Lyssa took a deep breath as she passed the many people walking by her in the streets. She had never been outside in the park unchaperoned before, it never occurred to her why she had to always be with another lady. She passed a storefront, its windows gleaming with polished elegance. She glanced in to the mirror-like surface and saw her reflection. Her big blue eyes were bright and her complexion was as always clear except her cheeks where pink from the wind blowing in great gusts across the crowded park.

Taking great care to walk carefully in her heeled shoes, she headed for a bench, about in the middle of the park. A perfect place for people watching.

Farther towards the edge of the small park, seated in the middle of a cast-iron bench under the deep green shade of a beech tree, Nils glanced over the top of his newspaper two or three times at the young woman sitting on the bench ahead of him, before closing the paper with a rustle and placing it beside him. The light wind pulled at the loose pages, and he leaned forwards and plucked up a small rock from the ground to weight it down, his face creased in a frown as he watched Lyssa.

He might be a foreigner (although he now appeared a perfect English gentleman, complete with greatcoat, gloves, cane, and bowler hat), but customs were not so very different in his home country from here in England. It was not common - in fact it was not done at all - for a young lady of the upper classes to be out by herself. That this young miss, clearly rich from her dress and her cultured appearance, should be alone, especially now that it was late afternoon and drawing towards eventide, concerned Nils. Not a man given to indecision, as soon as he had satisfied himself that she was alone, not in company with any of the others in the park, he stood up and headed towards her.

She looked a good deal like his younger sister, with the same fair hair and pale skin, only this girl was much smaller and terribly thin, almost painfully so; that seemed to be one of the traits that these English favored. Nils himself did not understand why a woman should appear as though she were starving. To be sure, it was not for reasons of health. The average Danish woman lived a good deal longer than the English twigs. He could not see any aesthetic appeal, either. It was quite a mystery to him. The English were simply odd.

Drawing up in front of the bench, Nils' long shadow fell over Lyssa as the Dane asked, "Good evening, Miss. I have noticed that you are here with no companion. Are you lost?"

Lyssa looked up, startled. She saw a man in front of her. She hadn't expected anyone to approach her, seeing that everyone seemed to be a great hurry. Looking up underneath a thick fringe of dark lashes, she hesitated to reply, "No, sir, I know exactly where I am, thank you."

She had ignored the other question, it might have lead to him questioning why her parents let her out, witch actually she had no way of answering because she had snuck out. Scuffing the toe of her heeled boots on the glittery rocks embedded in the sidewalk, she thought of what to say next.

occ\\ sorry, writers block

Nils' frown deepened as she refused to meet his eyes, staring at the ground and idly moving her foot. Her answer and mannerisms were blatantly evasive. He suspected that she was simply lying, either directly or by avoidance. Lyssa had not made any reply to his first comment, and that did not miss Nils' notice. It was rather obvious that she wished him to leave, but her wishes were really of no consequence. A lady was not safe out on the streets unaccompanied, especially not towards evening.

The English were abominably complex in their niceties of manners. Nils alway strove to be a gentleman, but it was so much easier among the Danes. These English had any number of traps that a polite Dane would fall into. He had probably already behaved boorishly in approaching her. In fact he had, he remembered, his sister had cautioned him that the English were very uptight about who he could greet on the street. It was forbidden for him to talk to women unless they talked to him first. Oh well, he'd already done it. It was dashedly stupid of the English to have that rule; how on earth did anyone ever talk to anyone else?

Holding his cane in one hand, he decided he would just go ahead as if she had addressed him first, introducing himself and offering the proper greetings. He tipped his bowler hat to the young lady, gently raising it off his hair and inclining head underneath. Oh, but the English couldn't talk to ladies with their hats on. He'd forgotten that. He smoothly lowered the hat to his chest; it would appear as if he had mean to do that all along so fast was his correction. Cane and hat now in the same hand, he made a small bow to the seated figure and then proceeded to make himself known.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nils Jørgensen, a merchant captain out of Denmark. It is not my intent to slander, but I cannot help but notice that your escort has left you unattended. Would you like me to wait with you until he returns, Miss...?"

Nils hoped he had gotten the slight rise at the end of the sentence indicating a question correctly. The English had an unneccesarily complex language, too, so different from his own native Danish. He wondered if the lady might be frightened at his accent, but then dismissed the thought; it must be obvious from his dress and manner that he was a gentleman and not out to take advantage of her.

"Well, I'm Lyssa Bryson, Daughter of merchant Peter Bryson," wondering if some merchants acknowledged other merchants. Maybe this man, Nils would know him. "Have you ever met him?" She didn't feel as uncomfortable with him as before, because now she knew his name. Judging by his accent, he wasn't from England, but Lyssa hadn't heard his accent before.

