A Gunpowder Plot

[HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT]

The opportunity afforded by the note was far too good to pass up, and Henri was fairly certain there would be no trap. It was, after all, addressed to a certain Paul Chauvelin—one of the men they had captured, he was certain, despite the lack of success in interrogating him. With even the smallest and most ragged shard of luck, the commander of the gunpowder mill at Essonne would never have met the actual Chauvelin, would not recognize that Henri was far too young to be him.

The safest and simplest course of action was simply to leave at dawn with a detachment of men, small enough that they would not appear to be an army but large enough to serve should things turn violent. He dressed much as he would to return to the estate; if he was going to masquerade as a government agent, there was absolutely no reason for it to appear that he had indeed crawled out of the forest.

The orders for a detachment of men to assemble were sent out, allowing for a contingent of volunteers. The rest, if necessary, would be drawn by lots. The remaining men would be left to defend the encampment and guard the prisoners.

Stepping out into the damp chill of the morning air, Henri wanted desperately to stop by Helene's tent to wish her goodbye before setting off. He knew that the mission could not be without danger. But to tell her so clearly where he was going would practically be an invitation for her to follow, and he did not want to risk that. Instead, closing his eyes for a moment, he prayed for her safety.

He had not slept as well as he might have. Still tired, he mounted his horse, prepared to set off. Essonne was far off from the forest, but the rewards had the potential to be great. All the gunpowder they could ever need, and without even much effort beyond walking in and asking for it...

The route he selected he hoped would avoid drawing too much attention. The interrogation of the real Chauvelin had not revealed much; he would not be able to pretend to be him if questioned heavily. Especially not if his interrogator knew anything about the actual man.

He trusted that God would not force him into that position.

[COMTESSE ELEONORE ROCHECHOUART]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #222121; width:430px; height:550px; padding:0px;] You haven't seen the last of me They can say that, I won't stay around. But I'm gonna stand my ground. TAGGED: Henri WORDS: 382 I am the Comtess Eleonore Rochechouart and I will not let my families’ honour be ruined, Eleonore mentally repeated this phrase to herself as she laced up a pair of men’s boots. Her hair was tied tightly back and she’d placed a hat over it, tipping the hat down it covered her face well. It hadn’t been too difficult to become a fledged troop member of the sacred heart. The rebel scum, were so desperate for extra men that she had managed to perpetrate their registration process with afew gruff words and a demonstration of her shooting abilities. She was lucky her father had taken her hunting as a child, it had enabled her to hone her riding and shooting skills from a young age. She had hoped she wouldn’t be in the camp more than a few days, but after observing her son among the people here, she knew it would take more than a few words to convince him to return home. She couldn’t conceive what had possessed her second oldest to deny his heritage and join this poor excuse for an army, but Eleonore was certain he had been bewitched with false ideals and ‘noble’ intentions. She feared what the other aristocrats would say if they found out, how it would impact the family and her girls. One scandal and her girls chances of happiness would be dashed. Eleonore could not allow this. Dawn was just breaking and Eleonore or Arnaud as she had called herself, had been one of the few ‘men’ selected to go on a mission with the leader. That had been a blow, she could only hope her son had not been selected to go. Throwing a rather grubby looking mens jacket over her clothes, she exited the tent. Keeping her head down she made her way over to the meeting place, where several horses had already been prepared for the journey. Eleonore’s fingers brushed over the gun that was holstered at her side. If she were to die today, she could only hope her body was destroyed before her identity was discovered, it would be positively shameful if people thought she’d joined out of choice. Mounting her horse she followed the instructions issued for the mission. She couldn’t wait for this day to end. NOTES: n/a.

this lovely template was made by Arro from Caution 2.0.

[HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT]

The horses were fresh, and the road could melt easily beneath their hooves. The road, though quite long, was fairly unremarkable—it was a route Henri had traveled at least once before, years before this sort of operation had ever seriously crossed his mind, though he had never been to Essonne itself nor its gunpowder mill.

