The carriage ride home was much too short for Claire's liking. It wasn't like she had anywhere else she wanted to go or disliked the estate, but just the idea that Nick, a man that had gained little of her respect despite yesterdays (minimal) efforts, was controlling her moves even while asleep was an annoying one. She arrived in good time just as promised, but was unnerved to see horses outside, ridden by a guest. Who would come on horses and not by carriage...and today of all days. She hoped her fears would prove to be wrong.
Claire stepped through the front door, putting on the most curious, innocent face possible. "Do we have visitors? I didn't realize anyone was coming today, I would have stayed home!" she exclaimed to the butler.
"Yes, Mrs. Rochford, it is the police," he answered reluctantly, wanting to be left out of it. He hadn't yet learned if Claire was the type to get angry or cry at unsettling news such as the police looking for you, but he would rather not find out today. Claire swallowed hard. The police were involved? She'd thought this all might be kept under the table, that it wouldn't come to this...apparently she'd been wrong. A silent 'no thanks' to her contact went through her mind before she went on.
"Oh! Are they here about the man who hurt Nick? I do hope they caught him," she asked as the butler took her coat and hat.
"I'm not sure, my lady," he answered awkwardly, being as vague as possible. The police and her father in law could explain why they were there. "They are in the first floor sitting room, with Mr. Rochford's father. I believe they've requested you join them."
"Of course. If it hasn't been done, do get some tea." Busy yourself with making "company" comfortable, and being upset at the news. Not with guilt or the politics of the situation. Claire slowly made her way to the parlor, pushing open the door that was cracked open. Within were two officers and, as mentioned to her before, Bennett Rochford. Nobody was sitting.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?" Please, please let it be about Nicholas.
"No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you." Blunt and to the point. Well, hopefully that just meant this would be over that much sooner. Innocence, Claire... What was done wasn't wrong...or, at least, it was done for a purpose...
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Name: Taryn (last name unknown)
Age: 17
Description: standing at 5'6 and a slim 110 lbs, the girl is underweight and in need of a few good meals. She looks younger than she is because of it. Taryn usually wears a loose fitting long sleeve shirt over her flat figure, devoid of curves in her current state of health. Mischievous blue eyes are constantly on alert, and a smile usually present when around decent company or she's found something humorous. Pale skin is free of blemishes even with her exposure to the sun, save for a couple cuts on her arm and stomach. Her hair is cut short and ragged, like she'd done it herself with a pocket knife.
Personality: Despite a lack of proper influence and role models, or perhaps because of it, Taryn is inquisitive of 'right and wrong' and enjoys eavesdropping on conversations of politics and morals. Her view from the underbelly of London has given her a strong opinion of how things "should be". She refuses to be pushed around, and isn't very trusting of others at first. One can only assume what she's been through since going to the streets. Taryn isn't quite sure of the basic questions like "likes and dislikes" aren't answered easily for her- she likes the basic necessities because that is what is on her mind. She dislikes rainy days and angry dogs near her "bed", because that is what affects her.
Bio: She grew up in a foster care run by the Church of England, a crowded, underfunded part of the church that was lucky to keep them fed. Thankfully she learned the basics of education before finally deciding to brave the streets, not wanting to share another bed with 3 other dirty, hungry children at the age of 12. With her small figure and quick hands Taryn took to pick pocketing and was able to perfect her simple way of life without resorting to other ways of making money. With her "cute" nature with friends (just don't call it that to her face) others on the street couldn't help but offer assistance growing up. But now, at barely 17, Taryn takes care of herself and can take from even the most protected money purses and run from the fittest guards.
*****
I know, I love your character so much :( I just have no motivation to look for more people, go through explaining things again, and getting it going...I think I'm a good player, just not a good GM because I hate looking for people again :/ I dont know I'll take the night to think about it.
uuugh okay this is what keeps happening. I post and the screen loads to a white screen, like it didn't work. So I go about the site, whatever, and come back and it's like I haven't post. I even get on my phone and nothing, no post. So I try again, and still doesn't work. It's only on this rp!
