Simple Pleasures [ Late Tradetide, 26th of Chyril]

[Rosalie Marcada]

This modest establishment has recently been renamed and renovated following a change of management in Darkenry 1225 AD. It is situated on a corner not far from Audrey's Other Wear in the Inner Ring of the Citadel. The main entrance is located on a busy street on the northern side of the building. Another bustling street runs along the eastern wall and on the western side, a narrow gated alley leads south towards the rear entrance.

Topped by a roof of mossy grey slate, the two-story building is constructed in weathered stone and freshly painted wood. Creepers of ivy climb around the windows and in the spring, a veritable rainbow of tea roses bloom from planter boxes along the sheltered front porch, and from the pots dangling from the overhanging balcony. During times of dry weather, chairs and tables can be set onto the porch and balcony for patrons who wish to enjoy their socialising semi-alfresco.

The main doors open into a spacious hall with polished wooden floorboards covered here and there by plush carpets. Bright sunshine floods the room throughout the day, but after the sun has set, the cafe is transformed - puddles of soft lantern light mottle the building, illuminating some regions with their warm yellow glow, rendering others shadowy and intimate by their abscence.

Dominating the southern wall is a raised stage where both professional and amateur acts are frequently invited to perform. In the southwestern corner, a green door leads to an enclosed stairwell which is also accessible via the back entrance of the establishment. The stone fireplace set into the southeastern corner warms the cafe during the cold seasons.

A series of wooden booths padded with red cushions lines the eastern side of the room. On wall next to each booth, square windows alternate with paintings and sketches commissioned by local artists. Chairs, sofas and high and low tables clutter the rest of the floor space; these furnishings are tasteful and elegant, in warm wooden and earthern tones enlivened by the occasional splash of pale lemon yellow.

A counter located to the west side of the entrance encloses a small open kitchen, tiled with terracotta, where hot beverages and sweet snacks are freshly prepared each day. From the beginning of morningtide to the end of eveningtide, the rich aroma of brewing coffee and baked goods fills the shop and wafts forth from any open doors or windows.

Customers are attended to promptly by the staff of the coffee house, who invite you to relax, to make yourself at home and to treat yourself to a few of life’s simple pleasures.

Rosalie entered, for once wearing a modest dress of green half velvet, most of it covered by her black cloak. She sat in the corner and ordered the girl to bring her an espresso. Her amber eyes roamed the establishment in which she had invested a pretty banner.

It was a time of contemplation, as well as checking the rumours of the town. Rose had a lot going on her life and she needed to stay on top of events. The Ambassador ignored the bodyguards assigned to her, pretending they were not there.

[Grey Wolf]

Along the pair of Condotierre that usually shadowed her every step, Rosalie found herself joined by only one more man, a person whom Smataggio introduced simply as Giorgio. He was a pale skinned man, his skin drawn tautly over the bones, his smile a bit disconcerting as it seemed to linger upon the man's lips at all times, making him look like a person who had just eaten something sour and was smiling politely in order to hide it. He kept quiet, saying little unless asked for, the right side of his coat hanging a bit awkwardly as if something long and heavy hung under his arm. As they all entered, the Condotierre took positions near the Ambassador, while Giorgio excused himself with a murmur and took a seat in the other corner, making a point of not looking her way. The place was almost empty, only a few other customers in apart from the quartet. A pair of old ladies were busy knitting in the middle table, chattering like their life depended on it. A man nursed a tall glass of in the opposite corner, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Finally a trio of rather bulky men sat near the old ladies, their heads close to each other, as they spoke in lowered voices. The waitress' voice was a bit shaky as she took the order, the girl glancing towards the door every so often, as she too the order and disappeared behind the counter.

[Rosalie Marcada]

Giorgio was the silent type, in truth a blessing for a bodyguard. Already Rose had accepted his silent presence as reassuring. Whether that would remain if he limited her movements remained to be seen, but the Ambassador for now had nothing to complain about. It proved easy to ignore the man's presence, especially at the other side of the room.

Rosalie looked around the establishment, not finding it extra busy. Really, she needed the spread the word a bit more, give business a lift. Perhaps introducing some finer clientèle to espresso.

Was there, Rose thought with amusement, ever a pub or cafe which did not have its drunk who nursed his drink? She dismissed the man from her mind as her amber eyes followed instead the rather nervous waitress. She is expecting someone anxiously. The girl appeared a little shaky, so that it made a lover turning up unlikely.