He could only hope that neither had this Chauvelin, or if he had, that at the very least command had changed since then. The detachment of men he took with him was too small for more than a light skirmish, both because of the necessity of leaving someone to protect the camp and because they simply did not have the forces a major action anyway. Perhaps it was better that way; with fewer men, he could look more like some official emissary than he could with something closer to a small army.

Henri found himself worrying again about Helene. He trusted that those he had left at the camp could deal with whatever threat might come as necessary, but he also remembered what she had said. He knew her well enough to know that he was lucky, as he scanned the faces of the men who followed him, that she had not already disguised herself to ride off with him. Some very childish part of him was almost disappointed not to see her face there, but it was by far for the best that she was not. It was too dangerous.

He rode at the head of their little column. It was best that way; inspirational, he supposed, should trouble come their way—and, even more practically, he was the one who had gone in detail over the maps in camp and memorized their route. He carried the letter that proclaimed him to be a government official—a lie if he'd ever told one, but a lie for good ends.

God would forgive him for his deception. Just like he would forgive any blood the Sacred Heart might have to spill in pursuit of their goals. A sinless revolution was impossible, but that was because the world they sought to overturn was itself so steeped in sin.

[COMTESSE ELEONORE ROCHECHOUART]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #222121; width:430px; height:550px; padding:0px;] You haven't seen the last of me They can say that, I won't stay around. But I'm gonna stand my ground. TAGGED: Henri WORDS: 373 Feeling positively sick at how low she had stooped to keep her family in tact she galloped alongside the other men towards Essonne. The plan in her mind seemed foolish; these men thought they could take the gun powder factory with such a small number of boys, who no doubt had no idea how to shoot properly. Idiotic children, she thought angrily as the road disappeared behind her, each one would die and she would be damned if her son was to join the filthy inebriates for eternity. Grinding her teeth she pushed on, thinking on the moment she would be able to return the sanctity of her home. She supposed the leader, thought that their small numbers would be good for a surprise attack, in that they held the upper hand, but Eleonore failed to see how it would work for them in the long run. She was torn between two problems, she wasn’t about to risk her life for these men, but she couldn’t desert them without her son and she had yet to get to that little problem. Her eyes fell on the tall figure that lead the group. Victome Henri…he made her blood boil. He was pretending to be one of these men, but he was as blue-blooded as she, dressing in rags and spouting words of revolution did not change things. He was a traitor to his own kind and his actions - if they were to succeed -which she knew would not, but if they were to succeed…he would be responsible for the death of his own kind. No change in power could be done cleanly, blood would be spilt…the past had shown them that Fools…all of them. She felt strong in the knowledge she had her gun at her side and thanked God she was able to shoot and ride. She was lucky, many young women didn’t have that kind of upbringing, but her father had sensed something in her that was different to her sisters, she had enjoyed the time the two spent together hunting. It was almost time…time to throw herself into this mission, she would drag her idiotic son home and they would continue with their lives the way they were meant to. NOTES: n/a.

this lovely template was made by Arro from Caution 2.0.

[HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT]

Hours later, Henri brought his horse slowly to a halt. The terrain was different here than in the forest; it should not have surprised him, and yet it sent some anxiety through him. He was not used to these sorts of places, much less fighting in them. Lord, please let us not have to fight. He turned his horse around to face his men, glancing over their faces. His mind worked quickly, trying to find the best strategy to make this work. Finally, taking a breath, he rolled his shoulders in a bid to relax.

“This, as you know, is Essonne.” He felt almost ridiculous, prayed they didn't think he was. The men knew what they were here to do. There wasn't much need for a speech, but he still somehow could not convince himself to simply ride toward the mill without addressing them. The insidious thought that this might be the last address he would ever give made him shiver. Forgive me, Father, for their blood not yet spilled... Preserve us. He wished again that they had some sort of priest to lead them in prayer, but such a man had never materialized in the camp. It worried him, that there likely would be no one there willing to perform last rites for the fallen.