But what happened the other day was that I woke up the next morning and like 7 posts were there...so I don't know if I should just wait and see if my posts show up or what. I don't want to post 12 times again...
But what happened the other day was that I woke up the next morning and like 7 posts were there...so I don't know if I should just wait and see if my posts show up or what. I don't want to post 12 times again...
.
“Right…right. He has no idea we know anything. Any maybe it’s nothing. I’ll have to…to do some investigating. No big deal.” Alice looked around, still trying to get a grasp on her surroundings. “I can’t believe I cried in front of you,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes with a deep sigh. “I um…it’s getting late and dark, maybe we should go inside.” She felt safer inside the tent anyway. Suddenly being out in the open like they were didn’t sound so great.
“I’ll change and let you know when I’m done.” Alice gave him one last look before going inside the tent, changing into a set of black shorts and a white tanktop. “Okay!” she called, sitting with her legs pulled up against her, chin ontop of her knees and arms around her legs when he came in. “This is so not how I pictured this night with you going. Not at all what I planned,” she said as both an apology and disappointment to herself as she opened her phone. There was already a friend texting her asking how the night was going. She’d only told one that she was coming here with him…maybe even that’d been a mistake.
“I’ll change and let you know when I’m done.” Alice gave him one last look before going inside the tent, changing into a set of black shorts and a white tanktop. “Okay!” she called, sitting with her legs pulled up against her, chin ontop of her knees and arms around her legs when he came in. “This is so not how I pictured this night with you going. Not at all what I planned,” she said as both an apology and disappointment to herself as she opened her phone. There was already a friend texting her asking how the night was going. She’d only told one that she was coming here with him…maybe even that’d been a mistake.
“I was about to say I forgive you, you don’t have to explain further.”
Claire flinched, realizing she really had been bothering him. Assuming so and being told so weren’t the same, and she sighed when he confirmed her worry.
“I apologize for demanding a lot from you last night. I just got… I find it…. Yes, I was worried. It was late and none of the house staff knew where you went. And then you admitted to going to the prison, which made it worse. Anyway, I shall stay here for now. You may go about doing what pleases you, but please be a dear and allow me to sleep for a few more hours. My head is killing me right now.”
She nodded, leaning in to brush her fingers through his hair. He smelled of alcohol…he’d been drinking. Was it because of their fight, or was this normal for him? “As you wish. I didn’t know you’d been drinking or I wouldn’t have bothered,” she whispered, kissing his forehead before helping him move back into place and putting the blankets over his bottom half. She had opened up to him about the way she thought, how she had grown up with no one really there, and it had completely been pushed to the side. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine a world where they grew close enough where she could even ask for his advice on her current activities, but that was no reality. Nicholas cared not for the politics of England and their dealings with the world, unless it was going to profit his business. Bad timing, she told herself, not that he didn’t care.
Without another word Claire went back out into the hall, standing there for a moment as she decided what to do next. A part of her was eager to hear whether she had succeeded, but the other didn’t want to know. Lucy would be distraught, and would probably run to her for comfort now. They would be alike on some level, but Claire had no time to watch a woman cry on her couch. Her mind was filled with decisions and plans… She frowned, slowly making her way to the parlor with her brow furrowed in thought. They hadn’t been married very long, and already she felt like she was failing at that.
Claire was the type of person who, more than anything, wanted to be useful. Most found they could do this by taking up sewing or playing the piano, but none of those things ever filled her with accomplishment. She wanted very much to have the romance she’d been dreaming of since their first visit to the estate, but that was a lost cause. So, with nothing else to fill her time, Claire dove into working on the guest list, making sure to include the few high ranking officials that would be helpful in obtaining the information she desired. Name after name of people she knew and those she didn’t that would want to come were added afterwards, a bigger crowd making it easier for her to get away from Nicholas for the evening. Dinner would be a waste of time- the conversation she wanted would not be well for all ears to hear, so appetizers would be served in the ball…they might need to borrow a few of father’s staff for the night.
