FightingWomen

From IMiA

The Duke's sister, a woman who moved past 'eligible bridal candidate' into eccentric spinsterhood some while ago, has spent the last few minutes chatting with Prince Eric. From the facial expressions and gestures, Arryl suspects it's been small talk and pleasant banter.

The lady is dressed in deep burgundy with simple accents of gold. Her outfit and jewelry seem plain next to those of many of the other noble ladies present, but the style suits her. As she and Eric say their farewells, she turns to move off in a direction that will bring her toward Arryl.

Arryl is just accepting a glass of something pale and bubbly from the tray of a passing servant. The Weir nods, smiles and seems to be offering some sympathetic witticism to the working man when she notices the Lady's course. A farewell pat on the shoulder is given to Juliana's servant and Arryl turns to face Patrice.

Arryl is dressed in the formal black-and-reds of the Gottswache, Eric's Weir guard. A black 'captain's coat' drapes over her shoulders and cinches at her waist, its small folded back cuffs and full lapels are lined with red piping. Epaulets of intricate silver brocade on the shoulders of her jacket proclaim her as a Leutnant.

Black boots, so highly polished as to reflect the softest light hug her calves to just over her knees. Crimson leggings lead upward to end in a matching crimson vest that fits Arryl's robust figure perfectly. The grey laced cravat beneath her chin only serves to heighten the pinkness of her cheeks and the glimmer in her grey eyes. Her hair is so blonde as to almost be white and tied back into a neat military bun.

At the Leutnant's side hangs a perfectly functional dress sabre with a fine silver basket swept hilt. The scabbard is brightly polished black, capped and hung by with well-cared for silver.

Despite the clean sleek lines of the Leutnant, there is something to her posture that proclaims her as a rake.

Arryl can see by the way that Patrice carries herself that she's not unfamiliar with the feel of a blade at her side and might well be happier in a costume more like the one that Arryl is wearing than the one she's crammed herself into.

"Lieutenant Arryl der Gottswache?" Patrice gives the words the Amber pronunciation, which doesn't involve nearly as many glottal stops as it probably ought to. "I'm Patrice Pinegar, the Duke's sister. His Highness Prince Eric suggested I make your acquaintance."

"Your Ladyship. I am honored to meet you." The Leutnant takes Patrice's hand and bows over it.

"Der Prinz, eh?" As Arryl straightens there is the twinkle of humor in her grey eyes. "One might almost wonder wot he was up to. If one hadn't given up trying to out-guess Prinzen centuries ago, nein? Can I get you somet'ing to drink?" The Weir ends with a friendly grin for a fellow swordswoman.

"Yes, thank you," Patrice replies. "His Highness made the suggestion in response to a jest I made about a lack of suitable sparring partners. I doubt I'm up to your level of expertise with the blade, but it would be nice to get my head handed to me by someone other than my brother."

"Ah well," Arryl chuckles as she flags down another tray-bearing servant. "I am only a fair-to-middlin' swordsman myself. But I'd be happy to attempt to hand you your head. Mit practice blades, auf course."

The Weir winks. "D'ese auld bones auf mine could certainly do mit a different sparring arranchment."

"*These* old bones will glad for practice blades as long as you don't break any of them." Patrice grins at Arryl's wink and accepts the drink from the other woman. "I'd expect even a middling professional swordsman could far exceed my meager talents. I prefer an expert partner, though, because everyone knows it's the skill of the wielder rather than the size of the sword that determines the success of an encounter."

Patrice seems perfectly comfortable with Arryl's self-identification as male.

The Weir raises an eyebrow to the Lady, and then breaks into an undignified snigger. "Ah, well ja. Ain't *dat* die trut'. But try und tell it to der boyz." Arryl winks.

Patrice manages not to snicker with some effort.

"Luckily d'ere are ot'er uses for d'em," she adds, looking around the room with an appreciative eye.

"So, where would your Ladyship like to meet? Do you haf a favorite ground yet?"

"Not since my return to Amber. I suspect the grounds we favored in the old days have changed," Patrice replies. "Where would you suggest?"

"Der Saivagenon ist nice. D'ey have bat's und keep die grounds well-sanded. But..." Arryl waggles her eyebrows, "d'ey are not so fond auf my type d'ere und might give you some trouble over it."

Patrice doesn't say anything, but there's a moment of old pain in her eyes. She's old enough to have known men who died in the war. After a moment, she nods.

"I t'ink I am still welcome at Hattle's. Der last incident was *decades* ago. He's probably gotten over it by now." A fond reminiscent smile is accompanied with a nod. "He runs a decent haus."

"Und if die Lady didn't mind some local... color, d'ere's always der Bent Blade. It ist usually not so... colorful in die early mornings." Arryl grins with a lot of pointy, pointy teeth.

"Or perhaps your brot'er might be willing to make a recommendation."

"Oh, my brother would have me somewhere safe and boring. He worries, mostly because he knows what I can get into," Patrice says, and gives Arryl a good-natured grin. "The Bent Blade will be quite acceptable. When shall we meet, and how shall I find it?"

"Are you familiar mit Channel Street?" Arryl names a large thoroughfare that leads from the Harbor District into Southside. It's primarily a trade route with lots of warehouses, stables, chandlers' and the like lining it. There are a few pubs and flop-house toward the Southside end of the street but mostly it's struggling low end business concerned with the movement of merchandise.

