Brigit's Flame, January Week 1 - Starting Over
Phillip pulled back the curtain on the window of his carriage and looked out into the lamp-lit summer night. The carriage had come to a halt about halfway up the manicured and ornately decorated drive of Lord Marwell’s estate. Tonight was to be one of the greatest balls of the season, or so he’d been told. Phillip had paid handsomely to acquire an invitation, so he certainly hoped it would be. “Driver? Why have we stopped?” he called up to the perturbed looking coachman.
“Seems Lord Dalison’s temper needed to get out and stretch its legs again, m’lord. Since he couldn’t flog his horse, or properly berate his driver from inside he has decided to do it on the manor steps,” the coachman replied with some distaste.
Phillip sighed, “I suppose I shall walk from here then. No sense in either of us waiting around. Knowing Lord Dalison, he will be at this for some time yet.”
The driver hopped down, and opened the doors to the intricately carved carriage. Phillip stepped out into the warm night air and smiled to his driver. “Last time he got started, the party was over by the time the wind had gone out of his sails. Turns out the poor servant he was giving an earful was deaf and hadn’t heard a word of it. Old blowhard.” He chuckled, “I shall likely stay until the party has entirely wound itself down. Do what you wish with your evening.”
The coachman smiled and nodded, “Very good m’lord. I’ll see you in a few hours then.” He hopped up onto the carriage and started off, giving a wide berth to the now red-faced Lord Dalison and his carriage.
A gentle summer breeze, carrying the scent of the rose gardens, carried the pompous and irate rantings of the pudgy little lord to Phillip’s ears. “Twenty minutes! You incompetent fool! Here twenty minutes late! What in the world delayed you so long?” he bellowed.
A very beleaguered looking driver stood in front of the lord, “You said you wished to be fashionably late m’lord. And the Madame, she was still…”
“Do you see that coach?” he jabbed a stubby finger in the direction of a coach so heavily gilded Phillip was surprised the four horses in the harnesses could even move it. “Do you see it!? That is Brackenmyer’s coach! Do you know what that means? That means HE was announced before me! I should dock your wages for a month!”
Phillip sighed and cleared his throat as he walked by. “My dear Lord Dalison, if you do not hurry, we shall all be announced before you!”
The lord stopped, his mouth half opened to begin his rant anew, and shot a somewhat abashed glance in Phillip’s direction. “I shall finish this later,” he huffed, and strode off towards the doors.
Phillip rolled his eyes at the departing man, and turned to the driver. “Knowing him, he’ll be so drunk by the end of the night, the only thing he’ll remember is to dock your wages.” He pulled a small coin purse from his belt and tossed it to the driver.
The driver blinked in shock, barely catching the purse before it hit the dirt. “T-thank you m’lord,” he stammered.
Phillip waved him off and smiled, a finger to his lips, gesturing the man to silence. He turned towards the steps, self satisfied, and chuckled inwardly. “Bought that one.” He thought, “Anyone still working for that pompous idiot must be in dire straits indeed.”
He straightened the lace at the wrists of his coat, and sauntered up the stairs towards the golden pool of lamplight on marble, and the waiting servants at the door. They pushed the doors open before him and he stepped into the richly decorated entryway.
Plush carpets, imported from the desert tribes adorned the polished stone floors, and ornate tapestries and paintings lined the walls. All about, servants either stood, waiting stoically, or bustled about from errand to errand, keeping the party’s clockwork well oiled.
He doffed his coat with a bit of a flourish, and handed it to the waiting servant who ushered him to an antechamber, where he could wait to be announced. The chamber was dominated by an enormous gilded mirror, partially as a blatant display of wealth, and partially so the guests could be sure they looked impeccable before they entered in. Phillip shook his head with a chuckle, and checked himself in the mirror. The pale blue suit he wore was of soft silk trimmed with white lace, and finished with a white lace cravat and small pearl cufflinks. His hair was dark brown, bordering on black, just starting to become shot through with sparks of silver. He had spent half the morning trying to train it into somewhat natural looking curls. Now it was pulled back into a loose ponytail, as was the fashion, and secured, strikingly, with a blue silken ribbon.
He closed his eyes a second and took a deep breath, running his hand over his face, smoothing his mustache and goatee. “No, Phillip, you couldn’t be content to sneak around the back alleys in the dark… Nooo, you had to pick a higher sort of clientele,” he thought to himself with a sigh, “Ah well. The rewards are well and good.” He straightened up and lit his brightest smile, trying to make the sparkle reach all the way to his grey-blue eyes. “Time to go strut and crow with the other peacocks.”
The doors before him opened, and a bored and harried looking announcer looked him over expectantly. “Lord Phillip Longstep, Baron of Cloakman’s watch,” Phillip murmured, drawing himself up and grabbing his silver shod cane, before stepping forward.
The man’s voice rang through the hall in clear tones, announcing Phillip's arrival. Instantly the floor below was abuzz with whispers. Phillip smirked as snippets of his exploits reached his ears.
“Savior of the nobility.”
“Put that distasteful guild of thieves in their place.”
“The nerve, blackmailing a Lord!”
“I hear he fought the whole guild off, single handedly while the guard stood there, useless as usual!”
As he descended the stairs, he watched a few of the young, unmarried noble daughters turn an appraising eye on him. He smiled his dazzling smile and put a touch of a swagger in his step. He would make an attempt at winning their favor at some point in the evening. Arriving at their homes as a favored suitor was a lovely way to get a glance at the inside.
“It would seem planting those little embellishments in the mouths of the beggar children earlier today was quite a good investment,” he thought to himself.
At the bottom of the stairs he was met by a small circle of older men. “Oh you must regale us with your heroic tale, Phillip! Come, grab a glass and speak!” one of them prodded, pushing a goblet of wine into Phillip’s hand.
