Pret a Porter

[rassafraggin]

Maggie leans against the bar while the conversation about cards and games goes on around her. She does listen but admittedly with only about half an ear though the card trick garners a raised brow. Her attention splits when she notices a potentially incongruous series of reactions and movements at the table beyond her friends discussion. A frown, a lean, an elbow. She does not actively zero in on that other table, but she does pay it a bit more attention than the current, nearer discussion. The talk of funds and buying an 'in' catches her attention and she leans close to her husband to murmur something very softly, "I'll buy him in, love. I can afford it." It is pitched low enough that no one but Merrisol should hear it. "If it would help."

The discussion at the table returns to wine, song, and gadgetry, defusing the tension caused by the cardsharp display at least for the moment. Merrisol doesn't reposition himself but he headtilts to accommodate the quieter words, while his gaze traverses the barroom. Maybe there are Pringle underlings here, if not the jumped-up cattle barons themselves, but if there are, he can't discern them from the general riffraff. "Not certain what the going rate is for that sort of thing, Only, though I would have thought a lord of House Bayle would be swimming in it. Likely there's some red tape involved in exchanging the funds to Begman banknotes," he murmurs, frowning. "And then we would need to get close to someone with the ability to procure the invites." Plural. Clearly it is not intended for Disillusion to go it alone in a parlour full of well-dressed wolves.

Maggie inhales, her own frown deepening. Keeping her tone quiet, she remains quiet for a while as her gaze slips over the room. It does not seem as though her attention is focused outward, however. "I might have some Begman currency. Or, if I take a walk, I can probably convert some..." She pauses as though considering something, then sighs slightly as a decision is reached, "Though I guess one way of doing it is kind of cheating and the other? Depends on a bank being open. Or... however that is done here."

"Counterfeit bills from shadow? Why, Mrs. K," he drawls softly, then his arm steals around her for a quick squeeze, approving her second thoughts on that. His pirate soul might be tempted, but the other harbours concern for the effect on local economics. "We'll scheme something up, between the five of us. Or six.. or ten? There's still Lady Shiona and the crew to hit up for contributions to the Cause. Plus..." He glances quickly down and between their respective rustic get-ups. "We'll need some of our pocket money for garments befitting the social scene."

Maggie's arm goes about her husband's waist though she shakes her head, "No, though that is a third option, I guess. I did not mean creating money out of nothing, Beloved. I meant in the stash. I don't really know what is in there." Leaning against him, she nods, "But yes, doing something here is undoubtedly better." Looking over their companions, she half laughs, mirth underscored by warmth, "Maybe we could hire a hall and throw a concert. Lady Melina is talented enough to be a draw." As long as Maggie is not trying to sing, that is. The idea, while 'out there' is not an actual suggestion, at any rate, "But you are right. I'm sure that we will think of something."

Merri nods, "Bank, certainly. The system's well-established and heavily federal. Not to say there aren't small unions and certain.. other sources one might also go to make a quick and dirty exchange." He is quiet another moment, wrestling with those light criminal urges again perhaps. Or perhaps pondering the logistics of opening a stage act. "Which stash was that..?" is asked as an idle afterthought.

Maggie nods, "The bank then. Maybe I should open an account here. If the fees are not going to outstrip any interest earned. We can go to the bank tomorrow." After a moment, she adds, "Though as a non-native, non-resident, I might not qualify." And, a tiny portion of her brain insists that she add, "And, I might not be the best for that job anyway." Glancing up at her husband, Maggie almost blanches. "Oh. I thought I mentioned it." Is this one of those things that sets her to looking faintly guilty from time to time? Why, yes. Apparently it is, "Um... Well... That is a long and faintly unpleasant story, Beloved. Suffice it to say that we are not currently short on funds. At all." She pauses, then adds, "Though I have to figure out what to do with it. When we have a moment or ten I'll show you."

The quiet shop could really use a Kerf to straighten up its aisles of overflowing shelves and used furniture doubling as keepsake displays. Luckily they aren't here to randomly browse, and the wardrobe racks are in a clearer corner with curtained booths and two tinted standing mirrors. The elderly couple managing this squirrel's paradise are a combo of taciturn and outspoken inconvenience, with the lady watching closely from the side counter while the gent bustles in and around the corner making a nuisance of himself around the shoppers.

