Elsewhere, the resplendent Lord Clive, one of his fully-armored Knight Commanders, and a humble older woman—wearing a burgundy cloak, wooden sandals, a coolie hat, and carrying a rod of bamboo—all waited at the port, beside the doomed Santa Lyrica: an extravagant ship for extravagant patrons. Lady Madeline's mercenaries were almost certainly all boarded by now, as it would be improbable for her to amass thirty men who both outranked Ashley and were willing to do the deed—or, as indeed would be easier, to forge so many false identities—but Clive would wait until the last possible moment, just to be safe.

The older woman, who appeared to be somewhere around her mid to late fifties, or early sixties at most, clacks her staff on the ground. She was a spry woman, standing upright, clearly not needing the staff to walk. "Good heavens! Where is that flighty girl? I thought this was her idea! Has she changed course again already?"

"My Lord," the knight who had corrected Clive's misunderstanding from before interjects apologetically. "As her Commander, the fault is mine for letting her break formation. I shall assume full responsibility for her actions, and my own inaction against her," he rattles off professionally.

"At ease," Clive replies with his trademark smile. "You may feel obliged to say so, but we both know that she works better off the leash."

"Mm. I will vouch for her boldness, if nothing else. She is quite unflappable—much like yourself in that respect."

"Hmph. Is that what you think?" the old woman interrupts, grinning like she understands something they don't.

"You did say something about flightiness," Clive grants her. "We all have our roles to play. Find her, will you?" he says to the knight.

"Right away!"

[hr]

For all her charm and social graces, this was one thing Ashley did not handle well: chaos.

While she was trying to talk to Margot, a man she recognized—Troe Revinah—suddenly made his presence known. Just as she was recalling how much she respected the man for inquiring earnestly about her work for his research, which he published—thus reducing the amount of ignorance in the world, regarding both her particular line of work and dark magic in general—a bar fight was breaking out. Worse yet, Mikhail was joining the fight, before she could object to the idea. Before she could figure out how she feels about this, Mikhail's comment reminds her that she has a duty to stop such... tomfoolery. Then, however, Margot's reply manages to shove its way to the forefront of her mind. Now that she had fully processed what was said, she realizes her blunder.

[color=#ff39d6][i]No! You were serious?! But you're so young, and your quintessence gives you so much potential! Even if life is short, stay in school! Don't do witchcraft! Fall in love! Get married, have ten kids, teach them proper manners! Idiot! Stupid! Ngah! I've made a grave mistake!![/i]

"Ah... haha. I... guess I'll just have to protect you, won't I?"[/color] was the only coherent thought that escaped her mouth. [color=#ff39d6][i]S-Smooth! I can be smooth if I try! That works.[/i][/color]

The maid from before narrows her eyes at Ashley, envious. "Dear sir... are you, perchance, the type who can't say no to cute girls?"

[color=#ff39d6]"W-Well. Strictly speaking, I guess that's true, but it's not [i]like that[/i]..."[/color] Ashley tries to explain, making a face like she'd been found out. [color=#ff39d6]"Anyway, I have to deal with this!"[/color] she blurts out, using the increasing intensity of the bar fight as her excuse.

She cuts off the original instigator of the fight—the man with the broken nose—stopping him from fleeing the scene.

[color=#ff39d6]"Going somewhere, piggy?"[/color] she spits with all the poison she could muster for a man of his... [i]persuasion[/i].

"I'll go where the hell I want, lordling! What are you gonna do about it?!"

Ashley hadn't exactly thought that far. She was skilled with the sword, but against this many men... and she was a just a [i]little[/i] on the petite side.

"Halt! In the name of the law, cease this madness at once!" a voice Ashley recognized boomed. It was her Commander.

[color=#ff39d6][i]My savior cometh![/i][/color] she thought. Then, thinking fast, she shows the men a devilish smile, unties her ponytail, and makes a mess of her hair. [color=#ff39d6]"Commander!"[/color] she cries out in her most feminine voice, covering her face with her hands and running over to him to bury it in his breastplate.

"Ashley?! Report!" he begins, professionally. Then, noticing Ashley's sniffling and ruined hair, he changes his tone. "What... what's wrong?! Speak, Dame!"

Pretending to take a moment to compose herself, she breathes deeply. [color=#ff39d6]"That wicked man, over there! That most uncouth barbarian! He is a menace to women everywhere!"[/color] she accuses, one hand covering her mouth, pointing the finger in his direction with the other. [color=#ff39d6]"I saw him, gro—... [i]looming menacingly[/i], over that poor woman—a helpless, one-armed girl—with intent to... to vio—... to do [i]unspeakable[/i] things to her body! I tried to stop him, Commander, but I was alone, and his men joined him, and I... Oh, I was so very scared!"[/color]

The maid from before watches the scene unfold, mouth agape, but covered by her hands. "Oh my... She's so brave..!" she says with misty eyes.

All eyes were upon the man who'd started the bar fight. He and his men could tell that Ashley was snickering—but she was putting a commendable amount of effort into making it look and sound like sniffles and sobs. The Commander was fully armored, but no one needed to see his face to know that he was fuming. His Ashley—the woman he'd just praised for being bold and unflappable—was burying her face in his breast, sobbing. Still, incredibly, he kept his composure, as he'd taught his subordinate to do.

"Will any man speak in his defense?!" he roared. He needn't have bothered asking. As a noblewoman and as a Knight Captain, hardly anyone in the entire tavern could give a testimony that out-weighed Ashley's. Even if they could, well... they knew how to read a room.

Realizing how screwed they were, he and his accomplices booked it toward the back door.

"Arrest them!" the Commander shouted.

"You better run, you bastards! You dare make our Ashley cry?!" one knight called out.

"We'll make you squeal for this! You pigs!" cried another.

Once the ruffians and most of the knights were gone, the owner of the tavern made himself known. "A thousand apologies, Dame Ashley."

With one last sniff, she begins straightening her hair, combing it with her fingers. [color=#ff39d6]"Pay it no mind, my good man. Any day that justice is served is worth celebrating."[/color]

"Hear, hear!" shouted a nearby patron, raising his cracked glass.

"A round on the house, for you and your friends—please, I insist," the owner says as he bows to Ashley.

"Your generosity is appreciated, but we must be going," her Commander cuts him off.

[color=#ff39d6]"Yes, we surely must. Mikhail, stop flirting and come over here!"[/color] she calls out to him sourly. [color=#ff39d6]"You too, Troe, and your friend. Don't fall behind."[/color]

Though she doesn't acknowledge the commoners who announced their intent to come along, she silently hopes that they recognize that this is their cue. [color=#ff39d6]"My apologies, Commander, for holding you up,"[/color] she says wistfully.

"No. I will be forever grateful that I made it in time," he responds gravely.

A small pang of guilt seizes Ashley's dead heart. [color=#ff39d6][i]Ugh. I feel bad, making you worry about my chastity, but that's five less bastards in the world!![/i][/color]