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High Plains Drifter sits in the shadowy comfort of his carriage, upright upon the cushioned seat, one hand clutched upon the head of his cane. To the outside eye, he has the aspect and manner of a gentleman of this age, the age of steam and industrial innovation, a more cosmopolitan era.

Balding and pale, but with a definite resolution set to his jaw, his eyes concealed behind his smoky spectacles, he might be mistaken for one of the contemporary businessmen, such as railroad tycoon or a wealthy banker. Alas, that he travels alone and nearly destitute proves that he is neither. His departure from New Orleans had been sudden but, as it was, all pertinent matters he had in that city had been resolved. Both of the reasons for his residence in that sprawling, populous city were now dead and the cause of his withdrawal still very much alive, if such could be said of that particular person.

In traveling northward, he had opted to take less traveled routes and, while he had been warned of road robbers, what they would call in the old country as highwaymen, he displayed little fear or concern. It had been more difficult to locate a willing driver to escort him but, with the threat of war looming on the horizon between the Northern States and the South, it had merely been a matter of using what was left of his fortunes to purchase a servant. Giving his name as Edward, the dark colored fellow now manning the reins of the carriage, guiding the horses, had seemed desperate to travel North and his present owner had made an almost undeniable offer; once they had reached their destination, he would set him free. It is not a deception. Slavery is outlawed in the North and, besides, it would only prove an encumbrance for one seeking to begin anew.

High Plains Drifter removes his silver pocketwatch from where it is tucked inside his vest. As is the fashion, beneath his overcoat, the man wears a vest and collared shirt, loose slacks which are tucked into his boots. Clicking the fob with his thumb, he opens the watch to peer at its face. On the inside of the lid, there is the faded picture of a white haired girl. A grim smirk crosses his lips as he glances at her before snapping the watch shut. He draws aside the curtains covering the windows, allowing in a momentary stream of the midday sun. By his estimation, he and Edward should be somewhere in the wilds of Tennessee. Though fairly populated and developed along the great Mississippi River, there were still regions of the state where the trees grow thick and there are miles between farms or settlements. A more cautious man might have opted to take the main road east but he preferred the shortest route possible and that is always a straight line.

Alessandra DuMourier is lurking ahead of them, waiting where the road curves into a small patch of trees. Her body concealed by the long coat she wears as she presses into the shade of the forest. She can already see the carriage ahead of her and in the blink of an eye her long blonde hair is concealed beneath a large hat, at first glance one might mistake this strange woman for a man but that illusion would dissipate over time, her curves although disguised beneath her clothing are still rather noticable if one knows where and how to look for them. The only thing that would ruin the illusion is her soft voice, a strange accent that seems to come from nowhere although hints towards somewhere in the old world. From beneath the concealing hat stare piercing and almost icy blue eyes, at once both beautiful and dangerous. She can hear the horses hooves as they approach and her hand flies to her gun belt, pulling an elegant and shining pistol into her hand. the weapon looks well cared for and almost brand new even if the model is several years old. Just as the carriage comes close she jumps out, her pistol aimed at the head of its driver. "I suggest you do not give me a reason to use this, I doubt you can run fast enough" she growls.

High Plains Drifter replaces his watch as he muses silently to himself. Then he hears the throaty but definitely feminine voice of a woman making her declaration. New Orleans had, in its short centuries of existence, established a reputation for many qualities but crime had certainly been among the most prevalent. Dating back to its time as a haven for French privateers plundering the Caribbean to the present with the various rabble ranging from smugglers to street thieves. Therefore, he is not any stranger to such encounters and, ordinarily, might be inclined to protect his meager possessions with potentially lethal consequences. However, a kind of dark amusement appears to prompt him to smile.

His slave Edward finds the matter more disconcerting and immediately drops the reins and throws up his hands in a manner that strongly suggests a familiarity with these proceedings. Dressed in finer clothes than he could afford on his own but simple rather than elegant, suggesting that his owner had fallen upon hard times, Edward simply watches the woman with wide, white eyes that are starkly contrasted against the deep sepia tone of his skin. [c]

High Plains Drifter leans back on the carriage seat, imagining Edward sitting there, trembling, his feet shifting upon the buckboard. As the tensions between the North and the South grow, trade along the rivers and roads has dwindled and thus there have been far fewer potential victims for an enterprising bandit. Moreover, the highways along the Eastern coast are well patrolled and frequently traveled, making such endeavors more dangerous

. Still, with this Age of Steam has come new possibilities. Even now, there are attempts to construct a transcontinental railroad spanning the country and trains are increasingly becoming the popular mode of transport for those that can afford them while steam powered streetcars are a common sight in major cities. Even more impressive are the great airships, not unlike the marine vessels of only a century before, but fitted with dirigible balloons rather than sails and relying less on the wind and more on the combustion engines that drive them. On a clear day in the more populated areas of the country, long trails of white mist can be watched as they drift across the blue skies.

