#Small Regency Caned Chair

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

A Period drama featuring an ancestor of Bastien Lykel 

Elizabeth longs to meet the Captain again, and her wish is fulfilled.

Word Count 3060

A/N I know I have taken a long time over this - life has been busy, but this has been great fun to write. No warnings - this is regency Scotland and our heroine moves within very genteel circles!

3 Family and Familiarity 

‘Amelia, do stop fidgeting’ Lady Charlotte snapped ‘Madame Burlét needs complete quiet and tranquillity when she performs.’

‘This chair is too hard’ Amelia complained ‘and I’m hungry, you wouldn’t let me have that cake I wanted’

‘It is not polite to take the last one unless it is offered’ she hissed ‘You are a young woman now, behave like one, not like a child’ Amelia pouted and made one last little wriggle before she sat still.

Madame Burlét was a nationally famous Soprano singer who was touring Britain. She was performing at the assembly rooms in one of the smaller rooms, a rare treat, and Elizabeth’s family had managed to reserve seats for Lady Charlotte and the two young women. All the best families attended, and Elizabeth had been thrilled to see the Captain in the throng of people waiting in the vestibule. However, they had not the opportunity to greet each other, and as it was not well known that they were seeing one another, it was not seemly to greet each other in too familiar a manner.

Elizabeth was painfully aware that the Captain sat on the other side of the aisle, and if she turned her head just a little, she could see his handsome profile, the faint scar on his cheek visible to her. Her mother nudged her arm and she dutifully looked straight forward at the pianoforte where her music master sat awaiting Madame Burlét. It was an honour for him to perform with her, and his reputation had increased greatly. Consequently it was a feather in the cap of Elizabeth’s family to have such a person teach their daughters.

Finally, only a few minutes after the allotted time, the singer swept in. She wore an elegant ivory silk gown, high waisted, gathered only just under the bust, allowing her full movement to breathe. The sleeves were in mode, just enough to cover her shoulders, the neckline showing off her ample cleavage, a pearl necklace adorning her throat. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, pulled up and ringleted, a hairpiece of ivory and pearl shining softly in her chestnut hair. She made a little bow and introduced herself in a heavy French accent. She had been trained in the best schools on the continent, but had recently made her home in London, where she was reputed to be romantically involved with a famous baritone singer. Their duets were renowned for their sublime quality, but sadly they only performed together in the English capital.

She nodded to the pianist, and soon the music swelled and her voice filled the air. It sent shivers down Elizabeth’s spine and she was soon transported away from her boredom and restlessness. As she sat, she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head slightly to see the Captain engineering to look her way by inclining his head to scratch at his ear. Their eyes locked for a second and a small smile graced his lips. She quickly looked away, her face burning and her heart skipping. She wished she could use her fan to cool her cheeks, but did not wish to distract Madame Burlét. She caught her mother frowning, and looked down at her lap, her fingers tightly interlacing with each other.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on the music again. However, try as she might, the presence of the Captain drew her mind like a magnet. She desperately wanted to turn her head again, and pictured herself dancing with him, able to gaze on his features as she wished. But did he dance? She sat still and fixed her eyes on the performance, but every little move to her side where the Captain sat drew her mind. It seemed an eternity before the performance was over, and there was polite but enthusiastic applause. Her mother rose as the audience started to file out of the room, and so did the two girls. As they moved out into the aisle between the seats she was painfully aware of his presence. Either her mother and the Captain timed it just right, or it was pure serendipity that he stepped into the aisle at the same time. He paused and gestured to the three women, initially to allow them to pass, and then feigned surprise at meeting them.

‘Lady Charlotte, what a pleasure to see you’ he said warmly ‘and your two lovely daughters. I trust you enjoyed the recital’

‘Good afternoon, Captain Lykel. We did indeed, did we not, girls?’ she replied ‘and as the pianist is a regular visitor to our house, we have been invited to tea with Madame Burlét in but half an hour’s time’ Elizabeth and her sister dropped little curtseys to the Captain and he bowed gravely. The rest of the audience made their way around the group, so he stepped back a little to make more room for them to converse.

‘A pleasure to see you Captain’ Elizabeth said politely ‘I did not know your taste in music was so refined’

‘Thankyou Miss Elizabeth. This was an opportunity not to be missed, and I confess the performance was a delight. I was more used to hearing sea shanties or military music in my working life, so this was most refreshing’

‘Oh we know a sea shanty’ Amelia blurted enthusiastically ‘Don’t we Lizzy? It’s such fun to play and sing’ The Captain turned to her with amusement as Elizabeth blushed. She surmised that many sea shanties would not be heard in a polite parlour room, and what they sang was a pretty one suitable for the ears of young ladies.

‘Perhaps you can play it for me if I am fortunate to visit you in the future’ he smiled. He turned to Lady Charlotte ‘May I ask where you are to take tea with Madame Burlét?’

‘We shall go to an ante room here, there will only be a very few people. The pianist, Monsieur le Blanc, teaches the girls, you know, so he secured an invitation for us’

‘That is a great honour. May I keep you company until the appointed time? Otherwise I shall only be returning to my batchelor’s rooms with no-one to talk to but my manservant’

‘You may, sir. We can wait in the vestibule until we are called.’ She regarded him leaning on his cane ‘Will it fatigue you to stand for such a time?’ He looked surprised for a moment and Elizabeth felt her face grow hot again.

