The Ring Day party at the di Medici estate officially began at sunset, and the white stars of the Procession now mark the time as several hours past it. It has been a gala event, with mages providing dinner entertainment at twilight, and a meal with so many courses that Elise lost count before the entree. At some point, presumably, there will be dancing – not that Elise is expected to participate in such activities.

Ninety some days after the battle on the Siren's Tail, the Guild Hall's Life mages have pronounced Elise as fit and hale as she is likely to get. Her right leg still pains her on occasion, and she'll never run again, or walk easily without a cane. However, the limb will support some weight, and with the cast finally off, it is a great relief to be at least able to ride normally once more.

The festivities – with all the finely dressed nobles, drinking, laughing, and watching performers both magical and mundane – have an unreal tinge to them. It's as if these carefree, indifferent people should not exist in the same world where a guardsman plummets a dozen miles to his death from an airship, where an Eeee kidnapper waits outside the water closet with a loaded crossbow, cocked and ready. Her escort for the evening, Lord Jean Dunbarre, has remained as much an enigma to her as the rest. Dunbarre is pleasant, cordial, attentive, and completely superficial. His demeanor has been that of the harmless fop poodle, affected and effeminate, the same face she remembers him wearing for the benefit of the Caroban diplomats. Why he chose this time and place to request her company remains as much a mystery now as the day she received the invitation.

At the moment, Elise stands alone on a terrace overlooking the gardens below. The majority of the guests have gathered on the flower-bordered lawn beneath torches, but some walk here and there, along the stone-lined paths, pausing to admire an artificial waterfall or a perfectly detailed bridge over a man-made stream.

The Lady de Bellefeuille gazes down from the balcony with a detached air about her. She finds herself puzzling over the people who laugh and make merry down below, finding them strange and somehow distant – somehow far away from her. She finds she cannot quite decide what to make of it all, so she stands there with her gloved hands supporting her, her left on the terrace rail, her right upon her ornate heraldic Drokar-headed cane. I should likely return. Lord Dunbarre will wonder at where I have gone off to, she considers after a time.

Bits and snatches of conversation drift up to her ears as she rests, and every now and then a few words will make her wonder if people are talking about her. She hears what sounds like "Siren" and "Destiny" from one tete-a-tete'ing couple; "guests" and "Eeee" waft from a different pair. Mostly the chatter mixes together, a murmur of indistinct soft voices. A piercing laugh from a distant spot alerts Elise to the location of Elle von Kelsie, a young poodle with a tendency to giggle in a high, sharp voice that's particularly annoying.

I shall take that as an indication from the First Ones I should really find Lord Dunbarre, thinks Elise as the high pitched giggle causes her to lay her ears against her head. She pushes herself off from the balcony and turns to hobble her way off toward where she thinks he'd be. The garden seems to her the most likely candidate, given that is where most of the other guests are gathered, so she heads there. As she limps, she finds herself made uneasy by the overheard snippets of conversation. She mentally attempts to persuade herself that it is merely her imagination. The nobility have better things to consider than me, she reasons, but still she cannot dismiss the thought entirely.

Elise limps along a path not far from the couple discussing Eeee, and she catches something that sounds distinctly like "bastard" from the poodle facing away from her. Her eye is drawn reflexively, startled by the epithet, in time to see the woman's companion, a husky, give a sharp shake of her head. The poodle glances over her shoulder and quiets immediately.

Elise's eyes remain on the pair for a moment as she continues on her way. They study the pair quietly, considering, and with a momentary intensity that might incline one so watched to feel distinctly uncomfortable. But her gaze does not linger long and she turns her head to resume watching her course and looking for Lord Jean Dunbarre. Bastard? A curse? Or … She shakes her head uneasily.

For as long as she watches them, the two women are quiet, the poodle offering her a nervous smile and a little wave, the husky nodding her head graciously. After Elise is out of earshot of them, as she's looking around for her escort, she finally spots him. Lord Dunbarre stands with Lady von Sedgewick, a middle-aged poodle, and one of the sons of Lord di Medici – Elise can't remember now if he's the oldest or not. They are having an animated and detailed discussion about the plants of the garden, with di Medici and von Sedgewick doing most of the talking. Dunbarre appears delighted to merely listen, occasionally prompting di Medici with a question or two if the conversation lulls.

