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[Harlequin]

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“Honey, I’m hoooome…” Harlequin sang out quietly as she shut the door behind her and lit a lantern on the table. A pied crow sat roosting in the corner of the cabin on her bedpost. In the darkness, he was nearly invisible but for the tuft of white on his chest, where his beak was deeply nestled in slumber.

Harlequin crossed the room to a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread. The bread no sooner hit the countertop than the crow fluttered to perch atop Harlequin’s shoulder.

“Hungry, Ansel?” Harlequin tore off a few small chunks of the bread and poured them out of her hand onto the table. Ansel hopped onto the table and pecked eagerly at the bread.

“Met the Oracle’s son tonight. He’s a looker. Apparently not a pirate though.” She crossed to the dressing table and lit a candle next to the mirror with a thoughtful pout. “Last night was only a costume.”

Ansel lifted his head with a bob as he downed the last piece of bread and watched intently as Harlequin removed her crystal earrings. They sparkled in the candlelight as she shut them away in a wooden box. She smirked at Ansel, who stared at the box, wide-eyed.

“I’m onto you, my friend. No sparklies for you tonight.” Ansel fluttered across the room again to perch atop the bedpost, as Harlequin sat down at the dressing table to remove her makeup. She soaked balls of cotton with spirits that smelled bitterly of herbs, and worked meticulously to remove every last smudge of paint. She fanned herself, allowing her pale skin to dry before putting on a painted mask and tying the long, black satin ribbons to hold it in place. She examined the frozen, sombre expression of the mask she wore in the mirror and tilted her head.

Harlequin lifted the mask to blow out the lantern and the candle, then lowered it again into place as she dove onto the bed. She gathered her pillow beneath her chin, her face mere inches from the windowpane. The full moon’s light illuminated the white of her mask, so that the the reflection of her visage glowed back at her from the glass, a silvery spectre in the night.

“Oddly enough, I met a pirate too. What are the chances, eh?” With her bright smile hidden away securely in the darkness behind the solemn expression of the mask, Quinn watched the autumn leaves painted silver with moonlight as one by one they abandoned their refuges and fluttered softly to their winter grave.
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Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

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“This is RUBBISH.” Quinn slammed the cabin door behind her as she stomped in from the frosty autumn night. The inside of the cabin was nearly as cold as it was outside, the fire having died down hours before. She set her lantern on the table and eyed a bushel basket of apples sitting cheerily on the floor beside the counter.

“What right does she have? She knows NOTHING.” She paused for a moment. Ansel unsettled atop his perch on her bedpost across the room, as if bracing for Harlequin’s next move. She clenched her fists and gave the bushel basket a swift, hard kick, sending apples scattering, bouncing, and rolling across the wooden slats of the floor. Ansel fluttered, watching the herd of apples stampede away from Quinn and the basket, then resettled himself again.

“Overbearing SHREW…Laughable lupine excuse for a human being!” Emphasizing the last word, she kicked an apple across the room, knocking a plant off its pedestal.

Harlequin turned to Ansel and huffed indignantly. “If she thinks she has any control over me WHATSOEVER she has another thought coming. She’s got NOTHING on me.” She caught sight of the Stonegate insignia hastily stitched onto her sleeve and ripped it off, tearing the crisp white linen of her blouse. “A’ight fine, NOW she’s got nothing on me.”

Quinn’s mind raged and stormed as she lit a candle and set it on the dressing table. By candlelight, she caught her reflection and noticed for the first time the dried blood that had trickled from her nose and mouth from the punch that Merci had thrown. She noticed, too, the smudge where Korin had tried to touch the her face paint. “A’ight so she has a hell of a right hook. Bloody abomination. “ Even the calming ritual of removing her paint didn’t seem to quell the fires that burned inside her. Her reflection stared back at her, one eye blacked darkly against the stark pale of skin that had never seen the sun.

With a dark scowl, Harlequin placed the solemn and complacent expression of her mask over her face. She tied the long black satin ribbons and turned to survey the damage of her tantrum. With a swipe, she scooped up an apple off the floor and plopped down in an overstuffed chair, lying on her back in the seat, legs hooked over the chair back, head hanging off upside down. She pulled the mask off and gave it a careless underhanded toss toward the hearth of the dormant fireplace. It shattered in a spectacular shower of ceramic shards.

Upside-down. She contemplated a moment as she took in the inverted room around her, then bit viciously into the apple. Things are just upside-down right now. I’ll get the upper hand. After all, I got what I wanted. I’m closer to Merci d’Rue than I’ve ever been. First things first, though. Guess I hafta sew that damnable badge back on...
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Merci d'Rue]

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Why do I do this? She asked herself. Why does part of me have the need to be right up close to the danger? Myrddin would give her a half scowl or half growl she wasnt sure.

Yet now she had some explaining to do.

1. Explain to the King why you just invited a Lycan Hunter into the Clan.

2. Explain to the King why you like to put yourself right into the middle of a mess.

3. Explain to the King how you intend to deal with this...

She stared at that which she had just written, organizing her thoughts and feelings... and just ended up staring blankly.


Well Merci my girl, you have done it again... For some reason her mind rolled back to a day long ago when her father had yelled to her mother...

Emily this is a fine mess ye have us in again... Followed by the sounds of swords clashing. Merci smiled and wondered, do you think he will accept:

Its just hereditary, Milord?
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May destiny guide you...