Guinevere
Crewman
On a balcony in summer air...
Posts: 114
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Post by Guinevere on Mar 2, 2011 15:51:39 GMT -5
RP Info: [/u] Private or Open?: Private. Fast, Casual or Slow?: Casual. Involved: PD & Guinevere Characters: Joe & Angel Summary: Set two years after AWE in Tortuga.
It was closing time in the Tortuga tavern, and Angel Summers was hustling the last of the customers out of the doors, leaving those who had rented rooms above alone. A year had passed since Marianne Black had left the tavern to her and disappeared from the haven of drunkards, and ever since then Angel had proved to be a successful business woman, well-liked by the locals in spite of, perhaps because of, her gentle manner. Fights very rarely broke out in the tavern, because the punters knew that they made their mild-mannered hostess nervous. All those who tried to take advantage of her kindness were all but ostracized. Mrs. Black had controlled the customers with an iron fist; Angel had won their loyalty by simply being herself.
The twenty-two-year-old young woman stood with her arms folded, watching the stream of customers trailing out of the tavern, throwing good-natured and mostly drunken farewells over their shoulders to her as they left. Angel smiled, before turning her attention towards the empty and half-empty mugs scattered over the tables; she called her two barmaids over to her and they started clearing everything up. Angel could not help being reminded of her days as a barmaid with Rosalind, what seemed like a lifetime ago; she’d not really been much use back then, tripping over her own skirts, dropping trays of drinks and sharing one drink too many with the customers. Still, she felt nostalgic for that time. She missed Rosalind, and she even missed Mrs. Black. She was the responsible one now, even though she still felt very young and foolish.
Soon enough, everything was looking shipshape. Only a few customers were left, sitting by the fireplace half-asleep or slumped down at tables. Soon enough they’d go upstairs for the night. Angel undid the strings of her apron and pulled it off, dropping it onto one of the tabletops now that her day’s work was almost done. She was an exquisitely pretty girl, with a slight, graceful frame. She had delicate features and wide blue-grey eyes, and her long, golden hair hung in curls almost down to her waist. Her gown was worn and patched, but her humble attire did not affect her natural loveliness.
Angel closed the doors, locking them with the key she carried with her at all times, so that no drunkards would burst in during the middle of the night and steal the drink or cause a disturbance. She was very careful about looking after the tavern; Mrs. Black had left it under her care, so it was up to her to do right by her former boss, even if she hadn’t always been kind to her. As she turned, dropping the key back into her gown pocket, her gaze was suddenly caught by a sight which made her stomach lurch.
Sitting in the corner of the tavern was a man with dark hair – a very familiar-looking man. A person she would have known anywhere without a second’s doubt. The man’s name was Joe Kerringston; Angel had known him during the time she’d sailed with her elder sister Eve as a pirate. At twenty years old, she had been instantly captivated by him; in fact, this tavern was the very first place she’d ever seen him. Their first meeting had catapulted her into a passionate obsession with him. She had sworn to win him for herself, but Joe had had other women in his life. Lucette Beauchamp, for one… a woman who was now dead. The last time Angel had seen Joe, two years ago, he had been gripped by grief and incapable of a goodbye.
Almost of their own accord, her feet started moving; she was walking towards him, her footsteps slow and uncertain, her expression filled with mingled emotions. Her eyes were wide as she approached his table. He hadn’t seemed to notice her before now. How long had he been here? She must have been distracted with work indeed not to notice his arrival.
“Joseph?” she said, tentatively. “Joe?” [/color]
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Post by PD on Mar 2, 2011 16:28:30 GMT -5
Joseph Kerringston had recently downed his second mug of rum - now onto his third. Yes, he was a simple man with simple taste. No wine or fancy liquors for him. Just rum. Holding his mug with both his hands he gazed down into the liquid, seemingly lost in its mind-numbing beauty.
The past several years hadn’t been easy on him or for him. Then again, when was maturing ever easy? He had spent most of his life in an illusion, flitting from here to there, taking love and anything else he could get his hands on. But now… loneliness engulfed him. Ever since Lucette had died he felt vastly alone in the world, shattered and broken. An old man before he had even reached thirty. Scowling, he took another swig of the rum, letting it burn down his throat and land in his stomach. He was a haunted man. He pitied himself as he ran his hand over his face. Then again, perhaps it was only that he was now a working man that made him feel so mundane and dead inside. HE had never before in his life had responsibility and now… now he had it. And it devoured his free time, exhausting him as he never thought it would.