Outside the carriage, it is nearing sunset, the high hills casting long shadows and a light mist forming around the bases of the trees that give this place what the settlers named as the Great Smoky Mountains. There is, for an instant, nothing but almost complete silence as the woman on horseback levels her pistol on the unarmed Negro driver while someone, likely the slave's master or mistress, cower inside the carriage.

Alessandra DuMourier rolls her eyes, leave it to some southerner to leave their slave to deal with her. She pulled her gun back and slid it into her belt "if you move you'll be dead before your feet hit the ground" she hissed as she circled her horse to the side, the wicked grin on her face leaving no doubts as to her intentions as she pulls open the door. "Pathetic" she spat "I figured I would find someone like you, spoiled beyond belief and more riches than brains, now why don't you hand over some of those riches and I'll let you be on your way, if you'd rather not then i shall simply take my payment through other means". The black horse under her is calm, obviously trained for just such affairs, the womans cold blue eyes levelled on the man in the smoky glasses, one hand twitching over her gun. "The decision of course is yours".

High Plains Drifter merely sits there, neither cowering nor defiant but almost bemused. 'A female bandit,' he says, lowering his spectacles slightly to reveal the gleam of his pale green eyes. His accent is vaguely Southern, with a slight French lilt but still very deep and confident. 'Are you not a rarity. I suppose I must be fortunate to have been victimized by you.' On his hairless scalp, his top hat shift as he regards her much as a parent might their child when caught pilfering cookies from the jar.

'Alas, your luck is not so great as mine, ma cherie. You are robbing one of the least richest men in this entire state, I would wager.' Lashed to the back and top of the carriage are heavy leather cases and a steamer trunk. He points to the ceiling of the cabin with his cane.

'As I do wish to encourage inequality between the sexes and feel you should be rewarded for your enterprise, you may search through my possessions if you like. Just mind the books. Some of them are very old and quite fragile.'

He knows that his luggage contains little more than those tomes to which he referred and much of his wardrobe. It required the last of his loose gold and silver to purchase this journey. As for Federal bills or bonds, those hold little value to him and soon they will be worthless throughout the South. The Confederacy shall print their own money.

Alessandra DuMourier finds something vaguely familiar about the pale green eyes that look back at her but she cannot place it, something seemingly out of sync with her current memories. She shakes it off, if the man has come from New Orleans there is the possibility she has passed him on the street somewhere. She lowers her pistol for a moment, far from sliding it into her belt she simply keeps it in hand but away from him. "Then perhaps you have another form of currency, after all I am not exactly a picky woman but now that i have taken all this time I cannot simply let you walk away without gaining something for myself, certainly you understand".

High Plains Drifter curls his long spidery fingers, tipped with sharp, pointed nails, over each other on the top of his cane as his weathered features remain impassive, though there is a hint of levity in his voice. 'Naturally,' he replies. 'Being a man who has engaged in some larceny in his day, I would hardly consider wasting your valuable time and energy without some reward to show for it. Nevertheless, this carriage is not mine but belongs to another and my servant here is not of especially good labor stock or adequate education, which is why he was purchased so cheaply.'

If Edward can hear his owner's words, he doesn't show any indication, merely remaining ramrod stiff in his seat, fearful that any movement may cause this woman to shoot him. His concerns are understandable as, in the South, a man of his color and race may be killed for the least of provocations, if any. 'Furthermore,' the pale man, whose very presence bears a strange stillness, a disquieting silence and the shadows within the carriage seem content to cluster around him so that only his face and those eyes can be seen.

'I did promise this man that I would liberate him from my servitude upon reaching our destination and I am nothing if not a man of my word, ma cherie. So if you would be so good as to conclude your business as rapidly as necessary. I am without coin or bonds that can be easily traded and my books are only valuable to others of my unusual interests.'

Reaching into his waistcoat, he removes his watch. 'I do have this but it is very valuable to me and I would concern myself solely with its retrieval and avenging myself upon the one who has taken it from me should someone be of such questionable judgment to steal it.' He slowly replaces the watch, all while still keeping his gaze fixed upon the bandit. 'Now, ma cherie, if I may make a counter proposal. Do you truly enjoy robbing random wayfarers on lonely roads? I presume you are alone, unable to trust others in your profession, which is a common hazard in your line of work.'