It doesn't need to be a battle, he reminded himself. With luck, the guards would believe him that he was Chauvelin and the operation would be carried out without a hitch. But then, he did not entirely believe in luck—wasn't it all supposed to be in God's hands, and didn't that preclude the whole concept?--and neither could he quite convince himself that this would be a bloodless incident. “Four of you will come with me. The rest will wait here, concealed.” Five seemed a rational size for a detachment with a government agent, any more might raise suspicions. “Should there be trouble, we will rely on you to get us out. The rest is in God's hands.”

He took another look at the gathered men, then gestured to several with a nod. They would be his companions in this, chosen for their skills or even simply their appearance. One, a burly former peasant of close to forty, looked the part of the bodyguard. He was strong and able to handle his horse, but a poor shot. Henri hoped that would not matter. Arnaud, who looked almost feminine in his finely youthful features but was better with a horse or a gun than most men twice his apparent age. Henri considered leaving him with command of the detachment concealed in the woods, but then decided he preferred that gun immediately at his side. Two others, both about his own age and of proven loyalty.

Henri patted his horse's neck before turning the animal around. “If there are no objections, then, let's go.” He was too keenly aware of the beating of his own heart, and a simple and almost childish prayer rang repeatedly through his head.

[TYBALT SANS-GAUCHE]

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I am surrounded by idiots … idiots with a death wish

So… back to Essonnes it was, apparently. That must have been the devil playing cards with him for sure. From the moment he had seen Henri retrieving that blasted letter from this Chauvelin guy and seen his eyes light up, Tybalt had known he could not prevent Henri from this folly. Not this time. Of course he had tried, but hinting at the fact that he knew the gunpowder mill like the back of his hand had not convinced the sapling to drop the case – on the contrary. He had called the incident heavensent and had ordered Tybalt to come with them and help fleshing out this plan. So, if there was no swaying him, of course the only other option was to come along to prevent an even greater disaster from happening than already would. Just his luck… it was always like that!

There were so many ways this plan could go wrong, and the greatest issue was that apart from a letter of recommendation that would grant them access and assistance, there was really no plan at all, at least not one Tybalt could see. Trying to get powder from Essonne was like trying to steal honey from a hornet’s nest – and that was him knowing his nature and knowing full well that hornets did not produce honey. Hell, he had seen the place for years, had worked in it, been a part of it! This was madness! But of course that would not stop Henri… it often seemed like nothing could stop Henri.
But it was too late now, they were already drawing up their horses in front of the village… his village. His old home. He had never returned there again, and for a moment he wondered if his parents were still alive. Or what Marie would do, his little sister. Ten years… how time flies!

But he wasn’t here for them, and he’d be damned if he let the thoughts of them distract him from what needed to be done: Knocking some sense into Henri’s head. He knew it was difficult to speak out as sharply as he wanted to do, for it would undermine his authority in front of his men, and this was no time to start a turf war. But he needed to say something, he was by no means convinced this plan was watertight.
“If you could run that by me again, Vicomte”, he spoke up with a slight sarcastic stress on the title when Henri asked for objections. Oh, he could have that! “So… you have that letter and are going to play this Chauvelin. We get in. Have you wasted any thoughts on the fact that these people might need only a short amount of time to realize they’ve been had? What is our backup? I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being trapped inside a whole mass of gundpowder. I know the mill like the back of my—“ he held up his left arm with a snort, “non-existing hand, and I can tell you one thing: for those who are not wanted there, it’s a death-trap. Not a mouse could slip in or out once they close it down. But… of course, we can try.” He finished with an eyeroll. “There’s a first for everything. Though often firsts can also be lasts.”