‘Not at all, my leg grows stronger by the day. I may be able to dance again soon, although I must tell you I was never very nimble on dry land. At sea I was fleet of foot and only slipped on deck but once or twice’ He addressed this to Elizabeth, who thought suddenly of moving across the dancefloor in his arms, and managed a smile as her heart fluttered. His eyes were dark but his smile was soft and inviting.

‘Perhaps you would dance better to a sea shanty or a hornpipe then, Captain’ she joked. He laughed

‘Perhaps I might. Shall we go out to the vestibule, ladies?’ He offered his arm to her mother and the four of them walked out into the wide hall just inside the grand doors of the Assembly rooms. People came and went, or stood around in small groups. It was less crowded than the main room where the faint strains of music could be heard.

‘That is a very fine cane, Sir’ Elizabeth remarked, looking at the carved white stick, straight but with a spiral that ran from the tip to the handle.

‘It is often admired, and for good reason’ he replied ‘It was given to me by the Admiral himself, and is made from the horn of a narwhal’

‘A narwhal?’ squeaked Amelia ‘Is that not a sea creature? Did you catch it?’ He smiled indulgently at her innocent question

‘It is indeed a sea creature Miss Amelia, but no, I did not catch it. The cane was carved some years ago and the Admiral had been handed it by his superior when he was a Captain himself. The narwhal is a curious creature and has been called the unicorn of the sea, although I have never seen one myself.’

The conversation flowed, with the Captain entertaining the ladies with tales of his travels until it was time to go in to take tea with Madame Burlét. Elizabeth wished that the Captain was invited too, but sadly he had to take his leave.

‘Thankyou for keeping us company, Captain Lykel’ her mother said ‘Perhaps you would like to visit some time next week. I am planning on inviting some friends over for afternoon tea, and the girls may be prevailed upon to entertain everyone. Elizabeth is an accomplished piano player and Amelia’s voice is very sweet. Tell me sir, do you sing?’ The Captain looked embarrassed for a moment.

‘Well Madam, every sailor sings after a fashion, but the songs are not suitable for polite society. But my mother did make me take singing lessons when I was younger. I confess I am a little rusty’ He admitted ruefully.

‘I will let you know when the gathering is to be held, and we may yet persuade you to air your vocal chords. Good day, Sir’ Her mother said, and he gave a low bow to the three of them. As she curtseyed Elizabeth feared that her legs might give way at the thought of playing the pianoforte in their front parlour with the Captain standing beside her and singing with her. It was quite beyond her to imagine what his voice might be like, as she  felt hot and cold in quick succession. Somehow she kept her senses about her, even when his dark eyes locked once more with hers. Then she turned away to enter the ante room to sip tea and make polite conversation.

-------

Back home, Elizabeth lay awake. She was restless after having seen the Captain in a manner she never had done when Duncan courted her. She could think of little else besides when she might see him again, when she might be permitted to acknowledge him socially, under what circumstances they might meet. She had been somewhat soothed by her mother’s declaration of an afternoon tea party, and had scarce been able to stop herself from bombarding her with questions.

Who else might attend? How formal might it be? What might she play on the pianoforte to entertain the guests? With a shiver she could not resist imagining playing with the Captain standing  by her, or looking up to see him regarding her with admiration. Butterflies danced in her stomach and she feared she might fumble a note or make a series of mistakes.

She vividly remembered him – his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his dark wavy hair, the dark shadows on his face where he might sport a moustache or beard. His eyes – oh his eyes, dark and piercing, that turned her knees to jelly when they locked eyes. The tingle she felt when they touched, the slight masculine odour that hung about him but with the overlying scent of soap, and oddly, pine.

For now there was nothing to be done but think of him and try to sleep – and tomorrow throw herself into her lessons and wish away the time until their next meeting.

------

All at once time both flew and crawled up to the allotted day. The front parlour was dusted and polished, the best china selected, and Cook and the scullery maid worked hard to produce the very best pastries and cakes.

The Beaumonts arrived first, and Amelia and her friend Anabelle secreted themselves in the window seat to whisper and giggle together. Elizabeth’s acid tongued friend Rosanna attended with her parents, Lord and Lady Mc Dougal and her brother Scott, who was a little older than Amelia. They had not seen each other for some months, as the Mc Dougals had made a visit to relatives in London, and the two young women had much to catch up on, so they found a quiet corner to sit and talk. Rosanna was aghast at the news that Duncan was no longer courting her, and was hard put to it as to whether to talk about that or tell her friend of the wonders of the English capital and the latest fashions, but in the end the former won.

‘Whatever happened, Lizzy?’ she asked ‘Did he act improperly?

‘No, but he revealed his true nature and I discovered it would have been unbearable spending the rest of my life with him’ she said quietly ‘Father discovered he was rather too fond of gambling too, so he told his father and he has been reprimanded and put on a tight leash. Thankfully I was released from our engagement’

‘Father is still looking for a suitable match for me’ Rosanna replied ‘I wish he’d hurry up and find a dashing sea captain like yours – has he any friends looking for a young wife?’ Elizabeth laughed at her friend’s forthright manner.