"You'll find some elegant numbers this week. With the lady of the manse havin' been disappeared for precisely three months, the good reverend finally packed up the rest of her clothes and had them sent here. Why not the charity bin, you might wonder? She was a young filly like yourself, miss. You'll find her fashions agreeable, but could you imagine the itinerants goin' about in such frills and puffs? Now you, sir. I ain't sure we've anything befittin' your figure. What are you, from Ruristania, Mister? The barbarian connection. Here, these fine threads look like they could be let out some. I'm good friends with the tailor on Shackleton..."

By the time M&M get back onto the walkway heading back to the neighbourhood of Smoggers Crossing, the afternoon has worn on to a clear and breezy evening, the sun making its descent out over the smog blotch of the civilized west. And just as it happened on the cusp of dusk before, trouble crawls out of the woodwork. The spare profiles of two pricey steeds from Estonia cast longer shadows along the dirt avenue as a pair of Pringles come slumming. Just to make doubly sure they are attended upon, the fellow assails those on the walk with a sharp whistle of demand.

Upon hearing that the lady of the manse has been gone for three months, Maggie feels a strong urge to kick over that hornets' nest and ask how the investigation went, for surely there was one. Surely! But she managed to hold her peace, this time, though with difficulty. Allowing herself to be guided, she begins looking over the finer bits while the good, if intrusive gentleman sees to Merrisol's options. After making her selections, Maggie has to smile for Begman fashions, once really peculiar to her, are now more easily decifered. Maybe it is a lucky thing that her hair and complexion limit the color choices she can go for. Then again, Begman fashions are more constrained in that way than other places.

The walk back is, initially, pleasent with lowering light and the shifting palatte of evening approaching. A glance back as the shadows of the approaching horses shows her nothing of special note though the whistle blast sends a flutter of irritation and indignation through her. She straightens her spine, sets her jaw and glances to her husband to see if they are going to stop and try to be civil or presume that the infuriating intent is not aimed at them. Perhaps it isn't. Still, keeping her tone gentle and polite, she glances toward the aproaching snack food namesakes, "Beloved?"

Evening brings relief from the sun and the promise of potential... recreation! Stepping out onto the front porch of the Broadstreet, he produces a lighter to fire up a cigarillo, then proceeds on out through the produced cloud of smoke and into the main strip. A pair of passing ladies are offered a vibrant smile and a tip of his hat before he focuses further on in the direction of Smoggers Crossing. At first, he spots two familiar forms in the distance, rekindling a bit of his smile. Then, he spots Pringles and he forces himself to hold the smile while he scans over the strip for any others that might be lurking about. Reaching to his jacket, he smoothly undoes the single button keeping it closed and checks the time on his pocketwatch. He just happens to leave it unbuttoned after replacing it in the appropriate pocket. The native of the East calls out, "Lord and Lady Morfilod! A wonderful evening, is it not?"

Merri has some paper-wrapped parcels stacked under one arm, while the other is held bent for his wife's hand. The rest of the garments purchased were to be sent on to the tailor to work his alteration magic. He looks sidelong into the street and counts the shadows, then angles a narrowed glance over his shoulder. His frown loses a bit of tension as he assures Maggie, "Little danger of being gunned down in the street, Only." Too many witnesses? That is partly it. He turns with her to face the mounted folk, just as Disillusion's shadow slants into view from the nicer part of town. He fixes a look of greeting upon the grand master artificer, then calls, "What now, Miss Pringle? Young Master Pringle?"

Brody Pringle is the picture of a rascally, privileged lout. His tawny hair is fashionably unruly under his suede town hat. His youthful stature has seen some ranching work, not rigorously so, and remains somewhat indolent, like a panther's. He eyeballs Maggie and Merri with a veneer of cool, but the lingering resentment seethes somewhere below the surface. The inclusion of Disi from the other direction causes him to lose a bit of composure as evidenced by his skittering horse; he regains control with a grunt. "This's Violet's play," he shrugs. "Sis, dear?"