[Grey Wolf]

Had she bothered to ask, Rosalie might have learned what had the waitress so anxiously expecting an arrival, the rest of the staff looking rather normal as far as could be seen. The girl nearly tripped on her way to the Ambassador, barely managing to stop herself before she spilled the espresso, blushing profusely and curtseying to Rose before going back to fetch her a new cup of coffee. She was back a burn later, placing the coffee before Rose and lowering her eyes. "I am sorry you had to wait, Madam. Can I get you something else? Maybe a plate of brownies?"

[Leon Crowley]

Freshly bathed and without the offending fishy fragrance, Leon felt he must cut a rather arresting figure this tradetide - however, this was not an unusual opinion for the vain and compulsively tidy young musician to hold. Therefore, his appearance, stunning as it certainly must be, as important as he held it, did not occupy much of his thoughts.

On the contrary, he was quite distracted. During his bath he had been struck with the makings of a very coquettish little arietta for the violin, consisting of intertwined descending arpeggios and flourishes of their accordant harmonics. In order for the flirtatious melody not to escape him, he had immediately sought a place of refuge in which to quietly work out the phrases and commit the bulk of his thoughts to paper. An inn had seemed a wholly inappropriate place to conduct such important work, and the Temple, lovely as it was, had altogether too religious an overtone for his coy little tune. She surely would have been crushed under overbearing spirituality.

Instead, in search of a more suitable spot, Leon had found his feet guiding him towards what appeared initially to be a small and neat bar, and later revealed itself to be a tea room of some sort. Simple Pleasures seemed a very apt and appropriate moniker under which to work, an environment in which his seed of inspiration would surely find perfect home and flourish. It was with this intention that he arrived, his treasured violin in its leather case over his shoulder, and quite absorbed in his own thoughts. Under his breath he hummed various phrases, keeping them active before he could commit them permenantly to paper, and wondering if it might be possible to even adapt this tune into something larger and more complex.

A little minuet or scherzo, perhaps, with the voices of multiple violins exchanging the tune... hmm...

Crowley meandered to a corner table almost without looking around at all, and failed to notice any other patrons present. In any other situation he would have considered this to be foolish and rather rude, but so absorbed was he with his music that he had no room for any thoughts of ettiquette, or even of how he himself must appear.

Placing the violin case carefully on the table, he pulled out first parchment and then ink, and finally the violin itself. The instrument he pushed between chin and shoulder with an air of intimate familiarity and began to run his long, agile fingers rapidly over the neck, the only sound produced a very mild plucking of the strings as his fingertips left them, barely audible across the room. With his right hand, he began to occasionally scribble notation, pausing to replay certain phrases in various iterations, attempting to recreate his artful arrietta as he'd imagined her. Perfectly.

[Rosalie Marcada]

Rosalie quite enjoyed being the spectator, observing rather than speaking out her thoughts aloud, amused to see if her speculations would hold any truth. A little bet with herself. Diplomats and politicians have very isolated lives. Seldom can they trust other people with their words or god forbid their thoughts. Rose had learned all about the vulnerability that came with that.

The entrance of yet another brooder made her briefly arch an eyebrow, especially when he took a violin to his shoulder, plucking the strings. That distraction however was quickly abandoned as the girl stumbled and spilled perfectly good espresso. In another mood Rosalie might have cursed her, but now it just added to her amusement. "Oh dear," she cooed to the girl, ignoring the offer of brownies that would go straight to her hips, her exotic accent floating above the steam of the brew as she held the cup close to her lips "Is everything alright, signora? You look frightfully anxious."

[Grey Wolf]

Simple Pleasures was renowned for the discrete atmosphere, though it could hardly measure with Blackbridge, each patron left to his own devices most of the time. Distracted as she were, the waitress failed to notice Leon in the corner, leaving the young man to create his music in peace. Just a table away from him sat a pale skinned man, his skin drawn tautly over his bones, a sour smile upon his lips, The man had not bothered to remove his coat, and though Leon's music interested him, he did not spare the man more than an occasional glance. Between those glances he scanned the room silently, a cup of coffee sitting untouched on his table.

The girl yelped at the sound of Rosalie's voice, hand going to her chest, as her lashes fluttered, eyes threatening to roll up in their sockets, though a flicker later she recovered somewhat. "Oh, it's...it's.... al...alright. Just worried about everything. Some people were killed a bit down the street. And they say people are fighting in the Outer Ring." She shivered and wrapped arms around her chest. "I still remember the riots. My neighbor Nathan was killed. His head was crushed with a hammer."