“What would Vari say now?” He muttered to himself, thinking back on the good times he had spent with her and their carefree ways. He had a fierce paternal devotion which had caused him to undertake the raising of his son after Lucette’s death, however, this devotion drained the life from him, causing him to occasionally not even recognize himself.
“Joe?”
A voice startled him out of his self-pitying and he turned to see a little blonde creature staring down at him. At first he didn’t recognize her face. He frowned, feeling that awkward and uneasy feeling one gets when they aren’t sure who it is who seems to know them so well.
Summers. The name popped into his head. She looked like Eve Summers. but it wasn't Eve.
"Angel?"
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Guinevere
Crewman
On a balcony in summer air...
Posts: 114
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Post by Guinevere on Mar 2, 2011 17:39:33 GMT -5
Angel blinked down at Joe, who had previously been gazing morosely into his mug of rum, before looking up at her as if he didn’t know who she was. She was slightly disappointed at his slowness, but when he finally said her name her expression lit up. She nodded several times before dropping herself into the chair opposite his. She studied Joe’s expression carefully, not wanting to seem too eager. How unhappy he looked. One thing Angel couldn’t bear was distress, but she wasn’t sure that Joe’s could be easily mended. She wanted to ask him what had happened in the two years since she’d last seen him, but she didn’t feel that she could simply come out and say it. Instead, she clasped her hands together and took a small intake of breath, her brow creasing into a little frown.
“Yes. Yes, it’s Angel. Angel Summers,” she replied, her tone as soft and enthusiastic as always, but threaded with nerves. She paused. “Eve’s sister. You’ll remember Eve. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to remember me.” She gave a tiny, nervous titter. “I don’t know where she is now. But she’s roaming the seas. I don’t know which sea.” She couldn’t seem to help the rush of words that poured forth from her lips; she always talked a lot when she was on edge. “And this…” she lifted a hand, gesturing around at the tavern generally, “this is all mine now. I’m in charge of the tavern.”
A small pause stretched out as she wrung her hands, trying to think of something sensible to say. She wanted to say something serious, but she was finding it difficult. Finally, she took another snatch of breath and launched into another bout of conversation. “And how are you? Joe?” she blinked again as her tone slid into a more somber, but still anxious, pitch. “You don’t… look… are you well? How long have you been here? Have you been here a long time?”
Inwardly she cursed herself for her clumsiness of speech. How she longed to be elegant and dignified! Her eyes snapped shut and her hands bunched into fists. When she opened her eyes again, she shook her head slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m stupid,” she said, simply. “I should probably get up, walk away, and then walk back and say hello all over again, but I can’t. So.” She arranged her hands neatly on her lap, pointing her slender fingertips into an arch. “How are you, Joseph?” She was beginning to feel a little calmer. She realized that a babbling fool was the last person Joe wanted for company. She wanted to appear poised, and attentive, and polite. She wondered if he remembered how she had used to look at him, the way she’d hung on his every word and followed him about like a little lost puppy. He probably didn’t remember. He probably had never even noticed.
“Would you like another drink?” she asked, hesitantly, gesturing to his mug of rum. “Though maybe you’ve had enough for one night. I could make you some tea if you liked.”
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Post by PD on Mar 3, 2011 18:18:05 GMT -5
Joe watched Angel make herself quite at home in the chair across from him. He wasn’t entirely keen on her company just then but, then again, a familiar face was welcome. He met her eyes and, eyebrows raised, took her in, encouraging her to say something, anything just so long as he didn't have to say much. “No, I remember you too,” it came out as somewhat dismissive and as she babbled along, he hardly heard most of it.
“No, not at all, love,” Joe pushed his mug away from him, feeling old and somber compared to her youthful vitality. “And I’m still alive.” He snorted, looking down at the half empty mug of rum. Somehow he sensed that his company was not at all pleasant - especially to someone like Angel who seemed to attentive and caring. He looked over at her, attempting to be pleasant, "tea would be wonderful.” Never had he thought he would say those words but, indeed, that was part of maturing, no? Giving up drinking oneself silly?
“Papa!” a small lad burst into the tavern, his blue eyes ablaze with excitement and his dark locks bouncing wildly around his head. “You should see…” the boy stopped quite suddenly at the sight of Angel. His brow knitted slightly but, with hardly a moment’s hesitation, he went over to her, introducing himself like a proper little gentleman, “Philippe Kerringston, ma’am.” An impish grin covered half his face and his French accent was very clear.
[little bit o' cuteness... and to remind everyone that Lucette's essence is still there. ]
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Guinevere
Crewman
On a balcony in summer air...
