The Shattered City Postscript: Something Old, Something New

[The Whistler]

The Shattered City

Postscript:

Something Old, Something New

St. Phillipe des Brumes Churchyard, Fonquevilliers-Sur-Mer, Afternoon of May 21st, 771

--------------------

The weather had co-operated, which was just splendid: it was the only thing that she had left to chance.

You hadn’t been around for the proposal, but you had heard about it, and it had sounded elaborate – whatever the details, Celeste had been a blinding supernova of romantic enthusiasm for about a month afterward. Even so, the event had taken nearly a year to set up: she had wanted a spring wedding and ample time to plan it, and Thierri had wanted to finish medical school and come to terms with being a part-time embodiment of death. You know, the usual stuff.

Judging by this afternoon’s tableau, though, Celeste had certainly put the intervening time to good use. Those of you that had ridden past the estate at Bienassis on the way into the village—and that had been most of you, as it was the largest building in ten miles—had been able to smell the reception banquet all the way from the end of the carriageway, and pick out the small army of caterers and service staff making ready for the night’s festivities. St. Phillipe des Brumes itself, closer to the center of town, was a lovely old chapel, all done up in white plaster and blue; Fonquevilliers-sur-Mer was small, and no more or less affluent than the other villages on Dementlieu’s western seacoast, but its inhabitants were clearly fond enough of the place to keep the vicarage in good repair. The churchyard, grassy and sun-dappled in the warm afternoon light, was perched on a striking chalk sea cliff looking out over the bay; like most views of the Sea of Sorrows, it was a bit hazy in the distance, but you could see the outlines of a ship or two on their way north to port.

The seating was top-line garden-party material; the arbor over the altar was woven with lily-of-the-valley, white roses and lavender-blue hydrangea; the string quartet was imported from Levkarest, and had a gazebo to themselves. Based solely on the sound of the violinist tuning up, they were very, very talented. Today was going to be a good day.

“Five minutes, ten perhaps. It’s a nice walk from the estate, and they’ll want to enjoy it.” Warden Giroud closed his watch and replaced it in the pocket of his vestments. The short, barrel-chested young anchorite had been fussing amiably over ceremony preparations for the past while, probably because he was new to the parish: Celeste had bussed him in from Port-a-Lucine, out of a desire to have a family member officiate. Those of you who had been present at the Cathedral investigation last year remembered him from then, and he had turned out to be a friendly enough sort on closer acquaintance.

“I expect they shall! It has been too long since I’ve visited Bienassis proper…one forgets how refreshing it is to be out of the city. Celeste and I used to take the most lovely walks about the grounds, by the seaside… I believe the area was a nature preserve in the King’s time, if I don’t miss my guess – so long ago, now!” The matron of honor was dark, slim, and a bit taller than her husband: Yvette Giroud-d’Alençon had married the Warden not three months previous. You could still see the family resemblance between her and Celeste, even though the two of them were only first cousins – judging by her refreshingly cool demeanor, though, the resemblance was mostly physical.

“Capital hunting on the grounds as well: Jean-Paul and I would go after fox; quail; boar, if it was in season. Ripping good; ripping good. Wouldn’t trade the world of it for Port-A-Lucine, though, you can be certain – give me a sturdy caseload in a challenging district, I say, and I shall be satisfied.” Hughes d’Alençon, Yvette’s father, had been a well-placed trial judge before the attack on the Palais, and had somehow come out ahead after the government restructuring. Squat, phlegmatic, and be-muttonchopped, he was slated to walk Celeste down the aisle in the absence of her parents.

Yvette sighed, softly, half-consciously putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “If only dear Jean-Paul had been alive to see this day…or Aunt Tatienne…”

Hughes looked downward briefly, then out past the churchyard gate, in the characteristic manner of a grumpy old guy trying to be comforting. “He would be very proud, Yvette – very proud. Deucedly good man.”

“Your father is quite right, dear,” the Warden said. “Ezra teaches that we must look to the future with hope, even as we honor those who came before us…”

“Sage counsel as always, my pet.” Yvette gave her husband a peck on the cheek, visibly pulling herself back to the present. “Today will be the start of something splendid – not least through the efforts of friends, relations, and party planners, I am sure.” She brightened, cheerfully looking over the small crowd that had gathered expectantly near the gate. “How fare you, friends and relations?”

