Thread: An Arrangement (Methos and Corporal Bunny)

Quit your nerves child! The elder scorned, pursing her lips unattractively as she eyed her niece. A stern look from her husband caused the older woman to turn away, glaring out the window of the carriage. Tempers had simmered throughout the day. The journey had been exhausting, despite the exquisite luxury of the carriage. A tedious pace had been set days before, weather and obstacles slowing the party. The company, who now bristled under strained politeness, had stopped only once briefly. The detour was used to relieve themselves, stretch the ache from their limbs and of course, to prepare the bride-to-be. An hour of unneeded prayer followed by a lecture of what it was to be a good and pious wife had grated upon the young lady more than the tightening of the corset strings. The carriage ride was jarring, causing the ivory stays to jab painfully into the ladys soft flesh with each hitch of the wheels. Leave her be, Helena, came the Lords gruff warning. Lord Edward Northend, a man past his prime, leaned unceremoniously against his own window. The sweat upon his bald scalp reflected the soft light of waning day. His dark eyes were anxious, a shadow of excitement causing the corner of his thin lips to pitch upwards. This is the moment of our rise! The once athletic man soothed a hand over his protruding stomach absently as he reminisced. The man his niece was to wed was a man of great reputation. A man of war. Edward looked forward to meeting, what he perceived as, a younger version of himself. His wife snorted beside him. The frail woman was taller than her husband, grey-gold hair curled about her head. Her once aristocratic bone structure was taunt and aged, leaving unappealing hallows and shadows to her face. The Lady Nothrend was frail, if it were not for the over abundance of jewels upon her person she may very well topple from the slightest breeze. Glares were exchanged until carriage came to a halt. The journey had finally come to an end. The Lady Northend shifted anxiously, scowling at the footman who took too long to assist her. A powdered blue dress adorned her body, gold thread curling down the bodice in ivy patterns. Her husband, who strolled from the carriage after his wife, wore a male equivalent. The light blue contrasted with his pale complexion and rosy cheeks. They stood together, marveling at the extravagance of the castle, differing greatly from the halls of their own home. The building represented everything they couldnt buy with money a sufficient military. Lord Northend sputtered a bit excitedly shuffling towards the entrance while his wife turned to make sure the small caravan had halted in the proper area. A trail of carriages packed with servants, the brides meager belongings, and more importantly, her dowry halted at the side of the castle. Assured of its' safety Helena turned on her heel, thrusting her hand towards the footman who waited for the young mistress to extend her hand. Get out! Hissed Helena, waving at the foot-man as if she expected the servant to pull the girl from the confines of the carriage. No.. came the soft reply. Get out! NO. You are off to a bad start as a pious wife. Came the off-handed reply from Lord Northrend who still stared bemusedly at the architecture. An exasperated sigh sounded before a small slippered foot and a delicate hand emerged from the darkness of the carriage. Lady Emeline, soon to be Duchess of Elgin, was of slight stature. The peach and cream gown she wore did little to hide the fact, even with its bountiful folds of silk. The soft colors accentuated her slightly flushed complexion. A complexion clear save for a few freckles over her chest and neck a small beauty mark resting above the upsweep of her brow. Strawberry locks laid heavily upon her scalp in thick curls, before falling past her delicate shoulders in lighter ringlets. The heavy mass was twisted and tamed as much as possible with jeweled pins. Metal that stabbed without mercy into her tender scalp. Despite being petite at the height of 51 the woman had stubborn features. A square jaw smoothed her high cheekbones, but only accented her chin. A lush mouth, petal pink, swelled abundantly under an aristocratic nose. Large green eyes that rivaled emeralds sparked with indignation. If the frown upon her lips was not any indication of her displeasure, her wide eyes, trimmed in black lash, conveyed her contempt. You look soso--SO SOUR!, seethed Helena as she leveled her grey eyes with the sparking green of her niece. Emeline merely glared at her elder, righting the heavy blue cloak about her. Her slender form gathering gooseflesh with the coming evening. Now what? Asked a less than confidence Lord as he turned towards the ladies with an unsure look.