Violet Pringle has a glossy profusion of brass-coloured ringlets beneath her feathered chapeau. She is dressed for a well-to-do young daughter of ranching wealth, though having been acquainted with her earlier spate of violence, one might see through it to the feral-minded creature within. Her saucy gaze lifts from M&M and swings the other way to focus on Disillusion. "Hum. I was misinformed. I thought we'd find /you/ among the sodden lowlifes in the Crossing."

Maggie's hand tightens just a little on Merrisol's arm, though she eases the touch after his comment. He wins a nod, though her gaze remains alert for trouble none the less. As though in answer, she hears Disillusion's voice floating down the street. The gamblin' man is given a nod and a smile even so. D, which rhyms with T, which stands for Trouble, right here in Carson City, is still a welcome sight.

Looking back, she takes in the young Master Pringle with the calculating glance of a preditor rather than the fearful look of prey. The same is turned to Violet when it is revealed that she is the stage mistress for this little drama. Not allowing her thoughts to enter her tone, she smiles for the mounted pair, "Good evening to you both." Though pleasent enough, her tone only tends toward warmth without actually reaching it.

Maggie and Merrisol each get a nod of Disi's head as he takes another slow drag on his cigarillo. Closing the distance brings further recognition with it, twisting Disillusion's smile into an easy and comfortable one that he offers up to Violet alone. "Why, Miss Pringle, I am so very happy to see you once again. I say, in spite of barbs or bullets, you are still a vision in the evening sun." Coming to a stop there, he lifts his hat and dips his head in a bow, still paying the gentleman Pringle no mind. "What brings you into town?"

Merrisol regards the siblings a moment longer after their attention is redirected, with nary a polite verbal response to the respectful greetings offered. He lifts his brows in a bemused facial shrug for Maggie's benefit, then begins to check the lay of the sunset street, for signs predicting a repeat of the situation of a week ago. Spotters or shooters in the alleys, windows, or the rooftops. Not that he's especially good with the ol' Sklob-o-scope. "Seem's it's Valentine they're after this time," he murmurs.

If that is so, it is more of a solo mission this time. There are citizens and homesteaders about, but despite their general affiliation for the money that is the lifeblood pumping through the town, no one is actively taking a support position on the young brats' behalf.

"Leave me be, brother," says Violet, correctly anticipating Brody's protest as she nudges her steed about into a walk in Disillusion's direction. "Town, such as it is, holds more fascination than that rambling old estate on the edge of Nowhere," she replies forthrightly to his query. Before reaching the man, however, she turns her mount's head aside so that she only passes him by on the way down a branching lane. He'd need to change his pace and stride along that way to extend their acquaintance. "The company is sometimes an improvement as well," she adds, not particularly referring to that of the present. At least, not yet.

Brody, left behind, stares and mutters under his breath, both squeezing his horse's flanks and pulling back on the reins in his distraction. The steed minces in place, shod hooves clattering the pebbles of the dirt street.

Maggie's gaze slips to Disillusion and back to Violet. "Seems so," she answers her husband in a matching murmer. Noting Merrisol's gaze flickering to rooftop and alley, she follows suite, memories of the description of the violence perpetrated by the young hoolighans and their minions sparking a coil of anger within that is held carefully in check. Brats. The clickity clack of the horse's hooves reminds her of Brody's presence and her attention turns slowly to him. And to his poor horse. Clucking softly, she shakes her head over the horse's treatment. It is all she can do to refrain from moving forward to try to steady the creature. A soft, "Poor thing," whispers from her lips before she can stop it.

Catching the turn of the horse's head, a long leg takes Disillusion on in that direction and he sets to a pace swifter than the casual stroll he had undertaken earlier. As his gaze dips back to the married couple, he cracks off a sly wink in their direction before resettling his attention on the lady of the Pringle house. "I should say so! Diversions and entertainments of all sorts and a sampling of some of the latest fashions or trappings inkling their way out from the west." The Begman Artificer clasps his hands behind his back as he matches the pace and lets out a light, but rich laugh. "Yes, on a good day. All depends on who has ridden into town lately, no? Can change the whole atmosphere, day by day."

Merri abandons the search for bushwhackers and observes the new arrangements on the street with a tight frown. That devilish Violet, she's breaking up the band! He glimpses Disi's glance their way, but it's likely he can't say for certain what that wink signifies. Brody's consternation is greater by far, and moreover reflected in the stress of his mount. Merrisol nods slowly to Maggie's sentiment, watching the ill-natured fellow's careless handling.. and although he does have the means to quietly influence the critter's response, he merely glares their way and says, "Mind your spurs, boy. You'll make your mare crazed."