Just as she was finishing up a member of the house staff interrupted with a note from someone who had stopped by. Your fabrics are ready, Mrs. Rochford, it read,[/i] Stop by and pick them up as soon as possible.[/i] Which really meant immediately. They just met…couldn’t he have sent a note telling her if they had heard anything yet? She sighed, telling the maid to have the carriage readied. She silently wrote a note for her husband as well, informing him she had to visit the tailor to have her dresses fitted. The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted. I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back! With love, Claire.
It was habit to write the ending signature, and afterward she stared at it, wondering if she should rewrite a new one altogether. She decided against it, telling someone to slip it on his bedside table before leaving. So much for a peaceful day at home.
*****
Claire had only met them at the business once before. They had been afraid her being seen somewhere new in broad daylight would give the girl away, but all she had to say was the shop was a client of her husband’s business, and it made sense. The details were never explained to her, of course, but everyone that worked there must have been on ‘their side’, because nobody questioned her contact and she speaking while a tailor fitted a gorgeous, top of the line dress on Miss Claire.
“Do I actually get a dress out of this? It would look silly if I didn’t, my husband might wonder,” she said, looking up at the man. He rolled his eyes, having enough of her snide remarks. “Fine. So, what am I here for? If you keep calling me out like this someone will truly start to wonder, you do realize that.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Mrs. Rochford, and you just do as you’re told. With Hawthorne dead, you-“
“He died? He actually died, he’s gone?” Claire looked at him with sadness, her hand going to her chest. Why was she surprised?
“Yes, during the night. I don’t think they’re suspicious, but they would be stupid for your visit to not seem a little odd.”
“So you bring me here? Why would you-“
“Calm down, woman…I wanted to know the date of this brilliant ballroom party you’ll be holding,” he said, a sarcastic tone to his voice. “I need the information in a week, two tops,” he told her, slowly pacing around her as he spoke, looking up every few moments to make sure nobody was close enough to hear their conversation. It was a large store with a few employees, but it would by like some ditsy woman to come fawn over what Claire was wearing while they spoke.
“That quick? My husband is still injured, Sir, I don’t know how you expect me to do anything with him in bed.”
There was a pause as the larger man thought to himself, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor stopping. “What the hell is keeping him bedridden for this long?”
“If you must know,” Claire sighed, “he was shot. Someone tried to steal money from his carriage the night before. Poor Nick, he went through the entire wedding without telling me.”
“Shot?” His eyes narrowed, but he said no more on the subject. He would have someone look into it, a woman would not believe his wonderings without stronger evidence. Surely he was wrong, anyway, and Claire could barely handle what he’d given her so far. She was so suspicious…speaking ill of her husband now, without proof, would give unwise. It would be just like her to go right out and ask him without thinking. “Two weeks, Claire. Give the information to Stephen here, at the shop when you get it. And be careful, Claire…I don’t need another ending like Hawthorne.
And that was that. Within a few minutes after he had left she was out the door and back on her way home, frustrated with her time constraint. Putting a time limit on things always made her antsy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her only wish, with her marriage seeming completely hopeless to work on, was that this would go as smoothly as her visit to the prison had…her life depended on it.
Claire flinched, realizing she really had been bothering him. Assuming so and being told so weren’t the same, and she sighed when he confirmed her worry.
“I apologize for demanding a lot from you last night. I just got… I find it…. Yes, I was worried. It was late and none of the house staff knew where you went. And then you admitted to going to the prison, which made it worse. Anyway, I shall stay here for now. You may go about doing what pleases you, but please be a dear and allow me to sleep for a few more hours. My head is killing me right now.”
She nodded, leaning in to brush her fingers through his hair. He smelled of alcohol…he’d been drinking. Was it because of their fight, or was this normal for him? “As you wish. I didn’t know you’d been drinking or I wouldn’t have bothered,” she whispered, kissing his forehead before helping him move back into place and putting the blankets over his bottom half. She had opened up to him about the way she thought, how she had grown up with no one really there, and it had completely been pushed to the side. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine a world where they grew close enough where she could even ask for his advice on her current activities, but that was no reality. Nicholas cared not for the politics of England and their dealings with the world, unless it was going to profit his business. Bad timing, she told herself, not that he didn’t care.