Posts: 114
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Post by Guinevere on Mar 3, 2011 18:42:02 GMT -5
Angel’s disappointment only grew with Joe’s somewhat indifferent response, but she did her best not to show it, and nodded eagerly. “Yes, I can make you some tea!” she leapt on the opportunity to make herself useful. It would give her something to do, and help ease the awkwardness. But just as she was about to rise to her feet, a little boy burst into the room, charging towards Joe before stopping, noticing Angel. When he approached her and addressed her politely, a smile warmed Angel’s features. So this was Joe’s son by Lucette, Philippe – no one could have doubted that he was their child, since he was so like both of them. Instantly, she decided that she would be kind to him. It was no doubt difficult for Joe to bring his son up without his mother. A lot about Joe had changed; raising a child had altered him. Angel got the feeling that he needed help.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,” she replied, as if addressing a grown gentleman. “How lovely to meet you. I tell you what – you stay here with your papa, and I’ll bring you both some tea.” She stood up, brushing down her skirts, and then dropping a little curtsy to indulge Philippe, her expression as mischievous as his, as if they were sharing a joke. She smiled at Joe over his son’s head, before darting from the room.
Whilst in the kitchen, the barmaids badgered her, wanting to know who Joe was and how she knew him. She brushed their questions away, not wanting to give them fuel for gossip. A few moments later, she came back into the main room with a tray, on which were balanced two teacups and saucers and a slightly chipped white teapot. She placed it on the table and neatly poured two cups of tea, handing one to Joe, trying not to let her hand brush his as she did so. Angel had not included a cup for herself; maybe she had simply forgotten, or perhaps she considered herself not so important. “Now,” she handed the other cup to Philippe, “I’ve been quite amiss, you’ve told me your name but I’ve neglected to tell you mine. I’m Angel.” She smiled kindly at him.
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Post by PD on Mar 4, 2011 15:41:05 GMT -5
Little Philippe beamed at Angel’s response, obviously preening under such attention from an adult.
Joe simply watched the exchange with some mild amusement as Angel indulged his six-year-old son. Eyebrows raised, he mentally noted that she should be careful the way she treated the small child. Unfortunately, Philippe had picked up on some of his favorite uncle’s bad traits, including pride. The child’s ego was larger than life… especially for a six-year-old. He was selfish and quite accustomed to being indulged. He was irreversibly spoilt to the core by the Beauchamps. It was quite obvious that Angel had no intentions of reverting this bad streak in the child – instead she was only enhancing it.
Philippe crawled into the chair Angel had just vacated and watched is father from across the table, grinning impishly, obviously planning something. Joe ruffled his hair affectionately, meanwhile hoping the lad wouldn’t turn out like his uncles or his father.
As Angel returned, Joe silently took the tea from her hands, not even bothering to take a drink of it.
“And you’re as pretty as one too,” Philippe’s replied, his eyes sparkling merrily. He took the cup and stuffed it in his face, taking a long drink from it.
Joe snorted, quickly putting his cup to his lips in an attempt at hiding the grin spreading across his face.
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Guinevere
Crewman
On a balcony in summer air...
Posts: 114
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Post by Guinevere on Mar 4, 2011 17:51:00 GMT -5
Angel laughed good-naturedly at Philippe’s compliment. “How very gallant of you to say so,” she remarked, not seeming to mind that the child had taken her chair. She glanced towards Joe, who seemed amused by the situation. She could not help smiling at him; it was clear that Philippe was a hugely indulged child, and that her treatment of him did not help in the least. But kindness came naturally to Angel. Observing Joe, she raised an eyebrow very slightly, noting that he’d only taken one sip of his tea. Angel seemed to have taken control of the situation now, and her anxiety had seemingly evaporated. “It’ll go cold if you’re not careful,” she warned him, affably. Shortly, she moved away, the skirts of her worn gown swishing as she disappeared from the room again, leaving father and son alone for a while.
Back in the kitchen, Angel once again found herself waylaid by the barmaids. The two girls were around the same age as her, and were excited by the prospect that Angel might be in with a chance at catching herself a handsome man. Closing the kitchen door firmly, she blushed. “Shame on you,” she reprimanded them, trying to sound like the figure of authority. “I have no such intention.”
“Oh, really?” retorted one of the girls. “You like him. It’s obvious.”
“I don’t! I don’t!” Angel insisted, her blush growing pinker. The two girls giggled, and Angel, feeling slightly piqued, couldn’t help flouncing a little as she approached the table and poured herself a measure of water. She was supposed to be the one in charge here! “You should both mind your tongues. Kindly remember that I gave you your jobs and I can take them away.” She took a gulp of water and choked a little, probably unaccustomed to giving such an ungenerous speech. The girls waited for the apology, and sure enough, it came soon. “I’m sorry!” Angel said, hurriedly. “I don’t want to be mean. It makes me feel horrible. But please…” she lifted a finger to her lips, “…not another word about Joe.”