"What did you just say?" Brody possibly cannot decide precisely what to be angry over most: Being called 'boy' or having his horsemanship criticized. Or being confused, since he's not even wearing spurs. Or that this jumped-up Cristholm ganger is speaking to him at all. "Don't ever try telling me what's what with my horse, drifter," he snarls, but relaxes his hold over the mare, and gives her a couple pats on the neck for good measure. His attention races back to the side lane to see his sister and the dandy as they move beyond his line of sight. "Slick's bit off more than he can chew," he warns no one in particular.

Violet regards Disillusion obliquely once he is clearly making that effort to match the sauntering pace of her steed. She gives a soft, scoffing sound. "Nothing changes anymore except for the faces. Live here long enough and you would understand that, Mr. Valentine." Ah, the disaffection of youth.

Maggie stands up straighter, slowly, eyes narrowing. The child's tone is enough to set her off, even though the jerk is not speaking to her directly. Okay... Young man, then. The hand resting on Merrisol's arm tenses though whether to remind herself that this is not her Shadow and her sensibilities don't apply or to do the same for her mate is not specified. Perhaps both. Closing her eyes, she breaths in the air, releases it and looks again. At least the jerk has eased up on his mare's reins. She almost turns away, almost abandons the street to the men and horses since Violet has led Disillusion down the garden path. Or, if that wink is to be believed, perhaps he intends doing the leading. Brody's comment about his sister and her apparent suitor sparks a faint smile, a lowering of her lashes and a barely hidden half-grin. Rather than expound on who is going to be a handful for whom, she slides a look toward the byway where the two have moved out of sight. After all, Lord Valentine has not tried his dubious charms on the youth a-horse yonder. Shying a bit skittishly away from that thought, she glances back to offer the young Pringle a nod as though in agreement with the softly vocalized sentiment. After another moment she sighs. A glance is sent toward her husband and it might well be a significant one for after it has had time to rest there, she inhales and turns to the younger Pringle, "I am new in town." True. "Why don't we buy you a drink and you can tell me about the place? Your sister...?" She nods toward the side street, "Might be a while. It would be a shame to waste such a fine day."

An amused grin wants to break out on Disillusion's features, but his poker face, today taking the form of his winning smile, holds firm. He nods understandingly while sweeping his gaze about the area around them, as if appraising it in light of these comments. When he replies, his accent switches to that of the distinctive Eastern lilt, "Miss Violet, I'm afraid you've judged a book by it's cover. One can take the man out of the East, but one can't take the East out of the man. This is a veritable metropolis compared to the one road town I grew up in and with enough foresight and hard work, I feel it could become the very center of innovation in Begma! Progress may be slow, but it won't always be so." A hand gestures about, "Picture it for a moment. Where else could one test inventions on the... fringe of known Science? Where else can one safely push the boundaries, free from meddling by academics or regulatory restrictions?"

Shiona has a habit of vanishing. Sometimes within the town.. sometimes within Begma.. sometimes who knows where she gets to. She does always seem to pop back up like a bad penny eventually at least, although often when and where one least expects her. Further down that avenue is .. not much of anything really, certainly not the smithy, or hotel, or tavern, which are prime Shiona spotting locations. Yet, that is the direction that she can be found strolling towards the group. Sword. Check. Carpet Bag. Check. A variation on the tweed librarian uniform she tends towards. Check. A rather lovely wide brimmed straw hat has been pinned in place, and the white gloves are a nice touch, certainly. She is lost in her own little world, thinking on /something/ or other, as she approaches to where familiar people are. She's almost right up next to where Disillusion and Violet are talking before she blinks, as if noticing them for the first time. "Oh! Master Disillusion. And Miss.." She trails off, having either forgotten, or never known, Violet's name. "Er. Hello."