Alessandra DuMourier cocks an eyebrow as he speaks "I will hear your counter offer I suppose, as I would rather not have to worry about one more person on my trail over something as trifling as a watch. As for your question I rather do enjoy my work but you are right it is a lonely profession, although I do not know what you have to offer that would help with such things". Her blue eyes are sparkling with curiosity as she watches him, her gun had been slipped into her belt as he spoke but her hand still hovered over it, ready to put a bullet in either of the men if she was forced to. She realized that she may have made an error in revealing that she was alone, for it made it clear that she was outnumbered, but judging from how the man's slave was behaving he would pose no threat to her.

Something still nagged in the back of her head, those haunting eyes holding something that she could have sworn she had seen before, but unable to place them to specific recollection of events. "You? Larcenous? funny story coming from the least rich man in the state, even I am smart enough to have my own stores for the coming war should travellers be few and far between".

High Plains Drifter nods as he gestures towards the woman. 'Then tie your horse to the back of the carriage and join me, if you like. I have not much in the way of hospitality but you know these roads better than myself and can guide us to a neutral location where we may discuss business. You have the good fortune to have found me in a less murderous mood than usual. Otherwise this encounter may have been most disagreeable.' He slides his spectacles back up his nose. 'Or, if you prefer, I shall instruct my driver to follow you to some place of your choosing where you shall feel more comfortable. I doubt you intend to lead us into an ambush and more's the pity for you and yours should you make such a foolish attempt, particularly when I am inclined to allow you to expand your operations to something more...ambitious.'

Alessandra DuMourier smiled "you must think me the least cautious woman alive to ask that of me, however I am more than willing to lead you to safe location. As I said previously I am alone and therefore have no ability nor desire to lead you into an ambush. But we should be on our way before it grows darker, I am the least deadly thing on these roads at night I assure you". She turned her horse and allowed it to trot ahead of the carriage, a tip of her hat to the driver showing that she means no harm, at least for now. Strangely she removed her hat, allowing her blonde hair to flow over her shoulders as she led the way, surely a strange sight to any who they would encounter.

High Plains Drifter almost smiles when she mentions being the 'least deadly thing on these roads.' She has unwittingly spoken the truth. He raps his cane against the ceiling of the carriage. 'Follow this woman, Edward, and do not ask questions. You shall not be harmed, this I assure you, and our arrangement stands so long as you obey me.'

Glancing questioningly at the woman, Edward shrugs and takes up the reins, muttering something about being safer back in the swamps but he nevertheless snaps the leather straps and the pair of horses drawing the carriage begin to trail behind the woman in a slow trot.

Of all the times that the woman has enacted this routine, she has had men plead and weep and been threatened by demure ladies wielding hairpins. They have begged, cried or simply handed over their goods as if it were simply another tarriff imposed upon them but never has one so calmly and quietly made an offer. It could be some kind of devious ploy or even a trap, with local lawmen or thief takers even now following them.

Yet there is a sinister air about this man that suggests he himself may not welcome the attentions of the constabulary or at least is not aligned with them. That and if there some deception afoot, this man shall be the first to pay for his treachery.

Alessandra DuMourier has a good sense about these woods and would know instantly if she was being followed by more than just her uncertain guests. She leads them through the forest, the woman and her horse almost vanishing from sight as the darkness closes in, the only thing preventing that is the glint of the soft moonlight over her pale blonde hair.

She leads them into a secluded clearing, the remains of what was most likely the woman's camp visible to any that looked close enough. She led her horse over to the stream that crossed the dry grass and motioned for the man's driver to do the same as she swung off the animal's back. She was much smaller when unhorsed and yet for a woman she was easily considered tall, standing about 5'8''. As she waited for the man's servant to care for his horses she walked over to the remains of a fire and sat down, working to rebuild the flame to stave off the chill. Her hand worked through her hair, brushing the spun gold locks from her face and to any who cared to look the contour of her face was remarkably beautiful and unmarked as she waited for her guests to join her.

High Plains Drifter peers out the window of the carriage, drawing back the curtain to stare through the uncovered opening.

Once the woman stops and dismounts her horse, only then does Edward tug on the reins to bring the vehicle to a halt, responding to the tapping of the cane against the side of the carriage. He waits until Edward leaps down and opens the door for him. The young black man is barely out of boyhood and even slighter of build than the bandit, his overcoat giving him the appearance of greater presence. His master, on the other hand, only becomes more noticeable once he is outside the darkened confines of the carriage.