“So it’s Joe, now is it?”
“Ssh!” Angel said, placing the mug of water back on the table. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her lips. At heart she was still very much one of the girls, and giggling over a man was still an enjoyable pastime – but she didn’t want to admit this. She wasn’t simply a barmaid anymore. She had responsibilities – which, as it happened, included paying due attention to her customers.
Angel exited the kitchen, closing the door on an outpour of giggles. She wore a funny smile, as if she was trying to restrain a laugh. Looking over to where Joe sat, she ducked her head slightly, hoping he wouldn’t see. After a moment, she walked back towards him and Philippe. “Everything alright here?” she queried, pleasantly. She turned her gaze towards Joe’s son, with her usual kindly manner. “Mr. Philippe? I hope you’re enjoying your tea.” She pronounced his name mock-seriously, a twinkle in her eyes. With her soft footsteps, she moved towards the fireplace nearby, and gave the last of the burning logs a little nudge with a fork that had been left on a table.
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Post by PD on Mar 5, 2011 14:45:36 GMT -5
Philippe fairly glimmered with delight as he kicked his short, pump legs and lost himself in his tea. He was obviously rather pleased with his own performance, getting Angel to drench him with her attention and all.
Joe raised his eyebrows, looking up at Angel, attempting to look concerned for the warmth of his tea but failing. In reality, tea had never exactly been his forte. He was an alcohol person and tea… well, it just didn’t cut it. And so, pushing the cup aside just as soon as she had exited the room, Joe leaned back in the chair, putting his feet up on the table. Once properly reclined, Philippe rushed over to him and crawled on his lap, making himself quite at home.
"Elle est une dame agréable," he murmured, smiling sleepily.
"Oui, elle est," Joe replied in French. He was about to say more when Angel reentered.
"Plus que le papa a fait," Phil replied as Angel inquired about his tea. His voice low and drawn out drowsily.
“Still working on his English. D@mned Beauchamps taught him nothing.” Joe replied to Angel’s confusion. “when he’s tired he tends to lapse into French.” For once, however, Joe was rather pleased that Philippe had spoken in French. The boy needed to know when to keep his mouth shut. Glancing past Angel, he noticed two giggling girls standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Eyebrows raised, a capable grin crept across his face. “And who are they, my dear Angel?”
[* Philippe loosely translated: "she's a nice lady" “more than papa did”]
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Guinevere
Crewman
On a balcony in summer air...
Posts: 114
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Post by Guinevere on Mar 5, 2011 15:34:49 GMT -5
Angel nodded as Joe explained. She smiled. “I was never taught a second language as a child,” she said, with a small shrug. “Anyway, Eve was always the clever one.” Ever since childhood, Angel had held a long-lasting belief that she herself was stupid. She never questioned this belief, having never considered herself to be anything special where intelligence was concerned. Seeing as Angel had always been her mother’s favourite child, Eve always having being the dejected daughter, this was quite strange. After a moment, she looked towards Philippe, who had crawled onto Joe’s knee, looking as if he was about to doze off. And then suddenly, her attention was drawn towards the two barmaids, who had opened the kitchen door and were brazenly staring at her and Joe, unable to stop themselves from giggling. Immediately, Angel gave a small annoyed huff and marched over towards them, hurrying them back into the kitchen and closing the door behind them. “I’ve a good mind to lock it,” she remarked, crossly, looking like an irritated kitten. She waited a few moments, a blush rising steadily on her cheeks again. “They’re just two girls who work here,” she clarified, softly, sounding slightly unwilling.
She reclaimed the chair that Philippe had vacated, seating herself neatly. A few moments passed in silence as Angel primly folded her hands, raising her chin, before she succumbed to a soft outburst of giggles herself. She covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to wake Joe’s sleeping son. Despite her exasperation, she could see the funny side of it. The girls seemed to truly believe she’d made a good catch. Her shoulders shook slightly, and her hand dropped. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “It’s just… they seem to think…” abruptly, she brought her speech to a halt, realizing the impossibility of explaining to Joe without making a fool of herself. “Never mind.” Leaning forward, she picked up Joe’s teacup and saucer and placed it neatly back onto the tray.
“Anyway,” she continued, in a steadier tone of voice, “you’ve not told me properly how you are.” She smiled. “What have you been doing? How long have you been in Tortuga? It’s difficult to believe our paths didn’t cross earlier. I’ve been settled here about a year.”
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