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TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & SHINE

[COMTESSE ELEONORE ROCHECHOUART]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #222121; width:430px; height:550px; padding:0px;] You haven't seen the last of me They can say that, I won't stay around. But I'm gonna stand my ground. TAGGED: Henri, Tybalt WORDS: 353 The ride was long and arduous, Eleonore was not used to such lengthy journeys, but she was strong and persevered despite the mundane task that lay ahead. The group eventually pulled to a halt and Eleonore observed their surroundings, while the leader spoke. They were close to Essonne, the trees had thinned and the skyline was obstructed by the large mill in the distance. She listened quietly to the leaders words, her head bent low as she continued to keep as low a profile as was possible. She rolled her eyes at his words, tutting inwardly at his mission plan, the idea seemed weak and as he spoke she could sense his hesitation. She glanced around herself at the other men, many who were gazing with determination at their leader. They were all ready to throw their lives away on a plan that had almost no grounds. The Vicomte signalled that she would go with him and she reluctantly nudged her horse forward to join him, with the other men who had been chosen. Eleonore was surprised to hear a voice pipe up and interrupt the leader, such rudeness would not be tolerated in French army ranks. She half expected the Vicomte to execute the man there and then, but she sensed things were more diplomatic among the ranks of the Sacred Heart. Despite the rudeness of such an interruption, Eleonore appreciated some of the words the man said, he held a fair point, how were they going to get such a large amount of material out…if that was truly the Vicomte’s plan. Such details were hazy to the lesser ranks, but the men still talked and things were easily overheard. She found herself peering curiously at the leader her piercing blue eyes watching him carefully from beneath her cap, wondering what clever words he held to put the now doubtful men’s mind at ease. She wasn’t exactly keen to start this possible death trap of a mission, but waiting around for something to happen made her anxious. She preferred action. NOTES: n/a.

this lovely template was made by [url=http://z10.invisionfree.com/CAUTIONTOTHEWI

[HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT]

Henri trusted Tybalt, valued his advice—but sometimes the sarcasm and bleak views grated on him. He ground his teeth at the older man's protestation. He'd heard it all, of course—long before they had set off for Essonnes, Sans-Gauche had clearly considered Henri's plans for the gunpowder mill to be rash. Excessively rash, bordering on stupidity—but Henri had the letter. He fingered the paper in his pocket, almost unconsciously. “It's in God's hands,” he repeated. “We have our ticket in. Besides, they can't afford to ignite the entire mill. It would be disastrous for the National Guard posted in the capital, especially now.”

That Henri honestly believed. How could the government afford to blow up one of its largest gunpowder mills, especially one this close to Paris and with every sign that tensions were brewing? It would be difficult, he thought, for a King to exert his strength unarmed. Especially such a king as that which sat in Tuileries, likely twiddling his thumbs and waiting to be fed chocolates and pretty cakes. It couldn't be good for a boy to be raised in such protection and luxury. He hardly considered what that said about his own childhood, but when the thought occurred to him it brought him pause. Well, the forest saved me, he assured himself. And there was no forest like Fontainbleau for the boy-king, however many might belong to him in name.

“Any of you who prefer to doubt the Lord's Providence in our receipt of this note, you are free to return to the camp.” Henri shot a sideways glance at Tybalt, simultaneously in admiration of his willingness to stand against him and in frustration at his doubt. “It is my hope, however, that they will not realize they've been had.” They would not be able to carry away enough gunpowder to outfit themselves for any length of time, but they could at least provision themselves with enough to restore some of their stores. He regretted that they could not clean the place out, but for that he would need a bigger force—and wagons he did not have.

He squeezed his horse forward. “Those of you who are not afraid, let's go.” He repeated that part of the order, annoyed that it had not been obeyed the first time. Annoyed as much with himself for almost, almost giving in to the doubt Tybalt Sans-Gauche had such potential to sow. He repeated another silent prayer, trying to restore whatever bit of his courage had been cracked and chipped away. It mostly worked.

[TYBALT SANS-GAUCHE]

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I am surrounded by idiots … idiots with a death wish

Oh he was a clever little bastard, was he not?! Bringing religion into this, there was no better knockout argument than God’s Providence, even though it was completely ludicrous. Denying it now would corner him in a religious debate he had neither time nor mind for, and what would be won then? And also, marking him practically a coward if he refused to come along, that was another clever trick. No one in the presence of other men would now let himself be called a coward and probably would try to charge forward twice as wildly, just to prove the accusations moot. Just that Tybalt wasn’t like that. He had the years behind him when he had had to prove his manliness by being overly reckless and stupid – the evidence of such folly was the hook on his left arm.