Now, she didn't know what to say. He had noticed her ignorance of his first question. Wondering what to say, she decided to lie, and play the part of a silly, empty headed English lady. Her father would be furious if he knew she had snuck out, she had no prevent him finding out. Then she remembered her governess, Ladies don't lie. Just thinking about that made her irritated. Then it hit her, she had said her real name, she felt like slapping herself across the face.

Batting her long lashes at the man, she nodded. "My brother Myles went just over there to go see a shop font, he will be right back." She lied. "But I am terribly lonely here." Mentally she told her self that she had done a good job, she had actually sounded like on of those painted ladies, with no intelligence.

(OOC: Sorry, finals and studying for them cropped up. I apologise for the long wait.)

Nils raised his eyebrows. She was behaving exceedingly oddly for an English lady, yet at the same time he couldn’t finger exactly what it was that was different from the norm. But it was best to take this situation at face value, until the crookedness straightened itself out or he could discern what it was.

“If I may say so, it was most improper and careless of him to leave you alone, Miss Bryson. There are all manner of boorish men about who will not care for the safety of a lady, thus it would be best if he accompanied you at all times. You cannot stay in the park unattended; I will stay with you to safeguard you until your brother returns.”

There, now he had made his intent clear without the possible misinterpretation that the English seemed to be so good at. They were forever mistaking his words and colouring them with malice, until it seemed as though they must all have minds that walked down dark streets and forbidden avenues. He had discovered only recently that to address a woman by her first name was to imply she was a whore; where he had grown up to address a woman you knew by other than her first name was to be rude. How had the English gotten around to the idea that a gentleman meant to insinuate such slander against a woman simply by calling her by her name?

But he hadn’t done that here. He’d addressed Miss Bryson properly at all times, except for initiating the conversation. So far he’d gotten these damnable English customs correctly. Now to answer her question without being rude… “I do apologise, Miss Bryson, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting your father. What is it that he deals with? Perhaps I will have a chance in the future.”

There, suitably polite, and it would give him the chance to find out more about her. He felt awkward standing over her waiting for her to say something, however, so he added to the end of his previous words, “Might I beg your indulgence, Miss Bryson, and sit?” Nils gestured vaguely at the other end of the park bench from where she sat.

For so small a figure, Lonny demanded a great deal of attention. He endeavored to, in any case; whether he did or not was dependent upon his surroundings and his company. His company at the moment was being sufficiently attentive, and so, Lonny was pleased. “Travel always makes me quite agitated, do you know?” He glanced up at his (considerably taller) compatriot. “The atmosphere on a train- ” Shaking his head in derision and frowning glumly, he brushed his overcoat clear of his legs and surveyed the park. “Unwholesome.”

His expression changed then, to one of smug delight. Almost posing, he indicated a slender sapling, which had just begin to bud. He opened his mouth to remark on it, before realizing that he could not recall it’s name. There was a fleeting look of disappointment. It was quickly replaced, however, by his trademark self-satisfaction. “Nothing man will ever make can hold a candle to the natural world.” Mouth fixed in a smirk, he seemed to believe himself the first person to have ever made such an utterance.

“Name one thing more unutterably beautiful than the out of doors after being incarcerated in one of those iron beasts!” His voice had reached a tone of argument, something which was nearly inevitable in his conversation. Ridiculous and (almost) oblivious to it, Lonny raised a pugnacious eyebrow. “Nature.”

Leaving that train of thought seemingly unfinished, he moved, quickly, to his next point of contention.

“Have I told you, yet, about my brother’s latest- ” he shook his head, expression shifting from smug to outraged. “He wrote me this letter- ” For a man rhapsodizing only moments earlier, he was quite irate. Throwing a hand heavenward, with the hint of a scowl, he went on. “There is a man who could not see the worth of anything that wasn’t contributing directly to his bloated purse.” Lonny paused in his tirade to free the hem of his coat from the thorns of a rose bush.

“Oh-! It’s gone and torn-” Lonny sighed and looked up at his companion. “Ah well,” he remarked in a tone that was anything but dismissive. “Never mind it.”

Daniel Mackenzie was used to his comrade's tangents, for it often seemed to him that Lonny's brain moved more quickly than his mouth. He knew such a problem quite well. He'd suffered from a form of it for years. He paused by the rosebush as Lonny extricated his coat from it.

"I agree that nature's creations are wonderous, but at the same time man's are nothing to...to belittle. Where would we be without the railroad?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Man tends to think is he the master of nature, however, and this is quite foolish on his part because nature can take revenge like a human being." He looked pointedly at the rosebush. "Nature has her own caprices."