[Leon Crowley]

After several burns locked in an intense dialogue with his music, Leon became dimly aware that despite the fact that he was plainly sat in a tea room of some sort, he had not received any sort of service. This seemed very odd. While he probably would have dismissed any waitress who had bothered to attend to him, waved her away with a short word about not disturbing art, it seemed very galling not to be at least offered the occasion to do so.

This thought began to worry at him, and soon any hope of high art was lost in the mild irritation of feeling unimportant. Setting the violin and his papers aside, Crowley ventured to look around in vain hope of catching the eye of a waitress. This in itself would be an unsatisfactory resolution, for one could hardly dismiss a girl one from whom one had sought notice.

Across the way, seated at another table alone, Leon quickly noticed a young lady of very striking appearance. Though she was modestly and appropriately dressed for an unchaperoned woman (for while Rose herself had drawn the musician's attention, her bodyguards had been entirely overlooked), the green of her velvet gown complimented her auburn hair and the creamy olive of her complexion beautifully. And a lady she patently was - no mere woman or girl - her bearing and demeanour placing her as a one of great taste and, no doubt, wealth. Immediately, Crowley felt a strong desire to get to know her better.

Happily, it seemed this badly staffed tea room might actually constitute one of the more fashionable haunts in the city, and Leon had, quite by accident, placed himself perfectly. He considered himself very fortunate in his own good judgement.

Feeling there no better time than the present, Leon got to his feet and went over to introduce himself. He was just in time to hear the last of the waitress' stammered explanation, to which he nodded gravely and added in a mild tone, "Indeed, it seems the Citadel is in turmoil at present. I am very afraid I was misled at the gates as to the severity of this upheaval." To the waitress, he added politely, "I believe the lady would like another..." he groped for the word, unsure of what precisely she had been drinking, "...drink. I will have the same."

To Rose, he turned and bowed politely. "My lady, I hope you don't mind my intrusion, and will forgive my introduction. My name is Leon Crowley; I confess I am newly arrived here, and dearly in need of a friend. I wonder if you might suffer my company for a burn or two?" He added a charming smile to that and hoped she might be agreeable.

[Rosalie Marcada]

Ah yes. Smattaggio mentioned something, Rosalie remembered. She arched her eyebrow at the girl "Oh do tell, that sounds horrible.. you must be so frightened."Horribly exciting that was, something was going down, much like in the Mouth right now. Rosalie repressed an image of bloodrun streets. She couldn't help but pry "Why where they fighting with poor Nathan then? What has folks out on the street?"

"Signor," Rosalie smiled, as a good looking stranger offered his thoughts "Do you have an inkling then at what is going on? With the new Caesar just coronated one would have thought that the streets were more... stable." She looked around and confided in a lower tone with a wink "The Outer Ring traditionally is more under control of the Blues anyway. I don't think the Caesar has much to say about it." If the man knew anything at all he would recognize the truth of her statement and perhaps confide in her a little more. Or he was truly a stranger and thank her for her insight. Rose was very pleased with herself.

"Espresso," she admitted with a smile, amused by his flattery as he offered her a drink, which reminded her of home, in a good way. The men of the Mouth simply breathed gallantry in her memory. It was a nice contrast to the usual barbarism of the Empire. "Take a seat signor," Rosalie gestured before giving him her hand "Baroness Rosalie L... Marcada. What brings you to the Citadel?"

[Leon Crowley]

"I'm afraid I do not, my lady." Leon offered a small smile of apology, "Truly, I set foot in this city only a few marks ago, and you very clearly know more of this than I." He was thankful for the information, and supposed his intuition to again be correct. Truly this lady would be an invaluable friend, if she permitted it. And while he hated to gossip, abhored gossip beyond anything, he felt it wise to know what kind of risk he ran by moving to this place. Suddenly, he was struck by something, and added confidentially, "I did run across something of the sort of my way here, however. Several unfortunates dead in the street, if you can credit it! Dead by arrows, it seemed - a terrible thing to behold." The musician looked rather far from shocked, however, enjoying the chance to share his encounter.