Tall, nearly two meters in height, but rather thin, his is a regal bearing as he steps out of the cab, his joints audibly crackling. In one bony hand he clutches his cane while he gestures strangely with the other. Not any sooner does he emerge from the carriage than the horses drawing it begins to snort and whicker, evidently discomfited by the pale man.

'Take the beasts to the stream, Edward,' he bids the slave, watching the horses as they continue to complain, seemingly eager to be away from the man's presence. 'Let them water and graze. And keep a close watch on them.' Casually, as if on an evening stroll on some city street, the pale man approaches the dying fire where the woman sits. 'I see your own accommodations are little better than ours. The more I view of your operation, the more appealing I believe my offer shall be. And if you should think that my generosity has anything to do with your sex, ma cherie, I shall inform you that while I am certainly more inclined to be forgiving of the peculiarities of women, I am never the sort to underestimate them. So if you are planning to slit our throats in our sleep, I feel obliged to inform you that you are doomed to fail.'

Pointing at his carriage with his cane, the pale man states, 'I do have some provisions for my driver. Nothing luxurious but if you would like him to prepare a meal for you, that can be arranged.'

Alessandra DuMourier gestured to the saddlebags on her horse "your offer is quite generous but I carry my own supplies, however I am sure you require food as well so please make yourself at home, it may not be much but you're welcome to share it for the night regardless of your offer and we shall part amicably in the morning if that is what either party wishes. As for cutting your throats in your sleep that is far from my method. But your distrust of me is almost admirable, many do in fact underestimate me". As she speaks she has managed to get the fire going and makes a quick snap of her tongue between her teeth to call her horse over. As she speaks with the man she quickly unsaddles the animal and sets her bags on the ground near the fire. "There is plenty of space here and grass and water for our animals, as well you and your man will be safe here, you have my word".

High Plains Drifter nods faintly as he briefly watches Edward holding the reins of the horses as the slave stands at the edge of the stream, letting the animals drink. At this distance from the pale man, they appear to have calmed but the bandit's horse will hesitate to come closer to the fire so long as the stranger stands near it.

He appears to sense this as he steps back several paces, the gloom of the gathering gloaming clinging to him so that his black garments seem to blend in with the encroaching darkness, an effect that some may find unsettling. The highwaywoman's horse certainly does not like the sight of it.

'I seldom underestimate others and when I do so, it is inevitably to my own peril,' the stranger explains, 'but I believe we have reached the juncture at which we exchange pleasantries.' If this man is tense or suspicious as to the woman's intentions, his rigid posture and methodical motions seem to indicate such and yet there is the impression that this is his natural state.

'I am Nicodeme Darque,' the pale man says, the firelight reflected, flickering, upon his glasses, hiding his eyes. 'More than that you need not know at this moment.'

Alessandra DuMourier seemed not to notice the strange behaviour of her horse, or if she did she was merely crediting it to the presence of strangers in their camp. She smiled, the light of the fire between them catching those strange blue eyes again as she bowed. "Alessandra DuMourier, but for the purposes of our business you may call me Alessa if you prefer" she replied before sitting back down "I can see from your horse's reaction that you are either no horseman or simply lack an affinity for the large animals, but that is neither here nor there as I believe we have business to discuss between ourselves".

She rummages through her bags as she waits for his reply, pulling out a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese, cutting off a piece of both for herself before offering the rest to her strange visitor "let it not be said that I am less than honorable with my guests".

High Plains Drifter remains standing as he raises a hand to wave away her offer of refreshment. 'I am a man of delicate constitution and require a very special diet, Mademoiselle Du Mourier,' he replies, the distinctive French accent made more prominent when he speaks her name. 'My driver, however, could doubtlessly benefit from your repast.'

His refusal may reflect mistrust of the woman and perhaps he intends to use his slave to determine whether or not the food is poisoned. Edward, for his part, ties the horses to a stout mangrove tree that hangs over the water's edge, permitting the animals to both graze and drink at their leisure. Then he hurries to the fire and happily partakes of what Alessa offers, though only after a furtive glance at his master, who replies with another slight nod.

Even after Edward has begun to hastily chew and swallow the bread and cheese that she had cut for his master, Darque does not dine with them, remaining at the edge of the guttering illumination cast by the flame. He simply watches.

Around them, the usual nocturnal symphony of crickets, frogs, cicadas and various other dwellers in the dark are silent. Perhaps they are all listening or maybe it is the presence of this pale stranger.