I am certain Lord Dunbarre is currently bored out of his mind, the lady considers, amused. The idea lightens her spirits enough that she manages to dismiss her apprehension to the degree she feels comfortable in approaching the gathering. As she does, she inclines her head to the group, but does not offer a greeting; since she cannot quite place the son, she would rather not address him incorrectly with Lord Dunbarre as the reason for her invitation.

Di Medici nods to her, hardly pausing in his recitation, which appears to be a list of … something. Elise can't be sure, as he goes on like this" "Procession Lights, Queen's Red, The Queen of Thunder, and – ohh – almost forgot, Precious Love's Kiss – " Although he looks like a grown poodle, Elise can't help but think of a schoolboy, listening to him. Von Sedgewick nods her head to Elise, but avoids her gaze, focusing on di Medici instead.

Only Dunbarre welcomes her enthusiastically. "Ah, there you are, my dear," he says, claiming her hand. "I was just speaking with Lord Alain and Lady von Sedgewick about the gardens – have you met them?" he asks, politely.

The Lady de Bellefeuille allows the lord to take her hand, and smiles at him graciously. The action is only partially devised – indeed she is grateful that someone has shown her a warm welcome. "No," she answers, tilting her head to the side in consideration. "I cannot say that I have had the pleasure. Would you introduce me, Lord Dunbarre?"

Politeness forces di Medici to come to a halt, somewhere in the S's, as Lord Dunbarre says, "Lord Alain di Medici, please allow me to introduce my lovely companion, Lady Elise de Bellefeuille, head of the de Bellefeuille estates and Lieutenant of the Temple. Lady de Bellefeuille, this is Lord Alain di Medici, Lord Medici's second son. And this – " He turns to von Sedgewick. " – is Lady von Sedgewick of Sedgewick Manor. My lady, may I present Lady de Bellefeuille."

Lord Alain takes Elise's hand and executes a passable bow over it, though she can feel his wet nose on her glove when he tries to brush a kiss over the knuckles. Lady von Sedgewick smiles coolly to her. "Thank you, m'lord, but we've met," she replies.

After their greetings, Elise inclines her head, giving a slight curtsey to each as her leg will allow, addressing them in the order Lord Dunbarre addressed them. "Lord Alain de Medici, Lady von Sedgewick," she says as a greeting, and she smiles to them in turn as she does so. Her smile a careful, and she finds its counterpart in the other lady another source of discomfort.

Lord Dunbarre glances between the two women, but if he detects hostility, he doesn't make outward note on it. Instead, he says, "Did you know there are 389 varieties of Rephidim water-blossom, my lady?" to Elise.

"I fear I did not know that," answers Lady de Bellefeuille as her eyes move from the woman to the son of the host.

"398," di Medici corrects. "Where was I, anyway? Silver Tongue Blossom?"

"Quite remarkable. Lord di Medici grows all but eleven of them here," Dunbarre comments. "Lord Alain was showing us some examples and enlightening me on the varieties." He indicates the flower bush beside them, where large white blossoms with nesting petals and purple streaks grow.

Von Sedgewick interjects, "They're beautiful, aren't they? The di Medicis do such a magnificent job with their grounds."

Elise turns her head from the host's son to regard the blossom. "Yes, it is quite lovely," she agrees, and tries to sound mildly intrigued.

Di Medici, distracted from his evident determination to go on listing the remaining fifty-two varieties, says proudly, "These are my favorite, Tears of the Saint. This bush has always been perfect for Ring Day, too, unlike some of the others that just aren't as consistent about their blooms."

"Consistency is one of the most admirable of traits, don't you think, Lord Alain?" von Sedgewick says. Something about her voice rings falsely sweet to Elise's ears.

The Lady de Bellefeuille raises an eyebrow slightly as a attempt to look interested as much as a reaction to von Sedgewick's sweet commentary. In her own opinion, Elise offers, "Consistency is oft a desirable trait, however, is it not through careful selection … nay, variation, that one comes to produce what is worth such consistency? I imagine you have studied the development of your blooms from their originals quite deeply, Lord Alain di Medici."

