Heading into the bathing facility Jon takes his tattered, and filthy clothing off and throws the ruined garments into the fires that heated the water. Stepping into the soothing hot water, Jon feels his stress and pain melt away. Digging a pad of soap and a wash cloth from a nearby bucket Jon begins the arduous task of cleaning the layers of filth from his body. Jon winces as the soap finds his open wounds, and winces again as he brushes the purple bruises, welts and scrapes that cover his torso and hands. Some time later, Jon sits in the thoroughly cold, murky, brown water wondering how long he's been sitting there. 'I'm finally clean enough to face the outside world again, but some part of me is reluctant to leave this room. If this is just a dream, or some sort of cruel trick I don't know if I'll be able to hold onto my sanity.' Jon thinks to himself. Realizing just how brown the water he is sitting in is, he adds, 'Well one way or another I've got to get out of this disgusting water!'

Getting dressed slowly to account for his injuries, Jon notes that the clothing he was given is made in a similar fashion as his existing clothing, 'Well someone has an eye for detail.' Jon remarks mentally. Once finished Jon exits the chamber to find only the two guards outside the room. Praying that his mind hadn't made the two other people up Jon asks, "Where is the Lady?" Although the two guards don't seem as cocky as they once did, they also don't seem cowed by the ladies presence any longer. Jon flinches as one of the guards reaches toward the table that contains a sealed letter and a cudgel. Jon can't help but breath a sigh of relief when the man picks up the letter instead of the bludgeon, and extends it toward Jon. Taking the letter he breaks the seal with his thumb, assuming that it was from the lady who was here before. If Jon had bothered to check the seal, he would have noticed that it was marked with the Flame of Tar Valon. Reading the note quickly, he folds it carefully and slips it into his pocket.

"Mr. Smythe,

I'm sorry for our abrupt departure, but I am needed urgently elsewhere. I have left instructions with your jailers, and you should have no further trouble with them. All of your belongings should be returned to you, and I have no doubt that not even a copper penny will be missing. I have set you up with a room at The Toothless Gum, stay there as long as you need to to recover from your injuries. I will not be able to check on you for some time, so send word to my sisters if you require anything more.

I wish you a speedy recovery Mr. Smythe,

Lady Catrelle Najiamn"

'Send word to her sisters? How would I know who her sisters are? Or where they live?' Shaking his head, Jon glances up at his previous captors, "My belongings if you please." Jon says with a quick palm up waving gesture. Jon smiles to himself as the guards move to obey, 'They have no idea what she wrote in the letter, and my sudden confidence scares them. This could be fun...' Jon's thoughts trail off as the guards unlock a door, and enter a long room filled with numbered chests. The guards lead him to a chest marked with the number seventeen, and one of them stoops to unlock it as well. After poking around his belongings to make sure everything that should be there was there, Jon decides to press his luck, "Which one of you is going to carry this to the Toothless Gum?", and when one of them opened his mouth to object, Jon simply raised an eyebrow while tapping the letter in his pocket idly with his free hand. The guard closed his mouth, and bent to pick up the heavy chest with a barely audible curse. 'Serves you right you motherless dog' Jon thought at the man fiercely, but on the outside Jon exuded nothing but calm confidence, and a nobles superiority.

Noted. I PMed him the day I last messaged here. We shall see. Thanks.

Actually, I totally agree with both of you upon re-reading the second thread. I mis-remembered how far along in that thread things had progressed before Zander stopped responding. Is he still active on site? If not, is it possible to have someone plot related finish the spar that we all know is coming?

After I settle this thread, I'll be more than happy to figure out another thread to bump Weapon Score up with you Kathleen. Thanks guys, glad to be back.

Jon sits back on the rough wooden bench, staring into the blackness of the cell around him. 'How did I ever end up here?' Jon thinks to himself for the millionth time. 'I was at the haus. Kitten came in shouting about bloody murder. Guardsman asking questions.' His thoughts spin out into a whirling cloud once again. 'What's happening to me? I can't seem to think straight.' Jon stretches out his arm and brushes his fingers against the thick wooden planks that make up the far wall just a few feet away. He then sits up without slouching and his hair brushes the low ceiling, and he knows that if he reaches to the sides the rough hewn stone walls will greet his fingers well before he fully extends his arms. Jon's stomach rumbles, and the abrupt sound startles him in the intense quiet of his cell. 'Soon the flap on the bottom of the door will lift and another bowl of gruel will slide into the room, tasteless mush.' The thought of eating reminds Jon of the low open-topped tray he gets to use as a bathroom, and he curses to himself. Starting himself once more with the noise that is his own voice. 'Is that what I sound like now?'

Jon's thoughts tumble around incoherently until the expected heavy footfalls of the guards interrupt them. Abruptly the world is filled with light as the door is thrown back. Having not seen light in some time, Jon wraps his arms around his head protectively, both to protect his vision, and because he remembered the beating he received the last time the guards stormed his room. They came because he wouldn't be quiet about being innocent, and demanding to be let out. After a full minute of apprehension Jon slowly lowers his arms, tonguing his split lip from the beating. In the relative brightness of the two torches the guards are carrying, Jon's eyes protest and he blinks repeatedly trying to let them adjust to the light. When they finally do adjust Jon is confused, the two guards carrying torches are trying to stay as far from the third person near the room as possible. 'This doesn't make any sense! Why would men willing to beat someone half to death be afraid of a woman?' She is short, even for a woman, but somehow her presence reaches into the tiny cubical. She isn't beautiful, although she isn't ugly by any means. Handsome might best describe her. She's dressed in finery, but of no particular style. There is a circle of gold around one of her fingers, but Jon can't make out and details with his over-stimulated eyes. Another man stands behind the woman, his presence barely registering in Jon's mind even though this man radiates deadly violence while he casually leans against the wall in the hall outside. His hard eyes alternate between boring holes in the two guards.

"Mr. Smythe, you are free to leave this place. Your involvement at the Haus of Three has been cleared up. Do you require healing?" She asks while leaning into the room. Jon's mind is still a little flighty, and all he can think to say is, "Even you have to duck to enter here, you would think they would have made the ceilings a little higher" Jon smiles his best smile, and winces as his split lip cracks open again. Sliding off the bench, Jon waddles as best he can in a deep crouch to exit the room. The lady moves back to make room for him, and a glance at the guards has them scurry to light the way out of the dungeon. Jon manages to stand without assistance, but each vertebra in his back cracks loudly as he straightens up.Following the guards, Jon still doesn't really understand what is happening, or why. He also doesn't care. Jon has no idea how long he was stuck in that box, and being able to stand up straight and move unhindered is the greatest blessing imaginable right now.