‘Really Rosanna, I have no idea’ she replied ‘I have not spent much time in his company as yet’

‘When is he coming? He seems to be more than fashionably late’

‘Soon, I hope. I’m so nervous about playing in front of everyone, I wish it was all over and done with.’ Her friend smiled and squeezed her hand

‘You play beautifully, you will charm everyone. Your suitor is sure to drop to his knees and beg to marry you as soon as he hears you’

‘Rosanna, shush’ Elizabeth blushed. At that moment the doorbell rang, and she looked to the door ready to see her beau enter. It seemed an eternity before it opened and Walker announced him. Lady Charlotte went to welcome him in, and Elizabeth curtseyed. The Captain still wore his hat, and swept it off his head and bowed to the assembled guests.

‘My apologies for my lateness, Lady Charlotte. I had a small domestic matter to attend to’ he announced ‘I am deeply grieved to be so tardy’

‘Some things cannot be avoided, Captain and I trust all is well now.’ She inclined her head graciously at his explanation. ‘As everyone is here, perhaps Elizabeth might like to play for us’ she smiled. Elizabeth saw her friend narrow her eyes in envy at the Captains’ appearance.

‘Perhaps I might be permitted a few moments with the lady in question’ the Captain asked ‘I have a small gift for her that may be of use’

‘Very well Captain, but we are eager to hear my dear Lizzy play’ she replied. She stepped back a little to let him move toward her daughter. He produced a flat rectangular package, again wrapped neatly in brown paper and secured with string.

‘Miss Elizabeth, I hope you don’t think me presumptuous’ he smiled ‘Please accept this – again I have been looking through my father’s effects and thought you might appreciate this.’

She took the parcel and went to a nearby chair to sit and open it. He followed her and sat close as she fumbled with the string.

‘I’m sorry, I must have tied it too tight. Let me help’ he said as her hands trembled. He took the parcel and their fingers brushed as he did so. She looked up, startled at the electric jolt, and found herself gazing into his dark brown eyes again. His smile was enigmatic as he produced a small folding pocket knife and cut the string. ‘There – you can open it now’ he said softly. She took it back and carefully pulled back the paper to find a book of music manuscript. She leafed through it to find carefully handwritten music and song.

‘My father had an interest in music and collected various folk songs and sea shanties’ he said in explanation ‘Perhaps you and your sister might try them some time’

‘Thankyou so much Captain’ she said ‘They look very interesting’ He turned to her mother

‘They are all quite appropriate for performing in polite society, Lady Charlotte’ he assured her with a smile ‘I remember my mother playing them when I was a boy’

‘That is very kind of you, Captain’ she said ‘Now Lizzy, we are waiting for you, but you may have a few more minutes if you wish’ She stepped away, and the Captain let out a sigh.

‘Elizabeth’ he said, and the sound of her name falling from his lips was like music to her ‘I hope you find it as pleasurable as I do to be allowed a few moments alone’ he stopped and rubbed his forehead ‘Forgive me, that was presumptuous of me’ She felt her throat tighten but managed to reply

‘Not at all, Captain’ she said ‘I have been counting the days’ His smile now lit up his face and he leaned a little closer.

‘I’m glad to hear that. You are fortunate to have family around you – I fear I barely speak to another soul beside my manservant unless I go to my club.’

‘But you may go where you wish, when you wish’ she sighed ‘I am so envious of the places you have visited when I am barely allowed out at all’ He reached out as if to take her hand, but stopped before their fingertips touched, capturing her gaze again.

‘Then I vow I will do what I can to take you out next time I visit’ he said. He took his hand back and looked at the floor ‘I am aware that would declare my intentions toward you – is that acceptable?’ She felt dizzy, but determined to be bold. She had never felt like she did about anyone else.

‘For my part, yes’ she replied ‘As to whether Mama will think it proper…’

‘I think enough time has elapsed since you broke off your engagement’ he smiled assuringly. ‘I will find it most refreshing to have a little female company, be it for five minutes – or longer’ That last aside made her shiver again, and a shy smile crept across her face as she made her way to the piano.

[hermannsthumb]

“I’m trying to decide if this thing I did is incredibly stupid.” “What happened? what did you do?” “Well… I fell in love (with you).” (newmann prompt, again)

this prompt is SO ROMANTIC so im appropriating it for my niche regency au exactly two other people care about. this one goes out to all three of us

June is uncharacteristically harsh this year, hot and sunny and devoid of rainfall, and inside the Gottlieb house—despite its arching ceilings, its airy halls, the windows that Hermann himself went around and flung open in a fit of sweat-damp exhaustion the night before—is even hotter. No amount of refilling the water pitchers or retreating deep into the cool, dark library will do. Not even the library remains cool and dark.

Newton has come, however, as he promised he would, which lightens Hermann’s spirits somewhat. Misery loves company, if anything. Newton lays sprawled across the great chaise he favors in the library now, stripped out of his boots and waistcoat and cravat, stockinged feet propped up on a cushion, arm—the sleeve rolled up to his elbow—flung across his perspiring brow. Just over his eyeglasses. “We need to get out of here,” he says.

