A roiling collection of men occupied the public house. Some forty or more of them, with a conspicuous lack of any female presence, were gathered about the billiard tables at the House of Cards, a gambling and drinking establishment near the docks noted as a slumming-place for gentlemen of an upstanding nature. It was very rarely frequented by anyone of less than modest income, and in fact most of those at the place were the types that would normally be a little wary of gentlemen of the Lloyd brother’s class; that is to say, the class of people who had to work for a living.

However, Garreth and Tarryn were the guests of interest by way of being magicians. Their eccentric profession and the mythos attached to it seemed to be enough to make the good gentlemen at the House of Cards forget that it actually was a profession. The sons of Barons and baronets and knights, third sons of Earls and those destined never to hold titles but still not expected to work could easily accept another into their number if he was mysterious enough. The same might not be said of Richard Chapman; as an actor he did not qualify in quite the category as the Lloyd brothers. However, Garreth and Tarryn had invited him, and he was made welcome in the House of Cards, only a few of the gentlemen eying him askance.

Once introductions had been performed, and Garreth and Tarryn had assured the gathering that Mr. Chapman was their very good friend, leaving out mention that they had just met him that night, the party settled to all manner of gentlemanly pursuits such as the drinking of alcohol, the playing of cards, and the discussing of women. Garreth and Tarryn took to a circle of conversation that included Mr. Chapman, the son of a baronet, a wealthy merchant’s son, the fourth son of a Viscount, and the bastard son of a Baron. The fine upstanding gentleman they were in company with drank liberally, and Garreth and Tarryn pretended to drink modestly while actually drinking very little at all. Most of their alcohol was disappeared by sleight of hand rather than ingestion.

After a time of discussion of the sort that gentlemen are wont to, Garreth turned to Richard and said, “Do you play billiards, Mr. Chapman? Come, let us share a game. I shall pledge my honour not magic”—here Garreth twirled his fingers and produced an eight ball from the air—“any of the balls, or twist the game in my favour by anything other than my skill with the cue. Shall we?”

After being hurriedly rushed from the Lindeman Theatre by the other, more efeminate Lloyd Brother, Tarryn, they had arrived at a public house by the name of the House of Cards. Though richard thought it may have been ironic if he were to arrive and find no one playing cards, he was quickly proven wrong when he was allowed entrance into the public house and found many of the upstanding gentleman dancing with Lady Luck to win at a few games of cards. Now, many of the gentleman in here were of decently upstanding families, or held themselves at a level of integrity where they were most likely never going to work a day in their lives. This is what made Richard feel slightly uncomfortable.

Actors were not of the highest standing. If anything, they were rather low. Now, after sly tongues and quick talking of the Lloyd Brothers, those who looked at him awkwardly now were offering Mr. Chapman a drink, which Richard took graciously. Now, by a few drinks, Richard was feeling rather loose, and was laughing along with the other men, talking of woman, politics, and other things that were most likely pointless, but still entertaining. The Lloyd Brothers were also very entertaining, talking of a variety of their performances. But, Richard could tell they had been hiding something.

Something Richard had learned a while ago, is once someone is feeling the alcohol through their blood, you know when it has hit others. Acting like one is, and truly being touched by the vile drink is very hard. But, the Lloyd Brothers played it off- though, unlike the sons of wealthy merchants, or barons or such, the actor was not fooled. An actor knows when others act. But, Richard kept his mouth shut, and simply let himself indulge in entertainment of the other fellows. But, soon, his attention was diverted by the Lloyd Brother, Garreth.

“Do you play billiards, Mr. Chapman? Come, let us share a game. I shall pledge my honour not magic”- and here the Lloyd Brother "magically" had an eight ball appear in his hand—“any of the balls, or twist the game in my favour by anything other than my skill with the cue. Shall we?”

Smirking, richard nodded his head and finished the rest of his alcohol. It was perhaps his fourth pint. The slightly foggy-eyed Actor nodded his head and grabbed himself a cue. "I do play billiard, Mr. Lloyd. And please, do not call me Mr. Chapman. Though Richard is my first name, I'd much prefer you to call me Chap. It is an old nickname an older friend of mine used to call me. I've grown fond of it, you see." Smiling, he looked to the balls. "Do you wish to break, Master Lloyd?"

Garreth replied expansively, “Certainly, Mr. Chapman—Chap! I would be delighted. And you must call me Garreth in return. That is better all around, for not only is it my preferred name, you will also avoid any confusion as to which Mr. Lloyd you mean!”

Turning to a billiards table, he racked the balls in a triangle, placing the magically apparated eight ball in the middle and making sure that the first ball rested on the footspot, a solid ball was in one corner, and a striped in the other, in accordance with the gentleman’s rules for billiards. Then, placing the cue ball behind the headstring, he took a cue, chalked the tip, and made the break shot. The cue ball cracked into the group in the middle of the table, sending them scattering everywhere. He failed to pocket any of the balls, but seven of them rebounded from the rails, making the break shot legal.

“Ah, and there we have it, an open table.” Garreth was disappointed to not sink the first ball, but then again, it was a game. However, some of the gentlemen in the room near him took it upon themselves to advise him in the art of billiards-playing.
”You would have sunk the three-ball if you had shot a little straighter,” opined James Haddock, the son of the Baron of Stokesworth.
”And you would have sunk the eleven-ball if you had aimed a little more to the right.” That came from Thaddeus Brewster, a merchant’s bastard.
”He would have scratched if he had done that,” Hugh Lawrence took it upon himself to disagree with Thaddeus.
”No, no, see how the ball has landed near the pocket just so? A little more to the right and it would have gone in,” Thaddeus said in return.
”It would have struck the seven-ball and the seven-ball would have struck the cue into that corner pocket. I was watching, and it nearly hit the seven-ball as it is,” Hugh persisted, gesturing to the named pocket.
”There’s no way to say that it would have scratched. And just a little to the right would certainly have sunk the eleven-ball.”
”I maintain that it would have scratched to the right.”
”Straighter would have been better anyway, since he would have got the three-ball and the five-ball is in line from there,” James broke into the budding argument.

“My good fellows, the break is made. We should not be arguing but instead concentrating on the future game,” Garreth cut them off. They good-naturedly guffawed and assured him that it was impossible to not speculate on what might have been done differently, but they did not resume the argument. ”I will wager five pounds the actor sinks two on his turn,” Hugh said, and the night’s gambling at billiards was sparked. Each of the others laid a bet, but Garreth, preferring to keep his money, did not.

He smiled at Richard. “What’s your call, Chap?”

A callous hand held the pintglass in his grip. Inquisitive hues stared at the foamy brew within for a moment before losing interest and settling upon the bland table before him. The timbre of this establishment was racuous with excitement and the man bathed in this feeling of comraderie. Nothing could possibly be better than having a bit too much to drink at the House of Cards and bit too much conversation. It was an indulgence he tried to frequent as the days grew warmer. His moment of meditation was concluded with his other hand laying two cards down both face up: the Queen of hearts and the Ace of clubs. Peering down to the lady in red, he smirked within and almost cast a wink to her. The Queen of hearts was always betting against Dorian Clayborne. So much so that he found a bit of comfort in knowing the clever little minx had finally come around.

"Blackjack Gentleman," he coo'ed, his vernacular accent being hinted at behind the words. Subduing his confident grin to a simple crease, Dorian leaned back in his chair and allowed the men to review the game. He was bored enough to indulge their queries, at least for a little while.

"And how many wins is this for you, Mr. Clayborne?" said Jacob Marrion, a younger and more hot-headed aristocratic boy. Dorian rubbed his thumb and forefinger together idly as he lounged in the chair apparently unmoved by the provocation.

"Perhaps enough to buy us all another round...Mr. Marrion." Clayborne announced the man's name as if it were a death sentence. There was a fire lit in the handsome military man's eyes that required the youth's submission to silence. A requirement that Marrion found ever the more insulting. He scoffed at Clayborne so succinctly as to stop the laughter of the other two at the table.

To Clayborne, Marrion was an insect--an aristocratic pomp out to sow his wild oats as fast and as expensively as he could. Clayborne knew his parents quite well. He also knew that Lord Marrion was not aware of his son's sticky little habit of gambling away his money. Clayborne, out of extreme generosity, had decided that tonight would be the night when the Lord would be enlightened as to the predicament.

"Young sir, it is only a game. Let us play something else that the muses might appeal to you more." Said Thomas Browning, a well-to-do member of the lower aristocracy. He was an elderly man, no doubt tested by the winds of turmoil and time, but there was goodness in his keen gray eyes and Browning saw the bad weather that was beginning to accumulate over the card table.