The lady and her man-at-arms walk slower than the the guards speaking to softly for Jon to hear. Jon doesn't want to walk any faster in case the guards ahead turn on him again, and he wants to give the lady her privacy - so he maintains a pace to stay exactly between the two groups. After walking down a long corridor filled with too short doors, they reach a normal sized, iron bound door. The guards pull out a ring of keys and quickly find the correct one to unlock the door. Inside is a guard station with a half played game of cards on the table, 'Whomever was playing that hand is going to loose' Jon thinks idly as he passes through the room. It isn't until the lady's man at arms presses a new outfit into Jon's hands, and gestures into a bathing facility that Jon starts to realize what's happening. "I'm free now?" Jon asks confused. "I'm free to leave this place she said, she wouldn't jest about something like that would she?" Jon asks the man enthusiastically. When he shakes his head, Jon smiles again, and this time he doesn't even notice the pain of his lip splitting back open.

So after much waiting, and otherwise being incredibly busy in the real world, I'm making a come back here on Dragon Mount. Did I end up getting that second bump to my Weapon Score Mystica?

Yey! Welcome back Faun!

I'm still around, but the girls seem to have vanished

Jon's jaw clicks from the force of the yawn that leaves his mouth gaping. With his eyes half closed, Jon nods slowly, "I think that might be for the best too." Setting his quarterstaff against the courtyard fence, Jon turns back to Gaman, "Thank you for all the work you're doing. I really am learning a lot of useful techniques. Rest well, we will resume again tomorrow morning?" Jon nods when Gaman confirms that training will continue in the morning, before heading to the house to fall into a sleeping heap.

With the sun just peeking over the horizon Jon crawls out of bed, quite stiff and sore again, 'I really must remember to stretch before bed.' Jon thinks with a groan. Setting thoughts to motion Jon stretches out his sore muscles, and limbers up each muscle group in turn. Once he's able to move easily once again, Jon works though his morning routine quickly so he can make it to training on time. Stuffing a hunk of freshly baked bread into his mouth on the way out the door, Jon tears off a chunk as he walks to the courtyard that has become his training ring, popping the last piece into his mouth as Gaman's staff falls to the ground with a clatter.

Jon jerked back in surprise as Gaman armed himself without stooping to pick up the weapon, "That's a good trick." Jon adds with a smile, "I will practice it well." Gathering his own staff, with much less pizzazz, Jon returns where Gaman is waiting. The lessons begin and Jon enters into a now familiar routine of being shown a technique, and then being made to repeat the motions until they are ingrained into memory. Jon beamed when Gaman told him that he had learned enough to get by in only three days of training. 'I can't believe I've done so well. I will have to keep practicing every day though' Jon surprised himself when he didn't add a mental groan to that. He was looking forward to practicing with his staff.

When Gaman took up a defensive stance, Jon assumed the same, and he easily parried the first thrust, as well as the knee level attack. Not expecting the attack combination to continue, Jon was surprised by the third strike. He saw the hacking downward strike coming just in time, but was a little slow to react only just barely defending the strike in time. Slowing the attacks down really helped Jon see how the attacks flowed into one another, next time he wouldn't be surprised. Working through the other combinations was interesting, and fun. The way the staff seemed to flow into other attack and defense routines felt right somehow. Jon's face smoothed to blankness at the mention of his penalty, 'Finally! I hate having punishments hanging over my head, waiting for them to spring up and ruin my fun!' Jon thought as he listened to his penalty intently. Nodding, Jon said, "As you wish Gaman, I will practice often. I won't promise that it will be every day, but I won't allow the skills you have instructed me in to grow lax either. You have my word on it." Extending his hand as if to close the deal, Jon really showed that he was a merchant's son.

When Gaman stopped Jon's practice with an, "Alright, let's see what you've learned!" Jon got excited. The sparring was the most fun part of all this practice, even if it meant painful bruises the next day. Jon also felt that he learned the most about fighting with the staff when the basic forms are taken in the context of a fight. In combat bodies are moving, not standing in the stale positions that teaching necessitates. Learning to read the turning of an ankle, and knowing that the means an downward strike is coming is far more helpful then standing in a certain way.

Smiling Jon said, "Thank you Gaman. I will keep up the practice. In a few years time perhaps we will run into one another. Then we will see how much I've progressed. I suspect that my father will hire other teachers along the way, so perhaps I will at least land a hit on you next time." Jon thought about questions for a moment before asking, "I have only one question, where will you go now?"

Jon Smithe

(The books are spinning around the Dragon. Look to a staff who plays with another kind of dragon born on all hallows eve. The letter is E.)

Jon nodded when Zander suggested sparing, tightening his grip on his staff. He immediately loosened his grip back to the way Gaman had shown him to make ready for the coming bout. Jon raised his staff in the high guard position to block the incoming attack, but he noticed Zander's eyes glance to his feet for a split second. Too late to do anything about the attack, Zander's foot caught him behind the knee knocking off his feet. Jon landed hard on his back, air blasted out of his lungs. Jon rolled to the side away from Zander, using the butt end of his staff to help get back to his feet. Jon dropped his defensive stance when he saw Zander standing at his ease off to one side.

Jon first looked startled at Zander's foul language, then he only looked confused when Zander explained the importance of footwork, so he asked, "Zander, what is a Troll-ack?" Jon waited, hoping Zander would answer. He seemed to be preparing an answer, but he only offered more instructions at first. Jon followed those instructions, wondering how standing on one foot would help his battle prowess. Waiting, standing there on one foot, and then another Jon simply waited for Zander to either offer more instructions, attack him again, or explain more about Trollics.

Somehow I missed your response Mystica. Better late than never?

I've begun a thread with Zander to help buff up Jon's Weapon Score further. I think my first thread linked above has already met the 10 paragraph requirement to go from WS1 to WS2. It's not completed, but I don't see how further posting will hurt the chances of a WS bump. :-D

Link to Second Thread

Jon watched his trainer approach, taking note of how the man moved. He moved like a soldier, a man who knows his abilities, and who knows how to defend himself. He is also a bit of a jerk, "Alright boy I am Sgt Zander Cross but you can call me Zander. I assume your the boy for the training?" He shot the words out in rapid succession, with barely enough time to register what he had said before he was saying something else. Jon began to offer an introduction, "Yes Zander, my name is-" but Zander cut in, interrupting him, "It doesn't matter what your name is boy. Once you show me some promise I'll call you by your name." Jon nodded, accepting the roughness from the Sargent. Then he began his entire routine again from the beginning. Basic attacks, basic blocks, combinations, footwork, and a little reach work near the end. Jon finished up with a few of his own routines, still hoping what he came up with would work in a real combat situation.

