person might be related to me in some way. I am of Irish descent as well as Bayernese. What a life to be a sea captain! Has she wronged you in some way?" Pausing only for an instant, she says with a flash of inspiration, "Maybe I can help you get even with her, if your cause if just, you know," Fiona says at her most charismatic. "We could find out where her ship is docked, and if I really look that much like her, study how she dresses, moves, and speaks -- and steal the ship!" She finally stops long enough to see if she has them both wrapped up in the wild scheme.
Constance listens to Jean-Michel's amazing story with interest, thinking it much like some of the tales the Tuatha tell of times spent in the mortal world. She ahs heard of the ships that sail on the water, and how such things are oft considered the height of adventure, though how this can be, so far from the embrace of a proper forest, she certainly cannot say. As the story comes to its conclusion, she considers an appropriate reply, and is about to speak when suddenly Fiona launches into her question, and begins to spin a wild notion of her own. Constance smiles as the Irish girl begins hatching a most intriguingly chaotic plan to impersonate a sea captain and steal her ship. A most audacious plot, worthy of the skill of a puck at its most devious. he silently applauds the girl's daring.
As Fiona finishes her tale, Constance reaches down for one of the round fruit (Orange, he called it, she thinks), and carefully works the peel off, and begins delicately popping the sections into her mouth one by one, and act that seems to turn the heads of the gentleman around her. She spares a smile for her audience, as she considers what she has heard. "Yes, please, my dear sir. Tell us of this captain who so resembles dear Fiona. I'm sure it would be a most exciting tale, how you came to meet this sea captain. Please tell us."
True to form, Jean-Michel appears discomfited at the mention of Captain O’Hoolihan, however his visage turns most serious, indeed, nearly cold, as Fiona outlines her plot. Carefully, and with an edge to his voice, he explains, “Mademoiselle, what you are contemplating constitutes piracy. The theft of another’s ship is treated as a most heinous act that is dealt with most harshly and incurring the direst of penalties, the details of which I shall spare you.
“As a further note of interest, I should like to point out that I myself am from the Free State of Orléans; although it pains me to do so, I must further mention that it is a land known for the abundance of pirates. During my travels I have been subjected to a great number of hints, insinuations and innuendoes suggesting that my livelihood is truly that of a pirate simply because of my nationality; I have learned to live with these vague accusations because otherwise I should never have left Orléans as I would be much too occupied with dueling. There are others, however, who would view your suggestion with a great deal of hostility and respond in kind, perhaps Demanding Satisfaction although some would most likely dispense with such formalities and simply summon their crew to deal with the accuser.”
An uncomfortable silence reigns for a few moments then Jean-Michel sighs slightly. “My apologies, ladies, this is unfortunately a rather sensitive subject. While I realize you wish to assist me, I must decline your offer as this matter must remain between Captain O’Hoolihan and myself; since the lady in question is not here to present her side of the matter, I shall consider that subject closed.
“As far as her pedigree, I regret there is not much in the way of information that I might provide. Her father, Sean, was a Dubliner and formerly a sea captain of the Red Sun line; I believe he was in his mid-to-late forties. His daughter, Esmeralda, was approximately 23 or 24 years in age and had been born in New York City. To my knowledge she was an only child; her mother had passed away approximately six years ago after a fever, subsequently both Sean and Miss O’Hoolihan moved to Cayo Tiburón in Florida.
“This is all that I recall of that family, however should aught else
come to mind I shall certainly inform you. Now, Miss Rohling, it
is your turn. I have never been to Bayern, yet I see by your card
you are from that portion of the world. It is now up to you to regale
us with stories from your past.” The hint of a mischievous smile
begins to show as he settles in more comfortably.
"My dear sir," says Fiona, "do you really think that I, Fiona Rohling, could impersonate a ship's captain? You flatter me too much if you think I could pull off a caper of that magnitude! I am but a mere shopkeeper who grew up in Bayern. Of course, I did go to the University, where I admit I was a mediocre student. Most of my time nowadays is spent travelling from place to place a few times a year to look for rarities and baubles for my family's shop. They think I have a talent for finding truly one-of-a-kind items." She looks again at him, coyly, "But you are the one with the interesting life, mon capitaine! Dueling? How exciting and romantic!" Fiona turns her gaze to Constance conspiratorially and then back to Jean-Michel with the MOST charismatic of looks, "You simply must tell us of your duels! Of course, if it is permitted, sir!" Mentally she files away the information on Captain O'Hoolihan's family for further research.
Constance inwardly stifles a chuckle at Fiona's ploy. It is pleasant to see that here as well as in Faerie lands, men and women play the same games, and are taken in by the same ploys. She turns to the dashing airship captain, and gives him a stunning smile, her eyes dancing with eagerness. "Yes, please, tell us more of your bold contests. I would be most intrigued to hear how you acquired facsinating scars." she says, reaching to trace the line of an imagined dueling scar across Jean-Michel's fashionably gloved hand, her eyes on his.
At Fiona’s comment on dueling, he attempts to hide his disappointment. After her strong beginning he had hoped she might prove to be a kindred spirit, however he has determined that is not the case; had she ever witnessed a duel he doubts she would comment so blithely on the matter. He does not hold her at fault, for she has been shaped by her upbringing just as he has been influenced by his. Still…..
Although he does enjoy how his stories attract and hold a lady’s attention, still he wishes he might, occasionally, perhaps, maybe, encounter one who could understand and fully appreciate what he has undergone. It would make a pleasant change from being little better than a dance-hall entertainer… Being an entertainer has its advantages as well as drawbacks and it is a role he has often performed. For now, however, he grows weary of that particular game.
“Please, Mesdemoiselles! When I mentioned being constantly occupied in dueling, what I meant was that, in order to avoid such a fate, I was required to discern between an unavoidable affront to my honor and a relatively minor, albeit aggravating, slight. I did not intend to mislead you into believing that I am professional duelist or some other such folderol.”
As he considers a stronger means of begging off recounting any dueling stories, he becomes fully aware of the Fairy’s smile. Without being entirely conscious of it he returns her smile for he recognizes this other game, one that he knows very well, greatly enjoys and is seldom bored with.
He feels the fire rekindle when she slowly runs her finger along the back of his glove. Before she is able to escape, he swiftly catches her hand between his, gently yet inescapably. Again he raises it to his lips, however the single kiss is now placed upon the back of her hand. “Mademoiselle…” he begins in a low voice, nearly a purr, then abruptly his manner changes.
Releasing the Fairy’s hand, he quickly gathers his belongings. “Excusez- mois, ladies, as I must be taking my leave. Thank you for a most informative discussion. A la prochaine fois!” He pauses only long enough to render a bow to each before departing. As he exits the Dining Room he does not look back.
Constance smiles at the kiss, and the look in Jean-Michel's eyes, but her own eyes have nerrowed a bit. Clearly Constance realizes she has misplayed this hand, and knows exactly why. Her eyes lose the charming gaiety, and become a bit harder, as she realizes that she is being viewed as a bit of feather-headed fluff.
But before she can say anything in her defense, the gallant airship
captain suddenly stands and heads from the room, barely pausing to make
the required pleasant farewells. Her eyes narrow even more as she
watches his retreating form. But as she turns to glance at
Fiona, she smiles. "I like him. He can kill, but he doesn't
revel in it. That's a rare trait in mortal males I have found.
Most who can fight and kill relish the chance to prove themselves.
Our brave captain has secrets." She turns to watch the door,
her eyes contemplative. "I like secrets...."
To Be Continued...