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[RP] Mercia's Trail Mix meets Aggnes

Charlie, of the R.G.E., played by Aggnes
Lizabet. wrote:
A party perhaps? she asks with an innocent smile. I hope they've saved an ale to two for late arrivals?


As if summoned by her words, a small wagon approaches, though the man dragging it is looking at the carriage heading towards the town, not where he's going. The sign on the side says "Hott Fud and Ale", and it does indeed have a smell wafting from it that's vaguely similar to that of food, and what looks like a few barrels.
Princejohn
"When traveling I tend to prefer stouter stock than ale M'Lady," John replies offering her his ever present flask of rum. Taking note of the arriving wagon, he gestured in it's direction. "There seems to be ale if thou wilt prefer. I hope all is well with thee, tis been sometime indeed since we last met. Myself, I find am once more mayor of Evesham and such a sorry state is she, as far as her purse is concerned. Otherwise all is well thereabouts."
John smiles as he continues to keep a watchful eye upon the man that has yet to put away his sword.
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King's Hospitaler (Abayed)/ Order of Nordicorn
Lizabet.
Liza turns to watch the approach of the wagon as well. Her stomach lurches slightly in protest to the odor that seems to seep from it's contents. Her eyes widen in alarm as the wagon comes dangerously close to where they're standing, the driver obviously distracted. She takes a few steps out of it's path, stumbling and trodding on Ribuld's foot behind her. She feels him catch her elbow to steady her and blushes as she hears his mumbled curse. Giving him a somewhat sheepish grin she straightens and attempts to recover her dignity.

I think I would be quite grateful for a sip from your flask, thank you M'Lord, she says to John as she accepts the flask. Taking a swig she hands it back with a smile. 'Tis gratifying to hear you are well. I also am doing fine. As you can see, I am able to finally sample your stronger stock, she says as she hands the flask back, her other hand briefly brushing over her now flat stomach as the last time they had met she had been large with child. Mayor of Evesham? Congratulations, she comments. Well I'm sure under your more than capable leadership, things will soon be set to rights and it's coffers will be overflowing, she offers with an enigmatic smile.

Liza keeps a thoughtful eye on Lord Sutton for a moment then follows the line of his gaze. Amusement tugs at the corners of her smile and she leans slightly towards Lord Sutton to comment,
It looks as if there are those here over-eager to test their mettle. Perhaps I'm not so late, after all?
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{Devon Goddess of Wolves} ~ For my babe.. I need you
Herbert_the_kitchener
Herbert looked at the provider of alibis.

"Three and six for an alibi that states I spent three weeks in the boudoir of a lady of financial expectations and performed so creditably she remembers me still?"

He shook his head.

"Why not go the whole hog and draft a letter stating I was giving a series of visiting lectures on the metaphysical aspects of fortune telling with weasels at Canterbury Cathedral Chapter House?"


"That'd be five shillings." said Sidney automatically.

"But it wouldn't be believable, would it? Look at me. I'm old, I have one...er...three teeth and I don't look remotely like an athlete of the bedchamber or a Master of Theology. Can't you do me a set of false receipts for lodgings with some supporting paperwork? Like a dentist's bill for removing seven teeth and a parking ticket for a donkey cart. "

"Ten shillings." said Sidney, sensing a man in serious need.

"Four and threepence three farthings." countered Herbert with the determined air of a man who had four and threepence three farthings in his pocket.
Hezlog
Hez stood at the head of his Army, the 1st Legion of the Westmorland Territorial Forces, a sizable force, and a well motivated one. They had travels well, and had spent the last week or so in Lichfield, reinforcing the Town's defences, and spending their time rebuilding a number of watchtowers and gatehouses that had sprouted a little too much grass, and a few too many weeds. The 1st Legion stood at the top of a hill, and looked down, over the fields and forests, towards their destination, the furthest south that they would be going, Worcester City. Their time here was nearly at an end, their work nearly completed, and all that was required of them now was to proceed to the City, establish contact with the Lady Aggnes, and escort her safely home to Westmorland, ensuring her protection against various robbers and bandits who had been travelling these parts of late. Given all the troubles that had occured, he hoped she would be as eager to return to the warm fire and comforting familiarity of home as he was. The 1st had come with a job to do, and they would see it through to its conclusion. Hez raised his hand, and swung it down, and the Westmorland Host began their steady march onwards again. With favourable conditions, they would be at Worcester tomorrow.
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King of England
Aggnes
Back in the Worcester hostel, Aggnes was packing her bags and preparing to leave. It had been an interesting few weeks, full of business opportunities, and she'd met some people whose company had proved surprisingly enjoyable. Also some who she hoped never to even hear of again, but you couldn't win them all. The R.G.E. had its licence, and its first franchise, she'd lost Charlie but gained Ron, and in general, the future looked rosy. And, she'd get the company of Hezlog all the way home, and that meant intelligent conversation was guaranteed. Fred would stay behind long enough to tie up any loose ends: he didn't have much imagination, but she could trust Fred.
She wondered what had been going on in Liverpool in her absence. Time to get home - with a gap this long, it was always possible that someone else was trying for control of her market.
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Vice Chancellor of Foreign Affairs, Royal Embassy, Keeper of the Privy Seal. Wiki entry
Fred, of the R.G.E., played by Aggnes
A little way off the main road, Fred was replenishing supplies. The army camp had been a good idea, they'd emptied the Fud and Ale wagon, sold an amazing number of bears, not to mention flags for all sides involved to wave, and toy swords for the town's children. He made a mental note to mention it to Her: war, as long as it didn't involve fighting, meant money. They should start more of them.

