[so very open] Company

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Being alone in a foreign land was such a lonely place to be. There was no one who even had a slight interest to speak to Briseis, as eager as she was. The women scowled at her for her slight out-of-placedness, and the men seemed naught notice her. So today she would try to have some sort of conversation with someone.
"Lady Briseis, you do look marvelous today. However the Trade Winds have a bit of a bite to them this afternoon; do take your shawl. The scene she stood in was of her suite at the inn, paid in full by her father, and lavishly decorated to say the least. Her sitting chairs were constructed of a deep violet velvet fabric, and the cherry furniture found itself covered almost entirely in beautiful French lace. Briseis' lady-in-waiting, Noelle, had just finished tying her corset. today, she wasn't dressed quite lavishly, she wore her ivory corset and a full matching skirt, and she looked as if she was drenched in cream; she wore only an opal ring and matching earrings to present her place in society. her hair was down and to one side, the firey red in ringlets that played with her left shoulder. As Noelle had advised, she took the robin's egg shawl and draped it over her shoulders and arms, holding it in her elbow joint. "I bid you well, m'lady. your day shall go well i'm sure!" Briseis only smiled, which was quite unlike her. She was often a chatty seventeen year old, but the pressures which had recently been placed on her, and only having Noelle to talk to, were keeping her quiet. A bit of sunshine would help.

Briseis walked from her chamber door and out into the lobby to the in, curtseying to this person and that, complimenting the head chef for the last evening's roast duck, and made a nervous beeline to a an iron table and chairs outside the inn. A servant of the inn brouht her tea, and as he poured she absentmindedly grabbed her stirring spoon and poured the slightest amounts of sugar into her cup, and when it came of a good temperature she began to sip it.

So now she was a sitting duck. Briseis felt her vulnerability, and tried to mask it with a kind, relaxed face. Hopefully, now she could engage herself with someone other than Noelle.

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[Edie]

No. No no no, Jarvis wasn't going to look at or listen to or even acknowledge the slight-as-it-may-be-given-class-and-stature-and-other-sorts-of-societal-poppycock existence of his companion at this delicately wrought table, oh so delicately. Made 'im feel overlarge, like 'is dreams and 'is fae often did, rather much so, and that was exactly what he did not want at this moment. To feel overlarge, that is, to lend any sense of truth to his second in command's—whaddayacallit, when people talk'n'talk'n'talk at each other and can’t seem to hear the other's wordswordswords—argument. To possibly imply he, too, felt t'was a wee bit of a fact that, at six and twenty, he was unsuited to play a shy young lass of thirteen. No, not t'all.

"Look, I'm not trying to say you shouldn't be in the play. That's not it at all. But maybe you could consider a different role? You'd make a wonderful Mercutio—"

"You only say that, Peter," the man enunciated through grit grate grinding teeth, his dark eyes a bit of wide blankness in 'is fury. "Because thou feelst I practic'lly am Mercutio. Concurrence?"

"All right, that could be it," the one called Peter admitted. "I concur, Jarv."

The lead actor leaned way way way back in his insubstantial iron chair, and snapped, "So. So so so what you are telling me in this instant is that I am not, as a matter of fact, a good actor? Seeing as t'is bad actors who find themselves utterly-mentally-inebriated-to-the-point-where-they're unable to portray anywhich role other than one that t'is like their own owness? Their personality, that is? Concurrence?"

"Now, wait a minute—"

"Concurrence?" Jarvis barked, standing up and slim slum slamming his hands down on the here's-hoping-he-wouldn't-break-it-seeing-as-that-t'would-be-both-ridiculous-and-unnecessary-oh-yes-t'would table. "D'you mean to tell me I'm a bad actor, Peter?"

Peter rubbed his eyes in a weary manner, a manner most befitting 'im, seeing as t'was the state of mind'n'body'n'such that the man encountered 'im in most oftenlike. "I mean to tell you that you're unsuited for Juliet, Jarv. Nothing more, nothing less, but t'is my final opinion."

With a shocklikehurtlikegloomlike expression on 'is face, Jarvis wheeled away from his companion, his boots clip clopping like angry little sprites 'gainst the cobblestones as he began to march down the street. Bugger bugger bugger. T'was bad enough they had to even attempt to mount the overwrought 'n' overdone Romeo and Juliet—now Peter was questioning his decisions? Didn't bode well, oh no, not well t'all. Gave a wee bit of implication that the man was displeased with how he was leading the troupe, which in its own turn gave another wee bit of implication that the other players could be feeling the same way. Terrible thing, this implicating business.

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his only-partially-but-certainly-noticeably-given-how-little-he-seemed-to-sleep-these-days bloodshot eyes. Mayhaps t'was best 'e reconsider the casting. Not that he would play Mercutio, god forbid—but the Nurse, oh the Nurse, now she'd always struck 'im as lusty sorta wench. T'was the best way for a wench to be, in his lowly 'n' inexpert 'n' humble opinion. So. So so so in that case, why was he trying to muck 'bout with Juliet? Preposterous little bitch, she was.

Thusly, ever thusly, the actor turned back towards the inn and Peter, dear Peter, all-rational-like-when-his-superior-was-being-a-bloody-ole-fool Peter. Sitting back down at a stillquiteridiculous table, his attentions distracted by the chair shifting on the rather much so indeedy uneven ground, he began, "Forgive me, dearest, seems t'would've been best for me to simply concur with thine opening statement, hmm? After all, t'is widely accepted—"

Which was what was who was? Hard to say, oh most hard to say indeed, given he had not sat back down with Peter, but rather some young lady, lady, lady. Jarvis paused, taking her in with the same 'mount of interest he would show a sprite. A most artificial looking lady, oh yes indeed, the type of illusion he himself tried to achieve on the stage as-a-matter-of-fact-like.

Once the moment passed, he crossed his legs and 'gan to giggle, his large hands covering his mouth with the sorta feminine bashfulness he'd perfected in his oh so many years. "Ahem. Erm. Heh. T'would appear I picked an incorrect table, oh yes it would, eh, lady?"