As Jon worked on his forms, whenever he put a little extra power behind a strike he would grunt out a word, "My" "Name" "Is" "Jon." "Nice" "To" "Meet" "You." To get all the words from the sentences out took a couple minutes. Unless you were paying attention, you might have missed that the grunts were actually words, let alone that the words formed sentences. When he started to run out of material to show his new trainer, Jon dropped into a defensive stance to see what Zander would do. Also, to see if he caught that Jon had slipped in an introduction anyway.

Jon nodded when Gaman said that they were done for the day, his body exhausted. Jon turned toward his home, but stopped after a few steps, and turned back, "You mentioned a penalty for my earlier outburst?" 'I think he forgot, I should have left it alone' Jon thought with a mental sigh. Jon didn't know if it was the progress he had shown, or how tired he looked that made Gaman say, "The penalty will keep until tomorrow, off with you now." Although Jon wasn't a fan of looming punishments, he was simply too tired to care at this point. Heading inside to get cleaned up, Jon stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked mournfully at the flight of steps in front of him, 'I wonder if they will notice if I just pass out in front of the hearth down here?' Taking a deep breath, and sighing loudly Jon began trudging up the steps to his room. After a brief wash, and a change of clothes Jon leaned back on his bed and immediately fell asleep. He had meant to change and head back downstairs to eat, but he never realized before just how many steps his family estates had.

__________ The Next Day __________

Jon woke to a dull pain in his everywhere, his body stiff and sore from his staff work the day prior. His belly ached most of all, and he realized when his stomach growled like thunder that he had not eaten much yesterday. Forcing his body into action Jon grudgingly went through his morning routine. Once he finally made his way downstairs, he went straight for the kitchen where he found a wrapped lunch, and a hot breakfast waiting for him. Sticking out of wrapped lunch Jon found a note, that read, "If the young Master will not come in for lunch, then let him bring lunch out with him." Jon smiled, and wrote on the back, "THANK-YOU!" Leaving the note on the counter where he found the lunch. After eating his breakfast, Jon polished off half a loaf of bread lathered in fresh butter before heading out to meet Gaman in the courtyard.

As Jon limped his way toward the courtyard he realized that the muscles he had used the most this morning hurt the least. Pausing, Jon did a few simple stretches, and the pain in those muscles lessened somewhat. Glancing up at the sky Jon saw that he had enough time to work out some of his kinks, and so he went muscle by muscle stretching thoroughly. When finished Jon walked to the courtyard, his body feeling considerably better than when he first woke up. Jon decided right then and there, that stretching would become a part of his daily routine.

Jon arrived at the courtyard a little early for his training, and found Gaman standing there waiting for him. 'I think he slept in the stables again, I will have to speak to my father about our house's hospitality. This man must think we're poor to only offer him a place in the stables to rest his head.' Jon thought. Without preamble Gaman started into the days instruction, and Jon was excited to try out the techniques he had learned the day before, even if only in a mock half speed battle. Jon raised his staff and set his hands, and his stance the way Gaman had shown him the day before. Advancing slowly in his guard stance Jon opened the bout with an upward cut, automatically dropping back into a guard stance to prepare for a counterattack. Gaman didn't advance, so Jon moved in again with a thrust - downward cut just like he had practiced repeatedly the afternoon prior. Jon realized that it would be stupid to use the same attack progressions, in the same way as he had learned them so he switched it up, choosing whatever attack option felt right. Gaman stayed on purely defense, and Jon stopped dropping back into a guard stance between each attack, although he was careful to keep his defense prepared in case Gaman decided to take the offensive. Which moments later Jon was very glad for, as Gaman slowly entered the combat with a few attacks of his own, clearly not pressing so Jon could get the feel for defense too. After things settled into a nice rhythm Gaman started pressing his attacks one after another, forcing Jon onto the defensive with only a few freezes to correct matters of bad form. After a time Jon realized that he was breathing hard, and their half pace had become nearly full pace, the CLACK CLACK CLACK of their staffs colliding was rhythmic music to Jon's ears.

After Gaman stopped the battle, he began teaching Jon about the range of a quarterstaff. Jon paid close attention, and when instructed Jon went through the basic attack techniques while holding the staff by the end, and the balance felt awful. Thinking about it Jon could see a reason or two to fight like that, but for the most part he would prefer holding the weapon nearer to the center. The lessons continued onto spinning the weapon, which Jon thought looked fun. Again once instructed Jon began spinning his own staff, and promptly dropped it. A few pointers from Gaman and the staff was spinning again. Without realizing it the entire day had gone by, when Gaman called the day's training to a close Jon reluctantly asked, "About that penalty?"

Jon Smythe

Thirteen year old Jon Smythe woke before dawn, his friends trick of drinking a lot of water before bed worked perfectly yet again. Dashing to his chamber pot Jon relives himself, and then gets dressed for his morning exercise. Jon stretches each muscle carefully, holding each stretch for at least twenty seconds. Since he had started stretching in the morning a year ago, Jon can now touch his forehead to his knees, and place his hands flat on the floor beside his feet. Once Jon is limbered up he creeps out of his house like a shadow, careful not to wake his family or the house staff. Jogging down the lane way which leads to his family estates, Jon maintains a steady pace until he reaches the main road. Here Jon uses a low hanging tree branch to do fifty chin ups, then sprints as far up the lane way as he can before his lungs, and legs give out. "Half" *huff* "way" *huff* "finally." Jon sputters between heaving breaths. 'One of these days I will be able to run all the way back to my house without stopping.' Jon thinks to himself with determination

Finishing the journey back to his house at a walk so he can regain his breath, Jon thinks about what his Father had said yesterday at dinner, "Tomorrow you will train with the quarterstaff again, this time with a soldier. He won't be near as forgiving as Gaman was." Jon simply gulped, "Yes Father." as his reply. He had spent the evening going over everything that Gaman had taught him, from holding the staff, onto stances, through basic defensive posture, and lastly onto basic attack progressions. Jon had kept up his staff work, maybe not as regularly as he should have, but he had kept in practice. Mostly Jon had been focusing on developing his body, not to be the strongest or the fastest, but simply to be able to keep up with his father or his guards. It seems that later today he would find out from a real soldier how well he could keep up.