'You may wonder why I have requested this meeting as opposed to simply yielding to you some of my goods. As I mentioned, I have almost nothing that a person such as you would value. You do not appear to be a collector of rare books or merchant of clothing. On the other hand, you seem very capable, if I may be indelicate, as a woman in a rather rough line of work and it has been my experience that women such as yourself are very valuable assets to have. By your very existence, you have proven yourself skilled. This is not your first robbery or you would not have the unwavering confidence you possess, which indicates you are also wise enough to remain at liberty while other, more incautious scoundrels have met with the noose.

As a strong believer in the symmetry and order of destiny, I would suggest fate has placed you in my path, though you are welcome to disagree.'

Alessandra DuMourier listens intently between bites of food. There is something curious about the man in front of her but if the offer he claims to have is good enough, perhaps she will accept. She has however noticed the absence of the usual sounds and is clearly on her guard although she is no longer openly hostile nor does she have her hand over her weapon which bodes well for the stranger.

"You seem to be an intelligent man Master Darque and yet you did not take the safer roads and I find myself wondering whether you are merely incautious as you put it or simply hoping to cross paths with someone of my profession" she leans against her bags as she speaks, her eyes slowly scanning the darkness to the edges of the clearing. "I do not believe in such things as fate, I have my own ideas in that area and preordination does not factor as it implies a supernatural being with some interest in our lives" she explains "however if that is your belief than I am no more entitled to question it than my horse so by all means proceed".

High Plains Drifter is inscrutable, the expression upon his weathered, wrinkled face unchanging.

'Indeed,' he says after a lengthy pause, during which Edward finishes his meal and gets back to his feet, silently returning to check on the horses and artfully minding that business rather than the matters being discussed between his master and the beautiful blonde bandit. 'And a rational educated woman, in this age of wonders, would be mad to believe in such beings as spirits or forces beyond your comprehension that may have, in even subtle ways, altered the course of your existence. Monstrosities of iron race upon rails across this land while vast machines fly in the skies above us. Humanity has become assured of their own lofty position in the universe, so clever are they that they believe they no longer have need of such superstitions.'

There is not scorn or mirth in his voice and it is almost impossible to decipher his tone to determine precisely what position he holds on these topics.

High Plains Drifter adds contemplatively, 'I shall not attempt to dissuade your beliefs for the moment as that is not the reason for my offer. I travel the side roads to avoid tolls, which are much more certain and onerous than the occasional bandit. Your kind lives in desperation for if you had acquired the wealth to live more comfortably, you would no longer be on the road. Therefore, thieves who work independently are far easier to bribe than those who serve the government. Their expectations are far higher and they are accustomed to a higher percentage of gains. Moreover, if a bandit proves troublesome, dispatching him is almost considered a public service but toll takers have the law to reinforce them and I prefer to keep my less savory enterprises private.' His tongue darts out to lick his thin lips.

'So, in a manner of speaking, you are correct. Better to murder a multitude of rogues than take the life of a single lawful man. I need not the scrutiny of the righteously outraged.'

Alessandra DuMourier is unsure how to approach this conversation as it seems to have taken a most interesting turn. She simply gestures for the man to continue, watching him closely for any sign of a threat but making no move to appear as one herself. Her horse has taken off, presumably knowing its way around this area as well as the bandit woman and she shows no concern, knowing perhaps that it will return when she calls. Her eyes shimmer in the glow of the fire as she contemplates his words carefully.

"Which I presume would bring us to the point where I factor in to whatever plan you might have" she remarks, her tone equally concealed behind an even voice "for in my experience if you were going to dispatch me as you say you would have done so a long while ago rather than enjoy the comforts of my camp, unless of course you yourself mean to rob me and make off with whatever I might have stashed here" She is clearly far from a stupid woman to be considering such things but she simply stays where she is, whether out of curiosity as to his offer or the possibly mistaken belief that he is no threat to her.

High Plains Drifter raises an eyebrow. 'Your possessions are of little consequence to me. You, however, are most valuable. I am presently without the necessary funds to continue my objectives. Whereas I am fully capable of more legitimate means to acquire monetary gain, in this present climate I am concerned it would not be as fruitful as I desirable. Moreover, I am less preoccupied with coin than with certain other commodities. I am a very patient man, Mademoiselle du Mourier, but I am also inclined to pursue more expedient methods to get what I want. Perhaps you are beginning to comprehend what I am suggesting.'

Alessandra DuMourier glares at him with a look of murder on her face " a sellsword then! that is what you've come here to ask me for?" It seems he's offended the woman if that is his implication. "I serve no man Master Darque and I have no intention of starting now". In her rage it seems her accent has become clearer, definitely mediterranean with something else, perhaps a hint of Arabic. "However if what youre proposing is a partnership I may be willing to reconsider". It seems the young woman harbors some illwill towards those who would sell their talents for money.