He was not unhappy with their morning stroll; he had found at least three people to model characters on. If he could only find a suitable villian for Mary Marsden, or the English Rose, then he would feel much better about his plot concepts.

Lonny ignored Daniel’s remarks for a moment, concentrating his energy on frowning at his hem. He grabbed and inspected it, looking rather less than pleased at nature. With a final existential sigh, he dropped his hem and composed himself, returning his attention to the conversation.

“Where would we be without the railroad?”

“London,” he quipped reflexively, in a tone that was strangely exhausted. Daniel, used to Lonny’s general unwillingness to take anyone seriously, save himself, continued with a sigh and a rather intellectual tousling of his hair. “Man tends to think that he is master of nature, however, and this is quite foolish on his part because nature can take revenge like a human being. Nature has her own caprices.”

Lonny frowned, cornered into thinking for a moment. “Well, true.” He shrugged in his non-commital fashion, gathering his thoughts for a counterpoint. “I never said, though, that nature is flawless.” He paused. “But I don’t think it can revenge. I- well. Unless you were speaking metaphorically.” The hint of a breeze blew past them, stirring the bushes so recently guilty of assault. With unconscious vanity, Lonny reached up to pat his own hair back into place.

He smiled oddly, turning away from Daniel to take in the full panorama of the park. Folding his hands across his chest, he set off again with a swaggering, casual step. “In any case, I don’t believe the rose bush meant me any particular ill will.”

“In any case, I don’t believe the rose bush meant me any particular ill will.”

Daniel chuckled. "I doubt it did as well. I only wish you would think before you spoke more often." He joined Lonny once more on their course through the park. He hoped that the breeze would not develop into a wind and thus cut short their constitutional.

He noticed a couple of young ladies on a faraway bench and wondered what they were talking about. Perhaps they could be a basis for a conversation between the heroine and her confidante. He turned back to Lonny after a few moments.

"What do you think of our lodgings?"

"I only wish you would think before you spoke more often." This statement wrought a rather abrupt change over Lonny's features. He seemed like a young dog, struck unexpectedly across the nose for an offense it had no idea it was commiting. Rubbing his hands together, a rueful cast to his face, he looked down. After a moment of chagrin and irritation, his eyes turned upwards again.

"Well. I-" He saw that Daniel's attention had been caught by a pair of young women across the park. Sensing that he had been usurped as the center of attention, he sighed loudly. "I do think, Daniel. Perhaps not the same way you do...?" Unable to regain the Scotsman's attention with this conversational offering, he gave up with petulant resignation. He crossed his arms across his chest and squinted as another gust blew down the walk.

Wondering if the weather might turn, suddenly, from fair to foul, he cast a quick eye about for clues from his fellow park-goers. They seemed, for the most part, content and lazy. The meterological inconveniences of winter receded in memory as the sun rose higher in the spring sky.

"What do you think of our lodgings?"

Lonny looked back at Daniel, not having an opinion either way.

"I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt." Vagary was always a safe. It saved one the terrible embarassment of being wrong, something the badly timed incident with the rose bush had reminded him of.

"I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt."

Daniel snorted. "Well, time will tell if it is fitting for a couple of men about town like us." He paused. They had most of the afternoon to themselves. He was beginning to grow tired with all this walking.

He turned to Lonny. "Might we take a breather for a few moments?" Daniel was sure that his comrade was probably getting tired as well. Besides, it would give him a chance to run through a bit more dialogue in his mind anyway.

Miss Bryson assented, and Nils sat beside her. They conversed for a few minutes, she giving rather vague answers to his questions and attempting to weasel information out of him, to always keep the subject off herself. Nils noticed that her supposed escort did not show up, nor did any of the young men in the park look remotely alarmed that he was sitting next to her talking to her, as her escort should have. He began to get suspicious, and after half an hour of no one showing up to escort her, he directly asked her if she had an escort at all.

She hemmed and hawed, but finally admitted that she had snuck out of her house unattended. Nils, disapproving through a basic instinct for the preservation of custom, mildly admonished her and offered to escort her home. She accepted, somewhat downcast, and they made their way through the park. Nils noticed a couple of dandies coming up one path and made sure to steer them onto a different one; it was best if young ladies didn’t meet those types as they often were Don Juans and Casanovas of the worst sort.

Shortly thereafter, Nils left the park, taking Miss Bryson to her father’s house. Because he had no wish to make matters difficult for her, he did not inform her father, but rather helped her sneak back in via the servant’s entrance. He cautioned her, just before she left, on how dangerous it was to be about unescorted in these times, especially since there was a killer on the loose.

Then he headed off, wandering in the direction of the Cathedral.

OOC: Exit thread.