Dorian, on the other hand did nothing but keep his eyes trained on Marrion. The youth threw his cards on the table and stood up, towering over Clayborne. With a muted smile, Dorian simply adjusted his head to look up at Marrion.

"The muses have not failed me in this game. Mr. Clayborne is a cheat and I intend to prove it! Stand up, old man! You have disgraced your name." Jacob yelled above the din of the public house.

The two other men that had sat with them were far too old to be a part of such a situation and began to scoot away from the main action. Dorian was not afraid though. Jacob was merely a puffed up blowfish waiting to be popped. But no, Mr. Clayborne would not be provoked by this green youth. He was far too seasoned and, frankly, had far too much dignity to ramble on with him.

"William," he called to the coatboy who retrieved Clayborne's greycoat from the closet. Dorian stood overtaking Jacob in height by at least four inches. Placing right and then left arm into the sleeves, he nodded a thank you and returned to eyeing Jacob.

"Master Marri--"

Before he could finish, Jacob had sent a blow to Clayborne's stomach forcing him to bend over. Clayborne had had worse violence done against him, yet still he fought for breath. Dorian groaned agitatedly, taking the punch resoundingly well, and stood tall once more.

"As I was saying. Master Marrion, I would suggest to you that you finish whatever is left of your drink and call it a night before your mouth says things that your heart and mind will regret tomorrow."

"You disgust me, Clayborne. You are nothing but a fraud. You've always been that way ever since you courted Elizabeth."

Elizabeth? Oh yes, how could Dorian have forgotten? He had courted Jacob's younger sister Elizabeth and had broken it off prematurely out of sheer boredom. The woman was a saint and busied herself with prayer and Lector daily and nightly stopping only for walks and meals. Supposedly Elizabeth had been desolated by the cancellation of this affair, but of anything else Dorian heard nothing.

"I will say again, Marrion. Please go home. You are not well. Look for me tomorrow and we will be friends."

Dorian turned his back on Marrion and headed for the door. He heard him chuckling drunkenly and knew within his gut that he was not getting out of this place peacefully.

"Fine, go then you coward. Bad blood in the Claybornes. No one wants to marry into that family."

"Don't--" He said over his shoulder, but it was too late.

"Especially Emma. A regular piece of work, she is. I heard the reason she is sick is her own doing. A love match with an Arab with Death's disease in his--"

Before Jacob knew it, Dorian was on him. He grabbed the collar of his waistcoat and would not let go as he pounded into his face. From there, the men within the public house formed a circle around the two, some trying to pry the quarreling dogs a part. The public house's volume became more equated to a sonic boom of excitement. Everyone was screaming.

“Certainly, Mr. Chapman—Chap! I would be delighted. And you must call me Garreth in return. That is better all around, for not only is it my preferred name, you will also avoid any confusion as to which Mr. Lloyd you mean!” Smiling, Chap nodded to Garreth. "Then Garreth it is." He watched the cue ball being struck, and watched as not one ball had gone into the pockets. Smirking, Chap decided to go for a small tease. "Well, maybe you should have used some of that magic, Garreth." Smiling to show he was jesting, he examined the balls that were still on the table, while listening to the men who were saying which ball could have gone where, if Garreth had struck the cue at a different angle.

But, looking at the position of the balls, he noted how they forgot to mention the once-was glossy four ball, a solid, was teetering on the edge of the upper right corner. Smirking, he wasn't paying much attention until he heard his profession mentioned. ”I will wager five pounds the actor sinks two on his turn,” This had suprised him, but Chap simply nodded. Then, Garreth spoke. "“What’s your call, Chap?” Chap simply shrugged.

"I wager five pounds that gentleman is right." Smirking, he assumed the position of one about to strike the cue ball. Looking down the cue stick, while letting the end rest on the skin between his pointer and thumb finger, he looked at the somewhat complicated position of the balls infront of him. His intention was to hit the one ball on it's right side, to knock it towards the left, at an intensity which would knock both the four and the one in, making both Hugh and Chap right with the wager, and any other who bet on the actor.

Should he make it in, his goal would be the put in the rest of the solids, and then the eight ball. Also, should he make it in, he would go again. So, licking his lips, he pushed the cue stick forward. It struck the cue ball perfectly, which struck the one ball right where he wanted. It went in between different balls, and stayed on it's course and struck the four ball, which would have gone in if an ant breathed on it. But, the one ball did not go in. Instead, it nick the edge of the railing, and bounced out ever so slightly. His face showed his disappointment, but he smirked as he looked to Garreth.

"Solids." He simply said. He grabbed the chalk and placed it on the end of his cue.

Before the plays, actors would always find ways to entertain themselves. Billiards was one of them, and Chap was usually the one found at the billiards table. Now, he wasn't the best of billiards, but he was indeed good.

Looking to the one ball which was right by the edge of the right pocket, he looked for the cue ball, which was near it, but at a somewhat awkward angle. Thinking of what he could do, he bit his lip. He could strike the cue ball right in the middle, and make it hit the "bottom" of the one ball, making it hit the inside corner of the pocket, forcing it to go inside...


Going with that plan, he placed the cue between his fingers, and then jabbed forward. Once again, the cue was hit perfectly, and the cue ball struck just where he wanted. Hitting it gently, the one ball took it's time hitting the inside corner of the pocket, before dropping in. Smiling, he looked over to Hugh. "Good call, sir." He looked to Garreth, and grinned.

Next, he decided his victim was the seven ball. Looking at it, he had no real good angle, but decided he may try and bounce it off of a side and into a pocket. It was almosty touching the right side, just above to the middle-right pocket. The cue was resting on the "railing" just below the upper-left pocket. Moving around the table, he bent down and placed the tip of the cue in the direction of the cue ball. Jabbing at the cue ball, he struck the cue ball. The cue ball was going very strong and fast towards the seven ball, but drifted somewhat and struck a twelve ball, simply pushing it into a side, and putting the cue ball near the middle-right pocket.

"Looks like my streak has ended. Your turn, Garreth." But, before he could speak, yells and cries could be heard. Turning his head around quickly, he blinked only to see a younger boy being beaten brutally by an older man. "What in the name of God is going on?" He grumbled. An older man that was wtahcing both the billiards game and the poker game responded. "Young Jacob over there insulted Captain Clayborne's younger sister."

Everyone that lived in Lindebo knew of Captain Clayborne, and his attractive younger sister, Emma Clayborne. Everyone also knew how close the two were, and what would happen should one insult Emma around the Captain. "Hm. Looks like the boy deserved it." He mused alloud.

The small party of three were enveloped at once by the crowd, with the warmth, welcome, and good cheer stimulated by the liberal amounts of alcohol sloshing through the gentlemen in the public house. The two magicians were the men of the moment, and their new acquaintance was hardly questioned, although some were at first doubtful about Mr. Chapman. Soon enough they had accumulated a small circle and were getting on brilliantly. Tarryn rather liked Chapman; the actor seemed to be a very decent fellow, although Tarryn still held some reservations about the curious light he had noticed in the man’s eye. There was something about Chapman that the magician rather distrusted.

He did, of course, have his defects. Along with Garreth he appeared to share a peculiar interest in billiards. Garreth had carefully steered the group around the billiards-table, as Tarryn had expected he would, and invited Chapman to play as soon as the opportunity arose. By the time the words “I do play billiards” were out of Chapman’s mouth, Tarryn had melted back into the rest of the crowd. He had never been inclined towards the game, although when forced into it he was a decent enough player. It was duller still to watch others play, so Tarryn left the cluster around the table to it, away to find himself a more interesting diversion.

Before long, he was accosted by another gentleman. John Norwood, one of the younger members of a very fine old family. He introduced himself to Tarryn as if he were doing the magician a very great favour, and then continued by introducing his friends. Tarryn, with an uncharacteristic gravity, gave slight bows all around, but attempted to circle around them. They were blocking his way to the card table. Exchanging vague pleasantries with only half his attention on them, Tarryn was sure he made a few blunders. However, Norwood was slightly the worse for drink, so the magician doubted it made much difference to him.

Eventually disengaging himself, he found himself nonetheless trailed by Norwood and another companion. And the men were both quite useless and uninteresting. When Tarryn invited them to play bridge, Norwood claimed that he didn’t play, and his companion maintained that “Only a fool would play cards with a magician." Even when Tarryn swore that he would never play foul, they refused with laughter that said they didn't entirely trust him. The accusation did not sit well with him, and he turned away to watch the blackjack game with the best grace he could muster.

He enjoyed cards as much as Garreth did billiards. Tarryn knew the rules of a dozen different games and was more than competent at them all, from whist to bridge; he was particularly partial to the American diversion of poker. When he had been a small girl he had loved Scabby Queen. Unfortunately, there were few of his peers who were willing to play with him, especially since he tended to win. The magician would never have tried to cheat at cards, but only good friends would trust him not to.