High Plains Drifter is entirely unperturbed by her sudden anger.

'Madamoiselle du Mourier,' he replies blithely, with a hint of condescension in his voice, 'we presently live in a culture that allows a person to own as many of their fellow humans as they can afford to be taught, trained and otherwise tasked in whatever manner that their master might deem fit. Were I to have need of a mercenary, why would I hire one when I could allocate those same funds to actually own them? Might I add, Madamoiselle du Mourier, that you scarcely seem as though you would be inexpensive, even if your skills were for sale, and I am presently a man of limited means. A partnership is precisely what I was inferring; an arrangement of mutual beneficence and acquisition.'

His hand still clutching his cane, Darque takes a step closer towards the fire. 'You are clearly among the best of your chosen profession, being a woman. Simply to be effective and taken seriously, you must have your wiles and your wits about you. With your abilities and my support, you could excel. As it happens, I have need of assistance in a certain venture that would provide us with the necessary tools to begin. Once we have this, the acquisition of capital shall likely follow.'

Alessandra DuMourier backs down from her anger, contemplating this new information. "I must have you know Master Darque I am no fan of the current system, my morality simply abhors the fact that one can own a human being for roughly the price of a horse, I am no stranger to the concept of course but one would think that such things would at least be valued higher than livestock". She paused for a moment to allow him to consider her statement before continuing "however a partnership between us seems the intelligent choice here, at least for as long as it remains mutually beneficial of course, I cannot abide dead weight and will surely cut you loose the moment you become such".

She leaned back once again and sighed "but clearly you have considered your hand in this and knew that such a threat would be made and either willing to take the risk or you simply believe you will remain useful to me". She had the strange habit of toying with a strand of her hair when she was deep in thought and it seemed that habit had taken hold of her now, her tanned fingers working along the golden strands that were unlucky enough to caught in her grasp. "Very well then Master Darque, it seems to me you have yourself a partner in whichever endeavour you are currently engaged in and perhaps in future ones should they be beneficial to me".

High Plains Drifter merely responds, 'Slavery is an institution only slightly less ancient than prostitution and murder. It is simply a tradition of the human condition and humanity shall never be rid of it entirely. It is the fate of the powerless to serve those who possess the authority to control them. It is, to some, an incentive to become stronger so that they never need bow before another while others...'

And here he pauses to gesture in the direction of Edward, his driver, his slave, who has sunk down to the ground beside the tree and is dozing, despite the early spring chill in the air. 'Others are born to be indentured. Not by race or by tribe but by lacking a strength of spirit such as that which you and I possess, Madamoiselle du Mourier.' He stands there, rigid and immobile. 'If at any time our partnership becomes unsatisfactory, it may be dissolved without malice and you may resume stealing from lost travelers in the middle of the wilderness.'His words are colored with faint scorn.

'Yet I sense that you could be far more effective if your talents were allowed to flourish and I intend to provide you with that opportunity. You have your reasons for your doubt but I assure you that my abrupt departure from my previous home necessitated haste and, as such, expenses were a secondary consideration. And before you inquire further, there is not a bounty on my head in that city but rather certain citizens with a distinct dislike for my presence within its borders. The prudent course was to withdraw for there is a much larger world beyond in which I may seek my fortunes and gather the knowledge I seek. As I mentioned, the wealth I covet is not counted in coins but in rarities of far more unique value.' He is as pale as she is tanned, as still as she is fluid. If he is planning any betrayal, there are not any tells to be found in his features or gestures. Everything about him stresses discipline and control.

'I cannot promise you immediate compensation for your troubles. Consider this an investment but I am a man of honor, whether or not you believe this, and I keep my word. You shall no longer need to haunt these lonely highways. I shall arrange far better enrichment and more challenging endeavors as you do not seem like a woman who avoids adventure.'

Alessandra DuMourier nods to him "then consider your offer accepted. Despite our disagreement on certain ideological issues I am sure we can find some way to work peacefully together. I warn you though, should you attempt to betray me we will have a problem and I will not be unwilling to settle it with a bullet embedded in your skull or your chest, whichever suits me at that moment". Her threat is clear but there's a softness to her voice that implies she may in fact hesitate to kill him, possibly only shooting to maim him or otherwise incapacitate. "I doubted greatly that a man of your composure would be the target of bounty hunters but then again one never knows these days with the republic in shambles and threatening to fall apart at the seams at any moment. Rather reminiscent of Rome isn't it Master Darque?" She looked up at him curiously, her question obviously a mere remark on the seemingly looming fall of the country in which they stood rather than a commentary on anything in particular. "But come, tell me more of this business you propose before the night rows too dark as I would assume you hope to continue on your way come morning".