His throat is bared. The beginnings of his strange inkjob poke out from his unbuttoned collar. Hermann is sprawled in an arm chair of his own, fanning himself with an Encyclopedia, and he cannot tear his eyes away. “Hm?”

Newton pushes himself up. “We need to get out of here,” he repeats. “I’m boiling.”

“Where do you suggest we go?” Hermann says. He drags his eyes up, lazily, to Newton’s face.

“Not an inkling of an idea,” Newton says. He sticks each foot back into his boots, though he does not bother slipping his waistcoat back on or fixing his buttons. “C’mon. Outside.”

Hermann groans in protest, but he allows Newton to pull him to his feet and shove his cane at him; he can’t imagine a walk outside, in the sun, will do any good. There isn’t even a breeze.

Newton knows the forests better than Hermann does without a doubt, especially the forests behind the Gottlieb estate: Newton travels through them, quietly, on foot, each occasion he and Hermann have set an illicit meeting in the dead of night. He leads Hermann through them now, down a well-worn dirt path, past fallen logs and moss and boulders, deeper and deeper until the patches of sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves above their heads become scarce. It is far cooler in the shade. Hermann will grant Newton that. “Do you know where we’re going?” Hermann pants. He’s had to rest, momentarily, against a tree; his leg does not usually ache him terribly on long walks, but the ground is uneven with tree roots and slopes up and down at random.

“Of course,” Newton says. He stands a few feet in front of Hermann, squinting deeper into the trees. “Ah. See.” He points.

Hermann sees nothing but a small clearing ahead, a bit sunnier than most of what they’ve been walking through. “What is it?”

Newton doubles back and takes Hermann’s arm to lead him along gently. The closer they get to the clearing, the louder the sound of running water becomes, and soon, they stand at the edge of a stream. “I found this last month,” Newton declares, sounding delighted. “Fell into it while I was walking home.”

“You fell?” Hermann says, turning to him in mild alarm. Newton flashes him a smile.

“I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?” Newton says. He drops Hermann’s arm and begins to fish around in the small satchel he’d packed discreetly and brought along with them: he pulls out a sheet (one of the Gottliebs’ nice sheets, clearly liberated from the linen closet off the washroom, though when Hermann is not sure), and spreads that on the grass, then sets down the makings of a rudimentary picnic atop that. (Food just as clearly liberated from the Gottlieb pantry, Hermann is quite sure.) “Here, have a seat.”

Hermann obliges gratefully, loosening his cravat and helping himself to grapes and a canteen of what turns out to be lemonade. Both are technically his, after all. But Newton does not sit next to him, as Hermann expected, choosing, instead, to settle his hands on his hips and continue to admire the stream. “Are you not joining me?” Hermann says.

“I will,” Newton says. “Shortly.”

He shucks off his boots once more, then his stockings, then—to Hermann’s great consternation—his breeches and linen shirt, leaving him standing before Hermann in nothing but his plain white undergarments, broad, inked chest bare. “Newton,” Hermann near-squeaks. He averts his eyes in modesty.

Newton casts him a roguish smile. He twists his index finger in the tie strings of his undergarments and tugs lightly. “I can take off more, if you’d like it.”

“No,” Hermann says, quickly, blushing pink and fumbling the grapes. They fall to the sheet and upend his tin cup of lemonade. “No, ah—”

Newton turns away with a wink. As Hermann attempts to mop up the lemonade with his handkerchief, Newton begins to wade into the clear water of the stream, barefoot, hoisting his undergarments up past his knees. “Bit cold,” he says, with a low hum. “‘S perfect. You should come in, too. Ow.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Stepped on a rock. Should’ve kept my shoes on. Oh, look!’

Newton dives down, plunging his arm into the water, but emerges empty-handed. “Damn,” he says. “Thought I saw a turtle.”

“Please don’t harass any turtles,” Hermann says, a half-hearted scold, because, truthfully, he’s too distracted by the small droplets of water now glistening on Newton’s chest to care about turtles.

Newton does not respond, his attention caught by a bright green dragonfly that zips by his head. “Wow,” he says with a whistle, pushing up his eyeglasses as he tracks it. “Look at that. Beautiful.”

“Mm,” Hermann says. One of the droplets curves down Newton’s right pectoral, down over the small swell of his stomach, and disappears in the waistband of his undergarments. Another begins a similar journey. After Hermann tracks four, he realizes, belatedly, that Newton is still talking about the dragonfly. Specifically its diet. “Fascinating,” Hermann interjects quickly, when it seems like the appropriate time to.

The ghost of a smirk crosses Newton’s face. Hermann had not been that subtle. “Indeed,” Newton says.

Their conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. Newton continues to splash around in the stream, occasionally plucking small rocks from the sandy banks and shoving them in his pockets, while Hermann—angled so his body remains in the shade, while his face remains in the sunlight—stretches out on the length of the sheet and shuts his eyes. (A quick examination of Newton’s satchel proved he had packed one of the tomes from Hermann’s personal library as well, but Hermann decided a nap, not reading, was far better suited to today.) In the distance, Hermann hears birdsong. Cool, and contented, and with Newton so close by, Hermann admits to himself it really is quite nice.