Circling around the house Jon collects his staff from the back porch, and moves out into the courtyard. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his mind, and focus himself Jon began moving through the staff forms Gaman had taught him just over a year ago. Jon moves through the familiar forms quickly, but carefully, making sure that each form is correct before moving on. After about twenty minutes Jon leaves the basics that Gaman had taught him, and enters into some of his own forms. The forms he created by thinking up ways people trying to rob a merchant might attack. He parries sword slashes, and sweeps away dagger thrusts. Anyone who truly knew what they were doing with a staff would call these forms primitive, or clumsy, but without a trainer after Gaman, Jon tried his best. 'I just hope I only have to fine tune these made up forms, and not have to relearn new ones from scratch.' Jon thought with a sigh as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Heading inside Jon changes out of one set of practice clothing, washes away the sweat and grime from his morning exercise, and then puts on a second set of practice clothing. After he's all cleaned up, Jon heads downstairs for some much needed breakfast, double helpings of everything the staff sets before him. When his father came in, he joked, "I swear boy, you're going to eat us out of house and home!" The family gathered and ate breakfast together, chatting away familiarly. After breakfast Jon collected his staff and headed out into the courtyard again to wait for his new instructor.

Allow me to be the first to say "The cake is a lie!"

Jon nods solemnly when he hears of a possible penalty, but accepts that Gaman's penalty probably tastes better than his mother's sheeps tongue concoction. Jon moves his feet to match Gaman as he shows him each new form, copying his instructor to the best of his ability. Although he still makes many mistakes, few of them are repeated more than twice. Jon was happy when Gaman moved on to new material, hoping that Gaman had accepted him as proficient enough with the old to continue. With the offensive techniques where most boys would be overeager, Jon was reserved. Any attack meant for stunning or disabling an opponent he did just fine, but when attacks were taught that could truly hurt someone, maybe even kill them if used incorrectly Jon was hesitant.

The forms were really not that difficult for Jon to learn, and it usually took no more than three repetitions before he got a nod from Gaman. In forms that were similar to ones he had already practiced, it would only take two repetitions. Again, and again however Jon kept making mistakes on lethal attacks, or completely blowing counter strikes that could cause injury. Often times repeatedly making the same mistakes, even though he was trying to do well and prove himself capable.

Guard - upward cut - guard - thrust - downward cut.

Guard - upward cut - guard - thrust - downward cut.

Guard - upward cut - guard - thrust - downward cut.

Again and again Jon repeated the motions All the while waiting for Gaman to switch him to something new, or to tell him what his penalty was going to be. Over and over, guard - upward cut - guard - thrust - downward cut. At first Jon thought he wasn't going through the motions correctly, later he began to think that this endless repetition was going to be his penalty. Regardless of the reason, Jon would do these motions until Gaman told him to stop, or he passed out from exhaustion. That's when Jon realized that he really hated sheepstongue root.

Jon Smythe

Jon tried his best to keep the sea of men from Kitten, loosing her hand to take a firmer hold on his staff. With a firm grip on his weapon, Jon used it to hold the crowd back, pushing with all his strength he managed to create a small corridor and smiled as Kitten escaped the milling mass through it. After that Jon just let the crowd envelop him, and simply moved with the flow of the crowd until he made it to the outside. Unfortunately, this left him on the opposite side of the room from the three sisters. Jon nodded when someone finally took charge of the group, shouted orders rang out and the crowd began to disperse as the men when about following their orders. Jon's first reaction to Jodelle was amusement, but this merchant side kicked in, and he immediately understood her concerns.

Watching the three sisters from across the room, Jon reflected on what had changed in the last twenty four hours. He had come here to enter a business arrangement with the Haus, and through the party build his network of contacts beyond the tight knit group he had from his family's business dealings. He had partially achieved the first, and far surpassed the second. 'I met a fellow all the way from Tear last night! If he supplies the horses he promised, I can trade those with the Andoran noblewoman, who will in turn...' Jon's thoughts circle as one trade leads to another, and each step of the way Jon makes a tidy profit. Now however, Jon feels connected to this place, well maybe not the place so much... Jon smiles at Kitten across the room, standing there talking to the man that took charge of the group.

A guardsman moved to block out Jon's view of Kitten, and asked, "What is your name? Are you a member of the staff or a guest? Were you here last night?" Jon was a little annoyed that the guardsman had interrupted his thoughts, but wanted to help in whatever way he could, "My name is Jon Smythe, my family has estates north of the city. I was a personal guess of Emmeline Belrose at the party last night. You may know her as Kitten, I believe she goes by that nick name most of the time." Jon moved the conversation over to a table, which by happenstance had a view of Kitten sitting in the far corner of the room. The questions kept coming, and Jon answered them quickly, hoping that the guard would be satisfied and move on. Jon explained with some detail that his location could be accounted for by witnesses throughout the evening, he even had someone located outside the room he slept in last night. He caught Kitten's eye across the room, and was surprised to see confusion and doubt play across her face. The emotions were quickly hidden, but Jon started to wonder what that man was asking her about. The questioning ended a short time later, and the guardsman moved off to question someone else. Jon sat back trying to regain his train of thought from before.

Just as Jon managed to get his trading narrative back on track he was interrupted once again, this time by the man that was speaking with Kitten. "Jon Smithe?" The man asked, clearly already knowing the answer. "I would like to ask you a few questions" he added without waiting for Jon to confirm his identity. Jon gestured to the chair across from him, and the man took a seat, "What brings you to the Haus of Three Master Smithe?" The man asked without preamble. "Business." Jon replied simply.

"What kind of business?"

"I'm a merchant and a trader, although I fail to see the connection between my business affairs and your investigation. Am I a suspect?"

"Everyone and anyone who was here last night is a suspect Master Smithe, but these are just routine questions."

"Does this mean that you're about to ask me the same questions that fellow asked?" Jon inquired, gesturing to the guardsman he had spoken with.

"Possibly some. Let us begin, and we shall see. Did you see anything suspicious last night Master Smithe?"

"Nothing of note. I attended the party as Kitten's date. Throughout the night I spoke to dozens of people, including Kitten's sisters. Eventually I retired to my room. Kitten later joined me shortly thereafter, and we spent the night in her room. Before you can jump to any conclusions, nothing inappropriate happened throughout the night. She was in no state for such things. Margo stood guard outside Kitten's room, you can verify with her." Jon was surprised at how candid he was being with this man, but he always tried to help out local law enforcement where he could. A well placed guard has saved more than one merchants goods, or their lives depending on the villain. The man made a noise that could have meant anything, and asked a dozen or so more questions before excusing himself. Once the man had left Jon recounted everything he had said, looking at each word from every angle to see if this man could twist something he said to make it fit his suspicions. Jon had witnesses to his location for virtually the entire evening, and so he wasn't worried.