Patrice nods. "I've been there a time or two." Which is within reason, if the lady has some interest in Carlisle family business. "What's the cross street?"

"Der Bent Blade takes up das whole sout' street front between D'Havre und Eloi-Fishman Alley. But die only door d'at actually opens ist der one mit die blue und red stripes."

"Blue and red stripes," Patrice repeats, to be sure she's got it. "Between D'Havre and Eloi-Fishman Alley. I think I can find that. I am at leisure, of course, so what time and day would suit you?"

"I'm t'inking early morning ist best... shall we say der day after tomorrow, chust after dawn?" Arryl checks to see if this is all right with her Ladyship.

Patrice nods.

"One o'der t'ing, my duty schedule is be a bit irregular - I serve at der Prinz's decision. Where should I send a message if I find myself o'derwise occupied?"

"I'm staying here with my brother, so a message sent to the house will get to me. Of course, the way these things go, you won't know until the last possible second. If something comes up that night, send word to the Bent Blade if you can. But I understand that if there's an emergency, you're likely to have better things to do than tell someone to chase off after me." Patrice's smile is rueful.

"I understand that Carnival can be a very busy time. If anything--untoward--happens, we'll reschedule." She sounds as if she might be expecting untowardness, and not happily so.

"Danke for die understanding, your Ladyship." Arryl bows slightly.

Patrice gives something that the average partygoer might interpret as a nod, but is actually a neck bow.

"So, what type auf blade do you prefer? Und would prefer to work out mit?" The Weir smiles.

"For practice, I use a light rapier. My wrist strength isn't what it used to be. For serious play, I prefer something heavier, but I'm having to work my way back up to saber. Of course, with my luck, I expect that if I actually have to fight anything, I shall be armed with a tiny dagger from my bodice or at best a slim little blade of the sort that I can hide in a parasol handle." Patrice sounds ruefully exasperated.

"Whuf." Arryl rubs her chin as she considers. "Sabre ist a particular favorite auf mine. But my expertise ist actually der zwei knives. Are you working mit a trainer currently?"

Patrice shakes her head. "Just my brother. I'm considering asking Mr. Van Alikki whether he'll take me on, though."

"Mr. Van Alikki..." Arryl is very neutral about the swordsman. Very very neutral indeed as she purses her lips and looks idly around the room.

Patrice's gaze follows Arryl's around the room.

Arryl doesn't seem to be looking for or at anything special, just taking a general inventory of who is around.

"So," her grey eyes come back to Patrice's with a twinkle, "did we want to plan on rapiers d'en? Or somet'ing else?"

"Rapiers this time, and sabers as soon as I'm confident of my wrists." Which, from the sound of her voice, should be as soon as she can make it.

After a moment she adds, "Do you have any suggestions for a trainer? My good-sister recommended Mr. Van Alikki, but she's not a swordswoman, and the opinions of someone whose skills were recommended to me by His Highness must naturally stand higher in my estimation."

"You flatter me, Your Ladyship." Arryl chuckles and bows slightly again. Then, continues in a friendly voice that leaves so much unsaid. "I would never wish to disagree mit die Herzogin on a matter auf character. Und Mr. Van Alikki *ist* a master auf die blade."

Patrice's well-plucked eyebrows arch slightly at the mention of disagreeing with Juliana, but she merely nods slowly in response to Arryl's words, and the things she didn't say.

Then Arryl continues on a different tack. "What style are you looking to improve in at d'is time? Military? Defense? Dueling?"

"Personal defense and dueling. I can only imagine the reaction from my family if I took up a commission at this late date. I'm likely to get in enough hot water with some of them if I end up defending my honor some misty dawn, but that's the price of moving in the parts of society that take honor seriously," Patrice replies. She smiles a little tightly at that last.

The Leutnant nods sympathetically. Though the concept of dueling is outside the Weir mindset, Arryl has a practical respect for people acting upon their honor.

"For der dueling, Monsieur Fabrez ist good mit bot' die rapier und der sabre formal schools. Ousten Rist ist a master auf t'eatre und could show you some vundebar ways to 'pink' an opponent mit enough flair to satisfy anyone's honor. Und, I t'ink d'at Daniel e'Vallejo ist still taking students. He ist older but you won't get a better grounding in der classics d'en from him."

"Defense?" Arryl raises an eyebrow to the Lady who has mentioned that she gets in the occasional scrape and felt that the Bent Blade made for a nice morning. "Gabrielline ist back in town." She grins toothily.

"Or we could ask Hattle *nicely.* I'm afraid I don't know whom to recommend among die more gentle auf Amber's folk."

Patrice listens to the names, clearly marking them for later recall. "I'm concerned more with expertise and teaching ability than nominal gentility. Are we likely to see any of them, other than Hattle, of course, at the Bent Blade?"

"Nein." The Weir shakes her head. "D'ey are all specialists und haf d'eir own... stomping grounds, as it were."

Patrice nods, understanding. "Very well, then, Lieutenant. Until day after tomorrow?"

"Der day after tomorrow." Arryl confirms with a nod.

"I'm looking forward to it," Patrice replies.

-- Main.GingerStampley - 22 Apr 2005