High Plains Drifter removes his top hat from his head, revealing the diamond shaped sigil tattooed on his forehead.'They may yet avert war but there are still profits to be made in the wake of this chaos. I care nothing for politics, such a petty, venal game it is, but I am not adverse to power and while you may not seek it, Mademoiselle du Mourier, I find it almost essential to my goals. I intend to travel to the great cities of the north and by the swiftest means available, rebuild my fortunes. I do still have some small sums of currency available to me, scattered across the eastern provinces of this country. I once traveled them frequently when I was a member of a carnival but the less said about that, the better. What matters now is that I must begin again and I could use a clever, capable and intelligent partner. A woman is always preferable as they have gifts and capabilities that I lack. Far from being the weaker sex, a woman, given the same skills and experience as a man, may simply have a different, often more subtle, approach. This does not limit her use. It rather means that most men do not appreciate the efforts of her cunning. I do not make that mistake.' Replacing his hat on his head, he adds darkly, a guttural growl underscoring his words 'I shall not continue to take your threats lightly if you insist on making them. I am aware of the price of treachery, just as you should be, but if we begin this partnership on a foundation of mistrust than it shall surely fail. Neither of us shall be illuminated among the saints, Mademoiselle du Mourier, but judge me not lest I do the same.

'Perhaps you believe I make this request out of desperation. I do not. I recognize talent when I see it and I am willing to exploit it if it benefits me. It behooves me to ensure that you are equally compensated so you do not feel unappreciated. If you wish to be crude about it, consider this an arrangement of mutual usage. You may use my gifts as I may use yours.' There is nothing suggestive in his tone yet his words could be interpreted that way. Despite his apparent age and obvious strangeness, he is still, more or less, a man.

Edward awakens and quickly clambers to his feet, begging apologies from his master for falling asleep without permission. 'I shall overlook your transgression on this occasion,' Darque answers evenly, 'but I suggest you fetch your quilt and blanket from the carriage so you need not try to rest upon this cold, damp ground.'

By now, a low fog has suffused through the forest, encircling the clearing but its clinging chill is warded away by the still dancing flames. Aside from the crackle of the fire as it consumes the collection of fallen boughs and branches that feed it, there is a lapse of silence.

Alessandra DuMourier looks at him "perhaps you're right, forgive me but you know how such things become necessary in such a line of work as my own". She gestures for him to move closer, not at all offput by the strange interaction between them. "And just what gifts might a woman of my standing offer you besides my gun and my loyalty, at least as long as it benefits me?" It is unclear as to whether she is flirting with him or merely curious and her words could be taken either way depending on his intentions.

She moves over, creating a space beside the fire for him to join her and motions for him to do just that. "If we are going to trust each other then perhaps we should drop the formalities, after all if we are going to be partners we must first at least be friends". She pulled a bottle of wine from her bag and smiled at him "don't tell me you're too fragile to share a drink with your new partner?" she tapped the seal pointedly "still unopened if you're worried I may have drugged it". With that she pulls the cork from the bottle and offers it to him "unless you would prefer I drink first to reassure you that it is in fact untainted?"

Master Darque remains where he stands, hands folded over the top of his cane, which, upon closer examination, actually appear to have some kind of unusual symbols or writing along the length of it. Somehow, it might appear vaguely familiar to Alessa. If she is familiar at all with certain heathen customs in the Caribbean, she may recognize the carvings to be some kind of hoodoo charms, not unlike those many place upon the tombs in New Orleans where frequent flooding dissuades the populace from burying bodies in the soft ground where the rising waters might liberate them from the soil. Perhaps it is a curiosity he obtained in that city, a reminder of his visitations there.

'I do not decline to sit with you or drink out of my own discomfort but in consideration of your own. Never have I developed a taste for wine. I prefer stronger spirits. If you shall allow me, I believe I may yet a small quantity of my favored liquor among my possessions.'

He turns back towards the carriage, passing Edward along the way. The slave cautiously approaches the fire and bows his head, his eyes gazing upward at Alessa.

'Ma'moiselle, may iffin I lay down near the fire?' Edward asks quietly. 'Mastah say he no think you goin' mind but to ask even so.'

In his shivering arms are a ragged woolen blanket and a tattered patchwork quilt. He is not dressed in rags but in light clothing, not enough to prevent the mist from raising goose pimples upon his dark skin.

Alessandra DuMourier nods to him "if it is my comfort you are concerned of Nicodeme you have no need to worry, I would gladly share your company".