Phillip laughed and launched into a much less embellished, somewhat modest tale of his exploits. Though, he did nothing to deny any of the earlier rumors. Opportunity hung in the air like ripe fruit, just waiting for him to pluck it.
“Seems Lord Dalison’s temper needed to get out and stretch its legs again, m’lord. Since he couldn’t flog his horse, or properly berate his driver from inside he has decided to do it on the manor steps,” the coachman replied with some distaste.
Phillip sighed, “I suppose I shall walk from here then. No sense in either of us waiting around. Knowing Lord Dalison, he will be at this for some time yet.”
The driver hopped down, and opened the doors to the intricately carved carriage. Phillip stepped out into the warm night air and smiled to his driver. “Last time he got started, the party was over by the time the wind had gone out of his sails. Turns out the poor servant he was giving an earful was deaf and hadn’t heard a word of it. Old blowhard.” He chuckled, “I shall likely stay until the party has entirely wound itself down. Do what you wish with your evening.”
The coachman smiled and nodded, “Very good m’lord. I’ll see you in a few hours then.” He hopped up onto the carriage and started off, giving a wide berth to the now red-faced Lord Dalison and his carriage.
A gentle summer breeze, carrying the scent of the rose gardens, carried the pompous and irate rantings of the pudgy little lord to Phillip’s ears. “Twenty minutes! You incompetent fool! Here twenty minutes late! What in the world delayed you so long?” he bellowed.
A very beleaguered looking driver stood in front of the lord, “You said you wished to be fashionably late m’lord. And the Madame, she was still…”
“Do you see that coach?” he jabbed a stubby finger in the direction of a coach so heavily gilded Phillip was surprised the four horses in the harnesses could even move it. “Do you see it!? That is Brackenmyer’s coach! Do you know what that means? That means HE was announced before me! I should dock your wages for a month!”
Phillip sighed and cleared his throat as he walked by. “My dear Lord Dalison, if you do not hurry, we shall all be announced before you!”
The lord stopped, his mouth half opened to begin his rant anew, and shot a somewhat abashed glance in Phillip’s direction. “I shall finish this later,” he huffed, and strode off towards the doors.
Phillip rolled his eyes at the departing man, and turned to the driver. “Knowing him, he’ll be so drunk by the end of the night, the only thing he’ll remember is to dock your wages.” He pulled a small coin purse from his belt and tossed it to the driver.
The driver blinked in shock, barely catching the purse before it hit the dirt. “T-thank you m’lord,” he stammered.
Phillip waved him off and smiled, a finger to his lips, gesturing the man to silence. He turned towards the steps, self satisfied, and chuckled inwardly. “Bought that one.” He thought, “Anyone still working for that pompous idiot must be in dire straits indeed.”
He straightened the lace at the wrists of his coat, and sauntered up the stairs towards the golden pool of lamplight on marble, and the waiting servants at the door. They pushed the doors open before him and he stepped into the richly decorated entryway.
Plush carpets, imported from the desert tribes adorned the polished stone floors, and ornate tapestries and paintings lined the walls. All about, servants either stood, waiting stoically, or bustled about from errand to errand, keeping the party’s clockwork well oiled.
He doffed his coat with a bit of a flourish, and handed it to the waiting servant who ushered him to an antechamber, where he could wait to be announced. The chamber was dominated by an enormous gilded mirror, partially as a blatant display of wealth, and partially so the guests could be sure they looked impeccable before they entered in. Phillip shook his head with a chuckle, and checked himself in the mirror. The pale blue suit he wore was of soft silk trimmed with white lace, and finished with a white lace cravat and small pearl cufflinks. His hair was dark brown, bordering on black, just starting to become shot through with sparks of silver. He had spent half the morning trying to train it into somewhat natural looking curls. Now it was pulled back into a loose ponytail, as was the fashion, and secured, strikingly, with a blue silken ribbon.
He closed his eyes a second and took a deep breath, running his hand over his face, smoothing his mustache and goatee. “No, Phillip, you couldn’t be content to sneak around the back alleys in the dark… Nooo, you had to pick a higher sort of clientele,” he thought to himself with a sigh, “Ah well. The rewards are well and good.” He straightened up and lit his brightest smile, trying to make the sparkle reach all the way to his grey-blue eyes. “Time to go strut and crow with the other peacocks.”
The doors before him opened, and a bored and harried looking announcer looked him over expectantly. “Lord Phillip Longstep, Baron of Cloakman’s watch,” Phillip murmured, drawing himself up and grabbing his silver shod cane, before stepping forward.
The man’s voice rang through the hall in clear tones, announcing Phillip's arrival. Instantly the floor below was abuzz with whispers. Phillip smirked as snippets of his exploits reached his ears.
“Savior of the nobility.”
“Put that distasteful guild of thieves in their place.”
“The nerve, blackmailing a Lord!”
“I hear he fought the whole guild off, single handedly while the guard stood there, useless as usual!”
As he descended the stairs, he watched a few of the young, unmarried noble daughters turn an appraising eye on him. He smiled his dazzling smile and put a touch of a swagger in his step. He would make an attempt at winning their favor at some point in the evening. Arriving at their homes as a favored suitor was a lovely way to get a glance at the inside.
“It would seem planting those little embellishments in the mouths of the beggar children earlier today was quite a good investment,” he thought to himself.
At the bottom of the stairs he was met by a small circle of older men. “Oh you must regale us with your heroic tale, Phillip! Come, grab a glass and speak!” one of them prodded, pushing a goblet of wine into Phillip’s hand.
Phillip laughed and launched into a much less embellished, somewhat modest tale of his exploits. Though, he did nothing to deny any of the earlier rumors. Opportunity hung in the air like ripe fruit, just waiting for him to pluck it.