"Well, time will tell if it is fitting for a couple of men about town such as ourselves." Lonny was not initially sure how to interpret this. Danny, he had learned, was given to peculiar bouts of sarcasm. He lapsed into these without warning, and, more than once, he had made an idiot out of Lonny. Of course, Lonny had also proved adept at making an idiot out of Lonny, but at the moment that was neither here nor there.

"Quite." Falling back on vagary, he smiled wryly and nodded.

"Might we take a breather for a few moments?"

Lonny seldom took breathers. If he was not moving, his face was twisting and his feet were twitching and his hands were tapping arythmically or busy attending to his hair. He was a phrenetic sort of person, and an impatient one. However, he could hardly begrudge Danny something as trite as a breather, and so nodded. Meandering towards a bench that had been recently vacated by a stodgy looking fellow with a newspaper and a phlegmatic cough, he sat.

Cocking his head in a bird-like movement, he looked up at Danny, clearing expecting him to do his resting as quickly as possible. For courtesy's sake, he allowed Danny a moment's respite from his chattering. Glancing at his fingernails, and finding himself unsuprisingly bored with them, he decided the moment of silence was up.

"Have you been thinking much more about your novel?"

Knowing that his request would be grudgingly honored, Danny was prepared for their 'breather' to be short. He joined Lonny on the bench and crossed his long legs.

"Have you been thinking much more about your novel?"

"Why yes," he smiled. "I have a few conversations worked out in my head. I've planned for the heroine leave her ancestral castle in pursuit of the fellow she loves. I spotted a couple of young ladies that reminded me of the crucial moment when Mary Marsden tells her lady's maid that she plans to flee."

He looked off at the other passersby still ambling through the park. He wondered what sorts of things they could do for the rest of the day. Hit the pub, maybe? Go to the theater? THey would proabably require a change into evening dress if needed.

"Have you considered a new work lately?"

"Have you considered a new work lately?"

Before Lonny had time to think, he responded. "More than that. I've begun a new work." This was not entirely false. However, it was still quite some ways from the truth. Lonny's as-of-yet-unspecified new 'work' consisted of a slender but immaculately bound and handsomely embellished leather volume. Said 'work' contained three pages of scribbled verses, a half page which began as an irate letter to Stephen but devolved somewhere along the line into a series of ornate and impractical signatures, and ninety-six virginal sheets which had yet to see an author's glance, let alone his pen.

Lonny justified his response, however, with the thought that he had in fact been working on something. Nothing cohesive, certainly. Nothing finished, either. Still, what really counted as a 'work'? If one was going to make guidelines and rules for that sort of thing, then one wasn't playing fair.

Scratching the corner of his mouth for no particular reason, he continued on his shameless way. "Poetry. I prefer it to the novel." He shrugged airily.

This, at least, was true. Several years ago, he had attempted a novel. Armed with his -disastrously noisy- typewriter, he began on Sunday, to the disaproval of his landlady. The woman had never liked him, but was quite keen on God, it so happened. He tried again on Monday, only to find that time had cooled his passions for it. On Tuesday, over drinks with his friends, he complained loudly about the cultural stagnation and prudery which made all novels so uniform and pointless. On Wednesday afternoon he was introduced to a charming young woman who liked 'poetical men', and any vestigial passion he had for novels vanished.

Deciding to spare Daniel the long and harrowing tale of how he had come upon this preference, he sumamrized."There's more freedom in poetry, I think."

"There's more freedom in poetry, I think."

"Poetry does not tax one's mind so, save for the meter," he yawned. "Rhyme is dreadful sometimes as well." He suddenly regretted getting up so early but when one has an idea it ought to be written down as soon as possible. He hoped that Victor de Lassington wasn't too flowery of a name, but it was the thought that counted. Now he only needed a personality for Victor and he could terrorize Miss Marsden all he wanted in Daniel's fictional world.

"I like the novel because one can build on one's ideas throughout, but I am not adverse to Thalia or Euterpe. I suppose Erato holds a special charm for you," he smirked.

"I like the novel because one can build on one's ideas throughout, but I am not adverse to Thalia or Euterpe. I suppose Erato holds a special charm for you."

For a brief moment, Lonny's mind drew a blank. After the initial confusion, he recognized these names as the names of muses, but he would be damned if he could remember which art each governed. Thalia- might that have been the one whose son was torn apart by enraged wood nymphs? He could hardly see what bearing that had on their current conversation. Euterpe was music, wasn't she?

Erato, though, he finally remembered, was the patroness of lyric poetry. Love poems.

If that was the case, Erato had been busy of late. Romantic poems were as abundant as weeds, and most of them were hardly any better. Lonny grinned at Daniel, and laughed a little. "Oh, quite."