“Oh, of course, hope dies last”, he muttered, throwing Henri a distinctive side-glance back. “If, in fact, we must speak of dying.” Seriously… Henri was making this harder on himself than he had to! Rolling his eyes, Tybalt edged his horse forward as well, so it fell in line with the young Vicomte’s. If the sapling wasn’t to be convinced to drop that suicide squad, of course Tybalt could not have him ride into it alone. Someone had to watch his back and minimize the damage that was undoubted to occur. “Dieu me pardonne, but there is really no greater folly than bravery!” he exclaimed but already knew that Henri would probably simply ignore his taunting and venture on. Once this boy had set his mind on something, not a herd of oxen could sway him from this path.

So Tybalt’s irritation needed a different outlet, and as he let his gaze wander over the remaining men of their little party that now had started towards the village, his eyes settled on the newcomer, the one that Henri had assigned for them to come along – another decision he could only frown on. Alright, he had shown his prowess with gun and horse just well, had even surprised Tybalt there who had seen many good shot in his life and counted himself among them, but that didn’t mean he’d like getting into this folly with a man he knew nothing of. “So I like to know the man I might get arrested or killed beside”, he commented, bluntlycutting right to the chase, not being a friend of much beating around the bush as he steered his horse next to the other. “Who exactly are you? You don’t look exactly pleased at the concept of going in there. Will I see your horse’s tail in less than fifteen minutes or what?” Not that he'd much blame him. Tybalt had a right mind to yank the reins around and turn his back on Essonnes himself. There was nothing in there he'd like to see...

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TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & SHINE

[COMTESSE ELEONORE ROCHECHOUART]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #60191f; width:15px; height:550px; padding:0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #222121; width:430px; height:550px; padding:0px;] You haven't seen the last of me They can say that, I won't stay around. But I'm gonna stand my ground. TAGGED: Henri WORDS: 426 For a short moment Eleonore felt as if she were back at home, watching a dispute between her young boys. She watched for small signs between the two ‘men’ that suggested there might be a shift in power, something that could easily prove dangerous to Eleonore. Was that a flare of the nostrils from Tybalt? Did Henri grind his teeth? Or was Eleonore simply looking for signs that were not there. She sat glued to her saddle, her head kept low as she waited impatiently for Henri to reassert himself so they could continue on the foolish mission. Eleonore wondered if Henri fancied himself a hero, or if all of this was merely a young Victomes way of entertaining himself for a short while, before he settled down to take on the title and life that came with his birth. Whatever the reason, he was lucky to be alive, and would be even luckier if his soul still graced the earth by sunset. The conversation between the two was fired quickly, although Eleonore sensed a lazy air about the way Tybalt spoke to Henri, as if he’d been questioning superior’s all his life and there was no reason to stop now. Eleonore followed Henris order and nudged her horse on to join the party that was venturing into the factory. There was silence for a moment between the men, but the silence was filled with electricity and she felt uneasy as she realised she had become an object of Tybalt’s curiosity as his eyes fixed on her. There was one thing Eleonore had always known, if you were trying to keep a low profile and not look suspicious the best way was not to avoid, but to attack. Attack after all, was always the best defence, or so her father had taught her, and in the past it had proved her well. She did not have to answer to Tybalt and so she fixed her pale blue eyes upon him coldly, taking a stronger position in the saddle she replied ‘I am not the man questioning our orders, if you are looking for a possible deserter I suggest you take a look in the brooke over there’ she said nodding her head towards a small stream that wound down a grassy bank. ‘Perhaps you will find him in the reflection.’ Eleonore kept her voice low and hoarse for fear her voice would give her away. Shooting him a look of contempt, she kicked the horse forward falling inline further away from Tybalt and his prying questions. NOTES: n/a.

this lovely template was made by Arro from Caution 2.0.