Brody is so intent on gazing after his sister and Disi, even if he can't actually /see/ them anymore, he doesn't respond initially to the invitation. But he seems to recall there were other concerns in the vicinity and looks back over at Merri and Maggie, focusing now on the redhead with an arching brow. Studying her as if for the first time, he allows a slow, appreciative smile to replace his frown, and his demeanor flips into the positively sunny side, compared to only moments before. "Well it wasn't a fine day until now, lovely Miss," he points out so very charmfully.

Kerf's gaze swivels back to the young fella's face, marking him for death! ...Nahhh, but he does adopt a quizzical look as he recognizes the same tone as having been employed upon Shiona. Before and after Violet shot her.

"But, how can I be certain this isn't a play to get me alone, whereupon I am strangled by your hulking partner?" continues Brody with a chiding browlift.

Meanwhile, back on the sidelane, Violet obligingly roams her eyes around their environs at Disillusion's prompting, once even tossing her chin to send her brassy curls to springing over one shoulder. "Innovation. Yes, father has remarked on the newest machinations about the town foundry," she points out, offhand. "It must be well conceived, judging by the level of his upset." Angling in the saddle, she turns back to him, her attention touching upon Shiona in passing. "Too far out of step, he said. I shouldn't be surprised if you find on your next visit, its efficacy... adjusted." A small pout curves her lips, but that is more due to the nagging sense that she knows the lady from somewhere.

"..Pringle," she supplies disdainfully after another moment.

Disillusion pages: Puzzled out, the wizard's discovery is troublesome at best and earth-shaking at worst. Begma has altered its magic into technology, and the progress that its Artificers is so proud of is just enchantment by another name. But words have power, and perception has power, and turning magic into science can kill magic. This is the sort of knowledge that ruins nations, and the powers that be have a vested interest in keeping it hidden. Chances are, the old wizard is in danger - you've learned one of deep secrets of Begma, but it's up to you if you wish to see this affair through to its end.

Mags blinks a bit at the transformation in the young man. A faint blush touches her cheeks as she demures, "Actually, it is Mrs. My partner, as you put it, is my husband and I assure you that neither of us are in the habit of harming guests." Unless they deserve the pain, of course. "As I have offered to buy you a drink, you are our guest. Will you join us? I would love to hear about your town. What makes it delightful in your eyes?" Besides, getting the man away from his sister gives Lord Valentine time to work.

Disillusion, lost in his own flowery description of the possibilities for the future of Carcil City, hardly even notices the quiet Shiona approaching the pair. He also doesn't notice slipping back into the proper Big City accent he had worked so hard at learning all those years ago, "Why of course they are well conceived. I designed and assembled them myself." The playboy's eyes narrow somewhat and now he can't help but say, "One ought be careful about fiddling with another's Science without permission. Quite rude, that. Why, it might lead to all manner of hurt feelings and I should truly prefer to avoid any of that." A familiar voice pulls his attention away and Disillusion renews his smile upon seeing Shiona standing there, "Ah, good day, Miss Pryce! Allow me to introduce Miss Violet Pringle. Miss Pringle, this is Miss Shiona Pryce. She is a gifted smith and engineer."

At the offer of her name and then the more formal introduction, Shiona offers Miss Pringle a polite enough nod. Even if they had just been shooting (or stabbing) each other not that long ago. That's hardly reason to be /rude/. She looks between the two, not noticing any subtle cues to leave them alone to their conversation, although had there been any subtle clues, she wouldnt have noticed those either. Instead she pauses, attempting to glean the general topic from what few words and phrases she's overheard and frowns a little with the effort. "Who is hurting whose feelings?" She finally asks of Disillusion, her voice offering to Violet a "Good afternoon, Miss Pringle."

Brody's fawn-tinted gaze darkens as he learns the particulars of the couple's relationship status. He ain't no Valentino! Interest drains visibly from his expression and he glances impatiently down the sidelane once more. "Apologies.. Mrs. Drifter, then. You seem to take me for a fool," he mutters. "Or perhaps in your line of work, being roped and run out of town is seen as an everyday risk to merely be accepted without resentment. But I'm not buying any of it!" His fine mare whinnies and turns in a thumpy circle in the road as he goes back to both goading and reining simultaneously. Presently, he gives the horse her head and canters for the sidelane.