Di Medici puffs out his chest. "I certainly have! I've developed two of the 398 strains myself: Eldritch Beauty and Vindicta's Touch," he says. "Vindicta's Touch has more purple in it than Tears of the Saint – there's some by the Lilac Gazebo if you'd like a look, but they're not doing too well this season; gardener's over-watered them, I'm sure," he finishes with a scowl.

Lord Dunbarre straightens, having bent to sniff exuberantly at one of the blossoms. "These are glorious," he says, "though nothing to compare with your Touch when she's not being abused by the help, as I recall. Ah – there's Captain Le Guire!" He gestures with a swish of lace to a distant corner of the garden. "Didn't you say you wished to meet him, Lady de Bellefeuille?"

"A terrible shame, that. Some simply do not see the beauty and necessity in even the most common skills and their relation to the maintenance of fine art," offers Lady de Bellefeuille. She turns then to Lord Dunbarre and looks past him to the captain. "It would indeed seem the good Captain is here. Lord di Medici – " She turns to the host's son again. " – would you excuse me? I did say that I wished to meet him and if I do not go to him now, I might well lose him amongst your glorious garden – certainly one can be kept amongst the blooms for days appreciating the fineness of each."

Di Medici nods his head to the comments about the help, but his ears wilt at the prospect of losing his audience. Von Sedgewick comes unexpectedly to their aid, saying, "Well, I shall be delighted to see your Vindicta's Touch, even in her present state. In fact, I was rather hoping for a cutting from one of your plants… "

The young poodle brightens. "If you'll excuse us," he says, forgetting that it was Dunbarre and Elise who asked to be excused first. The nobles exchange polite nods and the two couples separate, Dunbarre offering Elise his arm.

Elise takes Lord Dunbarre's arm as it is offered before offering a curtsey to the host's son. "I bid you great results in your future selection. 'Be careful of impurities that oft disguise themselves as lovely,' would be the advice a humble soldier could think to offer. Adieu," she tells the man. The lady gets a nod, and then Elise turns to walk off with Lord Dunbarre.

A curious expression flicks over Lord Dunbarre's face at Elise's words, then is gone before she can think about it, replaced by his vacuously smiling mask. As they walk together down a garden path, he asks, "How are you feeling, my dear?" Judging by his tone, he has a genuine interest in the answer, rather than merely making small talk.

"I am uneasy," answers Elise bluntly, and quietly enough so she cannot easily be overheard. "I cannot easily help but feel I am being spoken of here. And, Lord Dunbarre, I must confess confusion at your invitation. Certainly I am not the best lady to call upon. I am certain you are aware of the shadow that has fallen over me and mine."

The male poodle guides her to a turn in the path, where high flowery bushes screen out much of the sounds of the party, and a carved bench rests off to one side. He pats her hand where it rests against his arm, reassuringly, and asks, "Would you like to sit down, my dear? I fear your leg must be bothering you."

Elise watches the man for a moment as if trying to judge his intentions. Her expression flicks from searching, to inquiring, and then finally to end at thankful as she eases herself to sit down. "Thank you, my Lord," she says. "And, Lord Dunbarre … no need for the mask with me. I have seen beyond it, and I confess to preferring the man beneath."

Dunbarre retains her hand as Elise settles herself, his palm resting over her knuckles. He remains standing, a smile still on his face. "Shadows pass, my lady," he says. "The sun moves across the heavens, and the dark lengths it creates shift to shade another soul. Have heart, Lady de Bellefeuille. The shadows will be moving on soon, if I am any judge of the matter."

She looks up and once again studies the man, still searching for a crack in his expression – a flaw in whatever facade he might present her now. "So it may be. But still one need not step under the shadows willingly. I ask you again, and I am curious, did someone not incline you to inviting me? I cannot fathom why you would shade yourself so," says the lady.

He props one booted foot on the end of the bench and rests his free hand against his knee. "What? You don't think that my sunny disposition is enough to brighten any corner I may happen upon?" Dunbarre gives her a highly unconvincing hurt look.

