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It’s relatively dark in the cellar of the Dancing Dove, when they step through the door from Milliways. George offers an silent prayer of thanks to the Crooked God, that the cellar is empty. As soon as Penelope steps through, he closes the door behind them – lest any sounds from the Bar travel to the tavern upstairs.

It’s not likely that anything would, still it can’t hurt to be cautious.

Without the light from the doorway, the cellar is plunged into darkness. Not really a problem for him, but he knows not everyone has the skill of seeing well in the dark, as he does. It’s a talent that came in quite handy in his former trade. He can see a faint light, coming from the top of the stairs and the sounds of clinking glasses and muted conversation.

“Careful, there are stairs here,” he cautions.

He reaches a hand out to Penelope, to guide her. At least that’s what he tells himself

“How’s your night vision? I try to always keep a latern down here – but sometimes it disappears between my visits home.” he explains wryly. “I’d be tempted to bring a flashlight with me from the Bar, but it’s not worth it being discovered by someone from home. It’d be somewhat hard to explain..”

"Um ... it is a bit dark in here ...” she replies. He can hear a slight hesitation to her voice. “Is it all right if I cast a spell? Or should I just go without?"

He wonders if she can hear the pleased surprise in his voice. “You can make light? Really?”

"Oh-- yes. It's one of the first spells they taught us when I was at school."

He considers this. “D’you need your wand for that?”

"Er ... well, probably. I could try without, but I'm a little out of practice."

“Best we do without then. There aren’t that many stairs. You go ahead of me, that way if you stumble I’ll keep you from falling.” He says, leading her to the base of the stairs and waiting for her to take a step forward. "I'll catch you. On my honour."

She makes it up the stairs, only stumbling once.

At the top of the stairs, he stops her for a moment – listening attentively.

“Sounds safe enough.” He says, grinning in the darkness. “After you, m’lady.”

He pushes open the door and gently nudges Penelope through.

“Welcome, to the Dancing Dove.”

Afer his conversation with Adam - the rest of his shift behind bar passed in a blur of names and faces.

Some memorable.. others lost in a sea of orders and alcoholic beverages

He meets Adam in the morning - shadows under both their eyes attesting to the sleep that neither of them managed.

Now, standing outside the door to Alanna's sick room: George raises his hand to knock on the door.. and hesitates.

'Don't be an idiot. She's your best friend.. Just knock on the door.'

Calling himself any manner of names and chiding himself for being ridiculous, he gathers his courage and gently raps on the door.

George is standing by the edge of the lake, wrapped in his traveling cloak. He returned to Milliways this evening but after a quick visit to his room to stash his saddlebags - and coming to the realization that he doesn't feel much like socializing - he slipped unnoticed through the bar and out the back.

Now, watching his breath puff in the chilly air - he feels calm.

Centered.

He breathes in the night air.

Lost in his thoughts.

Another evening at court.

The summer weather this night is warm - too warm - particularly in the ballroom, where throngs of nobles mill about, dressed in their best court finery. George can feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and the velvet of his over shirt is making his back itch. He longs to escape the room, to somewhere cooler, perhaps the wine cellar but court politics demand he remain till midnight at the very least.

He sighs, and makes his way toward an open window, praying at least for a bit of a breeze. The air that does come from outside is sluggish, and brings no relief. He lets his gaze sweep across the room, not for the first time tonight. Still there is no sign of Alanna. Patience is a virtue, but right now he's not feeling overly virtuous.

The wife of an elderly Lord comes to stand by him, and realizing that he has carelessly allowed his court-mask to drop - he instantly re-schools his features into a phony smile. The lady in question appears to have failed to notice the slip, and after exchanging the usual empty pleasantries, immediately insists how he simply must meet her granddaughter, who is visiting the court for the first time. He allows her to pull him across the room, still keeping his eyes peeled for a particular young woman with red hair..

George has just come from a mindless evening wasted at court - forcing himself to stay in his assumed character for hours on end - playing the pretty young fop, the empty headed young lord for the ladies. Hours where he had to dance with chattering, gossiping young women, paying empty compliments and kissing hands, at last he can retire to his rooms. He shuts the door behind him, and finally away from prying eyes and ears, he lets the phony, hated identity drop, throws himself down on the plush bed, and lies on his back staring up at the ceiling.

'You know, you're really just annoyed that Alanna wasn't there tonight.' his subconscious whispers to him, which he considers adding a scathing retort, before discarding the idea as an exercise in futility. To distract himself, he sets about undoing the lacings on his dress shirt, pulling first the over shirt, followed by the undershirt over his head. He flops back down on the bed, and stifles a curse of vexation when there is a knock on the door.

"Yes?" he calls.

