[PM to Join] Another Year Older. [memory]

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, 37th Bethas. 2715

"My dearest Jean, I must thank you for this delightful evening. You are a most gracious host."

Jacamo Delacy Rothbec, a poet, swayed were he stood half way down the long table in the private room in the Paper Tiger. For Jacamo, like most of the company had been drinking since some time that afternoon.

A pair of waiting staff bustled out with the last of the dinner things and a pair of musicians in the corner tuned their instruments.

Along red clothed table, laden with bottles of fine drinks and dishes of small delicacies, sat or leaned a selection of fine gentlemen and ladies, writers, actors, academics and even a minor politician. They were all friends of Jean De Silver, and with them sat Niccolette and Uzoji, who Jean, nay Genevieve counted as her dearest friends.

Yet of course, not a one of the assembled company knew her secret.

That evening she was ressed in a doubled breasted black and gold velvet brocade waistcoat, high collared white shirt, black silk cravat, a pair of black trousers with a subtle pinstripe and a pair of highly shined black boots. The outfit was finished off with gold cuff-links, cravat pin and a find gold watch chain.

"Jac, be a good fellow and sit down before you fall over. And thank you for your kind words."

Genevieve smiled broadly from her seat at the head of the table, a glass of very fine Gorian brandy in one elegant pale hand, and a cigar in the other. Her own speech was also a little slurred around the edges, and full of good humour.

"However, a host is only as gracious as his guests."

She raised her brandy glass in toast to the company. Her merry grey eyes travel along the faces of her friends, Jean's friends. She felt a sorrow in her heart that if they knew the truth, most of these people would shun her as if she had plague.

Her eyes settled on Niccolette and her smile brightened once more, her young friend had changed and grown since she sat in Genevieve's lecture theatre.

She inclined her head deeply in thanks to her and the handsome Mugrobi that sat beside her. The two were such a good match and it made Genevieve's heart swell to see them.

She raised her glass to them in a toast.

Earlene Avesta, an opera singer originally from Hesse, She sat on Jean's right touched Genevieve's arm softly and smiled, regarding her from under lowered lashes.

"It has been a most enjoyable evening Jean darling. Tell me, do you have any plans for later…"

Earlene's meaning was clear, even to Genevieve's drink fogged mind. She regarded her friend, the singer really was beautiful. Raven black hair and a fine boned face and deep brown almond shaped eyes, Genevieve's mouth went dry and her mind began to spin. Outwardly Jean gave Elisabeth a lopsided charming grin and laid an elegant hand on hers and said, i a soft voice husky from drink.

"Well Lene my dear, we shall have to see."

She winked and gave a slightly bawdy chuckle before carrying moving off. Oh but Earlene was beautiful and Genevieve was just on the wrong side of drunk to resist that particular temptation but still sober enough to make her escape.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I simply must mingle."

Genevieve squeezed her hand as she stood, a little unsteady and moved down the table, pausing here and there to share a few words. Then she dropped into the empty seat beside Niccolette with a broad beaming smile.

"It so good to see both of you, it truly is. I'm sorry I didn't get chance to chat before dinner. Tell, how are you both?"

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715
Private Room, The Paper Tiger

Niccolette was laughing. ”Yes, Uzoji built it himself!” She said, proudly, and took another drink of wine.

“A pavilion on an island beach,” Cordelia Danthorpe giggled, and batted long, thick eyelashes, shooting a sideways glance at the Mugrobi on Niccolette’s other side. “It sounds like a dream.”

“Quite,” Niccolette said, crisply. “So long as you dream of sweating, bug bites, sand simply everywhere...” but she was grinning, and Cordelia was laughing.

“We’ve planted a grove of macadamia nut trees,” Uzoji was saying enthusiastically, on her other side. “There were some wild ones already on the plantation, and the soil seems to be well-suited. It’s a big investment, but in a few years they’ll start to produce. I never saw myself as a farmer, but I can’t help enjoying the sight.”

“I have never been to the Muluku Islands,” Cordelia was saying; Niccolette turned her attention back to the galdor. “There are passives simply everywhere, isn’t it? Do you feel safe there?”

Niccolette smiled, and took another sip of wine. “One grows used to it,” she said with a shrug that she knew would look effortless. “You should be surprised, I think.”

“Quite scandalous,” Cordelia said with a giggle. “I met one of them once. In Vienda, if you can believe it! He performed in those operas of theirs,” she lowered her voice, glancing around and grinning at Niccolette. “Terribly handsome, of course. The allure of the forbidden,” the actress sighed, dramatically.