Standing back with arms folded, Tarryn watched the game between the four at the table with interest. One of the men in the game he recognized as Jacob Marrion, a common face at the card table. Marrion never would play more than a few hands before giving up. Maneuvering around to stand behind Marrion’s chair, he waited with all intentions to seize his place when, as Tarryn predicted he would inevitably do, Marrion gave up and left the game out of frustration, given that one of his opponents was quite good, winning again for what was apparently the fourth time in an unbroken string as Tarryn watched. That kind of luck had the magician watching very closely, but he could see no cheating taking place - and no one was better suited to spot a bit of sleight-of-hand than he, after all. At first, it seemed that Mr. Clayborne was simply a very good player.

However, a flicker of motion towards the end of the new hand caught Tarryn’s eye. It was smoothly done and quick, and many would not have caught the act – Clayborne had a magician’s knack for distraction – but he distinctly saw the man draw a card from his sleeve. Unfolding his arms, he opened his mouth indignantly, but he was blocked by other men shouldering their way in to give their opinions as Clayborne claimed his fifth win. It seemed, though, that Tarryn had not been the only one to notice. The young Marrion surged out of his chair, shoving it backwards into Tarryn who caught it reflexively, and denounced Clayborne to the entire public house.

Clayborne paid no heed to the lad, but turned to leave. However, Marrion was not about to let him go so easily, and when Clayborne’s arms were occupied in pulling on his coat, the young nobleman darted in. Marrion’s fist landed with all the force the lad could put behind it in Clayborne’s gut. It was a low blow, and dishonorably struck. Tarryn let out a shout of outrage; Clayborne might have been a cheat, but Marrion had just crossed a line.

It was not until Marrion crossed a second line, however, that Clayborne snapped. When the boy threw Clayborne's sister's name in his face along with an ugly rumor, Clayborne lost it and tore into the lad, collaring him and beating him about the face.

“I say, I say, stop it at once!" Tarryn leapt forwards with some idea of somehow breaking up the fight, as Marrion soon stopped fighting back, but Clayborne would not let him go. Others got there first, however, wresting them apart and holding Clayborne away from the dazed Marrion. That was perhaps to Tarryn’s benefit, as he was several inches shorter than Clayborne and much slighter of frame.

The magician went to Marrion’s side, where two men had gently sat him down on the floor and he sat slumped and staring rather vacantly. Tarryn called for brandy, and one of the bystanders produced a pocket flask; the magician held it to Marrion’s lips and helped him sit up. Marrion was ashen-faced, and bleeding from the lip. One of his eyes was rapidly swelling shut. His usual jocular manner vanished, Tarryn looked from Marrion to the other man, then stared Clayborne in the eye. “Return your winnings, sir. Mr. Marrion has not acted honourably, but neither have you. You have disgraced yourself by your foul play."

Norwood, who had procured the brandy, added, "If you cannot reconcile yourselves then behave as gentlemen. Is it to be pistols or swords?"

Dorian's fury knew no bounds as he pummeled into the youth. He became something else in that moment. A little dark demon posessed him when he was enraged and it seemed as if the kindly Dorian was locked inside a jar until this demon retired. All he felt was a need to utterly degrade young Master Marrion.

It wasn't until he felt the firm hands on his shoulders pulling him backward and off of Jacob that the demon slowly retired and Captain Clayborne escaped from the jar. The muscles in his forearms tightened up and refused to allow anymore blows. A finger went to his lip and soon displayed a bit of his blood for his investigative eyes. His lungs burned with every inhalation of smoke laden air in the public house. A bit of a cocky smile drew over his face.

"Easy on then," Clayborne said to his detainers. He steadied his eyes on one man and soon another assuring them that he would do no more damage. The Captain smoothed down his waistcoat and ran a hand through his mussed, chestnut hair.

"Thank you, sirs. You must forgive my outburst. I come to defend the laws of propriety and here I have become a criminal to it alongside dear Mr. Marrion." He chuckled kindly, retrieving his handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat. Clayborne dabbed at his pulsating lip repugnantly.

"I shall buy the entire house a drink just for putting up with me!" Clayborne remarked charismatically his eyes wandering the room at the many faces who had witnessed the outburst.

He seemed to have won a great lot of them over with the offer of free drinks, but soon his eyes were to rest on the sour face of one Tarryn Lloyd, the magician who was not so easily swayed. For a moment, Dorian's smile wavered, but soon was rekindled. Tarryn was a man of mystery and Dorian had never had many dealings with the mysterious. He knew of him primarily by word of mouth and what glimpses he saw when people pointed him out. Still, something never set right with him about the man before him now.

“Return your winnings, sir. Mr. Marrion has not acted honourably, but neither have you. You have disgraced yourself by your foul play."

Ah, so perhaps the magician was bonafide, Dorian thought to himself. Tarryn had obviously seen the quick movement of his hand about his sleeve, though he had not understood the intentions of such a fiendish act. Clayborne did not like to cheat, but Marrion adored his addiction to gambling. And as any military strategist would say, Dorian was merely fighting fire with fire. He had respect for Lord Marrion, a bushel more obviously than his own son. Yet Clayborne had hoped to put an end to that tonight.

The Captain looked Mr. Lloyd up and down thoroughly and nodded with a smile that promised further dealings later. Poor fool, he thought as he procured the winnings in his hand and offered the money to Tarryn without breaking the deadlock gaze between them.

"Well, perhaps half the bar may get free drinks tonight," he mused, obviously joking.

"My name is Captain Dorian Clayborne, Mr. Lloyd. I don't believe we have been properly introduced."

"If you cannot reconcile yourselves then behave as gentlemen. Is it to be pistols or swords?"

Norwood. He was growing tired of this rather fast, but still agreed upon himself to indulge it a bit more.

"Pish Posh, Mr. Norwood. I wouldn't dream of such a rash action. We are still friends, ay, Young Marrion?" Clayborne looked at the dazed youth on the floor. If Marrion had heard the question, it did not register on his face.

"You see? Right as rain." He said to Norwood, though he was looking at Tarryn more for this gentleman to believe it than the other. People were beginning to mull around and laugh again. Dorian went to a table and began talking to several gentleman who were laughing the incident off and pointing out Dorian's swollen lip. One of the men imitated Dorian's swing to him and Clayborne laughed gratiously.

It wasn't until all things had calmed down once again and Tarryn was with less company that Dorian went up to him. He placed a hand kindly on his shoulder and spoke low and calm.

"Next time, Mr. Lloyd. Know what you do before you do it. Lord Marrion may very well go bankrupt because of your actions." His tone was not mean and almost polite--as if speaking to an older member of the aristocracy--but the intent was exactly what was said. Dorian squeezed Tarryn's shoulder gruffly and then patted it walking off to another social circle with a bellowing "How are the drinks, good friends?!"

Garreth grinned at Chap, about to make a smart-arse remark in reply to the actor’s laughing gibe, “Well, maybe you should have used some of that magic, Garreth,” when the fight broke out at the card table. Garreth’s attention swung around, his eyes searching for his brother. Tarryn was too small to survive a fight. Garreth could only hope that the other magician was remembering this fact and keeping himself safely out of the altercation… his eyes found what he was looking for and he scowled. Dash it all! Tarryn was right there, in the thick of things.

“Perhaps he did,” Garreth said in hasty reply to Chap’s remark on the fight and, holding his cue much in the manner that a tavern brawler holds a chair leg, he made his way towards the fight. Once he had managed to attain the front circle of men, he found Tarryn unharmed but accusing Clayborne of acting dishonourably. Brilliant, just brilliant. Had it somehow escaped Tarryn’s notice that Clayborne was many inches taller and weighed at least four stone more?

Garreth prepared to knock Clayborne out if he decided to take violent offence to Tarryn’s words. Garreth did not consider himself bound by the gentleman’s rules of conduct, and was perfectly willing to fight dirty. A hard swing with the cue-stick to the back of the head and Clayborne would be out and Tarryn would be safe. The gentlemen surrounding them would be most upset by such improper conduct, but Garreth was willing to bet that he could talk himself out of it. Fortunately, however, Clayborne did not take offence. He left, but Garreth could see that his eyes promised warning, and so he was slow to scatter with the rest of the crowd, loitering to the end of the clearing. Thus it was that he saw Clayborne approach Tarryn, and grip his shoulder. Garreth immediately hurried over, in time to hear the captain’s words, and as Clayborne turned away Garreth accosted him.