He turned away and looked out over the park, still grinning. "You're a classically minded man, what?" Snorting, pleased with himelf, he pressed on. "I've never known anyone as fond of dead Greeks."

The wind came again, stronger and less congenial than before. A scrap of paper barrelled past them and down the path, lofted along and then smashed against the walk, again and again. Rustling in complaint, the newly budding trees looked painfully nude as they bumped and chattered together.

"You know, I think the weather might be turning?"

"I've never known anyone as fond of dead Greeks."

Daniel smiled. "The ancients can be a very valuable source of knowledge. Britain's history is connected to that of Rome. But I'm sure that you're tired of my rambling."

He adjusted his coat slightly against the chill wind and leaned back against the bench. Closing his eyes, he began to picture the wind howling around gnarled trees on Dartmoor. His heroine would engineer a daring escape from her family's estate to pursue the Marquis throughout the continent.

"You know, I think the weather might be turning?"

He opened his eyes, jarred out of his thoughts. "I think you're right," he said, slightly annoyed at the interruption. "Shall we return?"

Tristam balanced carefully atop the seat of a park bench, walking the tiny distance back and forth, reading a sloppily bound book. Chewing on his lip thoughtfully, he read the dialogue carefully, used to his normal method of memorization. He held the book against his chest, so that he may not see the words. Clearing his throat, he began casually, in a relaxed English accent

"Tybalt here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay.
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was and urged withal
Your high displeasure. All this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bowed,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point-.....

Agghh!"

He stopped, having forgotten the next line to follow. He realized that he was drawing stares, but he was quite used to eyes. Stares and gazes were nothing compared to the worry he felt over not being able to memorize the small monologues Shakespeare was so fond of writing. Benvolio was the part, and by all first impressions, the part didn't seem difficult to perform. Tristam felt out of sorts. The day was pleasant enough, so he had decided to try the piece where he could relax. But it didn't seem to be working.

He looked again at the script. He sighed, having known the lines immediately once he gave up. He mumbled the lines, hoping that they would take some root.
"And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside and with the other sends."

He had never used his normal voice to perform, even back in Edinburgh, for no one in the company, including his father had. He watched as two ladies passing gave him odd looks and giggled. He sighed again. Sure, it was an interesting sight- a short red-haired man, standing atop a bench, reciting Shakespeare. This method seemed to hurt more than help. He rotated his jaw once, out of habit, and continued on.

Lonny stood, and was shaking the dirt from his coat tails, when a rather interrupted Benvolio wafted towards them on the breeze. Cocking his head to the side like a hound with a scent, he grinned.

"I think I hear someone aspiring to fame, Danny." Lonny had no idea that Danny was miffed at the interruption. "Shakespeare." He continued, glancing around before spotting the orator. He was a nervous looking man of middling height and impressively colored hair.

"Another man who quite liked poetry."

Lonny paused a moment. He had little gift for poetry himself, but he had an honest admiration for men who did. And who was more gifted than old Bill Shakespeare himself, still England's pride and joy after some three hundred years...

He found it especially interesting when performed on a park bench.

Lonny shrugged to himself and looked back at Danny. "Are you ready?" He indicated a path with a little nod of his head. "We came this way, didn't we?

The presence of the Bard made up for the interruption. The speaker of the immortal verses was a few benches away but quite visible to Daniel because of the fiery color of his hair. He was traversing the limited space of the bench as if it were a minature stage. Daniel noted that it was a stage itself; the passers-by were his audience.

He was quite pleased with what little of Lindeboshire he'd seen so far. He was also sure that it would be a great source of inspiration in of itself.

We came this way, didn't we?

"Oh, yes. We did." Daniel rose from the bench and waited.

Tristam paused to look at the script again. He had to get this right if he was ever going to get anywhere. Looking over the rest of the monologue, he took a deep breath and continued from where he left off.

"It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;
And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die."

He smiled as he finished. Wasn't too bad there. I just might pull this off. Of course he could, he'd played harder roles than this. The only thing that woukd pose a challenge about this role was mere line memorization. A cake walk. A little monologue, a harrowing stage fight here and there, this would be easy.

Taking a small hop down from the bench, he began to walk, going over the lines again in his brain. For the next few weeks, he would need to eat, sleep, and breathe this role. It was the only way he ever felt satisfied with his finished result.

He was growing to like this town. Pay in the theatre wasn't as low as he'd expected and the people seemed accomodating enough. It wasn't home like Edinburgh, and it wasn't his final destination like London. A stop in the road, really. But a pleasant one.