Niccolette giggled. “If you should like me to make any introductions,” she said, wickedly.

Cordelia shrieked with laughter. The talk meandered on, and then the actress was getting up, resting heavily on the arm of Lucrenzio Paramorotti, eyelashes fluttering up at the solicitous gentleman.

Niccolette drained her glass of wine and set it down empty on the table. She felt Uzoji’s hand gentle on the small of her back, although he did not turn away from his conversation. The waiter came, and poured another glass, and Niccolette scooped it off the table unhesitatingly, and took a long sip. The collar of her rose gold silk dress felt tight, suddenly, and she eased her fingers over the delicate buttons.

Niccolette’s face brightened at the sight of Jean, and she beamed at him, her ramscott goldshifting in welcome. “Jean, darling,” the Bastian set her glass down, and clasped his hands in hers, squeezing lightly. She wore her wedding ring, and a sapphire glinted on her other hand, catching the light.

“It is wonderful to see you,” Niccolette said, smiling, “and to be here to celebrate you. We are quite well, of course.”

“Jean!” Uzoji beamed, turning to face them, his head neatly shaven and his field mingling freely, comfortably, with them both. He reached behind Niccolette, clasping Jean lightly on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, my friend. May the year - the decade - rise upon you like the sun on the water.”

Niccolette sat back, her fingers playing on the stem of her wineglass. She smiled at Uzoji, fondly, lovingly, and turned back to Jean.

“My hope for the decade,” Uzoji said, grinning, “is that we’ll see you more often. We have a house now in the Rose, although we’re still passing a good deal of time in the Islands.”

”Oh, yes, you must come visit,” Niccolette grinned. “It is something of a...” she made a face, and offered Jean a gentle little shrug of her shoulders, “Rhe house is lovely.”

“The Rose is lovely too,” Uzoji objected, grinning. “It’s a vibrant city.”

“Vibrant indeed,” Niccolette agreed, and giggled. “And how are you, Jean? You are keeping well?”

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715

Genevieve exchanged smiles with Cordelia and chuckled and gave a courtly bow she blew her a kiss and shot Paramorotti a wink as the pair passed her
.

Then Genevieve turned her attention to her friends, still smiling wide. As Niccolette and Uzoji greeted her with such genuine warmth she felt a lump form in her throat and tears prick at her eyes. A powerful mix of love and shame threatened to overwhelm her, she wished so dearly that she could tell her friends the truth, but how could she now?

Genevieve recovered and made a show of brushing a tear from her cheek.

"You do me to much honour, both of you. I do not deserve such fine friends as you, truly I don't."

She moved so she stood between them and laid a companionable hand on each of their shoulders. Her smile returned at their words she nodded delightedly.

"I would dearly love to visit your home, either of them!"

Chuckling Genevieve moved round and gracefully slumped into the seat Cordelia had vacated and drained the last of her brandy. The glass was refilled almost immediately and she smiled her thanks to the waiter.

"Now you must tell me everything about Old Rose, I have long been fascinated by the city.”

A mischievous grin spread across Genevieve’s face as she continued.

"And of course I have long wished to visit the famous, and infamous Old Rose Arena.”

It was true she had long wished to visit Arena and watch fights there, they had a fierce and bloody reputation. However she knew no one in Old Rose and it was not a city a strange galdor went to, without friends, that was until now.

"As for Muluku Island, now that does sound like an adventure I must say. Though I do wonder who my complexion will fair.”

With a languid wave a pale hand she took in her pale almost white skin, her Goiran heritage obvious.

"I do rather fear I would combust at the first touch of direct sunlight.”

Genevieve let out a laugh then, before taking another sip of her brandy.

"I can not do justice to how happy I am the two of you could make, truly. Oh I have been well enough, thank you Niccolette, though of course I am now old.”

She laughed, and then shook her head, a wistful look coming over her face once more, though it quickly passed.

"So you are to be a farmer now Uzoji? If I overheard you correctly that is.

Genevieve relaxed into the chair, a happy and relaxed smile on her face.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715
Private Room, The Paper Tiger

Niccolette giggled. “I am afraid you shall simply have to experience the Rose for yourself,” she said, mischievous, smiling at Jean. “If I tell you too much, perhaps you shall not want to come, and I cannot have this.” She grinned wider.