After a while, Newton tires of the stream and flops down at Hermann’s side with a little grunt. Hermann can feel his sharp breaths against his neck, and a hand—damp, and gritty with sand—untucking his blouse and sliding against his skin; he does not open his eyes. “You’re wet,” Hermann murmurs.

“Am I?” Newton says, low in his ear. His hand creeps higher. His lips find their way to Hermann’s throat.

Hermann swats at him. “Not here,” he warns. “Someone will see. Not—”

Not outside the confines of Hermann’s bed chamber, with the window Hermann keeps unlatched for Newton at all hours should Newton decide to climb up the lattice; the Gottlieb family library, with its inviting hearth and and dark, dark corners and convenient lock for when Newton and Hermann need to discuss research after a meal away from Hermann’s father’s prying eyes. Not outside the seclusion of night, even, beneath the stars, where they may do whatever they please until the pink of dawn breaches the horizon. But Newton does not retreat. His hand settles on Hermann’s sternum.

“Kiss me,” he begs, warm over the shell of Hermann’s ear. “C’mon, Hermann.”

Newton’s face is hovering mere centimeters above Hermann’s own when Hermann finally opens his eyes. He’s freed his hair from the confines of its usual braid, and it tumbles over his shoulders, catching the sparse sunlight. His tongue pokes out between his lips. His glasses hang on the end of his freckled nose. Hermann presses his fingers to the nape of Newton’s neck, his lips curling into an affectionate smile. “Dear boy,” he says. He cannot deny Newton anything.

They kiss languidly in the small patch of sunlight, their hands roaming over the expanses of each other’s skin, under clothing, through hair, until the noise of a twig snapping nearby startles them both; they turn quickly (the fingers of Hermann’s right hand tangled in Newton’s long hair, the fingers of his left pressed to his soft abdomen) to see a doe standing on the opposite bank of the stream. Her wide eyes are fixed on them. She darts away when Newton laughs.

“Scared the hell out of me,” Newton says, and—his heart racing comically fast—Hermann nods in agreement.

Ever restless, ever unable to remain confined to one activity for too long, Newton parts from Hermann’s arms with a last long, lingering kiss and busies himself with plucking wildflowers from the patch of grass to the right of the sheet and winding them into a chain. Hermann props himself up on his elbow to watch. He has not bothered tucking his shirt back into his breeches, nor has he bothered doing his collar up or tightening his cravat; his neck stings from where Newton got bold and nipped at his skin gently at a spot that would not be in any danger of discovery. The overall sensation is one of debauchery. Reckless hedonism. Hermann finds he enjoys it.

“I’m trying to decide if this thing I did is incredibly stupid,” he declares.

Newton glances up from his flower chain and readjusts his eyeglasses. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What happened?” he says. “What did you do?”

“Well,” Hermann says. “I fell in love with you.”

Newton laughs again, but Hermann does not miss the blush that stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears, nor the way he fumbles the flower chain and errs on his next knot of a stem. “You old romantic,” he teases. “And it’s very stupid, for the record. I didn’t think you were capable of making such errors in judgement.”

“I suppose it is,” Hermann says, lips twitching up. Then he prods at the chain. “What is that for?”

Newton ties the last stem around the head of the first wildflower, creating a perfect loop. He settles it atop Hermann’s head. It’s a big large, and sags down near Hermann’s eyes, but they smell sweet and Hermann’s mouth goes dry nonetheless at the gesture. “You,” Newton says. He leans in and pecks a kiss at Hermann’s forehead.

[enygmass]

Title: Annus Horribilus

Outline: After attempting to retrieve missing notes from the Iceberg Lounge, Edward and Jonathan find themselves in a series of misunderstandings and poor choices.

Author: Ames

Wordcount: 1965

Chapter 1:

“I need you to trust me.”

These were probably the six most dangerous words that had ever left Jonathan Crane’s lips in a conversation with another person.

Requesting that someone, someone who was so knowledgeable in the very world that Jonathan thrived in, someone who knew exactly why they were standing in the snow in the middle of nowhere with a broken-down car and a briefcase, trusts him was something so ridiculous that it made the success of this working seem entirely plausible.

“I did that once, and now look where we are. I’m not sure how you’re perceiving this right now, but I think it’s fair to say that we’ve royally screwed ourselves on this one, darling.”

Edwards voice – a naturally loud and distracting voice – held a chastising tone that emphasized the word darling with an intensity, showing exactly how he was feeling towards Jonathan right now. He had every right to be offended; thanks to Jonathan’s actions, they had both nearly been shot to pieces this evening, they had a man in their trunk, and Edward had lost his cane. Not to mention the likelihood of them getting back into the city untouched was near impossible at this point, meaning they were in a shack-out-here or die situation.

“I understand that, but you know for a fact this wasn’t my fault. I can clean this up.”

It’s true, it wasn’t Jonathan’s fault. In fact, if one were to peg blame for the unfortunate incident that he and Edward had found themselves in now, the blame would have to go to a one Mr. Malor, an employee of Oswald’s who, for the first time in his career, had not minded his own business one night.