“Do not lay your hands on my brother’s person, Mr. Clayborne, unless you wish to part with them. If I can saw a woman in half I can certainly saw a man’s hands from his arms. Only I should not trouble to put you back together after.” Garreth said this in a most reasonable tone of voice, couching the message in almost joking terms, as the threats could certainly not be serious, to let the captain know that he would understand this one time the breach of courtesy. In truth, the same broaching of both the Lloyd brother’s personal spaces had been forgiven many times before, but it always made Garreth nervous when it happened to Tarryn. Especially so this time, because Clayborne was quite a lot bigger, stronger, and he was a soldier with a reputation as a firebrand. That combined with his slightly threatening words and the fact that he had been drinking ensured that Garreth wanted no part of him about his brother.

“If you are so concerned for Lord Marrion, Mr. Clayborne, then you should tell him yourself, in person. There is no need to inform him by cheating his son; it will only encourage the boy to many more games to make up the losses, bankrupting his father all the faster.” Then realising that perhaps this was not the best way to smooth any ruffled feathers over, he added, “But come. You must play a game of billiards with me, just as soon as I have finished losing the one I am currently about. Mr. Chapman is a better player than I so it is a sure thing. Come, Mr. Clayborne, join us.”

(-scowl- I would have socked him one. -snicker-)

As soon as Dorian had asked the men about their drinks, he heard Garreth threaten him even if it was open-ended.

“Do not lay your hands on my brother’s person, Mr. Clayborne, unless you wish to part with them. If I can saw a woman in half I can certainly saw a man’s hands from his arms. Only I should not trouble to put you back together after.”

He raised his eyebrows almost amused, though reminding himself that this perhaps was not the best expression to offer. He turned to completely face Garreth and sized him up with only a quick movement of his eyes before his own brand of sympathetic and easy smile formed on his lips. Though he was not entirely inebriated, Dorian felt that if he had had more to drink, this statement may have found some way to offend him. But as it was, he dealt with many men threatening him and usually found a well versed way out of any hostilities. In any event, the Captain looked on this time to show just how truly amiable he was to those who had gained a false impression of him.

"You must trust in me, good man. I am in no way hostile toward your brother. It seems you have this all terribly wrong and I am at fault for it. Please, let me buy you a drink to ease your good conscience."

Dorian took a pause, as if figuring out what Garreth was truly angered with, before adding:

"I am a man who shows my favor through touch. I am sure the Lindebo ladies can attest to such..."

He smirked at the implication, though those that knew him understood it was merely a joke.

"But I am aware that others find different avenues in said expression so I will beg forgiveness for this offense."

“If you are so concerned for Lord Marrion, Mr. Clayborne, then you should tell him yourself, in person. There is no need to inform him by cheating his son; it will only encourage the boy to many more games to make up the losses, bankrupting his father all the faster.”

His patience for this questionaire wearing dangerously thin and a flare of discontent ran through his eyes before he skillfully concealed it. His voice was terribly low and much darker than before though not flamboyantly aggressive or hostile. Dorian bent his head ever so slightly, his eyes trained on Garreth.

"Perhaps if you knew Lord Marrion, you could deliver such a message about his darling of a son. Perhaps you could witness him denounce you as a liar. I, in good faith, am not one to bear such."

Lord Marrion was a terribly stubborn man. His darling child and heir held his father's eyes in constant state of delusion and although Dorian respected the honorable Lord, the favor was not returned.

Clayborne did not think much of his plan being outed to the entire room because it had nearly the same effect as Lord Marrion denouncing him. The ale was not helping his agitated state any longer, but even agitated he never resorted to braun if he did not deem it absolutely necessary.

“But come. You must play a game of billiards with me, just as soon as I have finished losing the one I am currently about. Mr. Chapman is a better player than I so it is a sure thing. Come, Mr. Clayborne, join us.”

Lifting his chin up proudly, his face grew from callous distemperment to calm cheerfulness as the question was asked.

"I fear that I have made far too many offenses tonight to be worthy of your table and company. Perhaps I have had far too much to drink, my friend. I shall retire if it is all the same to you." He bowed a bit and waited for some manner of reaction.

Watching the commotion before him, Chap was ready to jump in at any moment to distinguish any conflict between any of the magicians and Lord Clayborne. But, within sheer moments, he watched Garreth talking to the man in tones that were not very polite. Coming up from behind Garreth, he placed a hand on the mans shoulder, whispering gently into his ear. "Be careful, Garreth. He may have a patience, but it can run thin, and a magician you may be, I fear you may not be able to conjure yourself out from a broken rib and a bleeding lip." He pulled back and eyed the man before smiling to Lord Clayborne.

"Lord Clayborne, I assure you, if you can hit a cue ball with only a thumb on your hand and your eyes blindfolded, I'm almost positive you can win against this fair man." Though it was a joke, and overly exaggerated- as Garreth was indeed a good opponent- he smiled and patted Garreth on the shoulder, before looking over to the other Lloyd Brother. "I hope you are feeling well, sir." Smiling, he looked back over to the table and strokd his chin. One more ball, then he was free to pocket the eight ball. Bending over, he positioned himself so that he was perfectly aligned to hit the remaining ball into the center left pocket. Pushing the cue just enough, he watched the last ball enter the center left pocket.

Smiling, he watched as the cue stopped just behind the eight ball, which was inline to the bottom left pocket. "I call the bottom left pocket, Mr. Lloyd!" With that, he struck the cue ball, which struck the eightball, and went into the called pocket. "I do believe that is game, sir." HE smiled and watched as men traded bets, and he placed the cue stick onto the billiard table.

Looking Clayborne in the eye after he had been pulled off of Marrion was not an experience Tarryn found himself eager to repeat. The man had a gleam there of something not even predatory; not an animal’s bloodthirsty instinct, but something decidedly more disturbing. It reminded him of a hyena, a strange and ugly dog-like creature he had seen once in a traveling circus. The show also featured lions and tigers that performed onstage right alongside men and women armed with nothing more than riding-crops. But those same men and women who would put their heads within the gaping jaws of a massive lion would not touch the hyena, and the cage was solidly padlocked shut. The creature itself had been a sad little mass of fur at first sight, curled up unprepossessingly in a corner. But the small Tarryn, perhaps neither the kindest nor the wisest of children, had taken the bars and shaken them, and in a twinkling the hyena had gotten up and he clearly remembered the sight of its face just on the other side of the bars.

It had only looked at him, but as an impressionable child Tarryn had had nightmares for weeks about it.

The soldier subsided quickly, and that look in his eye vanished within seconds as if it had never been, replaced by a grin that quirked at the corner of his split lip. He was all smiles and laughs and great good humor afterwards, soothing any remaining tempers with free drinks. Tarryn, however, was reminded of the hyena lying in a forlorn little heap, and alone out of the crowd his face remained frowning. Clayborne seemed to falter when he caught Tarryn’s eye, but then flashed him a still more brilliant grin, one that the magician pointedly did not return.

Clayborne, nothing daunted, came forwards and without quibble handed over the money he had taken from Marrion, giving it into Tarryn’s safekeeping. Tarryn placed it without comment into Marrion’s hands, as the lad had recovered a little and was beginning to look a little livelier. However, Clayborne kept his gaze locked with Tarryn’s, the smile remaining in an empty baring of teeth but dropping away from his eyes. Tarryn read in that stare a promise that boded ill, and considered that he might have made the wrong decision. The magician had no doubt that he had made the morally correct choice, but Clayborne was evidently a man whom it was dangerous to cross.

He was glad enough for Norwood’s interruption. It was not that Tarryn feared anything, exactly, but he did not really wish to enter into any unpleasantness and that possibility stood wide open. However, Clayborne answered Norwood while still intently watching Tarryn himself. Tarryn came to the undesirable but rather definite conclusion that at the bare minimum words would be exchanged between them later on.

He did his best to keep well away from the other man, but in a moment of distraction Clayborne caught him unawares. The magician, with perfect aplomb, did not move a muscle, but turned halfway around to face Clayborne. The other man’s words raised an inward eyebrow, but Tarryn made no response although a reply sprung immediately to mind, and Clayborne left as soon as his words were done with a companionable squeeze and pat. Somewhat nonplussed, Tarryn nevertheless hid his perplexity under a smooth face.

Garreth was approaching now with determined features and a pool-cue in hand; out of pure curiousity Tarryn could not resist loitering in the area, and so he heard the entire exchange between his brother and Clayborne. While he was somewhat surprised at Garreth’s part of the conversation, as his brother was always the one to advise caution, indeed veritably harping on it at times, it was Clayborne’s reply that truly shocked him. ”I am a man who shows my favor through touch. I am sure the Lindebo ladies can attest to such…” If Tarryn had expected anything from Clayborne it was not that. He knew he made a very “pretty” man despite all judicious use of make-up and prosthetics, and he had been occasionally the target of tentative advances from other men whose appetites ran to such, but he would never have pinned such a sentiment on Clayborne. Not only men, but apparently women as well! And stated so boldly! Surely the man had to be joking. Either that or he was positively insatiable.