Wedding colors are cream and powder blue; ceremony starts in five to ten minutes. Have at it!

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia is one of the first members of the Château Malchance group to arrive at the church. Her main concession to this being a wedding, rather than a funeral, is her opting to wear a pearly grey gown instead of black. Still, the ensemble features long sleeves, elbow-length gloves, and a veil, and Lia is walking with a cane. It's a nice-looking one, made of highly polished rowan-ash and with a yellow crystal in its silver cap.

"Good day," Lia says as she approaches the Warden. "Mourneswaithe's the name. I was sent a letter, asking me to present myself to you before the... ceremony."

[Isabella]

The best man was lingering by the side, hands set on his cane, and he managed a small nod towards Lia as she approached. He was wearing black.

He looked like he was attending his own funeral, but then, Elias Gauvain had always looked like a dying man. He wore a cravat instead of a scarf, and a white boutonniere pinned on his left breast. Such were the only concessions he'd made to the wedding. But he would have looked dreadful no matter how he had dressed, so perhaps it was good enough.

He had been a boon at organizing, however, and making sure Celeste's planning went off without a hitch. Given he was the head of the secret police, and current de facto leader of Dementlieu, this may not have come as any surprise. One also wondered if anyone who screwed up the wedding would find themselves tossed into Montmort. It would behoove the bakers and florists to deliver their goods fresh and on time.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Perhaps because the Darkonians think black is suitable for all occasions--or perhaps because he doesn't own clothes of any other color--Mercator Melanchthon is also dressed in black, his sole concession to the occasion a creamy white lily at his lapel. He looks around the scene with an air of distant benediction, tinged perhaps with a little sadness, though his smile at seeing Lia is warm enough and his air toward the Warden and his new wife dignified but cordial; toward Gauvain, perhaps only dignified, but without asperity.

"Good afternoon, Professor Mourneswaith. It is very well to see you again. Warden Giroud, madame, a great pleasure to make your acquaintance; I am Dr. Mercator Melanchthon, your servant. Monsieur Gauvain." With bows to all as he addressed each.

[Nerit]

The bridesmaids had arrived earlier to assist in the festivities, but at the moment all was well enough, and Nerit stood by the Warden with a polite air of silence and smiles toward the arrivals. She was wearing the bridesmaids' color of powder blue, much like a morning sky above the mist at the horizon. The dress was whatever the other ladies would wear to match, and her left wrist was tied with a corsage stuffed with ivy and creamy-pink spring flowers. Her hair was done up in a tightly-coiled bun, as was so often seen, but she allowed a sprig of vine nightshade and orange blossom clipped to the ashen-brown plaits. It was a rather disturbing combination--bright red berries, purple star-shaped flowers mixed with the white and fragrant citrus, but the sentiment was there: Ezra and blessed weddings.

It seemed Nerit's veil was long-lost by the Musarde that wondrous and chilling night, and her current accoutrement was far more Mordentish than it ought to have been. Still, a veil could outdo the bride, and that would never do! Thus, the severity of Darkonian dress was left to the only other one around.

"<My countryman, you represent the people most practically. You compliment them far over a silly woman like myself.>" She smiled and nodded to the doctor. Nerit then remembered the far more severe best man, and was glad he did not speak her language, for she would have taken her compliment back and given it to him had she the choice.

She waved to Lia and the other guests she recognized before attempting to sidle by Alice. She patted her arm and whispered in the dark-haired woman's ear with a heartfelt smile.


OOC: What was that body of water Thierri walked over? Musarde or the bay?

[lostboy]

Wait isn't that? No surely not.... Unfortunately it is.

The Chateau de Malchance's former resident, drunken lush has actually shown up on time for the wedding. But that wasn't all that was miraculous about Nicolas. For once the man had had a shave and judging by the odour a bath of some kind in at least the last week, he was also dressed almost respectably in a Navy frockcoat and a cream waistcoat, that might actually have seen a laundry and a press within a similar timeframe.

But by far the most miraculous thing was the absence of the usual hum of stale alcohol that lingered around the poet, a smell somewhat akin to the inside of a tramps overcoat after a vicious night on the sauce. Nicolas really had made an effort for the wedding, it was past noon and the poet was still sober, although the truth of whether last night had been quite so virtuous was hidden been smoked glasses.