 __________________________________________________________

The Iceberg Lounge was best known as a den for nocturnal animals; everyone knew that it was open during the day, but they knew that the real excitement only began at night. The night was when drinks would begin flowing and mouths would begin pouring out secrets of deals and dangers in the Gotham City streets. You wanted an arms dealer? Table to your left. A woman who can hack any code? The backrooms by the men’s washroom. If it wasn’t the interior décor that attracted you, it was the prospect of meeting a potential business partner.

Jonathan often attending night events at the Iceberg Lounge for the latter. Any opportunity to generate interest in his work, whether it be financial or just general, was something that he was more than happy to work for. Social scenes were never his playground either, so often he would be accompanied by Edward to keep everything from becoming uncomfortable. If there was one gift that Edward possessed, it was the ability to sway people into believing what he wanted them to.

Marcus Malor was the exact opposite of the duo when it came to intentions and goals. He had no business to present, no people to persuade, in fact he didn’t even have a say in what went on in the Lounge. Marcus Malor was the equivalent of a hench-for-hire – he stood by whatever door he was told to stand by, with his arms crossed and his eyes focused ahead, always on the lookout for anything of remote suspicion. Which was saying something when to his left there could be a drug deal occurring, and to his right someone showing off their gun. If he had the opportunity he would gladly report every single person he saw walking in and out of the Lounge past 11 pm on each night, however, the weight of a debt he owed to the owner caused him refrain from running to the GCPD. Risking losing his life over a few words was just not worth it.

 _________________________________________________________

The night that everything went to shit was the Saturday night jazz performance. Par usual, it was packed to the brim with the less-welcomed half of Gotham’s elite, but scattered amongst the crowds were a few normal civilians out for a night of enjoyment. Marcus Malor found himself set with the task of keeping watch on the backrooms rather than the much-desired position of stage duty. These rooms contained equipment that Mr. Cobblepot thought too vital to keep anywhere else; guns, drugs, artifacts more than likely stolen, and a beat-up leather briefcase that sat untouched in the middle of one of the rooms. Marcus had stopped to eye it up before determining it wasn’t worth the effort. If you started to dabble in things that rogues were involved in you were either going to get killed or you were going to get abducted. Neither were appealing options to him. As he stepped out of the room, he closed the door behind him.

Outside of the backroom and located in the crowd were the two other men involved in this situation. On the left side of the table sat Edward, who was musing over his face in the reflection of the wine glass he held. On the right side sat Jonathan, who had tidied up his appearance to a slight degree thanks to Edward’s emphasis that he would not go out in public with him unless he looked ‘semi-presentable’. Appearances were irrelevant to them in this case, however, because they were not here tonight for the jazz music.

“How long are we supposed to sit here again?”

Edwards question had drawn Jonathan’s gaze away from the saxophone player to his companion, who had finally looked over from his own reflection long enough to spark a conversation. Jonathan admired Edward’s ability to remain so self-centered even in the most crowded of rooms.

“How long have we been here now?” The question left his lips even as he was already looking at the answer in the form of a watch on his wrist. The watch doubled as a stopwatch, something he felt he would need later.

“An hour, maybe two. Oswald hasn’t even noticed us yet. I’d wager that this is our now or never moment.” Edwards' hand came down to his lower right hip where a golden, curled tipped cane rested. At first glance, one would think it was just the average cane until you inspected it closer and noticed the small panel with the variety of buttons on it.

“Very well then.”

Jonathan set his own wine glass down and, after a brief glance around, pushed himself back and stood to his feet. Edward followed shortly after and looped his arm with Jonathan’s. The guise of a pair just going to the back for a bit of privacy seemed less suspicious than two going in one after another with obvious intent to commit a crime. Besides, it wasn’t an unusual sight for two criminals to be heading to the backrooms.

The duo weaved throughout the crowd with surprising ease accompanied by a lot of sidestepping. People seemed oblivious to their presence which Jonathan supposed was their intention for this entire evening. Edward, the ever charmer, assured that no one gave them even a single suspicious glance until they stepped through the double doors out of the lobby.

“It’s odd how easy that was.”

Edward’s observation was acknowledged but not addressed as the two looked around the new setting. The hallways themselves were not that bad to look at. The carpet was a royal red that seemed to lead to an end that was outside of Jonathan and Edwards views. The walls mimicked that of regency hotels that had been around eons ago, with gold patterning and a dark polished tone. Not to mention the array of portraits which decorated the hall; Jonathan assumed they were all former Cobblepot’s. Oswald’s family did have quite the history. While he was taking a moment to admire the effort Oswald had put into the aesthetic, Edward seemed to be doing the exact opposite, given how he was scratching at the wallpaper with a sneer.  

“God, who did his decorating? It’s like I’m stuck in a time warp. Next thing I know I’m going to have a powdered wig on.”

Jonathan let out a snort at this comment. Leave it to Edward to find some reason to insult an otherwise nice area to stand in. Rather than wait around and listen to Edward elaborate, Jonathan nudged him forward as he began to peer into room upon room. They were here for a purpose after all.