While of course Tarryn’s own tastes ran to men, they did not extend to men of that particular bent of interest. Tarryn gave Clayborne a peculiar stare, then shook his head. It was Chapman who shook him out of his reverie. ”I hope you are feeling well, sir.” Apparently Tarryn had done a poor job concealing his discomfiture and the actor had noticed. The magician attempted quickly to cover himself. “A momentary indisposition,” he explained, “It must be the smoke. During the winter I was afflicted with a slight catarrh.”

He hoped that Clayborne would not continue to entertain any interest; plans to dissuade any advances came to mind and were discarded until he realized that Chapman offered him the perfect opportunity to set himself entirely in a different category than Clayborne might have thought him. The actor had promptly won the game with Garreth, and put away his cue, presumably intent on a new activity. Tarryn determined to accost him before he had gone far. He had to talk about women. Yes. That would be ideal. It would –should- show Clayborne that Tarryn was not a potential target for his “favor”. He cast about for a pretext to broach the subject and seized upon the first excuse that occurred to his mind. Tarryn, a little flustered, selected the first woman's name that popped into his head as an object for his improvised rumour; a source readily presented itself in Mr. Dascombe, who had quietly passed out at a corner table and was now being discreetly helped out by his manservant; Dascombe would have no memory of this evening and would therefore be quite unable to contradict Tarryn.

As Chapman began to walk away, Tarryn interposed himself in front of the actor. “I say, Mr. Chapman. Mr. Dascombe has been telling me that you are recently engaged – to young Miss Clayborne! I must say that I rather fancied her at one point myself. She is truly lovely and I do not believe that there is another young lady in Lindebo to equal her accomplishments. You are indeed fortunate! Now why did you not tell us sooner so that we could congratulate you?” Tarryn said reproachfully.

As soon as he'd said it Tarryn realized that he had not chosen well. Why had he said Emma's name? There were a hundred other girls in Lindeboshire he could have selected, but his mouth had to run away with him. Please, just let it be quick, he silently begged whatever Providence might have been listening.

“By all means,” Garreth replied to Clayborne. He would have said more, but it was best not to irritate the man any further. Garreth was not afraid of the captain. The man could not beat him in a brawl, simply because a brawl would reveal Garreth for what he was and that would make the continuation of any fight an impossibility for a gentleman of Clayborne’s reputation, and Garreth would wager on his own skills to win him a pistol duel. But either of those avenues would lead to a ruination of his career in its present form, not something that he desired.

Chap came up behind him a moment later and advised on the caution that Garreth had already decided was for the best. Chap put his hand on Garreth’s shoulder, too, and the magician couldn’t help but notice once again the complete and total difference in the way gentlemen behaved towards one another and how they behaved towards women. The actor would never have dared to touch Garreth had he been a woman. But since Garreth was a man, Chap felt free to pat him on the shoulder. Garreth wondered, as he had often before, what the world would be like if gentlemen treated ladies with as much easy respect as they did themselves. It was almost certain that Chap would lose whatever esteem he had for Garreth if the magician were a woman; in the eyes of most men women were merely objects useful mainly in the showing off of status and the producing of heirs.

But that wasn’t quite relevant now, Garreth reminded himself. And neither was the fact that a man’s strong hand lay on his person or that the owner’s crystal blue eyes showed apparently genuine concern; the important thing was that Chap, with his next words, gave Garreth the opportunity to extricate himself from the situation gracefully. He laughed along with the actor’s hyperbolic jest and remarked to Clayborne, “He exaggerates, but not by much. You would need at least a thumb and a forefinger.”

The two men turned back to their game, which Chap quickly won. Garreth conceded the game with a firm handshake, his pride only a little stung to have lost so badly; he had not placed any bets on the outcome of the match and had therefore suffered nothing worse than a bruise to his ego. Some of the other men clustered around the game swore softly as they gave up whatever capital they had lost, however. Garreth was about to propose a rematch, since Clayborne wasn’t interested in playing, when noticed that his brother was loitering around and that when Chap put down his cue stick, Tarryn went to speak with him.

Garreth drifted closer, so as to be able to overhear the conversation, and was thus in a position to be perplexed by Tarryn’s sudden interest in talking about women. Those not intimately familiar with his brother’s personality would notice nothing strange about Tarryn’s comments, but to Garreth, who knew him through and through, they were odd. Garreth tried to think of something that might have sparked it… and then he realised what must be the angle that Tarryn was tracing. Clayborne had shown interest in Tarryn, and Tarryn was, without any accusation but instead with the most subtle insinuation possible, letting the captain know that men of that nature were not Tarryn’s cup of tea.

Garreth felt like laughing at the thought of Clayborne being the sort of men to chase other men. Such men were usually caricaturised as fops; Clayborne was anything but a dandy. Indeed, Garreth would never have suspected it of him if the captain had not said so himself. But now that he knew the game, it was only the brotherly thing to do to lend Tarryn a hand. Garreth couldn't help but wonder how flustered his brother must be to have picked Clayborne's sister as the supposed engagee, though; perhaps that wasn't the wisest of choices. But it was done, and Garreth would roll with it. He turned to Chap and exclaimed, “Engaged? I would have bought you a pint or two if I had known! Congratulations!”

Richard had been watching the scene before him unfold, and Clayborne was calming down and was bound to be leaving very soon. The relief rolling off of his shoulders may have been visible. But, he could almost feel something was about to go wrong, and very quickly. Tarryn turned to him with that smile- slight effeminate, and Chap began to wonder if it was just the mans figure, or if he was truly a dandy.

But, words came out of the man's mouth, as if to change the subject from the heated exchange with Clayborne. He could see in the Magician's eyes he was saying something that he was to go along with- improvisational skills worked wonders for any situation. Seeing as how Tarryn was a magician, and he had to work infront of audience, he was sure a trick may have gone wrong, and he had to improv to them.

“I say, Mr. Chapman. Mr. Dascombe has been telling me that you are recently engaged – to young Miss Clayborne! I must say that I rather fancied her at one point myself. She is truly lovely and I do not believe that there is another young lady in Lindebo to equal her accomplishments. You are indeed fortunate! Now why did you not tell us sooner so that we could congratulate you?”

But, the relief decided to simply jump hard on Richard's shoulders. He even lost breath for a quick moment. Swallowing, his eyes widened, and sweat began to enter on his forehead, but he gave a forced, but genuine smile. His acting skills came to shine, and he blushed. It wasn't a blush of embarassment, but fear of what was to happen to him. "Oh, no, please-"

“Engaged? I would have bought you a pint or two if I had known! Congratulations!”

Chap turned to Garreth and smiled, but his eyes showed question and confusion. "No, really, really. We are not engaged, please, please. We have been talking about it, and- please, I do wish you will not speak this to anyone- the chances are looking very good." He then quickly grabbed a pint of the ale and pulled his head back. His hand was shaking horribly, and the ale had gone down his throat quickly. Putting down the pint, he sat down and cleared his throat. "Tarryn, if you do not mind, would you join me in a conversation about how you became a magician while Mr. Clayborne and your brother engage in a game of billiards?"

In the beginning of the night, Captain Clayborne had left his home in a great disposition. Things were not so ill at ease betwixt his father and sister. The old Lietenant Colonel seemed satisfied in offering scowls of displeasure with his two children rather than harsh words. It was more than Clayborne could ask for Emma--her frailty always a constant pressure to his mind. Dorian tried as much as possible to supress the public knowledge of his sister's sickly countenance, though try as he might, her absence in social circles tended to dissolve his efforts.

It was only now, in such slanderous company, that Clayborne's jocund mood became more and more difficult to sustain. Whether the troupe knew or not, they had insulted Clayborne's pride by speaking down to him like a dog when all he could do was grin and attempt to ameliorate the situation. Every moment within the establishment was another moment in which his pride could be downgraded. Yet to leave would certainly be far more cowardly. He smoothed his waistcoat a bit more and defiantly ordered another pint for himself. The simplest of solutions: to blur the lines of insult and injury with that of inebriation. Taking the pint from the serving boy, he chuckled and pushed a few coins into the youth's rough hand.

...you are recently engaged – to young Miss Clayborne!

Dorian had seen war. He had seen the shock and terror in the men's eyes as they knew the dark abyss of death awaited them. Clayborne had watched men die in his arms on the battlefield to preserve their country and felt the deepest of emotions that bear no concise definition. But never...never in all of his days could he ever recall what emotion graced his enflamed visage at the words he overheard. This mixture of shock, anger, andb betrayal were ushered in by a terrible sense of the unknown. He did not turn at first if only to indulge for a moment that he could not have possibly heard this slice of gossip.