But for now, he was making the most of the R.G.E. being a business with many branches. The Green Flag had helped rescue another caravan they'd put in distress, and this time one of the horses had broken a leg and had to be put down. They hadn't even charged the customer much to remove the carcass. He'd gone back to retrieve it from the bridge they'd left it under, later, and found some madman flogging it. He was easily chased off, though, and there was his dead horse: a useful source of leather, meat, glue, threats...

At the moment, he was making stew - or possibly soup. It took a big pot to boil down chunks of horse, but he had that. Now he was extracting the bones for future use, tossing them into a pile to cool. There was a yapping sound from the pile, and he turned round to see a very small dog retreating hastily from a thigh bone considerably larger than it was. He laughed. Daft mutt must have burnt its mouth, and serve it right for trying to steal from the R.G.E. A few bones later, and there was another sound. This time it had found something small enough to drag, but was being hampered by being unable to lift it off the ground. Those short stumpy legs on the long body weren't designed for forest. He laughed again, picked the stupid little thing up, and retrieved his bone. All right, so, it was only a bone, but it was his bone, and no useless cur was going to steal it.

For once, he actually looked at the bone, since his attention had been drawn to it. What was it, anyway? Flattish, round. Must have come from one of the leg joints. He wasn't too sure how horses worked, but did they have kneecaps? If so.... Slowly, slowly, light began to dawn. He'd looked up "patella". That's what this was. A patella, like that priesty me-lord had wanted. A big patella. Heroic size, he mentally amended. If he could just clean it up a bit, and then age it... cold tea did the job on manuscripts, it ought to do the job here.

He looked after the fleeing dog almost affectionately. "You did all right for the church, mutt," he called. "They should hire themselves a short-haired dachshund, you're more use than most of them."
Hezlog
The march had gone well, a temporary camp had been set up, and his troops were giving themselves a day off to relax again before the long march home, all the way back up through Mercia, and into Westmorland. He walked around their encampment, off on a hill to one side of the City, checking that everything was in order, and that everyone was suitably occupied. Content with how things were shaping up, he popped back into his tent to write up a short contract of employment, his next job being to see it delivered. Nodding to the pair of guard duties, he set off down the hill, a clear view of the Hostel where he knew Aggnes to be staying. Fleetfoot had done his work well, and the message he had sent earlier this morning via the fastest pigeon should ensure that his arrival was not a surprise.

Stepping inside the City, between the gates, and grumbling typically as he handed over his £1 toll, he made his way to the Hostel, and stood outside, glancing quickly upwards. His letter had said for her to meet him, fully packed, at noon exactly, and based on the position of the sun above him, that time was almost here. Absentmindedly, he patted the sword hanging by his side, calm and confident in its reassuring weight. His escort duties, termed, perhaps by some of the less trusting of his superiors as "protective custody" would be interesting to say the least, and he was, despite everything, looking forward to meeting the Lady in person. His fingers tapped out a quick rhythmn on his scabbard, always alert, always ready.
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King of England
Aggnes
(sorry about the delay, RL intervened)

Aggnes picked up the last bag and carried it down the lostel stairs to add to the rest of the things packed into the hand cart. Not much, compared with trips she'd done in the past, but there simply hadn't been much on the Worcester market that would sell in Liverpool.