Before he could enquire further - he had several questions to clarify her previous statements - Rosalie admitted both her drink and her name, and at this Leon smiled delightedly. A Baroness, no less! It should not be surprising such a magnetic creature should already have gained a husband, and a husband of some note. How very lucky Crowley must be to have found his social circle so easily! He took a seat as directed, and accepted her hand and her introduction with equal pleasure. He felt it right to kiss the offered hand, but only gently and passingly. A married woman one had only just met should not be greeted more familiarly. Or at least, not while in a public place.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance - a pleasure entirely mine, Baroness - and any advice you can offer is very gratefully received indeed." Leon had forgotten temporarily about his violin and music, but Rosalie's enquiry prompted his memory, "I am a musician, and I hope to find employ or sponsership in this city. I understand it to have an appreciation of the arts which far rivals my native Muchisle."

This admitted, he changed tack somewhat, "May I ask who you mean when you say 'the Blues'? It must seem terribly ignorant of me, but I honestly have no idea..."

[Rosalie Marcada]

Manners, Rosalie thought with delight, the man had manners. She was always impressed by knowledge of Etiquette. It was rare enough on this rocky Isle. His polite distance finished the picture of gallantry with a final flourish. Nothing worse than a man who presumed too much too soon. Rosalie may be newly wed, but in many ways she was a virgin and did not understand men at all. However, she knew normal gallantry and it pleased her.

Rose gasped appropriately at the mention of dead people. A lady showed shock at violence. Yet her amber eyes betrayed an interest above all "Was it.. was it fresh..that is to say, had it just happened," she asked with morbid fascination "Who do you think they were?".

Taking a final sip of her hot espresso, the bitter brew emboldening her the darkhaired merchantprincess observed Leon, observing in her low, somewhat throaty voice "An musician? You don't say." She had seen his instruments, though to be fair she had not paid a fair amount of time thinking about them "What kind of music do you specialize in Signor Crowley?" She laughed depreciatingly "I used to sing myself, but.. that is a long time ago." There was a kind of longing in her destroyed voice.

"The Blues," she helpfully supplied "are the City Guards. Ranier Marshall leads them. A man you want to avoid really."

[Leon Crowley]

Leon was rather pleased to find himself spoken to so pleasantly by a complete stranger, and one who so clearly outranked him. The Baroness might easily have told him to move along, her time too precious to spend educating ignorant newcomers - but on the contrary, she seemed perfectly friendly and approachable. The city itself might seem on the verge of falling apart, but its people were more welcoming, it seemed.

"I am not certain who they were; again, I lack experience with the ways of this city and, unfortunately, it renders my knowledge incomplete," Leon supplied, his voice lowered to a suitably confidential tone. "Though these Blues you refer to were plentiful at the site, now I come to think of it. I only got a look at one of the bodies, and did not linger to see more," He lied, glibly, his moment of gawking at the crime scene glossed over as too crass - he barely admitted he had done it to himself, "She was a young blonde girl, missing an ear. She wore armour." He shrugged easily, "I'm afraid I don't know any more than that. Very curious, don't you think?"

He paused, wondering about this Ranier he had been advised to avoid. Already, he considered Rosalie's advice to be invaluable, and made a mental note to steer clear of this gentleman should he run across him. Surely he would be no kind of gentleman at all to earn the displeasure of a lady of Rose's stature.

At her questions of his trade, however, Leon became vague almost immediately, a sure sign the man knew little enough about his intended career to speak of it. "I... play several instruments, and sing a little." He admitted, carefully, "But truthfully I have more interest in composing than in playing, though at present there is no-one to play my compositions but myself. I should like to arrange some sort of large orchestra, ideally - a group capable of producing such a body of sound that might express almost anything one wanted..." He paused, and smiled. "Sadly, I am a long way from that."

Crowley was tempted to flatter her on her supposed singing voice - if it matched her countenance, then surely it was lovely - but there seemed some pain there, and her husky, accented voice only supported this idea. He did not wish to pry, as curious as this was. It was certainly not his place to do so, not with such a new acquaintance. Instead, he changed the subject carefully.

"May I ask about you, my lady? I am going to hazard a guess and say you were not born in this fair city at all... so what brought you here? And tell me; do you like it?" Leon was genuinely interested in her reply, for it might be very telling about the true nature of this place, and might also go some way to securing a genuine friendship with the Baroness. And that was something he would very much like.

[Rosalie Marcada]

Rosalie gasped at Leon's description, utterly fascinated. Oh, she would have to query her secretary on this. Death and mayhem. It spelled politics.

Inevitably of course he was asking after her, and her credentials. When she was younger she would proudly have announced herself a councillor's daughter. That was however before she entered diplomatics and politics, both of which required a more circumvent manner in such things. "I hail from World's Mouth, arriving as part of the diplomatic delegation,"she carefully mentioned, lying with the truth "To my foreign eyes this remains a very violent city, barbarous if you will." Rosalie laughed at that, as if the danger didn't bother her. "In fact it was under such circumstances that I met my husband. He has enlightened me on many of these local curiosities." Her green eyes twinkled as if to say her husband too was one of those violent men.