"Afternoon all" he proclaims cheerily flipping a nonchalant salute to Lia and Mercator. Then spying the best man (and turning a shade paler) he quietly drops the cigarette behind him and sheepishly stubs it out like a naughty child, praying they haven't implemented any draconian anti-littering laws in the last few months. "Ah Monsieur Gauvain, how pleasant to lay my eyes on your esteemably stern contenance once more, have you missed me by any chance?"

A year.... and although he was cleaner, Nicolas was still just as annoying.

[NeoTiamat]

Three other familiar faces could be seen in the gathering of well-wishers, one seen often since, the others less so.

********************************************************************************************************

Katharina Zweibach had adopted wedding colors, quite possibly at gun point, and could be found wearing, of all unimaginable things, a dress. It was a very masculine dress, certainly, severe in cut, pale rose in color, and she still had that cloth tied around her head, which contributed to a distinctly odd effect. Still, it was Katja in a dress, and it had been some time since you had seen that. She kept to the back, away from the press of people, and looked decidedly uncomfortable in the situation. She didn't even like Thierri. But then, to say no to Celeste would have required more will than even the Lamordo-Darkonian woman possessed.

"You're alive." Katja said, regarding Nicolas as though modestly surprised by this development. "And sober." This was a bigger surprise.

*********************************************************************************************************

"Capital wedding, gel, simply smashing. I am honoured by my invitation, and place myself a bene placito."1 Evariste Lemercier and Sieglinde Petrik had come to the wedding as well, and from the looks of it, Lemercier may have started celebrating early.

Lemercier was looking dapper, that was the only word for it. He was dressed in a suit of powder blue, and an extravagant rose was placed in the buttonhole of his suit, making him look somewhat like a rotund, ambulatory flower arrangement. He was still whiskered and ugly, and his nose was as always a little red, but then he was such an embodiment of good cheer that it was hard to mind. Petrik stood beside him, arm in arm, and sniffed. She was dressed in a severe grey dress, and looked like a tall crow beside her companion’s bird-of-paradise.

“No one understands what you’re saying, Old Man.” Petrik pointed out.

“Mens regnum bona possidet 2, as I was saying the other day, which most certainly applies to the lovely bride.” Lemercier was, quite possibly, teasing Petrik now. He nodded politely, and much more soberly, at Elias Gauvain. Petrik favored the pale man with a wolfish smile.

While the Marquis de Montmort may have been the power in Dementlieu today, Lemercier had emerged high in the councils that were re-establishing the country. And so the two guests acknowledged the best man, predators declaring a truce for the time being.

1 - "At your service"
2 – “An honest heart is a kingdom in itself.”

[yalenusveler]

It seemed Nicolas wasn't the only one to be putting on a surprising change. Because quite frankly, seeing Kerrian looking exactly comfortable in a suit was quite the change. Of course, he had to grow accustomed to them because it wasn't exactly proper for aspiring young politicians to be seen going about looking like a common laborer. Even if they were agitating for better treatment for the common laborer. Sure, it was a great deal of extra stress, but compared to the events of just under a year ago it wasn't exactly THAT bad.

Either way, the day had him in fine spirits, and seeing familiar faces just brought out a smile. "He does that just because it gives him a smug sense of satisfaction." He directed towards Lemercier and Petrik. "And it is good to see everyone. And for something joyous too, something the city could certainly use more of...everyone is coming, right?", a statement he meant for friends, housemates, and comrades in arms. Kerrian then fidgeted. "I'm actually sort of new at this. Vebereker weddings aren't exactly very formal affairs, so I'm not QUITE certain what to expect"

[Isabella]

"Wouldn't matter if you did. Boy can't do anything normal." The father of the groom was amongst the seating, along with his wife and two other sons. Reynard looked fondly upon all of you, given you'd saved two of his three children. But he was apparently not the most sociable of men, and when he was, he was rather frank. He'd apparently found Celeste, sat her down, and asked her if she was quite sure she wanted to do this, and if blackmail was involved, but once that was out of the way he'd quite warmly welcomed her to the family. Phillipe was next to Reynard, eying the bridesmaids, but one had a feeling the rest of the family was keeping him in his seat.