Without another word Claire went back out into the hall, standing there for a moment as she decided what to do next. A part of her was eager to hear whether she had succeeded, but the other didn’t want to know. Lucy would be distraught, and would probably run to her for comfort now. They would be alike on some level, but Claire had no time to watch a woman cry on her couch. Her mind was filled with decisions and plans… She frowned, slowly making her way to the parlor with her brow furrowed in thought. They hadn’t been married very long, and already she felt like she was failing at that.
Claire was the type of person who, more than anything, wanted to be useful. Most found they could do this by taking up sewing or playing the piano, but none of those things ever filled her with accomplishment. She wanted very much to have the romance she’d been dreaming of since their first visit to the estate, but that was a lost cause. So, with nothing else to fill her time, Claire dove into working on the guest list, making sure to include the few high ranking officials that would be helpful in obtaining the information she desired. Name after name of people she knew and those she didn’t that would want to come were added afterwards, a bigger crowd making it easier for her to get away from Nicholas for the evening. Dinner would be a waste of time- the conversation she wanted would not be well for all ears to hear, so appetizers would be served in the ball…they might need to borrow a few of father’s staff for the night.
Just as she was finishing up a member of the house staff interrupted with a note from someone who had stopped by. Your fabrics are ready, Mrs. Rochford, it read,[/i] Stop by and pick them up as soon as possible.[/i] Which really meant immediately. They just met…couldn’t he have sent a note telling her if they had heard anything yet? She sighed, telling the maid to have the carriage readied. She silently wrote a note for her husband as well, informing him she had to visit the tailor to have her dresses fitted. The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted. I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back! With love, Claire.
It was habit to write the ending signature, and afterward she stared at it, wondering if she should rewrite a new one altogether. She decided against it, telling someone to slip it on his bedside table before leaving. So much for a peaceful day at home.
*****
Claire had only met them at the business once before. They had been afraid her being seen somewhere new in broad daylight would give the girl away, but all she had to say was the shop was a client of her husband’s business, and it made sense. The details were never explained to her, of course, but everyone that worked there must have been on ‘their side’, because nobody questioned her contact and she speaking while a tailor fitted a gorgeous, top of the line dress on Miss Claire.
“Do I actually get a dress out of this? It would look silly if I didn’t, my husband might wonder,” she said, looking up at the man. He rolled his eyes, having enough of her snide remarks. “Fine. So, what am I here for? If you keep calling me out like this someone will truly start to wonder, you do realize that.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Mrs. Rochford, and you just do as you’re told. With Hawthorne dead, you-“
“He died? He actually died, he’s gone?” Claire looked at him with sadness, her hand going to her chest. Why was she surprised?
“Yes, during the night. I don’t think they’re suspicious, but they would be stupid for your visit to not seem a little odd.”
“So you bring me here? Why would you-“
“Calm down, woman…I wanted to know the date of this brilliant ballroom party you’ll be holding,” he said, a sarcastic tone to his voice. “I need the information in a week, two tops,” he told her, slowly pacing around her as he spoke, looking up every few moments to make sure nobody was close enough to hear their conversation. It was a large store with a few employees, but it would by like some ditsy woman to come fawn over what Claire was wearing while they spoke.
“That quick? My husband is still injured, Sir, I don’t know how you expect me to do anything with him in bed.”
There was a pause as the larger man thought to himself, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor stopping. “What the hell is keeping him bedridden for this long?”
“If you must know,” Claire sighed, “he was shot. Someone tried to steal money from his carriage the night before. Poor Nick, he went through the entire wedding without telling me.”
“Shot?” His eyes narrowed, but he said no more on the subject. He would have someone look into it, a woman would not believe his wonderings without stronger evidence. Surely he was wrong, anyway, and Claire could barely handle what he’d given her so far. She was so suspicious…speaking ill of her husband now, without proof, would give unwise. It would be just like her to go right out and ask him without thinking. “Two weeks, Claire. Give the information to Stephen here, at the shop when you get it. And be careful, Claire…I don’t need another ending like Hawthorne.