"Ah, but she grows on you, the Citadel does," Rosalie said as she downed the last of her espresso. Perhaps she would have nothing to return to in the Mouth. She had never considered the Citadel as her final destination. For some reason other foreign shores kept pulling. "If only because you get into touch with so many other nations. You hail from Muchislie. Is it very different?" His skin color was very close to those from her hometown. It made Rose wonder if there was some kind of ancient link.

[Leon Crowley]

Leon listened to Rose's description of her past with interest, and her words on the Citadel, too. He had never visited World's Mouth, though he had thought to, when he first left Muchislie and his father's home. But, ironically, he had chosen not to for fear of it's turbulent political state - recently, the city had declared itself independent of the Western Kingdom, and he felt such a place would have little time for the luxuries of the arts what with political upheaval so strong on the agenda.

More and more, though, it seemed the Citadel would be no safer.

He laughed as she described the city as violent and barbarous, "I would have to agree! She seems a very truculent, mercurial city, with violent moods... That does not preclude her from being beautiful and fascinating in her own right, though. I confess, I am already glad I came."

"Muchislie... has seen it's own violence in the past, though much of it when I was only a child." Crowley described his home with a sort of bittersweet fondness. One would always love one's home, whether or not one particularly liked it. "We have seen several rulers come and go, and changes in political state... but the place has remained stable for most of my life. It is a merchant haven, and... thus rather lacking in the arts. Money does not buy one good taste, unfortunately, and greed precludes beauty too frequently." It was clear he was a man who believed in art for art's sake and was keen to hold himself up as a martyr to his passion. In truth, he was rather shallower than that. "Merchants often see little need for art since it does not profit anything but the soul, and thus cannot be calculated in banners and crowns." He shrugged and smiled, bashfully. "I suppose I am cut from a different cloth."

It was a shame he was unaware he was speaking with a merchant princess. Leon imagined the Baroness to be a noble, and never thought to insult her, even by accident.

[Rosalie Marcada]

There was a sudden stiffness to Rosalie's posture, her admiration for the man's gallantry quickly evaporating. All too common this disdain was in the Empire. People were more impressed with titles than honest, and perhaps less honest, work. For the life of her she couldn't understand why.

"Money is what pays for art," her throaty voice was soft yet clearly audible "The merchants I know, such as papa who is a Merchant Councillor, or my husband of the Trade Guild, are all generous patrons of the arts. It shows they are truly wealthy because they can afford to waste their money, all those banners and crowns. Nothing quite expresses their success as much as art."

Rose laughed then, refusing to let her good mood to be utterly destroyed by artistic arrogance, sure that her reminder would cause him to reconsider his opinion, or at least his public flaunting of it "Ah, signor, but you are a brave man, to confess such a view to the Ambassador of the Mouth. There is something to be said for bravery. So many men lack it. However, there is a time and place for everything. Truly my hometown has always stimulated the arts as a thing of beauty, immensely valuable in its own way." Status. Art was status and it was indeed invaluable beyond measure.

[Leon Crowley]

At Rose's words, Leon felt a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach, and flushed pink from his neck to his ears. I insulted her father! By the gods... you idiot, Crowley! Of course, she rightly insulted art right back - referring to it as a waste... and at this he considered railing, expressing his own thoughts that art was truly the only joy in life, and that without beauty and joy, life was wasted. It seemed foolish, though, and his own opinions were quickly swallowed up by his chagrin at his accidental rudeness.

"I'm... so sorry, Baroness, I merely meant..." Leon hesitated, licking his lips, unsure of what precisely he meant, "I... consider happiness the highest pursuit one can have - the highest thing one can achieve. All I saw in my family was money, no joy... and... that is all that I meant. Truly, I did not for a flicker mean to cause offence..."

And then she laughed. Relief washed through him, and the young musician ventured a smile. "I suppose I have a lot to learn, my lady. I am very glad you do not mind reminding me! It's far too easy for me to become wrapped up in my work and consider it everything that exists... when truthfully, there must always be more practical people than myself." He paused, seeming much relieved at her good humour. "If I might beg a little more advice? I find I am unsure as to where to begin my career in this city - or who to approach regarding, perhaps, sponsership. It is hard for me to know where to begin, being as impractical as I am! But you would surely know everyone of importance..."