"She is truly lovely and I do not believe that there is another young lady in Lindebo to equal her accomplishments. You are indeed fortunate! Now why did you not tell us sooner so that we could congratulate you!"

But it was true. How very brazen of the individual to speak out about a article of a family that he was a part of. This man who spoke could not possibly be educated in the ways of etiquette. He slowly spun on his heel, his shocked expression striving for levity through the warmth in his eyes. It was Tarryn who had spoken so out of turn. These brothers had found every crack within Dorian to turn him inside out twice. An agreement over Emma's betrothal!?! This could be nothing more than fiction. Looking as carefully and calmly as possible to the man Tarryn addressed, he tilted his head ever so slightly in an expression of "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"No, really, really. We are not engaged, please, please. We have been talking about it, and- please, I do wish you will not speak this to anyone- the chances are looking very good."

The weight upon his chest grew heavy as he heard Richard speak. No matter of eloquence could possibly save Clayborne from his temper. Struggling to keep up the jovial facade he had worked so desperately to create, Clayborne squared his jaw and chose an avenue of wordy confrontation.

"And who...pray tell.." His voice was loud to be heard over the din and to receive Chapman's undivided attention. "Is it that you have been...'talking'...with? Upon my soul I have heard nothing of any contract between you and my father for Emma's hand in marriage nor have you spoken to her brother about this transaction. I hope upon hope that you would not be so bold as to elope with my sister without any consideration for the Claybornes. Why...that would be....that would be downright savage in my opinion, sir." His tone was lofty and strong posessing a hint of indulging humor though it belied his inner fury.

Emma was his sister and any man who wanted her hand would have to square with Dorian. It wasn't that he was posessive over the girl in some illicit way. It was merely that he wanted the best for a woman who was so like his mother. She had the beauty and grace of a swan but the humility of a dog beaten by its master. Anyone could see the hardship Miss Emma had endured through her father's forked tongue. Sure, Dorian knew that Chaunce had the best in mind for his children, but Emma and Chaunce never understood each other's means to a justified end. Dorian was in the middle, understanding both yet unable to ease the tension between them. And now this supposed contract for Emma's hand would spiral whatever lukewarm peace had been acquired recently not only between Chauce and Emma, but also for himself.

Richard Chapman was an actor. Clayborne knew that much about the man. He did not have much dealings with him; however it seemed there would be much need now to further his interest. From what he saw of the man, he seemed well mannered and kind, though his status was lacking. Clayborne could not possibly see any relation that Emma and Chapman could have shared to make this match worthy of marriage. How did they know each other? Emma barely set foot out of the house and father would have never let his daughter hold even a conversation with a man in private no matter what the Lieutenant Colonel's fondness of Emma may be. The whole thing was quite chaotic to him and it angered Clayborne even as it confused him.

A hawk-like stare was thrown at Chapman for his response. Predator looking upon prey. Richard was young and a certain species of unsurity swarmed about his person that Clayborne found threatening. Captain Clayborne forgot completely about his own selfish and vain pride. If Chapman did not reply well, and in good time, Clayborne would do things far worse to the actor than poor young Marrion. He wouldn't touch him, but Clayborne's message would be quite clear: Fear the unknown in me, boy. I would sooner mar your reputation than blacken your eyes over this offense.

"And who...pray tell.." The voice caused Richard- who was still facing the bar, and looking down at it- to roll his eyes and sigh heavily. Turning around, he faced Dorian, yet his eyes found both of the Lloyd brothers, and he made sure to give Tarryn a look that was very intimidating with his ice blue eyes, despite him not being a very intimidating person- save his height, which was even taller than that of Dorian Clayborne's. "Is it that you have been...'talking'...with? Upon my soul I have heard nothing of any contract between you and my father for Emma's hand in marriage nor have you spoken to her brother about this transaction. I hope upon hope that you would not be so bold as to elope with my sister without any consideration for the Claybornes. Why...that would be....that would be downright savage in my opinion, sir."

Richard watched how Dorian was speaking. Despite the fact that the man was turned away from him, he could still catch glimpses at the mans face. Not to mention, the way he talked, and the way he had been humiliated over and over again, was a complete and total lie. It was an act. And Chapman knew acting, very well. To put on a facade in the times of stress, like he had when Tarryn said what he did. But the main difference between Richard's acting and Dorian's, was that Richard was aware of what Dorian had done, and that Richard was doing his acting better.

He wasn't sure what it was, but it was something that Dorian said that enraged him. Perhaps it was the intoxication that was running through his body, but despite the intoxication, he spoke very clearly, and held himself upright very well, and even moved with improved elegance. "Excuse me, Mr. Clayborne, and I am sorry sounding out of place in my words, but does your family not get along? I have learned this much from Emma." It was a lie, yet he knew of it very well. Gossip was very high in the theatres, and one who was smart overheard the gossip and truthism's, but managed to stay out of speaking. "I would not be suprised to hear that your father has not told you, due to his behavior. But, if I may also point out, that I do not not remember hearing that I must speak to the to-be bride's brother. Is this not correct? Perhaps by doing so, I would simply be risking a few good bruises and broken bones?"

Shaking his head, Chapman looked to the Lloyd brothers, and gestured. "Or perhaps rude comments, and matching etiquette in a room full of gentleman, caused a true gentleman, to fear a gentleman who was acting like a brute." The room silenced. A measley actor, Richard Chapman, had thoroughly insulted Dorian, a man of high status. However, he did not speak falsely. Had he not started a fight, was found cheating, and did make rude comments to another gentleman about his sexuality, and the girls he may have been with. Richard swallowed, realizing what he did, but did not turn back. That would show cowardice, and right now, he felt strong. "And because of this, a false rumor was started to get that brute away from a certain gentleman, and the one the rumor involved was in the room, and went along with it just so that the brute would no longer pester the real gentleman of the room." Worded rather complicated, yet pretty much summing up what had recently happened with Dorian, Chap, and Tarryn.

Buttoning the rest of his overcoat, he walked to the hat rack and gripped it, placing it upon his head. "Now, if you do not mind, Mr. Clayborne, I will be going outside for a pipe of fine tobacco, despite what you may think of what one of my social class may be able to afford. So, if you have anything to say, I would highly suggest saying it now, sir."

Dorian's eyes flared and he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck in absolute fury at the insults he not only had endured before but now was also forced to witness through Richard Chapman. The absolute audacity. It seemed that Dorian would find no respite here through this hostile company. His eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Clayborne, and I am sorry sounding out of place in my words, but does your family not get along? I have learned this much from Emma... I would not be suprised to hear that your father has not told you, due to his behavior. But, if I may also point out, that I do not not remember hearing that I must speak to the to-be bride's brother. Is this not correct? Perhaps by doing so, I would simply be risking a few good bruises and broken bones?"

He chuckled sardonically at Richard's obvious digs and drew in a long breath.

"The words of a true gentleman, Mr. Chapman. It seems that custom and propriety are not your strong suits." Clayborne began to pace a bit like a caged tiger wishing to strike. He was being called out and would not stand for it.

"Gentlemen!" He called out to the public house. "Feast your eyes on the constant actor, Mr. Richard Chapman--a boy so confident that he feels it unnecessary to relate whatsoever to the family he is marrying into. A...boy...who would insult the closest kin to the woman he wishes to marry. A boy so frightened of a few 'bruises' on his pretty, foppish face that he would not confront the man who held Emma in the highest regard possible. This is the mark of a true man, I tell you!"

Clayborne scowled for the first time since his entrance into the public house.

"Or perhaps rude comments, and matching etiquette in a room full of gentleman, caused a true gentleman, to fear a gentleman who was acting like a brute."

"You are not a man, Mr. Chapman. You are simply a boy playing a part that you wish to embue. You think any of this would have been necessary if you had just spoken up to me." Clayborne walked closer to Chapman, his eyes like cold darts trained upon the fop.

"Instead I hear your intentions with my sister in common gossip. How very prudent. I don't see how I could ever have any skepticism over your intentions." His tone grew low and ominous.

"And because of this, a false rumor was started to get that brute away from a certain gentleman, and the one the rumor involved was in the room, and went along with it just so that the brute would no longer pester the real gentleman of the room."