Uzoji laughed. “I think you'd like it, Jean,” he said, smiling. “It’s rather different in feel than Vienda or Brunnhold – freer, I should say. A man or woman is what they are, in the Rose. That’s not to say it isn’t dangerous, but maybe freedom always is..”

“Of course there is also the smell,” Niccolette wrinkled her nose and raised her eyebrows. “Fish,” she told Jean. “And sandy garbage, of course. But… I suppose it has its charms,” she shot a reluctant sidelong look at Uzoji. “The Old Rose Arena among them,” she grinned back at Jean.

“And the islands!” Niccolette giggled. Her complexion was unchanged from her Brunnhold days, although her Bastian coloring would never be so pale as Jean's Gioran tones. “I should recommend you invest in some hats, if ever you make the trip,” she grinned. “Proper ones – not so fashionable, but you shall long for the shade, without it, and you shall be more red than white.”

Uzoji grinned. “The plantation was a gift from my family for our marriage,” he said, smiling at Jean. “It’s on Isla Dzum, one of the smaller islands in the archipelago. It hasn’t been farmed since my grandparents’ time, but we found it in surprisingly good shape, nonetheless. I’m afraid I’ll bore you terribly if I talk too much of macadamia nuts and coffee, but – it’s been quite an adventure, these last few years.” His hand settled gently on Niccolette’s shoulder. He squeezed, lightly.

Niccolette smiled over at Uzoji, and back at Jean. She wondered. They had agreed, of course; there was much which could not be shared, no matter how good a friend Jean had been during their wedding, and those difficult few months before. She thought he would understand; she thought him the sort who would know what it meant to her, this life that they lived now. But she had promised Uzoji not to tell, not anyone here in Vienda. Let those who knew already know; for the rest, it was safest in silence.

It was a hard thing, Niccolette thought, to tell only truth and yet omit so much. She had not known it possible. Sometimes she wondered what there was which Uzoji did not tell her; sometimes she wondered what questions she could ask. She did not know if she wanted the answers, in the end, and so silence seemed best, for now. But she could not but wonder, listening to him, so honest and yet –

It was strange, Niccolette thought, to keep such secrets and yet call oneself honest. She was not sure she understood it, the Mugrobi way. But she knew too how important it was to Uzoji, that she not lie, and so she would not.

“I was just telling Cordelia that Uzoji built a sun pavilion for me on the beach,” Niccolette said, grinning at Jean. “I am not so fond of swimming, myself, but I must admit the water is lovely.”

“Warm,” Uzoji agreed with a grin. “During the day at least.”

“And now we have the house restored, the macadamia trees planted,” Niccolette smiled over at her shoulder at Uzoji again, and then back at Jean. “But there is not so much to do, I am afraid. Perhaps we shall become terribly provincial,” she grinned wickedly at Jean. “By the next time you see me, perhaps I shall have forgotten entirely all there is of polite society, and have started to communicate with drums, like the human natives.” She beat her fingertips lightly against the table, then giggled again, and settled her hands in her lap.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715

As her friends spoke of the Rose Genevieve took a sip from her glass. At Niccolette's description of the cities oder she almost spat brandy across the table, which would have been most unfortunate. As it would have likely ignited as it past over the delightful candelabra and set fire to poor John Rasmussen, who was sat across from her.

With an effort Genevieve swallowed the brandy then started to laugh and coughed.

"Fish and sandy garbage!"

She exclaimed once the mirth and coughing fit had passed.

"My dear Niccolette you have such a way with words, you truly do."

Her smile lit up face, already bright from drink and red from coughing.

As the conversation turned to the island she listened with wrapped attention. Grinning at Niccolette's talk of 'proper hats', picturing herself self in some manner of rustic straw hat, like a Blyth County yokel.

"I do believe I would need a large unfashionable hat and a parasol, or I may turn into rather dapper bacon. Though the pavilion does sound delightful, however the idea of swing in the does sound very strange to me. But then the waters of Gior are far cooler."

Genevieve chuckled then, as Uzoji took over the talk of the plantation her attention shifted to him, still smiling.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know a macadamia from a walnut, but coffee however, that is something I am very interested in. I've become something of a fiend for it my old age."

She took a sip of brandy grinning, she listened to them both speak. Their pride, love and happiness touched her deeply.

At the talk Niccolette taking up drumming like the local humans Genevieve struck the table in merriment.

Then she steepled her fingers and regarded her friends.