Walking briskly, the pair soon overtook the actor. He had just dismounted his unconventional stage, when they came upon him. Not a naturally prudent man, Lonny had no compunction against approaching a stranger in a public park. Bold as brass, he approached the actor. "Good show." Lonny clapped the man on his back and grinned at him companionably. Though Lonny had agreed to return to their room, he was in no great hurry to do so. Unless the breezes carried in a bank of rain clouds, the weather was tolerable.

"Benvolio?" He asked, as easily as if he had known the man all his life. "Forgive me, I'm not perfectly versed in Shakespeare." Though, it happened to be one of the few things he was versed in at all.

Glancing up at Danny for affirmation, he cocked an eyebrow. "Benvolio, hm?"

No sooner had he walked away, when he was approached by two men, one short with dark (but rather impressive hair) and one undeniably tall, with an aimiable look. He was some what surprised, as most regarded his 'performances' with an attitude of 'oh dear, walk faster, he's coming this way'.

"Good show." The shorter man clapped him on the shoulder and Tristam smiled awkwardly. He was going to reply, when he spoke up again.

"Benvolio?" He asked. The man guessed right, though if you had been paying little attention, the speaker was easily identified in terms of the plot. However, not everyone had read the heavy The Yale's Shakespeare front to back by age eighteen. "Forgive me, I'm not perfectly versed in Shakespeare."

Tristam smiled and nodded. "Aye, you're right, it was Benvolio. Thank you, sir." He bowed very slightly, not wanting to look pompous or insincere. Still, he felt awkward with the reception. However, it didn't take long for that feeling to turn to pride for a notable reading.

I'm full of myself. I really am. But Tristam smiled more.

"Benvolio, hm?"

"Yes. Act Three, Scene One."

Daniel had rather enjoyed the history plays and the occaisional tragedy during his school days. Julius Caesar had been his favorite, of course, bringing to mind his and his brother's games. He would never admit to liking The Tempest except in the most intimate company for fear of not being taken seriously.

He watched Lonny and the smaller fellow with the red hair conversing and detected a hint of a familiar accent in the thespian's voice. Could they have had the fortune to meet one of his countrymen? He decided to wait until they had finished to make any such inquiries.

Tristam and Daniel were both quick to confirm that it had, indeed, been a bit from Benvolio's part. Encouraged and relieved by that small, unconscious thankfulness that most people feel upon being proven right, he smiled once more at the actor.

"Please, no 'sir.' Formalities are for dull people." He crossed his arms behind his back, jauntily, and looked between the other two. He was in his element meeting people. Self-effacing and born to quip, he was likable to a point. That point happened to be the point when he stopped paying attention to others and began to pay attention to himself once more.

At the moment, however, he was in a personable way.

"Sorry, but you wouldn't happen to hail from Scotland, would you? If you don't, then I must say your accent is quite without explanation, don't you know." He grinned more broadly and half-laughed. "Daniel is from Scotland." He glanced up said Scot.

As Lonny's verbosity reached the peak of its zeal, the wind picked up. Around the park, hands went instinctively to hats, even though most of the hats in question happened to be attached by several four inch long pins to the mountains of hair beneath.

Lonny caught the full force of the in his face and blinked into it. He turned away from it, and frowned, seemingly brought to his senses.

"Ah. We were off then, weren't we?"

He looked between the two men and observed, as he often did when he had nothing better to do with his time. The tall one, Daniel the Scot, didn't get much of a word in, though his friend seemed to be doing enough bantering for the both of them.

Sorry, but you wouldn't happen to hail from Scotland, would you? If you don't, then I must say your accent is quite without explanation, don't you know.. He nodded again, turning his attention more to Daniel than to the man who had posed the question.

"Ay-yeah, I'm from Edinburgh." He bit on his lip. He'd been meaning to cut the slangish "ay-yeah" from his vocabulary, as it seemed out of place in an English city. He was proud to be Scottish, this was certain, but Tristam was always thinking of some new way to seem more professional.

The wind rushed in and seemed to hit like a brick. Tristam, nevertheless, stood idly, and could only curse himself as he saw a slew of pages go dashing down the lawn across the way. He clenched his jaw, and with a barrage of impolite words, sprinted after them, managing to catch a few before they were lost in the bustling street. His anger turned to embarrassment as one page smacked into a lady's face.

He turned and walked away quickly back to the two men, face flushing a bright red. Nevertheless, he acted cool, like nothing odd or embarrassing had just happened.

"Ay-yeah, I'm from Edinburgh."

Daniel was delighted at this confirmation! He rather wondered how long this fellow had been in Lindebo and if he could possibly tell them about some of the finer points of the city. He was on the verge of introducing himself when he witnessed the thespian's script being blown away by the breeze and the man when racing after it using some very colorful language.

He looked at Lonny incredulously.

"Interesting fellow. He has an extensive vocabulary to go with his admirable role-reading."