"You can come sit by us, Kerrian," Alice offered, arm in arm with her brother. Presumably having lived through life and death situations together allowed one to be on a first name basis. "There is a lot of standing and clapping at odd times, with no cues or reason to when it is appropriate and when it is not, and should you be caught doing it wrong you shall be ostracized. But you can sit next to us and cheat." She said the final bit in a conspiratorial whisper, and winked.

[Kaitou Kage]

Rex was surprised when he'd gotten an invitation. He seriously considered not going. Weddings were loud, Celeste was too outgoing for his tastes, and he didn't really know the "living" Thierri or most of his housemates. The ones he did know would be otherwise occupied On the other hand, there would be a lot of people and that meant it was easy to get lost in the crowd. Besides, if Lia could suffer to show up, Rex supposed it was the least he could do.

The pharmacist arrived wearing dark clothes. Powder blue definitely did not suit him, with his black hair and piercing green eyes. Even cream was not a preferable color, so he stuck with what he knew.

His arrival came without fanfare. Rex slipped in the church, took a look around, and headed toward a pew near the back. His eyes darted anxiously around and he nearly sat on his hands to keep from fidgeting.

Calm, he told himself, None of the attention will be on you.

Still, there were too many people for his liking. Far too many.

[lostboy]

"There is a lot of standing and clapping at odd times, with no cues or reason to when it is appropriate and when it is not...."

"Sounds not unlike the one and only performance of that opera I wrote" Nicolas muses "perhaps on reflection trying to make a musical of the direst atrocities of the Falkovnian regime wasn't the best idea, ......particularly when it was supposed to be a comedy." The poet breaks off with a lop-sided grin.

"You're alive." Katja said, regarding Nicolas as though modestly surprised by this development. "And sober." This was a bigger surprise.

"You wound me cherie, you believe I would have done anything to miss such a splendid day and a sight as rare and fleeting as your exquisite self in a rather ravishing dress if I may say so. May I be so bold as to venture a kiss from an old friend?" He says offering his cheek whilst surreptitiously bringing his cane up to deflect the knife/axe/sword/pistol/crossbow or whatever else Katja deemed suitable and could conceal in a dress (not that Nicolas was under any illusions she was unarmed) that was surely now heading towards his abdomen.

[Kaitou Kage]

Posted on behalf of Whistler who is having difficulty accessing the boards right now.

"Good day. Mourneswaithe's the name. I was sent a letter, asking me to present myself to you before the... ceremony."

“Mourneswaithe…ah, yes, Professor!” Warden Giroud bowed in greeting, if a bit awkwardly. “A pleasure to see you again. We, ah, we rather have been expecting you, at that…”

“What my husband means to say, dear Professor — and well-met, Professor! — is that Celeste may have been a touch vague in her correspondence.” Yvette curtseyed politely into the conversation. “In her words, I believe: ‘If a friend, through her peerless learning, has had part in rescuing my true love from direst peril, there would be no greater honor than to have that friend stand beside me as that love and I are wed.’ Celeste does have an elliptical way about her at times… In brief, Professor Mourneswaithe, I believe that it is her wish to have you on the stage proper, in capacity as a bridesmaid...”

“Only if you wish, of course!” the warden cut in.

“…Of course.” Yvette smiled apologetically, obviously trying to soften the blow as much as possible. “It is hardly considerate to burden you on such a short notice, but it would mean very much to her…”

In retrospect, that explained the powder-blue gown and trunk’s-worth of accessories that had been shipped to Lia’s University address a few weeks back. It had…not been very conservatively tailored.

"Ah Monsieur Gauvain, how pleasant to lay my eyes on your esteemably stern contenance once more, have you missed me by any chance?"

Hughes nodded brusquely to the poet, Nicolas having come roughly within his sphere of influence, and HHon. d’Alençon being a person who enjoyed talking at people. “Pleasure to meet you, M. de Castaigne; distinct pleasure. You know M. Gauvain, then? Dashed fine man to plan a blessed event as he is to keep the peace, what? Invaluable. Lost without him in the courts, what with last month’s rot in the Ouvrier. I was just telling him this morning.” Nicolas gathered that the morning’s conversation -- presumably about the recent teamster’s strike back in the city – had been a largely one-sided one.