""Well if you would be willing, the both of you, I would like to invest in your plantation."

She held up a slender hand to stay any immediate protest.

"Now I would not expect any say in how business is done as I do not have a head for such. However, if you did want to expand say, get more ships for transport? Then I have money, and nothing to spend it on but my vices."

Spreading her hands she gave them both her most charming smile, slightly lopsided from drink.

"I am not asking for an answer this second, take your time. I care for you both dearly and would dearly like to help you in any small way I can."

She placed a hand over her heart, giving gravity to her words.

Genevieve knew she would never have children of her own, so when she died her money would be snapped up by lawyers or worse left to gather dust.

Better than it should be used now to make a difference for those she cared about.

At the point one of the waiters paused and lent close to Genevieve's and spoke softly. She smiled and said in reply, loud enough for the assembled company to hear.

"Yes indeed, do please bring the champagne through!”

Her words were greeted with a cheer from those seated or standing around the table.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715
Private Room, The Paper Tiger

Niccolette had seen Jean’s little near choke, and she had laughed; she’d rather wished that she had made him spit his brandy across the table. It would have been quite amusing, she decided, although perhaps a waste of the brandy that, from Uzoji’s rapt look as he tasted it, must have been quite delicious indeed.

“We’re still experimenting with different varietals,” Uzoji said, enthusiastically, grinning at Jean. “I’ve a small plot that I tend myself, when I’m on the island, and of course we have quite a bit more at a larger scale. It needs a good deal of shade, unfortunately, which rules out quite a bit of the plantation, but we’ve managed a healthy crop so far. I’d be glad to bring you some of my favorites, next time we visit.”

The offer caught both of them off-guard; Niccolette’s eyes widened, faintly, and her hands tightened in her lap. She smiled at Jean, and glanced sideways at Uzoji.

Her husband was smiling. “You are a generous friend,” he said, firmly. “Thank you, Jean, for the offer. We shall consider it.”

Niccolette found herself faintly relieved when the waiter came over. She did not know how Uzoji did it; she did not know if she could do it. We’re not in need of money, she wanted to say; we’ve bankrolled the growth ourselves, washing money clean for our own piracy and for Silas Hawke – perhaps you have heard of him? Yes, that Silas Hawke, the king of the underworld. She felt Uzoji’s hand on her back once more, gentle.

Niccolette cheered lightly with the others at the promise of champagne, and she smiled once more at Jean.

“Ah, in fact,” Uzoji grinned. “I doubt it’ll go well with champagne, but, while we have you here…” he glanced over at one of the waiters, raising his eyebrows.

The man turned, and returned a moment later, carrying a wrapped bottle. Uzoji rose to take it from him, and turned back to Jean with a grin. “For celebrations present and future,” he promised, setting the bottle down on the table before Jean.

Niccolette knew, of course, what the gift was. Uzoji had fussed over the bottle of bourbon all the way from the Rose; he had swaddled it with as much care as a newborn infant, and had set Aremu to the task of designing some sort of strange anti-swaying device, so that it would not rock about so much with the ship. Niccolette had come across the two of them bent over it, carefully inserting a bottle into a strange sort of swing, snorted, and promptly turned around and walked away.

“And from me,” Niccolette said, with a little smile. Her reticulate lay on the table before her; she reached into it, and pulled out a small package, heavier than it looked. The glass tinkled softly inside the paper as she set it on the table. It was a small bottle of hair oil, custom-made to Niccolette’s specifications in Vienda, scented delicately with jasmine and bergamot, a clean scent with a hint of citrus.

“Many happy returns, Jean,” Niccolette took his hand again with a smile. Uzoji’s hand had found her back again, and she did not linger, but leaned back slightly against her husband.

She felt Uzoji’s hand ease her hair to the side, gently; his lips barely brushed the spot behind her ear, just above the collar of her dress, and his hand held her soft. Niccolette sighed, softly. She knew better than to doubt, or regret. She knew what she had chosen, and it was worth all she had given up, and more.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715

At Uzoji's words Genevieve smiled and nodded her head, as she said, she would not rush them.

Once the waiter left to bring in the champagne, a half case of the best the Paper Tiger had to offer. Genevieve returned her full attention to Uzoji and Niccolette, she wondered what Uzoji was talking about.

When a waiter went out and came back in with a wrapped shape, which was unmistakably a bottle, Genevieve's eyes began to widen. No, she thought to herself, would he have?