Just before noon, and so that rather good-looking young man with the sword must be... "General Hezlog, I presume?"
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Vice Chancellor of Foreign Affairs, Royal Embassy, Keeper of the Privy Seal. Wiki entry
Hezlog
The Army Artists had drawn him a fairly good likeness, so when the Lady emerged from the hostel, he wasn't unsurprised. Knowing that just a few days earlier, she had been a General herself, although not a commissioned one, he snapped a smart salute. Lady Aggnes, a pleasure. I have here your contract for the journey home, including a £16 wage per day, and £16 worth of escort costs per day. All in all, financially neutral, and guaranteed safety home; not a bad deal I think. He passed the sheet over, and turned towards the edge of the City, and the encampment of the 1st Legion. As I'm sure you can imagine, some of my troops are eager to get off, so there won't be any chance of a respite I'm afraid, and they'll be packed and ready to go by the time we arrive back. Would you like any assistance with your handcart?

OOC: Permission to godmod the journey back to Encampment and departure for Westmorland
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King of England
Aggnes
Aggnes read the contract, laughed, and signed. "Very tidy, though I would have expected that from a former Trade Minister. I hope whoever is doing the job in your absence is as competent."

She dropped that last bag into the cart, and picked up the handles. "Thanks for the gentlemanly offer, but I'll be fine. I'm a soldier now, and expected to help other people with loads, not ask for help myself. Rations for the journey are packed, and I'm ready to go - I gathered from your letter that we wouldn't be stopping anywhere with a market until we were home."

She might be wearing a dress rather than trousers, and be more used to the administration of an army than being part of the cannon-fodder, but the axe at her belt was well-worn, the shield looked as if it had seen use, and she had boots on her feet, not the soft shoes of a gentlewoman.

She glanced back rather wistfully at the university and the Finance offices, where she had spent so much of her time here, then squared her shoulders and headed for the town gates.

The encampment was quickly reached, and she surveyed what was left of it with slight amusement. "I see we agree on what constitutes a good site, and even on the layout to use. I'm glad I never had to use it for too many troops, though, we'd have had to gravel the path to the latrine trenches with the ground this wet."

ooc: can't describe the army due to having no idea who or how many are in it, and no particular desire to describe the journey.
Godmodding may be done in terms of Aggnes obeying any reasonable order she's given.

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Vice Chancellor of Foreign Affairs, Royal Embassy, Keeper of the Privy Seal. Wiki entry
Hezlog
Hez pocketed the now-signed document, making a note to hand it over to his Recruitment Officer at first sight. Excellent, although I have had a quick word with my Logistics Officer, and we should be able to provide one bread each day as core eating for everyone in the army. I take it you're willing to fight alongside us should we be attacked, so that includes you. They strolled along, quickly reaching the encampment, and he was pleased to note that things were more or less in order for their departure. Although he had certainly enjoyed getting away from the trials and tortures of home politics, there was, as they say, no rest for the wicked, and he had a duty as not just a General, but as a Councillor, to get home and get back to work as soon as he was able. He nodded to Fleetfoot, always the first to be prepared, and beckoned him close, issuing him with quiet instructions to head off first and ensure that their route was clear, a job he always performed admirably. Looking up, he took note that the flag of the 1st, a crisp golden with the colours of Westmorland attached, was blowing softly towards the north. Good, he thought, that should enable us to make good time. He turned back to Aggnes,Well my Lady, feel free to make yourself at home, we depart within the half hour. That said, Hez turned and headed back to his own tent, to pack up the last of his belongings ready for the march.

Within the half hour, he, and the rest of the 1st Legion were stood at the entrance to the encampment, fully packed, and ready to travel home again. Their trip here had been enjoyable, and although he knew that perhaps a couple of the men were disappointed that there had in the end been no action to speak of, a diplomatic solution, where possible, was always preferable in his opinion. Looking round one last time, he called Aggnes into step behind him on his left, his first Lieutenant Longbottom taking his place behind him to the right, the group assuming their preferred wedge formation, and the 1st set forth, for home. A job well done by all, he thought to himself.
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King of England
Aggnes
ooc: since it's nearly midnight, and after reset we'll be in Westmorland: thank you, Mercian players, for your hospitality and great RPing, and farewell.
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Vice Chancellor of Foreign Affairs, Royal Embassy, Keeper of the Privy Seal. Wiki entry
Herbert_the_kitchener
"Who was that?" asked Herbert, who was not the quickest of thinkers, "General Hedgehog did someone say?"

"That reminds me of a joke." said Prop. "What's the difference between a hedgehog and a council chamber?"

Herbert laughed at the familiar joke without bothering to answer.

Talonneur tutted.

And Sidney, as usual, missed the point.

"Surely to be accurate you should say that the spines are on the outside of the hedgehog?"
Rouguelaw
Herbert?!?!?!?!?

Surely it can not be....
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