[Rosalie Marcada]

Rosalie waved away his apology with a tiny movement of her hand "De nada, signor. I would agree with your estimation of happiness. Money is but a tool. It must roll, create things, arrange things, and contribute to our general well being. Art certainly is part of that." As long as he was gracious she could be too.

Here it comes. As soon as she mentioned being the Ambassador, talk about sponsorship surfaced. It was in fact a rather reassuring thought. It gave structure and a false sense of safety to know such subjects in conversation beforehand. "I believe there is a Bardic College somewhere on Temple Lane. I've visited musical performances there. Names you might consider... Mmm..."

"Of course, I might have some options, I might even be able to muster some introductions but.." Rose pursed her lips as she considered the man before her, and placing him somewhere that would reap interesting information. A flexible kind of spy into some of the noble households. Now that might prove interesting. "I would have to hear your performance first."

[Leon Crowley]

"You are very kind to ask that of me, my lady. I would be honoured to play for you." The musician smiled easily, delighted to be asked.

Little did Leon know of Rosalie's plans; he merely thought it good fortune that he had bumped into someone who might help him. Nodding at her request, he immediately stood to fetch his violin and papers, returning to her table quickly and without ceremony. Placing the violin beneath his chin, he paused, removed it, and added this disclaimer:

"Baroness, I must apologise before I begin. I hope you do not think badly of me that the only instrument I have to hand is this violin... and, truly, I am more of a composer than a musician at heart. However, there is no-one else present to interpret my scribblings, so my own fingers will have to oblige. I beg your patience, my lady, and the forgiveness of your ears... this is one of my own compositions." He gave her a small wink at this, his eyes twinkling.

That introduction completed, Leon took up the violin and began to play.

The song he chose was one he'd completed several months before, a minor-keyed, sospirando love song, rich and melodious, designed to show off both the capabilities of the instrument and the skill of its composer with it's high grace notes and harmonics, and surprisingly touching for a man of so little experience in the ways of love. It spoke of a yearning for love, of a lost love, or the bittersweet taste of the love one has known but knows no longer, the pure voice of the violin soaring elegantly from phrase to phrase with the high clarity of a soprano, and mellow richness of colours in autumn. When he played, Crowley rarely did so half-heartedly - he had always put everything he had into perfecting the complexity of the sound - but this time, he knew it was important to play perfectly, and his face showed the intense concentration of one who is aware of nothing but his art.

His loose fingers moved over the neck with the gentle dexterity of a familiar lover, their touch giving voice to the instrument, as though the lover sighed and moaned as they moved together. Leon knew and loved this violin perhaps better than anyone he'd met in the world: it was always this way with instruments and their owners. When he played, it was as if time itself ceased for him, and all there was was the music. Life could hold no pleasures or pains for him greater than this.

It was not until he'd reached the end that he seemed to become conscious again, the last sonorous note humming to silence. Leon blinked, and removed the violin from under his chin, resting it on the table easily, a friendly smile returning his face to something resembling human and conscious and far from the intense concentration of moments before. He offered a small bow to Rosalie, the self-depracating bow of one who still considers himself not quite good enough. "I hope I was not too offensive."

[Grey Wolf]

OOC: Just gonna poke in for a moment and then let you two chatter along. Yell if you need me again.

"Oh, he was just working in the shop when some people came and started stealing things. His wife says they just killed him when he told them to stop. They laughed at her and beat her up, but then the soldiers came and saved her from rape." As Crowley came over, the girl stood there uncertain what to do, finally deciding to fade away from the scene, taking the young man's order and leaving him and Rosalie alone. The Condotierre stiffened at the freeloader's approach, even the calm Giorgio shifting in his seat, pushing the coat away. Madam Ambassador caught a glimpse of a metallic contraption hidden underneath, though she could not catch any details in the fraction before he settled back down once more.

As the music began, people raised their voices, trying to keep their conversations going despite the distraction, but soon they fell silent, even the waitress who rushed to them to ask Leon to play less loudly slowed down her steps and sat down. It was as if the pressure and desire to do well combined into giving him an inspiration to outplay even his best performances to date, notes flowing like liquid from the supple strings of a violin. As the song started to soar and break free, the young bard made minute adjustments to his composition, making a note longer, or higher on instinct, improvising subtly and without trouble, turning an ordinary song into a temporary masterpiece. The room came to focus as the last note slid room the violin, not a sound breaking the silence for a flicker, before a spontaneous applause broke across the room. He was even granted a whistling approval from the moody man nursing his drink burns earlier.