Despite herself Elise laughs at that and shakes her head. She lifts her free hand and shakes her finger. "Now, Lord Dunbarre, see here, if you think making me laugh will allow you to dodge the question … "

The man shakes his head, ears drooping. "I know, I am no match for you," he says, feigning dejection. "So I will confess: I was neither bullied nor enticed into extending the invitation. In truth, I have been hoping to snare you for some social occasion for quite a while now, but your busy schedule – stopping evil mages, rescuing sisters, whathaveyou – " One lacey wrist waves about vaguely. " – has made doing so unexpectedly difficult. I was surprised when you accepted my invitation at this time, really."

Again the woman laughs quietly, and this time she is more genuinely amused than the last. "Yes, yes, I was terribly distracted by those mages and what seems to be my curse with the Eeee." Her head cocks to the side and she smiles slightly, and her inquiring search of a gaze eases. "Now, what do you think of that, Lord Dunbarre? That I am so busy, that I am as the rumors say … oh … what is the word?" She rolls her eyes skyward in a look of thought. "Ah yes, bloodthirsty – amongst other things, I am quite sure. There is no end to my many, many faults my Lord." Despite her apparent self-deprecation she smiles all the more and turns her eyes to watch the man quite curiously.

"I am not a man to dwell on a lady's faults," Dunbarre replies, bowing courteously. "Besides, what is fault to a common gossip may be virtue to the Captain-Astromancer. You have been busy demonstrating your loyalty, determination, and faith. Even if I were to look for faults in you, my lady, I would not find them there."

The lady's expression wavers, and for a moment she looks confused. Her smile fades and her head tilts the other direction. "Now I must admit to confusion. I had thought to send you running with the truth, but here you are. Some would urge me to dwell upon my house and wealth but I turn to displaying myself in the worst possible light and … you remain." The woman smiles again, but the expression is more sad than anything. "I am apart form these people, Lord Dunbarre. It was not a place I wished to go but rather a destination that one ends up after certain events. I cannot be an accessory, I cannot walk about these parties and forever smile. I have done it here for you but here is not my place. You understand that through my career and my actions I find my place? You would not change that?"

The nobleman returns her considering look. "I think I know what sort of person you are, my lady," he says. "I worked with you for quite some time, if you'll recall. I'm not the sort to change people, my lady – change their minds occasionally, perhaps, but not what they are. No, I would not try to change you. My one foolhardy attempt has shown me the error of my ways." He winks.

She gives a sigh, and shakes her head a little. "You are intent," Elise says, and her voice rings with disbelief. "I admit it. I do not know what to say to rout you. I had thought what I had was enough, but, no … no … I fear I am losing." Her muzzle wrinkles. "And for once I cannot find fault in losing, as much as I dislike the idea regardless. Oh, very well Lord Dunbarre. If you will accept me for who I am, then … I cannot think to deny you for your masks and your words sweeter than these blooms. I admit to finding myself charmed despite my attempts to cast you away with truth."

Dunbarre blinks a few times. He looks genuinely at a loss for words. After a moment, he bows and says, "Thank you, my lady."

The lady, not knowing what else to do and uncertain of what to say herself, inclines her head to the man. She offers seemingly half in jest, as in a last-ditch attempt to scare him away, "I … am quite crippled, and my hair could be considered shameful?"

He shakes his head a little at her, and smiles. He offers her his arm. "I hope the rest has done you good. Did you truly wish to meet Captain Le Guire? He is not without faults, I am sure, but I expect you'll prefer his conversation to talk of the 398 varieties of Rephidim water-blossom."

Rising, the lady takes the man's arm, and she does so without her usual brief hesitation. "I would be delighted, Lord Dunbarre. And perhaps later, should a dance come I might be inclined to step up to the floor for a single song. I cannot offer more than that – my leg would not allow it – but I … " She smiles slightly, genuinely, and just a little bit uncomfortably. " … I will try. Perhaps we might go and listen upon how my name has been marred as well. I confess I now find it amusing, and owe you thanks for that."