She waved Edward off with a kind smile "my home is your home my friend, as meager as it may be, if you wish to drink your own liquor then do so and do not let me stop you". As the darker man approaches her she nods to him, gesturing for him to join them in the warmth of the fire "I do not mind one bit if you join us, the nights here can be damp and the fire will keep away most of the chill. Looking him over she is more than grateful for her own coat which keeps the dampness away and turns to rummage through her bag again, pulling out a large and rather comfortable looking horse blanket. "it seems my furred companion has taken his leave and will have no need of what I acquired for him, perhaps you might get better use from it than a horse anyhow" she says as she offers it to him. " I would hate to see you fall ill from the cold as you don't seem to be as used to it as I am".

Master Darque pauses in mid stride when she uses his first name so casually but he relents for the moment, continuing towards the carriage. 'May they bless you, ma'moiselle,' Edward replies, spreading out his quilt upon the dry ground close to the fire and taking the offered blanket with gratitude in his eyes. 'You so kind, ma'moiselle. Mebbe when morning come, I go find some good things to make a nice stew for you and mebbe if you be kinder, you let me have some too."Though he is still young, Edward moves with weariness of an old man and his voice is leaden.

Master Darque returns with what looks to be a square green bottle in his hand.'This is rum from the southern islands. Antigua, perhaps, or maybe Curacao. I cannot be certain but it is quite strong, I am told.' Studying the bottle for a moment, he walks around the opposite side of the fire from Edward, who begins to sit up until Darque shakes his head slightly. 'Consider this a rather poor token of our burgeoning partnership,' he says as he holds the bottle out towards Alessa. 'This I shall drink with you, Mademoiselle du Mourier. The wine you may share with my driver if you so desire.'

Edward, now laying down under the heavy horse blanket given to him by Alessa, looks up at the woman.

Alessandra DuMourier passes the bottle of wine to Edward with a smile, "now what kind of woman would I be if I didn't share such riches with my guests?" Her question is merely rhetorical of course and she quickly moves on from it "as for what you said earlier Edward it appears the gods have blessed me more than they usually have this night for I have both company and a new adventure set before me". She cautiously accepts a small sip from the bottle in Darque's hand, old habits die hard and such. She swallows it and her soft but ringing laugh pierces the darkness "well my friend, that certainly is strong stuff". She waves him off with a gentle smile "I'll leave such things to stronger men than myself and stick to sharing the wine".

Master Darque nods as Alessa imbibes some of the rum. He is very much aware of its potency.

'Not gods, ma'moiselle,' Edward says cheerfully as he takes the bottle of wine and wipes off the stem with his blanket. 'The spirits. The spirits that-'

He glances over at his master to find the tall, pallid man staring at the slave. Even though Edward cannot see his master's eyes, he can feel them upon them.

'Don' min' my talk, ma'moiselle,' Edward mumbles quickly. 'Thank you mos' kindly for the wine.' Avoiding his master's gaze, the slave takes a heavy swallow from the wine bottle, licking his lips.

'If the rum is not to your liking, Mademoiselle du Mourier,' Darque says quietly, 'then I shall enjoy it all the more.' He takes the bottle back from Alessa and sips from it himself.

'These are the only spirits that we need concern ourselves with this evening,' he adds, giving Edward a sidelong glance as he focuses his attention on Alessa.

'Do you trust that I shall ensure our safety while you rest? You have my word that you shall not be harmed by my hand or that of my servant.'

Alessandra DuMourier smiles, chalking up the man's strange talk to the foreign beliefs of the city of New Orleans and nothing more ominous. "Master Darque you sound as though you expect me to say no. Even I am smart enough to know that had you meant to harm me you have had more than enough opportunities to do so while i was awake. I of course trust you to ensure our safety tonight, but only on the grounds that you allow me to ensure yours during your travels. No sellsword am I but I pledge my gifts to you to ensure you at least reach your destination safely".

Master Darque nods and looks into the flames. 'Then rest well, Mademoiselle du Mourier. My servant shall tend to your needs should you require anything during the night. We may discuss our business further in the morning.' His ornate cane in one hand and the rum in the other, Darque walks back to the carriage and climbs inside, closing the door behind him and drawing the curtain. There is certainly not enough room inside for a man of his height to stretch out but perhaps he is just as comfortable resting while sitting.

In truth, Darque eschews sleep, one among many frailties of which he has little use. He pulls out his pocketwatch and opens it once again, gazing at the portrait of the woman. Aside from some minor differences, the painting resembles the woman he knows now as Alessa. 'So, Xandria,' he murmurs to himself in the sparse light of the single lit candle, 'it seems fate has intended for us to meet again.'