The first room contained nothing but some old art pieces leaning against the walls. They looked like the ones that had gone missing from the Gotham Gallery, although Jonathan had little care about that. The next room had a sheet covering a table that, when pulled away, revealed a stash of guns that were all seemingly pointed right at the door where Edward stood. Jonathan had thought that quite funny; Edward had not. The third room contained nothing but a chair facing towards a wall which the duo found to be odd if not a little alarming.

“Tell me again why you need this briefcase so badly?”

Edward’s question was not meant to sound insulting, but since it had come from Edward, it was perceived exactly that way.

“Because it has my notes, Edward. Notes that are missing from my other notes not to mention a few vials of the upgraded compound. If I don’t find the briefcase I’ll have to rework the entire formula and hope it turns out the same which, so you know, is an absolute pain in the ass.”

“And why am I here again?”

At this, Jonathan gave the other man a sour look over his shoulder. Given that he was arms deep in another pile of bags – the fourth room had contained plenty – he couldn’t quite reach Edward to smack him.

“You could have said no. I gave you more than a few days notice about what I was intending to do here.”

It was true. Jonathan had told Edward two Saturdays before this one that he was intending on getting his briefcase back from Oswald’s back rooms. At first, Edward had laughed at him and said no; a week later, he had received a text from Edward saying that he would ‘gladly join in’. What exactly occurred in those seven days was not something that Jonathan had asked to know about.

“I, leave you to deal with this yourself? Please, we both know that no hench-for-hire would agree to rob a Cobblepot, nor would they agree with your ideology of ‘If you gas it enough, you’ll win’. Things like this are delicate situations. Things like this require a brilliant mind to work through.”

Edward tapped his head with his finger as Jonathan moved past him to the fifth room. He was beginning to grow desperate now; the briefcase was either in this room, or it was somewhere else. Where exactly somewhere else was located was something that Jonathan had no interest in trying to solve.

The fifth room was the only room that had the door closed. A brief twist of the knob revealed that although closed, the door remained unlocked, and swung open with a gentle push. As soon as he stepped into the room Jonathan knew this was exactly where he was meant to be. Situated in the center of the room was his beloved briefcase. Same old ruined leather, same old rusted combo keys. Jonathan was by its side within minutes, with Edward close behind him, and was ecstatic to find that the combo keys had not been tampered with throughout the entire duration of its absence from its loving owner.

The joy, however, was cut short by a loud and irritatingly hoarse voice from right behind them.

“Now just what the FUCK do you think you’re doing?”

[marquisderad]

New Orleans | January 2017 | 5 Days in 1 Minute

Day 1

Central Business District

·         SAN to MSY | Direct flight. Stop-overs are unfun. Uber or cab, don’t shuttle.

·         Hyatt Regency - Check out the spots in the hotel. Chef John Besh has eatery Borgne in the lobby.  Woke up to the sight of the Superdome. Didn’t see Drew Brees.

·         It’s a small city. Uber it. Or walk everywhere, but not at night…as suggested by one of our Uber drivers, Ayesha – “Tis daaangerous!”

Warehouse District

·         Cochon Restaurant – Lots of eateries established from abandoned warehouses. Fancy-ish pork-centric food by Chef Donald Link. Vague [hip] menu descriptions.

o   Fried gator

o   Rabbit & dumplings

o   Porchetta w/ slaw

Day 2

French Quarter

·         Jackson Square – Music everywhere. Stop & listen to all the performers even for just a little bit. Hip hop brass, country blues, old skool jazz, 10 year old kids playing drums on plastic tubs w/ the cadence of pros 3 times their age.

·         Café Du Monde | Beignets & café au laits…b/c you have to. Grab it to-go & eat on a bench next to the Mississippi River.

·         The Presbytere | Louisiana State Museum – The horrors of Hurricane Katrina & the resolve of the people of NOLA. The history of Mardi Gras, carnivals & interesting costumes – some like whoa & some absolutely frightening. Fats Domino’s piano is there as well.

·         Walk around the Quarter. Take in the architecture. See all the street performers. Notice all the ‘buzzed’ people. You can walk the streets w/ an open container of alcohol. Bars serve drinks in plastic cups. Horses. Tours on horse carriages - if that’s your thing.

·         Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop | 200 year old blacksmith shop that is now a bar. Get a pint. Do not get a ‘Cup of Cherries’…cherries soaked in everclear.

·         Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo | Souvenirs & stuff.

·         Doreen Ketchens aka Queen Clarinet | She plays w/ her band on the street. Rad.

·         Carousel Lounge at the Hotel Monteleone | The bar seriously is a ‘carousel’ that spins. Or grab a posh lounge chair or couch w/ your significant other. Order a New Orleans classic – The Sazerac.

·         The Faulkner House | Author William Faulkner wrote his 1st book ‘Soldiers Pay’ in this house. Now it is a bookstore. Neat.

Warehouse District

·         Emeril’s | Chef ‘BAM!!!’ Lagasse’s original resto. Hospitality was excellent. So was the boar.

o   House made andouille & boudin sausages – braised collard greens, turbodog onions, whole grain mustard, house worcestershire sauce

o   Andouille crusted gulf drum – grilled veggies, shoestring potatoes, glazed pecans, creole meuniere

o   Local wild boar – fettuccine verde, cocoa tomato sauce, pumpkin, holy trinity salsa

o   Emeril’s banana cream pie – graham cracker crust, caramel sauce, chocolate shavings

Frenchmen Street

·         Frenchmen Art Market | Street art, vendors, twinkle lights. Jazz clubs & bars surrounding.