Clayborne was not listening any longer. His patience with the house and its occupants had grown thin and finally broken completely. He saw nothing but the indignant little pomp trying to match up with him. Oh sure, there was the connotation in Chapman's words that it all was a falsehood, but the deed had been done. His mouth was taut and his eyes brimmed with a hatred for Chapman that had been newly born this night. Every moment, Chapman talked back to Clayborne was another moment he was being insulted. If there had been some mistake, a simple apology would have sufficed and all would have been well. But Chapman's constant filandering drove Clayborne to near insanity. He kept...speaking when he should have closed his puny mouth.

"Now, if you do not mind, Mr. Clayborne, I will be going outside for a pipe of fine tobacco, despite what you may think of what one of my social class may be able to afford.So, if you have anything to say, I would highly suggest saying it now, sir."

Clayborne grabbed Chapman by the back of the arm forcefully like he would an insubordinate child and forced him toward the door. His grip was strong, like a vice clamped down just above the elbow.

"You have no tact, Chapman... I will make you eat that damn pipe for your rudeness tonight to me and to Emma." He growled at the boy.

As soon as they had reached the door, Dorian pushed Richard away by his arm.

"You are now challenged to a duel, sir. You will regret this night and your petty words, boy, now load your gun. That is if you own a real gun...not some costume knockoff you keep backstage!"

Dorian's heart was racing. His anger had settled into his veins that pumped more efficiently than when he was calm. He suddenly felt as if he were back at war, and his teeth gritted with hatred for causing bloodshed. He didn't like violence, but when a man was tried to such an extent, the only reconcile one can go to is by means of the pistol. One of Dorian's men walked to his side, chuckling at the air of violence. Some of his men loved the battle and the blood spilt. They found sweet release through it. Dorian was not so simple. Taking the pistol offered by his man, Clayborne glared at Chapman.

As soon as Chap began to answer Tarryn's question, the magician felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He had never intended anything of the sort to happen. He had expected the actor to completely deny any knowledge of such a liaison, as Tarryn was quite sure that no such relationship between Richard Chapman and Emma Clayborne existed. However, Chap had opted to back Tarryn up and was apparently attempting to save him from any disgrace. Merciful Providence, what had he gotten Chap into? He should never have dragged the actor into the conversation, should never have put him in such a bad position.

Just exactly as the magician had feared, as soon as Clayborne overheard their words, his eyes kindled with a light that did not bode well. Tarryn stepped back involuntarily as Clayborne descended upon Chapman, but he was immediately ashamed of himself for the action. The actor had stepped out on a limb for Tarryn, and now Tarryn was going to abandon him to Clayborne? Not bloody likely.

But of course, it was possible that Chap might be able to get himself out of it on his own. Tarryn's fancy conjured up the horrible possibility of finding himself in the same situation as young Marrion, and it occurred to him that it would be entirely impossible to keep his secret in such a case. The magician weighed his regard for Chap against the dangers of getting in a fist-fight, and realized that there really was no comparison. Of course, if things degenerated too far, he would step in and take on the blame. But if he could, Tarryn would much rather avoid having to do that. Chapman was a silvertongued fellow, surely he could talk his way out of this.

Reassuring himself with that thought, Tarryn kept back a little and listened. To be sure, Chapman sent him a furious glare, but what could the magician do at this point beyond taking Clayborne's rage away from the actor and directing it towards himself? Tarryn hadn't the gift of calming people enough to simply make the issue go away, while Chapman might well be able to do so.

However, Tarryn's reassurance was speedily taken away by Chapman's return to Dorian. The actor's own sense of justice had been roused, and he gave a sharp answer back to Clayborne. Didn't he notice Clayborne's alarming size?! Didn't Marrion, now moaning quietly to himself in a corner, serve as any kind of an example? The irony of Chapman's answer didn't escape Tarryn, and the magician might have laughed at any other time. He would also have been touched. Despite the terrible situation, Chapman had solidified himself in Tarryn's regard as a friend. But the actor had definitely had too much to drink. It was making him belligerent in a situation that called for anything but. Tarryn groaned inwardly and steeled himself to step forwards as Chapman headed for the door, but not before Clayborne had seized the moment.

The magician felt a spasm of terror at the man's words, but nevertheless darted forwards. Tarryn interposed himself between Chapman and Clayborne, facing the latter's shriveling, icy stare undaunted. Outwardly. Inwardly he quailed and prayed that all this might still work out to a non-violent outcome.

"Mr. Clayborne. Do not be angry at Mr. Chapman's actions and words. Drink has gotten the better of his judgement, and he is not to blame for any of this. This is entirely my fault and none of his. The rumour about Miss Clayborne" and Tarryn paled under his beard at making this admission "was entirely my invention. I have no wish to quarrel with you, but I understand that I have offended you deeply; I pray you to let it go, but if you cannot then direct your anger at the proper target."

(Sorry guys, we have had ice storms this entire weekend which put me back because the power kept going out. Anyway, I've had to type this over and over again, so I am sorry if it is rushed and not as good as you were expecting)


With those words that fought upon the loud air of the room to reach the attention of Dorian's ears, his anger grew. He was still just as angry at Chapman, but a newfound sapling had been sprouted from the fertile grounds of his mind. This sapling radiated hatred.

"So has it been agreed upon you welps to make mockery of service men, most importantly me this night?" That icy stare bore down upon Tarryn.

"Tell me: Did we Claybornes harm you in some way as to produce such animosity toward us? I have done nothing to you gentleman yet you insist of insulting me. I take the insults rather well. But Emma? That woman deserves more than her name to be spoiled upon your foul tongues."

For a moment, his eyes wavered as if he were pained by something. But still he continued on.

"She is a good woman. And you have called her out a rebel in the midst of several men who might make a good match with her."

Throwing off Chapman, he went after Tarryn. Taking him to where Chapman's place would have been for the duel. He eyed him with an expression of vengeance much reserved for times of battle.

"You will take the place of the man that you would leave so coldly to his doom." His voice was low and full of unleashed anger. Once satisfied that Tarryn had his weapon, he turned his back as Tarryn imitated. They were to count their paces and immediately turn, draw and fire. The crowd around them had grown by the pedestrians on the street and was swirling with excitement. Dorian ignored Tarryn's protestations. There was no mercy for this one. The inventor of lies and trickery. Calling out the numbers, Dorian took his steps as if he wished to root his feet into the ground. His heart beat rapidly though not out of fear. Out of the anger. He could very well kill this man, though his rationality was slowly beginning to upset him again.

Before he knew it, he was at the last pace before drawing. There were so many things flooding through his mind. Should I do this? Is it worth killing a man over? Dorian had always left the soldier within him on the battlefield but now amongst these wretches, his mind was muddled and overloaded. His feet were swiveling around faster than he could manage to understand. Routine had taken over. His arm carrying the pistol was raising up. His teeth were gritting together as his eye trained to aim at Tarryn's heart. Index finger tensed upon the trigger and as it crept close to engaging, a terrible feeling fell over Dorian. His conscience was interrupting his anger. Baring his teeth, before he knew it, the trigger had been engaged. Dorian whispered a "No!" right before the shot was fired. But the deed was done. The terrible act of murder had been committed. Dorian felt the immense hatred he had for the men turn inward unto himself. He was a killer. A malicious psycopath. He opened his eyes to see what he had done, despite his inner repulsion.

Tarryn was on the ground, but that was not what had confused him. What confused him was the feel of the blood draining from the arm that had held the gun. Turning to look, he registered absolute shock at seeing his father standing beside him, holding up his pistol hand to the sky. A disapproving look was worn upon his face. One that showed anger but still a type of tender care that was absent in his looks toward Emma. Dorian struggled to understand what had happened in those mere seconds.

(Ack; retyping sucks monkey balls >.< Looks fine to me though :) )

Tarryn was completely white by the time Clayborne had finished talking. He had been growing progressively paler as the soldier went on, but when it became apparent that he had locked himself into a duel every last bit of color left his face. Tarryn had never shot a gun at another man. He had shot at his brother, but that was always rigged. Not only that, but Tarryn had never been shot at. He began to stammer out some words - any words that came to mind, but his babbling made no impression on Clayborne. The magician might have literally run away, all ideas of honor forgotten, but he was immediately surrounded by several other gentlemen that prevented any such possibility. They were all solicitations and good-wishes, but Tarryn could see in their eyes that they were anxious to see blood spilled. It was the same look that could sometimes be seen in the audience when Tarryn and Garreth were doing a particularly death-defying trick.

The same men who had been friendly minutes before were now eager to see either Tarryn or Clayborne die. How fast they changed!

They made certain that Tarryn had a weapon. Which he did, of course; the same gun he had used earlier in the bullet-catch. Mr. Norwood had kindly fetched his coat for him, and Tarryn donned it; he'd go out looking the part of a gentleman at least. His hand shaking, he loaded his gun, and then took the ramrod from his coat. The special ramrod.