And that was that. Within a few minutes after he had left she was out the door and back on her way home, frustrated with her time constraint. Putting a time limit on things always made her antsy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her only wish, with her marriage seeming completely hopeless to work on, was that this would go as smoothly as her visit to the prison had…her life depended on it.
I was sorta waiting on others come com back/post, but it doesn't look like they're going to. I don't know if I continue this or just let it go at this point
Claire couldn’t believe what was happening. The proud, arrogant Nick Rochford was leaving his bed for her, even with an injury. Was this a trick to make her feel guilty? Was he making her the bad guy? “Nick, stop it. You shouldn’t move, get back in bed!” Nothing. Her husband simply shut the door behind him, leaving with every bit of dignity left in the room.
“What a selfish man,” she grumbled to herself, but didn’t move off the couch. Doing so would feel like he had won…somehow. It didn’t make sense, she was the one with the big bed, so why didn’t she feel accomplished? Eventually, unable to sleep and blaming it on the couch, Claire got up and slipped into bed, a bit disappointed it wasn’t still warm from his body heat. She curled up, Nick’s annoying commanding voice running through her head again and again until she fell into a very restless sleep.
**************
The next morning Claire was woken by her maidservant. She had slept longer than normal, and the woman knew things would go worse if she didn’t wake the lady up. Claire blinked at the morning light, her heart sinking as soon as she realized where she was. Exhaustion was not clouding her mind as it had been last night, and the entire conversation came back to her as quickly as her eyes had opened. After getting dressed in one of her many lovely dresses, the time it took and fixing her hair giving her plenty of time to think about her next move, Claire went on her search for Nicholas. It wasn’t hard, one question to a member of the staff about which room had been readied for him last night and she found it.
A small knock was given before entering, but she’d have come in no matter what the response was. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said quietly, swallowing hard before slowly coming to sit at the foot of the bed, her hand gently touching the bedpost, much differently than the firm, angry grip from last night. She wore a dark green dress with white lace along the edges of the cloth, and shorter gloves that barely went up a few inches on her forearm. “I understand if you’re cross with me, but may I speak with you?”
If granted permission, or he at least didn’t object, Claire would continue. “I’m sorry. I said a lot last night, but I don’t think those much needed words actually came up.” The young woman took a deep breath, slowly letting it out before continuing. “I told myself I gave you all the necessary information before I left to take the blame off me, when in truth I realize I did not. I’m not really used to reporting to anyone with father being so busy and no mother. That wasn’t the right way to handle it, and certainly wasn’t how a lady should act with her husband.”
Apologizing was harder than she thought it would be. What would he do when she was done, laugh, tell her it was beyond forgiveness, or just not care? “No one has ever really cared where I went. Father set boundaries, but they were just meant to be broken growing up. I can’t tell you how many times I was found covered in mud after going riding when I was told it was too rainy or too cold outside,” she grinned, gazing up at him to see if he was taking her apology well. “What I mean to say is this is a little new for me, and I’ve definitely never had anyone…worry about me. I’ve always had to make decisions on my own and judge for myself what was right and wrong.” Claire paused, studying him for a moment. He was getting some color back, which had to be a good sign. “Were you really? Worried, that is. I suppose I didn’t think there should be a reason for you to be, and didn’t fully explain because I didn’t realize you would care. I thought getting out of the house would give you the time away you wanted.” Claire laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand you, Nick, I really don’t. Whether it was true worry or a simple lack of respect, I will inform you of my whereabouts next time, I promise. As long as you promise to be patient and reasonable,” she added, pointing a finger at him.