Now that he felt better about the entire situation Jon went back to planning his trades, running through his mind everyone he met the night prior, and what they had hinted at or outright promised. Sorting through the information took a while, and he noted that he would have to hit the road to firm up some details after this murder investigation was completed. Although Jon was planning on leaving tomorrow, that investigator would assume guilt if Jon tried to leave. Jon made a mental note to send a messenger to his client to let them know that he wouldn't make their meeting. Although business picked up once the gathered men had left, Jon wasn't really in the mood for company. Trudging up the stairs, Jon collapsed into his bed fully dressed. "Maybe tomorrow will be a better day." Jon said to the empty room.

Jon Smythe

Jon held Kitten upright with one hand behind her shoulders, while the other held the water glass. When Kitten began those terrible shaking sobs, Jon pulled her close turning her so she could bury her face in his chest. After nearly a minute Kittens sobs subsided somewhat, and she leaned heavily upon Jon to stand before calling for Margo. "Call the city guard, and all the men in the village. There's been a disastrous crime, and this is no place for Jodelle, Sapphira nor I." She said, shocking the onlooking crowd of servants, friends and family. Although the crowd exploded in a fury of questions, Kitten ignored them. Kitten grabbed onto Jon's hand like a life line, and she directed the couple toward the stairs with gentle pressure with her hand.

Once inside Kitten's room, Kitten headed toward the wash basin. Jon picked up the wash cloth from beside the basin while Kitten filled the basin with water from the matching pitcher. Jon insisted on cleaning, and tending to Kitten's remaining wounds. Kitten tried to protest that she could do it herself, but Jon cut her off with a curt, "This isn't the first time I've cleaned you up, now sit down and hold still." Although his voice held that no nonsense tone, Kitten could also easily hear the undertones of concern. Match those undertones with the mixture of sadness and caring in his blue eyes, and Kitten had no choice but to relent. That or literally fight him off. With a remarkably gentle touch, Jon had her face clear of mud in short order revealing the bruise that would only show up more as the day progressed. Once Jon was satisfied that her wounds were tended, he handed her a towel to dry herself off, and sat back to listen to her story.

Distracted by her story, and her actions to prepare herself, Kitten would still have noticed that Jon turned his back when she began to strip down. She may not have consciously taken notice of that fact right now, but at some point the oddity of him turning his back on someone he's slept with will strike her. Jon remained quiet during the story, but had to restrain himself constantly from rushing to her side and enveloping her in a protective embrace. To reassure her, that he was here and as long as he was by her side she was safe. Again the thought crosses Jon's mind, 'How is it that I'm so attached to this woman?' When she is finished redressing, and her story comes to a close Jon goes to her immediately, his arms encircling her completely. "You did the right thing getting back here as fast as you did. I'm not going to tell you that it's okay, because nothing is okay about this situation, I am here for you in whatever capacity you require." Jon doesn't think his assurance will amount to much with Kitten after this morning, but he can't help himself. When Kitten appears ready to go downstairs, Jon says, "Before we go down, I would like to collect my walking staff from my room." Jon offers Kitten his arm, not willing to even go so far as his room without her by his side at a time like this. Holding his staff in one hand, and Kitten's hand in the other Jon and Kitten make their way downstairs.

As the couple descended the stairs, a jumble of questioning voices could be heard. One voice talking over another voice in a cacophonous uproar. Although a couple of the local guardsmen were attempting to establish some order, only those closest to them seemed to be listening to their shouts. The room began to quiet as a few people nearest to the stairs noticed Kitten descend. Within a few moments the entire group had quieted, and everybody had turned their attention to Kitten, "My name is Emmeline Belrose and there is a murderer among us." She announced, shattering the silence into pandemonium.

Jon Smythe

Jon smiled at hearing that he might still be able to save his adventure today, "In that case let's get started!" Jon replied enthusiastically. Jon watched Gaman closely when he was showing how to hold the staff, already shifting his grip from the double fists he had been holding the staff with to this new way. Jon nodded again and again as Gaman gave what seemed like common sense lessons, 'Try not to let your grip get too loose, otherwise the staff might slip. No kidding! Here I thought I was just going to hold the weapon with my pinkies!' Jon thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 'When is this going to get to something usef...' *crack* *crack* *crack* Jon didn't have time to react until after the blows were struck, and his reaction was... colourful. "Mothers milk in a cup man! Warn a fellow before you crack his knuckles will you?" Jon said while shaking his hand vigorously, trying to shake off the pain. It really didn't hurt that much, it was more the surprise of the hit than anything else that made him react. It took Jon a moment to realize what he had said. Eyes wide, Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times unable to form words, a crimson flood heating his face for the second time today. "I'm sorry Gaman. My language was unacceptable. You hear things when you spend a good deal of your time traveling with wagon drivers and guards." The apology was heart felt, and the explanation wasn't given as an excuse. "I would truly appreciate it if my parents didn't find out about what I said Gaman, they have a vile vial of sheepstongue root for just such an occasion." Jon's face scrunches up when he mentions the sheepstongue.

Seeing the disapproval on Gaman's face, and not being sure if it was for his language or his staff form, Jon adds, "I really do want to learn. This training may one day save my life. I understand that, and will strive to do my very best." Although hint's that Jon wasn't taking this training seriously may have been spotted by a careful observer before, those hints are completely gone now. Jon seems focused, and ready to learn. "Can we continue?"

With his thoughts spiraling out of control, Jon didn't realize just how much time had past since breakfast. It was startled when his stomach loudly grumbled out a protest around high sun. Jon shook his head to clear his mind, and headed downstairs to get something to eat. Two steps outside his door he saw the entire female staff dancing in their small clothes, and promptly turned back into his room. 'A glass of water will have to tide me over. It will do me some good since it's abruptly so hot in here...' Jon thought while filling a glass from a matching pitcher. Draining the glass, and then filling it a second time. Jon resumed his pacing.