Hughes peered at the poet, leaning forward a bit. “I say, sir, have we met before? Never forget a face. Law enforcement man yourself, perhaps?” This was probably not the time to bring up the fact that HHon. d’Alençon had presided over a great many drunk and disorderly hearings in his tenure.

"You're alive. And sober."

Hughes’ gaze got a bit more focused. No, definitely not a good time.

"I'm actually sort of new at this. Vebereker weddings aren't exactly very formal affairs, so I'm not QUITE certain what to expect"

“You needn’t worry, M…Mauganson, was it?” Warden Giroud had ambled over. “Mlle. Blackwood is quite right—I do try to run as ecumenical a service as I can, at my home vicarage, though I hope my congregation considers it as respectfully as I intend it. Port-a-Lucine is a big city, after all. If you do not mind me asking, sir…what tradition do you yourself keep?”

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia gives the warden and his bride a look. It is not overtly hostile, but it is less than friendly.

"I see," the Mage says. "Very well, then. This rather explains the... dress. Unfortunately, I did not bring it with me, but that should not be too much of a problem." Lia just snaps her fingers, and her dress' colour starts to change from pearl to powder blue. "I trust that this will be acceptable."

The Professor pointedly fails to mention the accessories. Instead, she raises a hand in greeting to Nerit, then nods to other acquaintances. "Kerrian. Nicolas. ... Katja, you're in a dress. I may need to check my notes, but that might possibly be interpeted as one of the signs of an impending shattering of time and space. My compliments for your willpower."

[lostboy]

“I say, sir, have we met before? Never forget a face. Law enforcement man yourself, perhaps?”

Nicolas nearly blows the gig right there and then with a slight snort at the preposterous nature of that assertion, but manages just barely to conceal it at the last moment. Recomposing his face he flashes a winning smile at the de facto father of the bride, "well 'm not sure Monsieur, perhaps you have read...." he tails off as he dawns on him just who the man is, namely the man responsible for his last stay at the Marquis leisure. Oh and look there is said jailor standing next to him, my this was turning a tad sour.

Still it was a wedding and Nicolas was at that precise moment determined to try and not upstage the bride and groom before they arrived, nor end up chained to the floor in a dank pit of a cell again. "... one of published works or attended one of my plays perhaps?" he finishes the sentence eventually and actually begins longing for Katja to stab him mildly.

But then of course Nicolas would'nt be Nicolas if he was scraping and bowing to imperialist autocratic dinosaurs like the one addressing him, even if he was paying for the wedding and the small cellar full of wine Nicolas was likely about to drink. Taking on a sombre tone he leans across and whispers in a confidential manner to Hughes "actually your Honour I know you in your official capacity, or at least I was on the receiving end of a sentence meted out in your official capacity. However..." he steps back beaming brightly " changed my life, learnt the error of my ways, been on the straight and narrow ever since (bluff 29), sober as a judge...., err I mean a priest...., err I mean well tea-total for the last year at any rate." (bluff 29) He finally ends the tortuous sentence having run out of official people to insult.

"Rest assured Monsieur I am here only to wish the happy couple well this joyous day. Now Katja ma chere any chance you could help me find a seat?"

Having concretely destroyed his reputation with Celeste's in laws for ever he opts for a swift getaway.

[yalenusveler]

“You needn’t worry, M…Mauganson, was it?” Warden Giroud had ambled over. “Mlle. Blackwood is quite right—I do try to run as ecumenical a service as I can, at my home vicarage, though I hope my congregation considers it as respectfully as I intend it. Port-a-Lucine is a big city, after all. If you do not mind me asking, sir…what tradition do you yourself keep?”

Kerrian fidgeted a bit more, not quite certain how the Warden would react. Of course, saying that you're an animist who has more than one had hallucinogenic vision trances that led to interactions with genius loci of Ezran holy sights would likely either get a crusade launched, or at least get him RATHER funny looks. So Kerrian kept things simple. "I'm a shaman of the primal spirits sir, but I have a respect for Ezran traditions. So this is going to be educational for me, as well as joyous." Kerrian then smiled to the Warden "And I do believe I actually have a seat. Though I'd love to talk with you more after the service." He offered another smile, and quickly disengaged to sit by the Blackwoods before being drawn into a theological discussion before being mentally prepared.