·         The Spotted Cat Music Club | Fun jazz club in a dive bar setting. Way rad.

Bourbon Street

·         Hidden within the Erin Rose Irish Pub is the tiny sammich counter Killer Po-Boys. Grab a pint & a late nite pork belly po-boy.

Day 3

Central Business District

·         Mother’s Restaurant –  A walk from the hotel. Stand in line at this old skool NOLA staple for non-fussy creole eats served by happy peeps.

o   The Famous Ferdi Special Po-Boy – ham, roast beef, the original debris w/ au jus gravy.

o   Shrimp + Oyster Po-Boy – cabbage, pickle, mayo, creole & yellow mustard, tartar & hot cocktail sauce on the side.

o   Grits

Arts District of New Orleans

·         The National World War II Museum – See everything. Spend a few hours. Amazing museum.

·         Walk around the Arts District. Museums and galleries. Rad graffiti. The General Lee statue. Walk into Louisiana’s own Rouses Grocery & check out the produce & meats. Pick up some seasoning spices as souvenirs.

Warehouse District

·         Restaurant August | Chef John Besh’s fine dining flagship restaurant. Order a la carte…OR SPLURGE and get both the tasting menus. See & taste what the best chefs in NOLA can do.

o   Tasting of Farmers Market Vegetables

o   The Restaurant August Degustation Menu

Day 4

Garden District

·         The Lafayette Cemetery – Search for the undead or re-enact scenes from the action comedy “Double Jeopardy” starring Ashley Judd which was filmed here.

·         Commander’s Palace| A NOLA institution since 1880. Old skool, elegant, kinda gaudy but fun. There was a Travel Channel camera crew filming when we had lunch. Our server said that they film so much in here that he doesn’t bother to ask “for what” anymore.

o   Plaquemine satsuma citrus salad

o   Creole gumbo du jour – Andouille & chicken gumbo, scratch stocks, dark roux, holy trinity & rum barrel hot sauce

o   Cornbread crusted Des Allemands catfish – sauté of Cajun andouille, Vidalia onions, red beans, roasted tomato, tomato red butter & smoked corn grits

o   Sugarcane lacquered south Texas quail – charred chili & popcorn rice boudin w/ tasso braised cabbage, sugarcane-rum vinegar glaze & Crystal hot sauce pepper jelly

o   Ponchatoula strawberry shortcake – strawberries macerated w/ cane sugar, warm buttermilk biscuit & Chantilly whipped cream

o   25 cent martinis. A tradition & a must [limit 3 per person – you won’t need any more].

·         Garden District Houses – Stroll around & check out the 19th century homes & try to burn off some of the butter, cream & calories you’ve eaten so far on this trip. Can’t believe the amount of butter that everyone serves just w/ the bread starter down here.

·         Garden District Book Shop – Neat little shop. Signed copies of everything. Guest author events all the time. Also…Anne Rice everything…everything.

Magazine Street

·         La Petite Grocery | Another James Beard Award hype resto [like all the places in this list – minus Mother’s] by Chef Justin Devillier housed in a building that used to be an 1800s grocery store. Made from scratch elevated classics.

o   Fried green tomatoes

o   Pickle jar

o   Snapper special

o   Seafood stew

French Quarter

·         Preservation Hall – Stand in line & wait to watch & listen to the legendary Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Mos def a highlight on this trip. Amazing 1 hour set of up-tempo New Orleans style jazz.

o   They only let 100 people in per show. People watch while in line– it’s the best. We saw Satan trying to get into the Pat O’Brien Pub next door.  There was also a dude selling beers from a cooler in the front of the line at the entrance of the building. “They don’t sell beer up in there, get it here!” People did. The hall did not stop him at all – good business trade.

Day 5

Central Business District

·         Willa Jean | A bakery & restaurant by Chef John Besh. He has like 12 restaurants.

o   Roasted beet salad – arugula, pistachio, citrus, goat cheese vinaigrette [by this point in this trip, our stomachs were screaming for salads, salt & acid to cut thru all the butter]

o   Smoked salmon tartine – fresh cheese, capers, red onion, hardboiled egg, marbled rye

o   Fried chicken sammich – serrano slaw, Hawaiian roll

o   Cold brew coffee

o   The WJ bloody mary

·         MSY to SAN | Direct flight. Stop-overs are super lame. Sleep on the plane. Or watch ‘Deadpool’ on your iPhone.

[thakefurniture]

Small Regency Caned Chair, tub chair, bergere chair, curricle chair, cane chair, library chair

[thakefurniture]

Small Regency Caned Chair, tub chair, bergere chair, curricle chair, cane chair, library chair

[thakefurniture]

Upholstered armchairs, Sofas - Charming little Regency caned tub or & chair. The simulated rosewood frame with arched top rail and down swept arms. Sabre legs capped with brass castors.