A resounding thud below caught Jon's attention, but when no voices called out in alarm Jon chose to remain in his room. He wasn't avoiding the room full of mostly naked women, he was just giving them their privacy. Yeah, their privacy, defiantly not avoiding them. A voice in the hall attracted Jon's attention, "What is it now?" 'Was that Kitten?' Jon thought as he approached his door, "Say it already." Smiling in spite of his treatment at breakfast, 'Yes, that's Kitten' Jon thought with a wry smile. "Anthem is sick. She hasn't been eating." Jon tilted his head to one side, confused, but his wry smile was washed away by concern. "What? I give that man one job, and one job only, and he can't even do that!" Kitten roared. Now Jon was concerned, he didn't know who Anthem was, but clearly Kitten cared for them. Jon opened the door to offer his assistance, and found Margo looking chastened standing there, but Kitten was nowhere to be found. Jon moves closer to Margo, and murmurs, "She's not mad at you, she's mad at that man." Jon raises the pitch of his voice to impersonate Kitten on the last two words, and smiles as he sees Margo fighting to keep the corners of her mouth from a smile herself. "What happened? Who's Anthem? Who is that man?" Margo explains briefly, and Jon nods, "Thank-you. Kitten is in her room?" At Margo's nod, Jon knocks gently on Kitten's door. After a minute Jon knocks again. After a further minute, Jon looks to Margo and gestures to the door, "Could you check on her please?" Moments later Margo returns, she raises her hands and shrugs. "The window!" Jon guesses, "So she's gone then." Just at that moment Jon's stomach thunders loud enough to startle Margo, "I guess I should eat while I wait for her to get back..." Jon trails off smiling, adding, "Do you ever get used to how chaotic she can be?" When Margo remains silent Jon sighs audibly, and heads downstairs for something to eat.

Lost in thought as heads downstairs, Jon is part way into the room before he realizes that he is entirely surrounded by four dancing women in their small clothes, with Sapphira off to one side calling out directions to the ladies. It takes every ounce of his willpower to keep his face from bursting into flames. 'Oh light, what has that bloody woman got me into this time!? She's not even in the building and she has me so distracted that I can walk into the middle of a crowd of mostly naked women without noticing.' The ladies do not miss a beat, and within moments two of the girls have grabbed Jon's arms spinning him into their dance. Jon does his best to escape, but no matter which way he turns a laughing woman twirls. Jon has no choice, he can either be kicked by a dancing woman, or be swept up into their dance. Jon tries to keep up, but the girls are switching out, passing him between them. Before long Jon is sorely winded, with sweat streaming down his face, and his stomach grumbling it's demands more and more frequently. Abruptly Jon is spun out of the circle of women, where he promptly bumps into Sapphira. Jon begins to apologize, but then he sees the twinkle in Sapphira's eye. Jon closes his mouth as Sapphira snakes her arms around him, pulling his hands down to rest in the deepest curves of her sides. Sapphira kept the dance going, mercifully she slowed the pace so Jon could keep up in his hungry tired state. They spoke as they danced, and although the lessened pace was a blessing, it carried with it it's own problems. With the slower pace it allowed Sapphira to press herself very close to Jon, and he found himself distracted from their conversation from time to time.

After Sapphira finally let Jon go, Jon staggered over to a table and collapsed into a chair - thoroughly exhausted. Sitting there, head down on his crossed arms Jon nearly fell asleep before the server came to take his order. Order placed Jon did fall asleep until the server returned with his meal. Jon snapped awake when the first whiff of his meal reached his nose. Pulling himself up Jon devoured his food in minutes. As Jon sat back from his meal, he realized just how refreshing that little nap had been. Jon felt fantastic whether it was the meal or the nap, he felt great. Then the door burst inward, and an a disheveled Kitten stumbled inside. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, and everything came into crisp focus. First Jon noticed that Kitten had a slightly puffy cheek, the redness had faded from hitting the wall earlier but the bruise had yet to rise to the surface of her skin. She was deathly pale, except for her cheeks which were flushed from exertion, and her hair was matted to her head with sweat. Next Jon noticed a tear in the shoulder of her simple riding tunic, and two other tears in her dress. Lastly Jon noted that she was only wearing one shoe, and the bare foot was dirty, scratched and bleeding.

In slow motion Kitten scanned the room, her eyes stopping on Jon, and her body pivoted to run to him. Abruptly the world was moving in a blur, and Kitten had already crossed the room, and thrown herself into Jon's arms. Jon barely had time to get his arms around her before she slumped into unconsciousness. With one arm supporting Kitten around her back, Jon bent to scoop up her legs with his free hand. Cradling Kitten against his body Jon shifted her so that her chin was on her chest, and her head was against Jon's shoulder. Now well supported, Jon carried her toward a table, "Clear it off!" Jon shouted at a horrified servant. Then Jon started issuing commands to the other staff around him, "You get a pillow, and a towel, and you fetch a glass of water, and a cool wet cloth, and you a bowl of hot water and some bandages." Carefully laying Kitten down on the table, Jon tucks the pillow under her head when it arrives. The towel he uses to wipe the sweat off her face and neck before setting it aside. The water is set aside with the towel until she wakes up, but the wet cloth is pressed against her cheeks and forehead to cool down her skin. When the hot water and bandages arrive, Jon lets the servants take care of her wounds while he dries Kittens wet hair with the towel. It doesn't take long for Kitten to begin to stir, and as soon as she opens her eyes Jon smiles, "This is the second time you've collapsed into my arms, let's not make a habit of it okay? It scares the hell out of me." Holding the water to her lips, Jon helps her take a few sips, "Slowly, slowly, just a little at first." Once she has had a chance to drink and recover for a moment Jon asks gently, "Why did you run in here like the Dark One himself was on your heels?"

Jon Smythe

Jon smiled brightly as another of his gifts when over better than expected, "What I give, I give freely and without thought to being paid back. You have already more than paid for the gift with your reaction to receiving it Sapphira..." Jon pauses for a moment before adding, "Although I would not object to a dance if that will allow us to forget this indebted business." Jon knew he was in trouble when she flashed that mischievous smile. Jon should have known better. He had seen Sapphira dance exquisitely already tonight, and he was only an average dancer himself. Good enough to not miss a step, or worse step on his partner's feet. Jon lacks the grace and fluidity that Sapphira and Kitten both have.

Sapphira surprised Jon by pulling his arms around her waist, and pressing herself close enough that he could feel her warmth through the thin material of her dress. The soft curves of her body pressing against him would have made him blush if he wasn't so focused on trying to dance moderately well. When the song ended Jon realized that he was breathless, and was confused because Sapphira did most of the dancing. He bowed to her as she curtsied, and had to clear his throat twice before he could say, "Thank you for the dance, it seems I am the one indebted to you now." Before Jon knew what he was doing he added a wink for good measure.