He didn't think he could possibly hit Clayborne, not the way his hand was shaking, but Tarryn would take no chances. Glancing around, he tamped down the powder and shot, then returned the ramrod to his pocket. "Alright, then; alright," he said quietly to someone who was shaking his arm; the gentlemen around him shepherded him to the door. Mr. Norwood had appointed himself to preside over the duel. He informed Tarryn of the rules, and Tarryn listened with only half an ear. A terrible, high-pitched whistling seemed to be filling the magician's ears as he and Clayborne paced off.

They whirled at the same time. Tarryn fired. A heartbeat later he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder where a powerful force shoved him off-balance. The magician stumbled and fell, dropping the gun and clapping his right hand over his shoulder. He pulled his fingers away and blinked to see them stained red. Tarryn was not afraid of blood. Not usually. But this was his own blood.

Tarryn gave a remarkably high-pitched scream and fell curled up on his side, his hand clamped over the burning wound.

(OOC: @_@ Ice storms! Poor Steph! Post is great though. :) )

Garreth watched things go from bad to worse. Clayborne took offense with Tarryn’s made-up engagement of Chap to his sister Emma, but more than Garreth had thought he possibly would. And then the actor was challenged to a duel.

Stunned, Garreth was unable to say anything for a moment. What? A duel? Over a rumour of an engagement? Or was it that Chap had said that Clayborne wasn’t a gentleman? Thoughts spun through Garreth’s head, irrelevant spin-offs as he tried to think of something to do. Did Clayborne really think that being called a brute was worth killing someone? Wouldn’t that just make him an indisputable brute? Or if it was the news of the impending marriage, did he really believe it? If so why was he out to kill his sister’s supposed fiancé? Did he want to ruin her happiness? Or if he didn’t believe it, was it that insulting that a man would find his sister attractive? Garreth realised then just how alien men were to him. How the devil did they live past sixteen if they thought like that? This gentleman’s honour business was nothing more than a flimsy disguise for a complete inability to reason like a thinking, feeling creature. There was no way that a woman’s reasoning would have led to a duel over an unwise falsehood.

Garreth shook his head to clear it of his purposeless thoughts. He needed to do something. There was no way that he could let Chap die, or Clayborne—although Garreth cared somewhat less what happened to him—over this stupid bout of manly pride. He began to open his mouth to mediate, but Tarryn stepped in first. And then came the worst moments of Garreth’s life. Clayborne refused to forgive, and directed Tarryn to take the place of the man “he would leave so coldly to his doom.” Garreth nearly fainted. This couldn’t be happening. Not his brother. It couldn’t be happening. Again abstracts swirled through his head. Leave so coldly to his doom? Garreth rather wished Tarryn had. At least then it would be Chap—much as Garreth liked him and found him friendly, such an acquaintence could never compare to the bond of brotherly love—facing death. His brother could not be dueling!

But the crowd shuffled him away, eager to see the magician versus the soldier. That brought Garreth back to reality, especially when he saw Tarryn loading his gun. He saw his brother use the ramrods they had used in the bullet catch, and quietly approved of his brother’s true gentlemanliness. Tarryn could not kill Clayborne, even if the soldier meant to kill him. It was not in the nature of either of the brothers. Only one man was at risk here tonight. Garreth sought desperately for a way to rig Clayborne’s gun also, but could not think of a way. Then he tried to position himself close to the captain, but the crowd held him back, impeding his progress, and he could not get close enough to knock Clayborne’s aim off. That left only one other option, and so Garreth began making his way through the crowd towards his brother, heedless of who he shoved, as the two combatants paced off.

Thinking that Clayborne would probably hold off his shot if he saw Garreth in the way, waited until the last possible moment, when he saw Clayborne whip around to shoot Tarryn. Then he leapt in front of his brother, intending to take the shot for him; but he had waited to long. There was a streak of fire along the side of his arm as the bullet grazed it, but there was a horrible gasp and then a scream and a thump. He spun around to kneel beside his brother, fearing to see him dead and blaming himself for it. But Tarryn was not dead, although he was as white as a ghost and gasping and clutching his shoulder as he tried not to scream again. Garreth knew that they had to get out of there at once; Tarryn was losing a lot of blood, and Garreth could not open his brother’s coat to staunch the blood here; if he did, they would both be in prison before the night was out.

So, instead, ignoring his brother’s moans of pain as he did it, Garreth scooped Tarryn up and draped him over one shoulder. He turned to leave, but called to Clayborne first, “Mr. Clayborne! Next time you feel compelled to shoot a man for your sister’s honour, you might attempt to think like a woman first. Would she really be happy to know you were a murderer for her sake; or would it make her feel guilty?” Garreth saluted the man standing beside Clayborne, who had the captain’s arm in his grasp and was clearly the reason that Clayborne had missed killing Tarryn, calling a thanks to him. Then the magician began to make his way through the crowd, which opened for him and his burden. He spotted Chap and said in a low voice, “I apologise, Chap. I did not intend for so rough an evening when I invited you here. I do hope you will allow us to remain friends. But I should quit this place at once, were I you; before something else happens.”

Then he left, worried at the warmness that was seeking through the shoulder of his coat, and paid for a hansom cab once he was nearer the main streets where they could be found. Only then, in the privacy of the carriage as he began to tend to his brother, did he begin to cry—his nerves were terribly shaken. He had never expected that either of them would be shot when they became men.

(OOC: Tarryn and Garreth will next post elsewhere, link to be edited in)

Watching everything happen before him, Chap tried to swallow, only to notice his throat had become very parched. Licking his lips with a tongue that felt like a brooms legs across his lips. Tarry Lloyd had stepped in to take Chap's place in the duel. Chap went to pull Tarryn back, to make sure that the magician did not get himself into danger, but Chap spoke to late, and Clayborne to fast. The duel had been arranged, and was settled. Pistols. Chap shook his head, then realized he probably should not- the alcohol was slowing getting to him, and alcohol-induced vertigo was striking him horribly. But, he concentrated on keeping focus on the situation that was currently happening.

They were led outside, and Chap simply sat in horror as he watched what was happening. He could see Tarryn's trembling hands load the gun and shove the ramrod in. Then, he looked to Clayborne, the rage in his eyes. But, something else twinkled. Perhaps, worry? An inner conflict? Good actors could truly get "in character" and feel the characters emotions- and the twinkles of inner conflict showed in their eyes. Chap knew that look- he saw it perfectly in Clayborne. But, as they took their paces, and the last pace arrived, Chap took in a sharp breath.

There was silence among the crowd.

Two loud pops filled the air, and then a high pitched scream. Looking over to Tarryn, Chap's eyes widened and watched as she gripped his arm. He sighed in relief. Yes, he was hit, but he wasn't hit in a severe spot. And sure, if the wound wasn't attended to, Tarryn could face fatality. But, as Garreth ran and picked up Tarryn, Chap knew that Tarryn would be okay, despite the pain he must be going through. Then, Chap turned to Clayborne.

Looking at the man, he no longer saw a respectable soldier. No, he saw a brute, an animal, a savage. Looking him, Richard Chapman's eyes glinted with hatred for the man. "You dishonor the name of the Army, good sir." He growled. Garreth spoke briefly to Clayborne before coming to Chap himself. “I apologise, Chap. I did not intend for so rough an evening when I invited you here. I do hope you will allow us to remain friends. But I should quit this place at once, were I you; before something else happens.”

Chapman shook his head. "No, Good sir, it is I who should apologize. I should not have mouthed of, and I should have denied the rumor. But, I shall take your advice and leave of this place, and perhaps not come back for a small time." Watching the Lloyd brothers off, Clayborne caught Chapman's eye. Shaking his head, Chapman placed his tophat upon his head, and pulled out his tobacco pipe, and placed in his fine tobacco before lighting it. Puffing on it, he let his lip curl in the direction of Clayborne before turning and walking away. A sickness began to grumble in his stomach, and Chapman knew it was time to retire to his house.

(Exit Richard Chapman.)

Dorian felt a surge of panic, then fear, and finally anger at the entrance of his father. He freed his arm from what seemed to be an unbreakable grip and looked squarely into his father's eyes.

"Go home, son." The look the aging man returned to his spitfire son was that of complete consternation. Clayborne ventured to speak, yet found no words. There was far too much tonight that had gone on. Eyeing each of the men who had picked a fight with him, his attention finally fell on Tarryn, injured but alright.

"I am sorry it came to this. I had hoped we could have been friends. Now there is not the slightest shred of hope of such things." Tossing the pistol onto the ground, Clayborne pushed through the crowd to gather his belongings.

He slid his overcoat onto his shoulders and made his way to his carriage and further to home.

(EXIT Dorian Clayborne)