Merrisol pulls an irked face as the erratic exchange comes to an abrupt and hostile end. "Suspect that is just a small preview of the troubles to come if that kid takes over the ranch," he remarks to Maggie. He watches Brody thoughtfully for a moment, then turns away. "The grudge is still too fresh, Only. And the incident outside the hotel made things worse. You'd have fared better with him without me in the picture. Same as Valentino with the young lady Pringle, without Brody."

"Mmhm. Hello," is Violet's limp response to the introduction. The equivalent of Whatevs, in another time and place. Whereas Shiona's is perhaps innocently distracted, Violet's is clearly indifferent. She adds though after a pause, "My brother was rather taken by you," and clearly fails to comprehend why. To Disillusion she offers an irritated eyeroll and huff, betraying her age, at least the mental portion, with that insouciance. "You can't avoid it.. not even you." She considers. "Especially not you. Fortunately... I am not one of the cattle taken in and controlled by their greed and pride. I did notice how you spared Brody's cronies from a stupid end, and a needless uproar with the law... and for that, I think we might work together on a little something."

Mags lifts a brow at the new, uncomfortable change in Brody's demeanor. The expression shifts to a frown when the boy mishandles his horse once more. "Maybe, Beloved. But, if he is only interested in women who are 'available'," said with an emphasis to provide verbal quotes, "I don't want his company. Shame, though. He might have had interesting insight." As the young man enters the alley, Maggie tries to put the unpleasent youth out of her mind for now, "I can take our packages to our room, if you want, Kerf. I will want to hang things up so we avoid wrinkling the fabric."

"Ah, Miss Pringle was mentioning some notice being taken to the new machinery I had fashioned at the forge and how it may wind up being tampered with." Disillusion nods with some measure of approval, his gaze sliding back and forth between Violet and Shiona at the mention of this brother. "Ah, yes! Very gentlemanly chap. Comported himself well throughout the proceedings." There may even be some encouraging repeated motions with his chin toward Shiona to indicate she ought to take note of this fellow! "Unavoidable? Surely there must be something one could do?" With a gesture, he accepts the following high praise from Violet and dutifully brushes it off a bit. "It was such a shame to see a fine evening take such a turn, but there was no need for it to have been worsened." His interest is piqued and Disi finds himself inching in a step closer to Violet's horse as they proceed, "Oh? What sort of thing might that be, Miss Pringle? I'm intrigued already!"

"Was he one of the gentlemen who were trying to shoot me?" Shiona asks with about as much concern as if she were asking if he was wearing the blue jacket. There are some details that come from being part of Amber's Royal family, no matter how removed from the details, that seem to make casual violence simply part of the greeting ritual. She too looks curious about what sort of thing might require help, giving her head a little quirk as she listens.

Merrisol smiles oddly over Maggie's suppressed pique regarding the callow youth. He keeps hold of the parcels he's carrying, though, and reaches to relieve Maggie of hers. "Let me, darling. If you could, just check on Lord Disillusion, make sure he's not fallen afoul of Pringle thugs? I'll be along soon, or if you call, but for me to show up again among that brood would likely be provoking at this point."

Violet eyes Shiona with some surprise and some suspicion. Rounds had been flying and kicking up dust all around, so it is certainly possible no one had been able to inform the bookish maiden just who had fired that shot. The very fact that Shiona is out and about with that unwieldy knife and a carpet bag no less, also seems to indicate the lass was barely winged, beneath her jacket. Then she frowns, as it comes to light that Brody doesn't register highly in Shiona's memory, either. She grunts a scornful "tch", and looks back at Disillusion, having allowed the gent's closing some of the gap on the street and boardwalk between them. Likewise, she nudges her mount nearer to the gutter as well. "I received some indication you were an avid fan of games of chance, Mr. Valentine. It so happens I have a need for competent work aboard Tessier's Folly." She pauses just a second to ascertain the gambler has heard of the riverboat casino retreat of the well-heeled and posing aristocracy. Of course he has!

Mags turns to Merrisol, relinquishing the packages with a smile, "Okay, Beloved. Thank you." Lifting on her toes, she brushes a kiss to his cheek, pausing to murmer something no doubt nefarious before stepping back and turning to follow the Brody-boy. Before crossing, she takes the time to look both ways to avoid being run down by... an ambling horse-drawn coach and a few pedestrians. Hurrying along, she glances back once before ducking into the side street.