Leaning on the rail outside, Jon could see Jodelle and Sapphira sitting below. Catching Sapphira's eye, Jon nods, smiling at what just transpired. 'It's going to go exactly as the two of them thought. I'm interested to see what act of rebellion she has in mind to show how she is her own woman.' Heading downstairs he moves to stand beside Jodelle and Sapphira's table, "Would you two lovely ladies mind if I joined you?" Once seated Jon offers, "It went pretty much as you've said it would go so far ladies. She was very reserved, trying to show no emotion at all even when gifted with the ivory comb I got for her. I bet she even thinks I ordered her around when I offered simple suggestions." Shrugging, Jon enjoys a cup of tea while he waits to see what Kitten will do next. Kitten's shouted "Ho!" gains several groans from people who drank to much last night, but also gets the attention she was seeking as well. As the shredded remains of the dress drifted down to the floor Jon couldn't help but laugh, barely managing to avoid spitting tea across the table, "Apparently she didn't like your choice of dresses Sapphira. Are you sure it was of the latest fashion?" Smiling wryly Jon sips his tea still holding back bouts of giggling.

Jon, Jodelle and Sapphira all noticed how long it was taking for Kitten to join them, but with the early morning conversation being so satisfying it was hardly a burden to wait. Jon personally found it amusing that she was intentionally taking her time, 'When she finds out that nothing happened last night, I wonder if she will be angry at me or embarrassed for the way she's acting.' Jon's train of thought was interrupted when Kitten started to descend the stairs wearing a flowing flowing rose-colored frock, it was loose enough that she seemed to flow forward instead of walk. Jon used his leaning over the table while he stood to whisper excitedly to Kitten's sisters, "She's couldn't resist wearing the comb, again just like you said. You both know her so well." Standing straight, Jon bows as Kitten arrives, and only sits again once she has done so. Jon looses his smile for a moment at Kitten's rudeness, but recovers quickly once Jodelle chastises her for it. "Thank you Jodelle, but if Kitten would prefer I take my breakfast at another table, or even another establishment it can be arranged." With Jodelle and Sapphira insisting that Jon maintains his seat, and Kitten's icy glares Jon is at a loss for words. Sitting quietly throughout the rest of breakfast, Jon begins to wonder if this game of his was a good idea, 'I should not have let this go on. I should have told her the truth about last as soon as I pulled her in through the window.'

When the room fell to near silence, and the three sisters stood - Kitten reluctantly. Jon was forced to tune out the conversation as soon as he heard the topic. Instead he simply watched the room seeing how excited the staff were getting throughout Jodelle's speech, and Sapphira's recounting of last nights sales. When the gleeful little woman bounced to her feet Jon hadn't heard why she was so happy, so he simply clapped along with the rest of the room. Jon didn't pay any more attention to anyone over anyone else, spreading his glances around the table evenly. Kitten's attitude was beginning to get to him, and so he he excused himself and went back to his room before he couldn't keep up the facade of happiness anymore. So far he had managed to keep his expression's positive, but much more of her attitude and icy glares and he would be have to say something.

Once in his room, Jon makes the room look more presentable. Ever since he saw the confused, but happy look on his families house keeper's face at how clean his room was, he has always tried to keep the places he stays in good order. Packing away things that are no longer needed, and readying his bags for travel once again. He planned on staying around town for two days, but it never hurt to be prepared. With everything in order, he sat down on the bed to think about his next move. 'Do I leave earlier than I planned, and make it to the meeting a day early? Or do I stay and try to sort out whatever is happening here?' Shaking his head, Jon continues to think in circles while sitting on the end of his bed.

Jon Smythe

"Where am I?" The groggy, half asleep voice of Kitten asked directly into Jon's sleeping ear. Now awake Jon thought he would have some fun, and pretended to still be asleep. 'She just woke up beside me, and there is no way she can remember what happened last night clearly.' Waiting a few more seconds for her thoughts to organize, Jon can guess her thoughts, 'About now she has just realized that she's only wearing a shift. I will have to tell her later that there was no way I was getting her into any of her dresses in the state she was in later.' Suppressing a smile, Jon follows her thoughts as he feels the blanket lift, 'That would be her checking to see what I'm wearing... Three... Two... One...' The bed shifts rapidly as Kitten springs to her feet, 'She's just made the assumption that we did more than share sleeping arrangements' Jon feints waking, stirring slowly, 'I really should end this now, before...' Jon's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of running feet. 'Did she just run out of her room in her shift?'

Throwing off the blankets and darting to the door, Jon catches a glimpse of Kittens curls as they flee the tavern entirely. Stepping back before the patrons think to look up at what she might be running from, Jon sees Margo standing beside Kitten's door, and blushes scarlet from hairline to collar bone, 'Why am I always next to naked in front of the staff!?' Darting back into Kitten's room Jon gathers his belongings, and stops dead when he sees the ivory comb discarded on the floor. Scooping it up, he heads back into his own room to get cleaned up and dressed properly. Once dressed, Jon seeks out Kitten's sisters, informing them of exactly what happened last night, and asking them to play along with his little game. With everything set Jon heads back into Kitten's room, 'After all, this is her room she has to come back sometime.'

Kitten is gone for quite a while, but Jon has nothing but patience, 'If I can wait an hour for you to get dressed, I can wait an hour for you to come back to me.' Jon thinks, laughing to himself. While waiting Jon gathers roots through the scattered clothing to find an outfit that will complement him today, something that will go well with an ivory comb holding ones hair up. That's when the slight sound of tearing fabric draws Jon's attention to the window, walking over he sees the colour drain out of Kittens face, as she offers feebly, "It's such a lovely morning, isn't it? I was just getting some fresh air..." Jon simply smiles, a twinkle in his eye as if he knows something he shouldn't, or perhaps that he did something last night that he shouldn't have, "It is indeed, perhaps after breakfast we could go for a walk. I think we might want to have a little chat about last night." Extending a hand out the window, and bracing himself on the ledge, "Come on, let's get you inside. I've taken the liberty of setting out something that I would love to see you in today." Jon says, gesturing to the outfit he had picked out. "Why don't you get dressed, and I will meet you in the hall." As Jon turns to the door, a flash of something ivory catches the light, but is quickly blocked by Jon's body. Turning back, Jon adds, "Oh, and you left this laying on the floor this morning." while holding up a clenched fist, fingers curled downward as if he was holding something, "I suppose I should give it to you again, since you were a little out of it last night." Waiting for Kitten to hold out her hands, Jon says, "I think it would look beautiful holding up your hair today, don't you?" Jon bows over her hands cradling the comb, and kisses Kittens wrist again. Once more holding the kiss for a couple heart beats. "I will see you shortly." He adds before she really has a chance to say anything at all.