She carefully unwrapped the bottle and saw it was bourbon, and she remembered the first time they had met. A lump came to her throat and tears pricked her eyes again. She was about to speak when Niccolette handed her smaller gift she opened it and sniffed the constance. Hair oil, of most excellent quality, she carefully placed it on the table next to the bottle and looked at her friends. She was overcome then, with love and joy, the tears came then rolling down her cheeks as she smiled.

Genevieve pulled the handkerchief from the pocket of her waistcoat and dapped at her eyes.

"I do not deserve you, either of you. My dear, dear friends. I'm so sorry, I must look an absolute fright.."

She got herself under control oh but she wish she could be honest with her friends. Maybe they would understand, she looked around the assembled company, her friends, those nearest and dearest to her. She stood up and coughed to clear her throat and every eye turned to her. She would do it, she would tell them the truth.

"My friends, my dear, dear friends. There is something I must tell you."

She was cut off by the dining room door being loudly pushed open by a trolley carrying glasses and a large ice bucket full of bottles of champagne. In that split second her nerve and resolve fled her, she couldn't do it, she was afraid. She recovered as all eyes turned back to her.

"I love you all, truly I do. You are the finest friends a man could ask for. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for being here to celebrate my gradual decline into old age."

She laughed and treated them all to her most dazzling and charming smile, as the laughter die she swung a hand towards the champagne trolley.

"This champagne, is my gift to you. Drink up my friends."

Genevieve looked to Uzoji and Niccolette and laid a hand on their shoulders and said softly.

"Thank you both, with all my heart thank you."

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2715
Private Room, The Paper Tiger

Jean did not catch himself this time; tears were rolling down his cheeks until he found it in him to staunch the flow. Niccolette smiled at him, fondly. “Do not be absurd, darling Jean,” she said, settling her hand on his forearm. “Of course you deserve us.” She squeezed, lightly, and eased back against Uzoji.

She felt Uzoji’s lips brush her hair, lightly. He was smiling at Jean. He didn’t say anything, Niccolette noticed. She glanced half up at him, and he smiled down at her. “I shall be glad to hear what you think of the bourbon,” Uzoji said, when he looked back up, and he was still smiling. His thumb stroked lightly against Niccolette’s side, once – twice, then stilled.

Niccolette wondered what he was thinking; she knew him too well not to read into the silence. Before she could think to ask anything – before she could think better of asking – Jean rose from his seat, clearing his throat and looking around the room.

Niccolette sat up, slightly, smiling up at him. All eyes, hers included, jumped to the door, and then went back to Jean. There was a burst of applause from the drunk, scattered guests, bright, cheerful laughter filling the room.

Niccolette smiled at Jean. “You are welcome,” she said, softly. Uzoji smiled as well, and he nodded. “From us both,” he clasped Jean’s hand in his. There was nothing at all on his face, nothing but a friendly smile; there was nothing in his field either. Later, Niccolette thought, staunchly; she would tackle him on it later. Jean, she thought, did not know him well enough to come at him straight, but she did. She would, Niccolette pledged.

There was the clinking of champagne glasses as they were poured and passed out. Niccolette took one, glimmering bubbles rising to the top, fizzing brightly beneath the lights.

“To Jean!” Devonshire Harcourt called from across the table.

“To Jean!” The room echoed, Niccolette and Uzoji included. Niccolette raised her glass, and took a long sip of the dry sparkling wine – not too sweet, she thought, pleased, as always, with Jean’s taste. She smiled at him, and back at Uzoji; if her eyes lingered, just a moment, on her hsuband’s smile, it was only a moment, and Niccolette set it aside.

“No more maudlin tears!” Niccolette told Jean, firmly. She giggled. “You shall enjoy the rest of your birthday, if I must personally make sure of it. If you do not behave, I shall call over Ms. Avesta,” Niccolette shot him a wicked grin, and took another sip of her champagne. “I am sure she will know how to cheer you up.”

There was another round of toasts, beginning then; Niccolette cheered, half-hoarse; there was more champagne too, and laughter even brighter, and the party dissolved into a wonderful cacophony of noise and sound, all centered around Jean. If tears pricked as his eyes again, here and there, no one said anything but encouraging; if he seemed morose, no one said anything but cheerful. The room was filled with the warmth of bastly, gold-shift fields, tangled together, as if the mona themselves had crowded in to celebrate. Niccolette threw herself into it headlong, and put off the rest for another time.