After giving the Bazhir who guard his mother's house the signal that allows him to pass without challenge, George stands before the familiar door, marked with the healer's symbol. He stopped by the Dove on his way here and confirmed that his Mother is in fact at home, and not at sir Myles' keep, where she's been spending much of her time lately. George likes Myles very much, cares a great deal for the older man, but for this he'd rather not have to have this conversation with anyone else present.

He presses his forehead against the door for a moment, trying to get himself as together as possible. Then, taps a simple code on the door with one of his fists, and opens the door.

His mother is seated by a table, using a mortar and pestle to grind something into a fine powder, most likely adding to her vast store of medicines. She looks up as he walks into the room, not in the slightest bit alarmed by the entrance of a shadowy hooded figure.

"Well, if it isn't my wayward son, home at last to visit his mother." she says, tone teasing. He knows she's glad to see him. He slips the hood off his head, undoes the clasp and turns to hang it by the door. Then, with a deep breath he turns to face his mother.

Seeing his expression, the smile on her face instantly vanishes. "George, dearheart what's wrong?" She puts the mortar and pestle down on the table, brushes off her hands on her apron and takes a step toward her son.

Suddenly this is great deal harder than he expected it to be. He opens his mouth to answer, and closes it again without saying a word. Understanding, Eleni shuts the door behind him. He allows his mother to take him by the hands, and lead him across the room to a chair. He sits down, watching his mother busy herself putting water into the kettle, and putting the kettle over the flames in the fireplace. He's grateful for the the extra time she's giving him.

She pours two cups of tea, then pulls up a chair and sits down across from her son. He picks up one of the cups, but doesn't drink it. She searches his face, already guessing what he has to tell her.

He knows he can't put it off any longer, so he doesn't. "Alanna is getting married." the words are whispered, he stares down into the tea in the cup. "I've lost her for good this time."

She bites her lip, but says nothing, knowing if she interjects at this point he'll stop talking. And she knows, how badly he needs this right now.

"I'm a damn fool, Mother.." his voice breaks, and the hand holding the tea cup is shaking. Without a word, Eleni reaches over and takes the cup, placing it back on the table. Then she rises to her feet, and wraps her arms tightly around her son.

Safe at last, George cries out the anguish that has been building in him since his conversation with Alanna. Tears pour down his cheeks, as he sobs - something he hasn't done since he was a little boy.

"I love her Mother.. I love her so much." he says, between the sobs. Eleni can feel tears in her eyes as well.

"I'm sorry George," she murmurs. She strokes her son's hair, as his body is wracked with sobs. In her heart of hearts, she knows one of her own dreams has died, as well as his. She'd always hoped that Alanna, the child who she's taught so much, now a woman in her own right, would marry her son and become her daughter. If things continue to progress with her and Myles, that may yet happen, but not in the way she'd hoped. For a time, they cry together.

Half a candle-mark later, his tears cried out, she releases her hold on him and returns to her chair, wiping her own eyes with a handkerchief.

"It's not like you to give up without a fight." she points out gently, squeezing her hand. In all his life, she's never seen her son look as utterly defeated as he does now.

"What am I do to?" he asks, voice rough from crying. "I went seeking her. I followed her to end of the Universe mother, the end of the universe. And by the time I found her, she'd found someone else..." he trails off.

"I don't know." she admits, wishing that she could take all of her son's pain away. "I wish I had the answers for you my son. And I will do whatever I can to help you find them.."

To the Milliways staff members,

This is just to alert the serving staff that I will not be present in the bar for the next couple of days. I hope to return to the bar for my shift behind bar on Tuesday.

Regards,
~George Cooper (new bartender)

Am I the only one who gets to make you laugh.,
Laugh until you cry?
Am I the only one who asks you to go,
Go on without me?
Am I the only one who loves when you leave
Your hair down in front of your eyes?

And who do you think I am?
And who do you think I'll be?
without you?

Am I the only one who had to dress you up
To see how you fell down
Am I the only one who needs you to go,
Go on about me?
Am I the only one who loves when you leave
Your hair down in front of your eyes?

Alanna, I promise you I'll come back.

yours,
George

Two nights later, George is back in the Dove. His vast network of thieves and spies has never let him down before, and this time is no different. His letter to Myles went out the night he completed it, and the old knight’s reply was back to him within two days. He re-reads the letter, knowing its contents will be no different than they have the six previous times he has already read it.

George,

As always, the speed at which your letters arrive never ceases to astound me. No doubt you’ll have your reply nearly as quickly as it takes the ink to dry on the page. I wish I could help you, but truthfully, I don’t know where Alanna has been either. She writes whenever possible which gladdens this old man’s heart, but still even her letters of late have been few and far between. If I hear from her in the near future, I’ll let you know.

Yours,
Sir Myles of Olau

p.s. Please give my best to Marek.

He crumples the letter and tosses it into the fire. For the moment, he is back to square one. Thankfully, he has other avenues at his disposal.

A soft tap on the door draws his attention back to the present.