Jon Smythe

Jon's consciousnesses returns in slow waves, first he becomes aware of a rhythmic warmth against his chest. The warmth caused by Kitten's slow and steady breathing. He feels the warmth and softness of her body pressed against his. He feels one of her legs crossing over one of his, and under the other intertwining them completely. He feels several tiny points of pressure upon his chest, and realizes that she still holds the ivory comb. Jon stays very still, almost afraid to move in case this is a fragile dream where his slightest motion will shatter it entirely.

Having not bothered to open his eyes Jon is also completely unaware of what the pair look like. The room is trashed, with a broken window from where Kitten threw a drawer through it before the party. Piles of clothing are scattered everywhere, including two neat piles of vomit stained clothing from last night. Jon, bare chested and otherwise only wearing his small clothes. Kitten wearing a very short silk shift that hides nothing, especially when one of her legs is intertwined with Jon's which makes the shift ride up past her waist. Listening to Kittens slow and steady breathing Jon allows himself to drift back to sleep.

Standing in the middle of his room looking around at his scattered preparations for the party. Jon doesn't really know what he's doing. He came into the room thinking to pack up and leave. Once he was here in his room he just stood there staring at his belongings, and not really seeing them. How ones mind can race, while not really thinking anything at all would be a mystery to think about another time. Jon's mind is pulled back to reality when he hears Kitten outside his door dismissing Margo. She sounds like a drunk person trying to be quiet, which in effect becomes a shouted whisper. Walking over to the door to wait for her to knock, or walk away afraid to knock Jon is surprised when he hears a thud. 'Did she just fall against my door?' Jon thought worriedly. Rushing the remaining distance Jon carefully opened the door to find Kitten wavering before him. Her hair tousled, and makeup smeared. She was still beautiful. In an instant Jon's mind snaps alert, thoughts racing once more tumbling over one another in their haste, but this time each thought came with with crystal clarity, 'She must care for me too.' 'If she cared, then what the bloody hell was she doing downstairs?' 'I'm so glad she came after me.' 'Is that vomit down the front of her dress?' His barrage of thoughts was interrupted by her soft words, "I'm sorry." Never in Jon's life had two little words meant so much. Every negative thought was instantly banished, and replaced by a spreading warmth. Opening his mouth to respond, Jon instead lunges to catch Kitten as she collapses into him.

Scooping her up, careful that her dress is collected at the bottom to avoid flashing the party below, and that her bust doesn't escape what little fabric still covers her. Jon makes his way to Kitten's room, bending to open the door with the arm hooked behind her knees Jon carefully moves sideways into the room. Margo is there, and Jon nods her out of the room. Of course she doesn't move, just raises an eyebrow until Jon adds, "You have my oath that no harm will come to your mistress on my watch, and that I will take no advantage of her current state. This I swear under the light, and by my hope of rebirth and salvation." Margo's eyes widen with the strength of his vow, and she drops a quick curtsy before heading out of the room, "If you need anything, I will be right outside. There is a fresh pitcher of water for washing there, and two more for drinking there." she adds from the doorway. "Thank you Margo." Jon says nodding to her as she closes the door.

Taking Kitten to her bed, Jon sits her carefully on the edge so he can unfasten her corset. Always keeping one hand on the back of her neck so her head is supported, and she remains upright, "You need to breath more than you can in this thing." Jon says not expecting an answer. Sitting behind her he leans her against his chest while he removes the stained corset, only now noticing that his own clothing is marked by her sickness from when she fell against him. Carefully stripping her out of the rest of her clothing, Jon cleans her as quickly as he can. True to his word, Jon is methodical with his work. As soon as she is cleaned enough to dawn a fresh shift, he digs through her drawers until he finds one to cover her with. Taking his time, Jon wipes away all the makeup, idly chatting about whatever floats into his mind. Nothing of note, just completely random stories from his past, or thoughts on the future. Really he's just talking so some part of Kitten can hear his voice, and possibly so Margo can hear that is mouth isn't busy elsewhere.

Once she is fully cleaned up, he sets to work stripping off his outer vomit stained layers. Giving himself a quick once over with a wash cloth, while still continuing his constant stream of random words. Kitten's brow furrowed for a moment, and she began thrashing and kicking as if in a bad dream. Jon was there in an instant, laying beside her and stroking her hair. Whispering comforting things into her ear until she calmed down moments later. Then she rolled over, and wrapped an arm across Jon's chest, snuggling in as close as humanly possible. Jon smiled, as her warmth suffused him completely. Stretching as far as he could Jon pulled the ivory comb from his pile of clothing, and carefully combed out Kittens hair while she slept peacefully. Only once her hair was tangle free did Jon allow his weary eyes to begin to drift closed. His last actions were to slip the comb into the hand resting on his chest, and to kiss her forehead, whispering "Goodnight Emmeline." before falling fast asleep.

Jon Smythe

Standing at the bar with Jodelle, Jon watches Kitten across the room. She looked distracted while she was dealing the cards, perhaps even troubled. 'I wonder what's troubling her? She does seem to be drinking a lot.' Jon found himself half way across the room when a fight broke out at the table where Kitten was sitting. He only relaxed a little when he saw her stagger away from the table appearing uninjured. With Jon's adrenaline calming down at seeing Kitten safe, Jon starts to work his way through the crowd. The going is much slower when you politely cross the room, instead of pushing your way through the crowd. By the time he got near to the bar the third man's head was just slamming into the polished wood, pushing past the crowd Jon can't find Kitten at the bar. A mild panic broils within Jon as he scans the crowd desperately trying to find Kitten, until he catches sight of her walking away along the wall. 'How are so many people in my way!' Loosing sight of her for a moment more, Jon missed Kitten bumping into Brent. Once more scanning the room, Jon looks for Kitten's tell tale curls falling down her back. Spotting her just as she enters a solitary area near the back corner, Jon begins dodging and pushing his way over to reach Kitten.

Pushing apart the last two people that were in his way with a muttered apology, Jon finally stands looking down at Kitten and her two companions, "Emmeline!?" Jon stands stunned, shocked to his bones by what he sees. His mind numbs, and moves as if swimming through molasses. 'This isn't happening' Jon's mind silently screams while he outwardly still stands with his mouth hanging open like a fool. His thoughts bounce from pure violent rage at the men, through heart shattering sadness. Deep feelings of betrayal worm their way though him, which abruptly strikes him as very odd. 'I've only known this woman for less than half a day. How is it that I feel so strongly?' Jon closes his mouth suddenly, his teeth clicking with the haste of the action, "Um, er - excuse me." Jon adds lamely, before turning on his heel and heading upstairs. A tiny part of his mind notices with annoyance that the crowd no longer blocks his way as he moves easily through the room, and up the stairs.

Jon Smythe