"Interesting fellow. He has an extensive vocabulary to go with his admirable role-reading."

Lonny nodded, smiling. Tristam had the eagerness to please that corresponded well with Lonny's own rapacious ego. For that reason, he found himself growing fond of the slight, pale man. As Tristam chased madly after his script, looking chagrined and much abused by the weather, Lonny glanced back at Daniel.

"Ay-yeah," he intoned. His accent was not entirely horrible. Because Daniel seemed perfectly happy to remain where they were, he pulled his coat a little closer about him and attended to his hair. Comfortably settled for the long run, he diverted himself by watching Tristam's mad scurry for the few papers which eluded him.

"Where are we bound after this?" Lonny was already half-anticipating Daniel's answer to this. He would -undoubtedly- wish to withdraw into his corner of their new room and nibble away at the end of his pen, scribble furiously for a few moments, and then drift off again, stupefied by thoughts of his latest novel. Daniel was boring to watch when he was taken by such fits of inspiration, and Lonny hoped privately that his companion's muse had not yet seen fit to touch his brow with genius.

"An evening among the 'proletariat', perhaps?" He offered this up temptingly, as if for novelty appeal. At that moment, the put-upon actor turned and walked back to them, his face a fetching crimson. It was, however, set as if nothing odd had just transpired. Lonny grinned appreciatively at the man's effort to save face.

He saw the two men give him amused looks, which only made the color of his face deepen to some mad shade of maroon. "Well!" He said in an overly-bright voice. He held the script tightly in his hands as the wind picked up again. "Aside from Daniel from Scotland, I don't believe we've really been properly acquainted." He smiled. "Tristam Ness." He extended a hand.

He looked at the two men. They were well groomed and dressed, and Tristam wondered what profession they held. They had the time to meander about the park, so he assumed they were not entirely poor. A hint of self-conciousness hit him, suddenly aware of his slightly wrinkled clothes and day-old stubble. (Not that it mattered, he was pale and the stubble was red anyway).

As an actor, most people didn't expect him to lack in any sort or form of confidence, but with most actors, he found, it was just the opposite. It was a nasty habit of him, worrying so much about what others saw in him. Sure, he could "act" as confident as he wanted to. Tristam knew he'd have to try and stop that. Right after he learned this part. He'd get to it eventually.

"An evening among the 'proletariat', perhaps?"

Daniel was starled out of another conversation between Mary Marsden and her maid. He would not entirely mind a drink, but infitely preferred their returning to their lodgings so that Miss Marsden and her passionate adventures could take shape on paper.

Lonny could very well mean something entirely different, he surmised. Perhaps the theater then? Maybe they would even see their odd comrade.

"My novel does call, but I suppose the muse could be quieted for a bit."

"Excellent." Lonny looked genuinely pleased. Why shouldn't he? Since they had arrived in Lindebo, things had, more or less, gone his way. Stephen's growing displeasure with his affairs seemed far away and inconsequential, and Daniel had been nothing if not cheerful and reasonable. Their rooms were on the shabby side, but well appointed and free of vermin. The walls were a shade thin, but the most irritating noise from their neighbor, to date, had been a loud sneeze. He glanced from Daniel to Tristam and smiled winningly.

"How long have you been in Lindebo... Benvolio?" He paused for a minute, trying to recall the man's name. It was only after an awkward moment between syllables that he remembered he hadn't yet heard it. "Long enough to know the lay of the land, perchance?"

In London, Lonny had only ever frequented a few taverns. He preferred to be a regular, to have a steady relationship with the building's proprietor and it's other frequent patrons. While he was certainly not averse to meeting new people, he enjoyed the feeling of having a 'reputation', even if it was only a reputation for telling jokes about Americans or preferring a slightly unusual sort of liquor.

He hoped to establish the same familiarity with one or two publicans in Lindebo, for however long he remained in the city. It would prove easier to do if a local were to provide some insight as to where men of he and Daniel's station and profession would be welcomed. Lord knows, men the world over liked to drink, but they liked to do it among members of their own 'kind.' Sit a coachman next to a navvy, and they were as like to pummel each other as they were to drink with each other.

Lonny preferred to avoid a pummeling whenever possible.

"Excellent."

Daniel was about to inquire further about the evening's entertainment when Lonny's focus changed. He decided to wait. His mind began to wander back to the moors and Miss Marsden's exploits.

He hoped that Miss Marsden would reach a wider audience. The Blue Rose had not exactly been a wild success. He was slightly older now and he hoped his style had changed with the times.

He cleared his throat.

"Have you decided on exactly what we're going to do?"

"How long have you been in Lindebo... Benvolio? Long enough to know the lay of the land, perchance?"