“I know you did not like me going to the prison yesterday, but it was for a very good reason. That is a woman’s husband, Nick. And I…I really think those two are in love. She loves him very much, anyway.” Another sigh. “Nick, I’ve talked a lot and I feel like nothing has been accomplished. What I’m saying is I want you to come back to your rightful bed and I was wrong. And if you need me I’ll probably be in the parlor reading or making a guest list. Do you think you can forgive me for acting like a child?” If only his forgiveness was the only thing she needed to be concerned about. In the back of her mind she wondered if Matthew was dead or barely hanging on. She had almost slipped up by using past tense when speaking of the man, but had caught herself in time.
“What a selfish man,” she grumbled to herself, but didn’t move off the couch. Doing so would feel like he had won…somehow. It didn’t make sense, she was the one with the big bed, so why didn’t she feel accomplished? Eventually, unable to sleep and blaming it on the couch, Claire got up and slipped into bed, a bit disappointed it wasn’t still warm from his body heat. She curled up, Nick’s annoying commanding voice running through her head again and again until she fell into a very restless sleep.
**************
The next morning Claire was woken by her maidservant. She had slept longer than normal, and the woman knew things would go worse if she didn’t wake the lady up. Claire blinked at the morning light, her heart sinking as soon as she realized where she was. Exhaustion was not clouding her mind as it had been last night, and the entire conversation came back to her as quickly as her eyes had opened. After getting dressed in one of her many lovely dresses, the time it took and fixing her hair giving her plenty of time to think about her next move, Claire went on her search for Nicholas. It wasn’t hard, one question to a member of the staff about which room had been readied for him last night and she found it.
A small knock was given before entering, but she’d have come in no matter what the response was. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said quietly, swallowing hard before slowly coming to sit at the foot of the bed, her hand gently touching the bedpost, much differently than the firm, angry grip from last night. She wore a dark green dress with white lace along the edges of the cloth, and shorter gloves that barely went up a few inches on her forearm. “I understand if you’re cross with me, but may I speak with you?”
If granted permission, or he at least didn’t object, Claire would continue. “I’m sorry. I said a lot last night, but I don’t think those much needed words actually came up.” The young woman took a deep breath, slowly letting it out before continuing. “I told myself I gave you all the necessary information before I left to take the blame off me, when in truth I realize I did not. I’m not really used to reporting to anyone with father being so busy and no mother. That wasn’t the right way to handle it, and certainly wasn’t how a lady should act with her husband.”
Apologizing was harder than she thought it would be. What would he do when she was done, laugh, tell her it was beyond forgiveness, or just not care? “No one has ever really cared where I went. Father set boundaries, but they were just meant to be broken growing up. I can’t tell you how many times I was found covered in mud after going riding when I was told it was too rainy or too cold outside,” she grinned, gazing up at him to see if he was taking her apology well. “What I mean to say is this is a little new for me, and I’ve definitely never had anyone…worry about me. I’ve always had to make decisions on my own and judge for myself what was right and wrong.” Claire paused, studying him for a moment. He was getting some color back, which had to be a good sign. “Were you really? Worried, that is. I suppose I didn’t think there should be a reason for you to be, and didn’t fully explain because I didn’t realize you would care. I thought getting out of the house would give you the time away you wanted.” Claire laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand you, Nick, I really don’t. Whether it was true worry or a simple lack of respect, I will inform you of my whereabouts next time, I promise. As long as you promise to be patient and reasonable,” she added, pointing a finger at him.
“I know you did not like me going to the prison yesterday, but it was for a very good reason. That is a woman’s husband, Nick. And I…I really think those two are in love. She loves him very much, anyway.” Another sigh. “Nick, I’ve talked a lot and I feel like nothing has been accomplished. What I’m saying is I want you to come back to your rightful bed and I was wrong. And if you need me I’ll probably be in the parlor reading or making a guest list. Do you think you can forgive me for acting like a child?” If only his forgiveness was the only thing she needed to be concerned about. In the back of her mind she wondered if Matthew was dead or barely hanging on. She had almost slipped up by using past tense when speaking of the man, but had caught herself in time.
I have been thinking on these side characters today. Does Nick have any real relatives? Or maybe....hm. what kind of plots are you into? Like I enjoy assassin stories and apprentice stuff for example. Anything in particular you like? Then I can come up with who it is :)
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