As the applause died down, and people went back to their newfound topic, that being Leon's performance, a pair of men entered the establishment. They were both somewhat plum and sported a similar thick mustaches over their upper lip, the older of the pair wearing a hat and a dark blue suit. His companion was dressed in grey and they walked straight past the bard and Rosalie taking a seat at a nearby table. A glimpse of their conversation sailed towards the pair as those two passed.

"..........Secretary Silk is dead? The Silk?"
"Yes, both him and Manyana. Plummeted to death from the mast of a ship in harbor. Or so they say."
"I can't believe it. I mean I heard they were allies in the Council."
"Yes, I know but they also say he........"

[Rosalie Marcada]

Ignoring her escorts as she was quite sure what she was doing, Rosalie closed her eyes as Leon started to play, letting the music wash over her. She was taken back so many yahren ago, before that horrible disease had destroyed her voice. When she still sung like an angel. Unconsciously she hummed softly with the tune, not missing a single note as its theme revealed itself to her, its allure inescapable. For a moment she was just sweet little innocent Rose, enjoying art for arts sake.

When Leon stopped Rosalie realized this was part of what she had lost, so long ago. A single tear escaped her unnoticed, trailing down her cheek. "That, was very lovely," she whispered, trying to find her bearing, her mask of a merchantprincess somewhat lost "I am sure that I can find you a proper place, master Crowley. A performance in the Embassy for some select guests seems very appropriate."

It was then that her ears picked something up that changed her demeanour almost instantly. She sat up straight, her amber eyes widening as she took in the news. The balance on the Imperial Advisory Council had just shifted considerably. Silk. The most influential Inner Circle councilor. Killed. By another councilor? Merda. I should come to taverns more frequently. The things you learn. Her mind was furiously calculating what this did to the balance of power in the Citadel.

She turned in her seat addressing the man in blue, who might have been a City Guard "Excuse me, sir, I couldn't help but overhearing. May I ask how something so dreadful happened? Perhaps you would share some espresso with me and my acquaintance?" She gave him her most charming smile.

[Leon Crowley]

The applause and catcalls were all of a one to Leon, for while he might well have been very pleased to have received such acknowledgement - surely it had been his finest performance! - at the present time he was distracted by the reaction of the most important person in the room; Rosalie. He was rather startled - and then immediately a little proud - to find a single tear tracking down the gentle curve of her cheek. "That, was very lovely," She whispered, and quite without knowing what he was doing, the young musician reached to her face to gently wipe the tear away. "I am glad you found it lovely. It suits you very well," he murmured by way of response, feeling himself very close to her in that moment.

It was rather unfortunate that it was so abruptly interrupted. The lovely, weeping woman before him, touched by music, suddenly reverted to The Baroness with a speed that caused Leon to feel a little giddy. He sat back as she accosted the guard in blue, questioning him with an instinct not unlike sharks smelling blood in the water, and felt more than a little out of his depth.

No matter. She is a... a married woman of consequence, of course she has no time to sit and merely feel. With a stranger! You should not have touched her so forwardly. That was incredibly inappropriate.

Holding his violin in a not dissimilar manner to the way a child might cling to a comfort blanket, Leon resolved to sit and listen attentively and not do anything more that might make him appear foolish. He might even learn something, after all. Or perhaps... perhaps if the Baroness had business to attend to, it would soon be time to excuse himself? He did not want to outstay his welcome now that he had played for her and she had agreed that he would be easy to place, and truly, he knew nothing of this Silk character nor his place in the city. He would watch and listen for now and, if he found himself superfluous, quietly excuse himself with as much grace as he could muster. Leon was nothing if not meticulously polite.

[Grey Wolf]

The duo were definitely not guards, the only thing aking them look even vaguely like the Blues, being the color of a suit one of them wore. Apart from being plump and far too well dressed, they each had a number of rings upon their fingers, rings that common guards certainly could not afford. They were deep in conversation when Rosalie interrupted them, the man wearing blue turning with an annoyed look, that quickly shifted as he noticed her clothes, and especially the pair of Condotierre standing behind her. "Yes, madam. Though we will pass the offer of espresso if you do not mind. We need to discuss a business deal." He paused, lost for a flicker and then quickly added., licking lips nervously. "It is just a rumor, but the leader of Imperial Scouts apparently went crazy and attacked Secretary Silk when he returned to the city this morning. Set up an ambush for him just down the street, for Gods know what reason. He managed to escape, but she was prepared to that and from what I heard the fight continued in the harbor near the Ha'Penny Mermaid. In the end they battled each other personally and people say they fell off the mast of a ship moored at the harbor." At that his friend added in a soft, somewhat raspy voice. "I heard she ran him through with a sword, but that the old man managed to slit her throat and take her down within the Mermaid itself. Whatever may have happened, there are riots in the Outer Ring now, and the Blues are sitting with thumbs up their arses doing nothing. If you will excuse my language."