He cocked his head slightly, calculating the days in his head. It didn't seem very long in his mind, but his landlord was already badgering him for the rent, for which there was no guarantee of a timely payment. Though he was the new one in town, he was very accustomed to his lodgings-a tiny, shabby room with a bed and little else. He didn't need much, but had not succeeded very far in making the 'closet' seem like home.

"About four weeks, I'd say." he said casually. He wondered why Lonny seemed so interested, but Tristam figured he was just being aimiable. Still, this being a 'foreign land' so to speak, one always wonders.

"I know my way to and from work and a shop here and there, but otherwise I'm lost." he admitted.

The bells chimed from a nearby church and Tristam knew that rehearsals would begin soon, but he was in no great rush. Still uncertain about his lines, he was less than enthused about performing in front of his director.

"Have you decided on what exactly we're going to do?"

Lonny glanced at the actor, who was still formulating a response to his question. He nodded to the man. "I was hoping this fellow might be able to help me with that decision, having the benefit of some familiarity with the town?" He ended with a pronounced tone of inquiry, as if hoping to spur 'Benvolio' along in his response.

"About four weeks, I'd say. I know my way to and from work and a shop here or there, but otherwise I'm lost."

Benvolio had indeed been spurred, but to no avail. Lonny's mouth twisted briefly downwards, in the smallest of frowns. There was, though, no good in immediately resigning himself to a night of boredom while Daniel wrote and fretted. He wouldn't have minded it so much, if 'muses' or inspirations or whatever writers called it plagued him as well. Most writers, for all their complaints, seemed most alive when so possessed. As it, was, though, he had never felt that implacable urge to scribble that so many of his acquaintances described. He had nodded and pretended to comprehend, but that was as far as it went.

Suddenly irritated for reasons he did not take the time to comprehend, Lonny rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip.

"I don't mean to cast aspersions on your good name, of course, but, uh, might any of those shops sell or serve liquor?" He asked amiably enough, but leveled a warning glance at Daniel, lest he protest. He was a good man all around, but was on occasion too serious and sober. "Oh, Lonny Mant, by the way." He made the brief amendment, having finally remembered that introductions were in order.

Daniel duly noted Lonny's look and held his tongue. He hadn't had much to say in the first place but wasn't going to interrupt the conversation. Finding out their plans for the evening was a good idea, even if he sometimes questioned his friend's judgement.

He kept quiet and considered that perhaps if things didn't work out a quiet evening in would be just what they needed. Considering that it had taken his comrade over five minutes to register the man's name he was beginning to lean more towards staying in.

He bit back a laugh as Lonny finally introduced himself. He was wondering how long it would take, and Lonny seemed to have other things on his mind. Not so many things as Daniel, whose mind seemed to be on another plane entirely. He nodded in response to Lonny's introduction.

"A pleasure" he said simply.

"I don't mean to cast aspersions on your good name, of course, but, uh, might any of those shops sell or serve liquor?"

Thinking for a brief moment, his mind fleeted to a pub nearby. He always saw drunks staggering out as he staggered himself, not from drink, but from a hard day's rehearsal. He nodded again.

"Aye, there's one not far 't'all, really. He pointed his hand westward towards a crowded street.

"You'll want to take that street down about a block. You can't miss it. Forget what it called, but you'll recognize it straight away."

A drink didn't sound half bad, but he knew rehearsal awaited him sooner rather than later.

"Excellent." Had he been wearing a hat, he might have tipped it. As it was, he resorted to a smile and a clap on the shoulder. "How does that sound, Daniel?" He hoped that Daniel wouldn't protest. Tonight was not a night for cramming oneself behind a writing desk. Not after that unspeakable train ride, and certainly not after whetting one's appetite with spring air.

With this in mind, Lonny looked at Daniel full in face, eyebrows raised hopefully. Whether or not this worked was hit or miss. His mother had never been able to ferment an argument when faced with said expression. Of course, mothers should never be used to measure the rest of the world, as all of them were notoriously biased in one direction or other.

"Two men about town, what?"

He hoped, vaguely, that using Daniel's own expression might sweeten the deal. This tactic had a higher margin of success. If the choice lay between hypocrisy or tolerating something mildly unpleasant, most men preferred not to be known as hypocrites.

"Two men about town, what?"


"Sounds grand to me," Daniel smiled slightly. So much for his night in. He wasn't all that disappointed though. He only hoped that drink would not send his plot ideas into the gutter. The morning after was more important to his memory.

He wondered if perhaps their comrade would want to join them but was reluctant to broach the subject to Lonny. After all, they'd just met him. It was probably going to keep him from memorizing his lines anyway. He nonetheless decided to speak up.

"Dear Benvolio, would a drink perhaps calm your stage fright?"