“Yes?” he calls, without thinking, years of habit causing him to slip a throwing dagger down his sleeve and into his waiting hand.

“It’s me my Lord.” The voice is familiar. Relaxing, he returns the weapon to its place.

“Enter.”

The door opens revealing the thief known as Light Fingers and a stranger. Fingers has a young man, dressed in clothing that has seen better days, by the sleeve. The youth, somewhere between the ages of 14-17 if George is to guess, looks absolutely terrified.

“What’s this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. From time to time, one of the thieves will bring one of their own to him – a young one who has not yet learned the rules, or an older one who has decided to flout them – to him for punishment. Still, at the moment he gets the feeling that this isn’t the case.

Before the older thief can answer the youth breaks in, “Please m’lord, I ain’t done nothing wrong. Please don’t take me ears!!”

Understanding now, George rolls his eyes to the ceiling, swearing to the gods under his breath. Of course the thieves have been telling the newcomer stories to frighten the lad. It’s their way. George shoots Fingers a dark look, full of promise – and for his part the other thief simply laughs – then returns his full attention to the boy.

“I’ve brought the boy to you m’lord, as he claims he witnessed something I’m sure you’d like to be privy to.”

“Oh?”

Fingers releases the boy. With a slightly mocking bow, he leaves the room shutting the door behind him.

“Well lad.. since I’ve no intention to take your ears… perhaps you’d care to grace mine with your tale?” George asks sitting down at the chair behind his desk, motioning the boy to sit in one of the carved wooden chairs.

The youth still looks alarmed, but nods.

“ ‘ Bout a weeks past m’lord…” the youth gulps then continues, “I was drinkin’ with some of m’ mates, and well, there was this boy with red hair who come through the Dove sir…”

Red hair? George sits up, definitely interested now.

“Go on.” He prompts the boy.

“And well, he came through and all hidden like – like he didn’t want nobody to see him, he went to the cellar.”

“And?”

“And well, I waited – and an hour passed, then some more hours, and he didn’t come out. So finally, I’s gone to go and look… and there weren’t no one there m’lord. And I thought mebbe it was the drink, so I didn’t say nothing to anyone.”

George’s eyes gleam. Yes!

“What’s your name Lad?” he asks, reaching into one of his coffers.

“Mum calls me Cor.”

“Well Cor, thank you for telling me what you’ve seen.” He hands the boy a gold coin, “this is for telling me what you saw.” He deposits another coin into the hand, knowing this already most likely more money than the lad has seen in his entire life. “And this is for telling no one else, understood?”

The boy nods, and George shoos him out the door.

He rubs him palms together, brain already racing.

Grinning, he puts on his hooded clock, grabs a purse of gold, and locks the door to his rooms both the physical locks as well as the magical.

A quick word to Fingers downstairs and he makes his way to the cellar door.

Current Mood: accomplished

George paces his rooms in the dancing dove - back and forth, back and forth in front of the fire. Lately he’s been spending more and more hours doing just that; he’s surprised that he hasn’t worn clear through the floor, into the tavern below. He knows very soon he must return to Pirate’s Swoop, and his new duties as Baron, but for now the very familiarness of the Dove is comforting. Not for the first time, he’s grateful he kept his rooms here, when he passed along his rule over the thieves.

A crash comes from downstairs, followed by a slight increase of noise – talking and laughing from the gathered regulars - thieves and common folk alike. He doesn’t concern himself with it, he knows that if things get out of control down there, one of his trusted followers will come and get him. Otherwise, they have standing orders not disturb him.

He feels restless, like a caged animal. As is often the case, the cause is Alanna.

At present, it stems from her continued absence. That, and especially the fact that he has no idea where she is. He suspects that Jon knows exactly where Alanna disappears to, and this knowledge angers him toward his monarch-friend. He wonders – not for the first time – if it is Alanna herself who has told Jon not to tell George where she is going. It would be like her to do so. Although he won’t admit it, he is worried about her. His gift has never been particularly strong, but usually he’s able to at least get a sense of Alanna, even when she is far away. She's vanished before, but this time it’s different, this time she has gone somewhere he cannot follow. Somewhere he cannot even sense. He knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but still he worries.

If it weren’t for her sporatic correspondences, he might fear she walks in the Dark God’s realm.

He rubs his temples; none of these thoughts are new ones. They are the same that have plagued him since she won her shield and began to go off into battle. This worrying and pacing, accomplishes nothing - changes nothing.

With a sigh of vexation, he ceases his pacing and walks to his “desk”. He pours himself a drink, but once poured, doesn’t feel like drinking it, and instead stares deep into its amber surface. The alcohol makes him think of Myles, and he wonders if the older knight knows where the daughter of his heart has gone, and even if he does will he tell him?

He sits behind the desk, grabs a quill and piece of parchment, and after a moment's uncertainty; begins writing a letter.