[Rosalie Marcada]

In that one flicker Leon saw a younger Rose, looking up at the musician with a vulnerable look in her amber eyes. It was a rare sight indeed, and in the next flicker she was gone, replaced by a political predator.

The Ambassador observed the two gentlemen, their way of dress and especially the tell tale golden rings. As the blue suit indicated himself a man of business a small smile played on Rosalie's lips. Yes, she could just imagine what kind of business that was. Not that she cared if it was less than legal. In fact, it would be rather familiar terrain it if wasn't.

"Both of them out?" More furious calculations went on inside her brain, even more shifts of the balance. "Well, you can never trust authorities to keep the peace if they are rolling over the floor fighting themselves, now can you?" she remarked with some irony, adding knowledgeably "The Blues likely don't know which side paid more. Or perhaps the biggest bidder simply paid for them to stay put. I've heard Ranier keeps him self in a manner not even my husband is accustomed to." That was a lie of course, but Rose like badmouthing Ranier.

"Rosalie Marcada, Ambassador of World's Mouth" she introduced herself then, arching an eyebrow at the lads to see if they would offer their names "Should you have need of some assistance in your business, then feel free to call upon me at the Embassy."

She rose then "Master Crowley, will you perchance accompany me to Embassy. I promised my secretary to not stay out for too long. He has proven to have amazing foresight." Yes, Smattagio had mentioned trouble. If there was rioting in the Outer Ring though she would have trouble getting home. Rose decided not to mention that to Leon, instead smiling warmly "I am sure that we can find a placing for you, if you are interested. I have several events coming up that could use a good musician."

[Leon Crowley]

The conversation was over promptly, and Rose seemed to have gained what she required from the two strangers. Much of it went over Crowley's head, though he was loathe to admit that to his new acquaintance; instead, he merely waited silently until her business was concluded, and made mental note of what names he could.

Silk... the Secretary. But he's dead. And, ah. Ranier... the Baroness Marcada mentioned he was untrustworthy... There is so much I do not know of this place. People can barely step out their own door without being attacked, by the looks of things... and the guard do nothing to prevent it! What sort of a place is this?

The implication that Ranier had paid the Blues to look the other way was not missed by the young musician, though what use that information was to him at present he was uncertain.

As Rose took to her feet, Leon responded immediately by doing the same; she was of higher rank and a woman, so it was only right that he stand out of respect. Her invitation was greeted with a smile, and a slight bow, "Baroness, I would be honoured." After collecting his things quickly (but before leaving), he offered her his arm, thinking it only right that she should have an escort. In a city this dangerous, anything could happen!

(Not that Leon particularly knew how to defend himself, let alone a lady. He would have to hope it would not come to that).

[Rosalie Marcada]

Sadly, Rose was no mindreader (oh, how she'd love to be one if she had known it existed) and so she was unaware that Leon was drawing the wrong conclusions from her words, where she had but indicated that Ranier was being paid to keep the Blues off the streets. After all, he was their marshall.

Rosalie accepted Leons arm with a smile. Really, such good manners. It was a long time since she had experienced it in the Citadel, well except from such sweet men like her husband and his friend Thomas Crane of course, slightly older men that still remembered etiquette. "I have a carriage waiting outside, my secretary insisted on it, even though it is but a short walk to the Embassy."

Of course Rose was less worried about the violence on the streets, probably because of the Condotierre that swiftly followed them as they got up and left Simple Pleasures. The Ambassador expected one of them to leave enough coin to pay for the bill. She wasn't used to carrying money.

Accepting Leon's help to get into the coach, Rosalie settled on the blue velvet cushions, the same colour as the Condotierre, her favourite bodyguard unit, somewhat of a private army almost. The arranging of her skirts took some doing, because of its fullness, which while not entirely Mouthie was still considerable, and outlandish in the Citadel. The lady gave him a warm smile "Tell me, master Crowley, have you been practising your art for long? You seem to have a most extra ordinary talent for it."