Thread: Asking for Directions {darkangel76 & Alan23}

Ah, the sounds of the city, indeed, Galvie replied. I perceive exactly your views, Ma'am. The mournful cry of distant avians, or nameless fauna - no substitute at all for the cacophony of civilizations' beautiful symphony of activity. This phrase was, in fact, far more prolix and poetic than even he was habitually accustomed to using - he might equally well have said Yeah, I prefer Teslas and hordes and carts to birds and animals too, - and in fact he'd deliberately chosen the words as a subtle insult to the guards. Miss Hammond, with her greater education, would understand exactly what he was saying. The puzzled looks on the faces of the guards revealed that they were still a few words behind! As she inquired, most charmingly, about how he had sent the night before, he caught just a single twitch of her pretty, retrousse nose. Either one of the nearby horses or, equally likely, their riders had farted, or she had either recalled or noticed something not to her liking. Yet her glance showed that it was nothing he'd done. Strangely, it had happened just after she had curtsied. Had she noticed mud on her shoes again - no. Impractical as they were for the purpose on which the entourage was engaged, they were at least pristine and unmuddied. My evening, Ma'am, was spent comfortably enough - if any time without conversation, books nor even tobacco may be so described. In truth, I can't complain. In fact - as far as I am concerned - I'd be happy for this trip to last forever. It was, in fact, a triple entendre, again beyond the conjecture of the guards. At face value, it could simply have meant he found the going perfectly pleasant and comfortable, though the brighter and more aware of them might also have gleaned that he was making a humorous allusion to what was to happen at the end of it. Only Miss Hammond, he guessed, would also discern the subtle compliment towards her that made the third interpretation of his statement. As he spoke, without being too obvious about it, he scrutinized her form carefully. She looked, as ever, exquisitely beautiful in the lime-green dress, though he was puzzled about one thing. Though not translucent as such - for no-one of her class would ever be so daring - it was, yet, of a thinner and clingier material than average, the kind of garment that needed as even he, who knew little of feminine fashions was aware at least one slip beneath it. And, furthermore, a slip or slips that sat perfectly smoothly, to avoid any wrinkles or furrows showing through the material of the dress. Indeed, the proper look demanded that the dress resembled a painted sheathe. And yet, under the dress, he could discern some highly obvious furrows and waves. Perhaps, he mused, current fashion dictated that underskirts should deliberately look this way, a kind of statement against obsessive formality. After all, he had been out of the mainstream for some months, and nothing except, perhaps, morality changed so quickly as feminine fashion. But, somehow, he doubted this. After all, Miss Hammond had not sported this look of deliberate dishabille on the previous times he'd seen her. He knew that cheap slips could, and did, ride up at times, to the exasperation of their wearer, but surely the daughter of the president could afford the very best, and would never need to suffer such an indignity. And yet, the creases and rucks could not be denied. Perhaps, in performing her curtsey, she had killed two buffalo with one bullet and taken the opportunity to check the sit of her attire - and not liked what she'd seen! Well, if this was the case, the poor girl could do little about it. She could hardly hike up the skirts of her gown and shimmy her slip down in front of an entire detachment of cavalry... even in the Ozarks! And then, since his mind was not entirely focused upon the conversation, her next words took him aback indeed. At first, he took her suggestion that he might relish fresh air as a sarcastic statement that he was to be taken out and beaten, in return for his impertinence at fixing her wayward zipper during their last meeting. Yet the sudden look of shock on the face of the Corporal who was commanding the guard, followed immediately by his opening his mouth to protest at how dangerous such a course of action was, dissuaded Galvie of this suggestion. And when she continued, describing her plan as a jaunt, it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop. I am sure, Ma'am, that you jest, he smiled. Dangerous assassins may not count upon jaunts, not under circumstances such as this. Ah, though if your offer were true, be assured I would jump at the chance with alacrity, and give my parole to return into confinement when required.