Thread: Asking for Directions {darkangel76 & Alan23}

Galvie stood, and gave her a small inclination of his head. The name, Ma'am, is Charles Marlowe Rennie McAuley, GC, formerly Lance Corporal, 12th Texas Rifles. I won't trouble to give my lineage - I doubt you'll have heard of 'em. In fact - he spread his hands, in comical apology As you obviously know, my status and social reputation are better left undiscussed, save to say that right now, unlike even the lowliest beggar or jailbird, I don't even have a country. He stood in the military at ease position, his honeyed Anneslandian tones giving an almost musical lilt to his words. But I'd take it right kindly, Ma'am, if you'd visit me as you suggested, now and again. Delivering me up to a firing squad is fair enough, given the circumstances and the gains to be had, but leaving a man alone with no conversation for twenty four hours per diem - well, that might well be considered cruel and unusual punishment, even for s snake as low as myself, Ma'am, if you take my meaning. And I do hope - He'd meant to add and I do hope your stockings don't give you any more trouble, but the instinct that had so far served him well made him swallow the words. Much as this woman despised him, she was as near as he had to an ally. And, in any case, soft words and respect to women came far more naturally to him than mockery and opprobrium. ...I do hope, he substituted, That you don't judge me too harshly. Attempted murderer as I may be, it was for an ideal, Ma'am, not filthy lucre, and I'm attempting to go and take my whupping with as much dignity as I can muster, small as it is. Miss Hammond's promise to visit him at mealtimes and evenings had come as something of a surprise to Galvie. True, he had known that it was part of her duty to make a daily visit to check upon his situation - it was the task of the 7th to protect the ambassador and her entourage and ensure he didn't escape, not to add to his punishment. He had been apprehensive they might have spat on his food, denied him water, or otherwise used him for sport, and Miss Hammond thus represented his only court of appeal. In truth, so far, they had been decent enough to him, but there was always a risk this might change. But besides the obvious advantages of receiving regular visits, there was another, less tangible benefit. It had been some months since he'd conversed with a member of the distaff side, particularly one as well-bred and... he was forced to admit it to himself, after fighting the tendency for some hours after she'd left - beautiful. To his shame, she had haunted his dreams to some extent. Admittedly, her well-shaped legs of which, thanks to her rebellious garter, he had been able to take his visual fill were part of the attraction, but there were certain stirrings of thoughts that were less shameful. He found himself wondering if, instead of taking violent action towards the cause of an Anneslandian republic, he should have simply scooted over the border and applied for asylum with no political sin upon his conscience. By now he might have been a free, respectable citizen, perhaps even with a lady such as Miss Andromeda Hammond upon his arm. Well, perhaps not her specifically, he reminded himself, he'd be unlikely to have moved in the same social circles as the president's daughter. She was for the likes of this Harry Smythe character... But his dreams of an alternate life, in which he was, by turns, a respectable tradesman, a high-ranking military officer in the Amerikan Army, and the bridegroom of a well-bred society girl who, unsurprisingly, bore a disconcerting resemblance to Andromeda Hammond, were enough to soothe him to sleep on his first night, and to consume his military-issue breakfast oatmeal, ham and eggs, with some relish the following morning, feeling that no matter how wreteched one's circumstances, there were always dreams. But the dreams did not divert him from his greater business - which was, given a tenth of a sniff of a chance, to be elsewhere than under chain and behind bars in the custody of the Amerikan armed forces. He gazed towards the West, which, though hidden from view by thick woods, was out there somewhere. And reachable by a man who could ride like the wind, and still had a set of lockpicks hidden in his boot.