[HENRI ROQUEFEUIL-BLANQUEFORT]

Tybalt's jibes bothered Henri more than the young man really wished to let on. In the days before the Sacred Heart had become more than just a youthful fantasy in the young aristocrat's heart, he had admired the sarcastic wit and endless practical knowledge of the one-handed man who belonged to the forest even more than Henri did. At least back then. It was difficult for him to see himself as part of the estate managed by his mother anymore, and that—he was absolutely convinced—was for the best. In the forest, as in the dream of a republic, your birth and your money didn't matter so much. It was better that way, even if the reality could be harsh.

He urged his horse into a trot, hoping the others would follow him. Whatever Sans-Gauche's tendency toward metaphorical storm clouds, he trusted him. Any deserters would be drawn from elsewhere in their ranks, but he had chosen men he thought to be among the best. Gathering his reins into his left hand, Henri closed his eyes for another moment of silent prayer and crossed himself. The gesture completed, he rested his right hand on the pistol that had become habit for him to carry.

The wall surrounding the gunpowder mill was placed back from the complex of buildings, and inside the area was cleared of trees. The gate, to Henri's surprise, stood open. A single bored-looking young guard watched the aperture, armed but clearly not horribly concerned about any kind of attack. He was eating something from a rough cloth pouch, and upon watching him spit, Henri realized it was sunflower seeds. A peasant-soldier. Not so different from the bulk of Henri's own men. He took his hand off his pistol, not wanting to arouse such suspicion.

The boy finally noticed their approach—or at least acknowledged that he had—when Henri was still some meters away. He straightened up, suddenly looking much more formal as he let the pouch of seeds fall to the ground. Henri noticed that he glanced back at the ground again, and had to restrain himself from amusement at the look of annoyance when the guard saw that some of his snack had tumbled out onto the dirt. He wondered if he would end up eating them anyway, once no one was around to see.

“Who are you, and what's your business here?” The guard spoke in a clipped tone, his accent—somewhere in the far northern part of France, though Henri had never traveled far enough to know for sure—evident. He hoped they wouldn't have to kill him. Henri reached into the pocket of his jacket to withdraw the letter commandeered from Chauvelin.

“I am Paul Chauvelin.” He willed himself not to blush at the blatant lie. “We've come from Paris.” He extended the document to the guard, who took it and inspected it with suspicion. Henri found himself suddenly wondering if the peasant, in typical fashion, was functionally illiterate—he was sure they would have taught him to read in the army, but that didn't mean he had learned...

He became aware of the sweat on the back of his neck, and shifted in the saddle. The guard's brow wrinkled, but after a painfully long moment he handed the document back. “M. Chauvelin,” he repeated the name, looking up at Henri with an anxious expression he hoped did not indicate doubt in his identity. “Welcome... I'll have to let the commandant know.”

One more obstacle, then, but it seemed that everything so far was going better than Henri himself could have expected. He shot Tybalt a meaningful look, wordlessly scolding him for his doubt.

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

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chauvelin

Chauvelin crouched low in the saddle, bent close to Abraxas' neck as the horse thundered up the road. The Lipizzaner wasn't built for speed, but he was a jumper, with powerful legs and incredible endurance. It helped, too, that the old spymaster was a skilled rider, able to move with the gelding automatically, without having to think about what he was doing.

The last part was especially important, because his thoughts were miles away. Or, really, on the miles ahead, and who and what lay within them. The Pimpernel was there, and Margo, but for once he cared little about either of those facts. What he cared about was Helene -- his daughter! though he could still scarcely believe it -- in pursuit of the man she loved, galloping headlong and heedless into a trap.

That it was a trap of his own devising made his own pursuit of her all the more bitterly ironic. But he hadn't even known she'd existed at the time he'd laid it, and it hadn't been set for her at any event. It was aimed at decapitating the Sacred Heart, which meant the men who led the rebel group, especially the Vicomte.

As traps went, it was fairly simple. Believing themselves safe in their deception, M'sieu Henri and his small troop would be brought into the outer courtyard of the fortress that protected the Essonne gunpowder mill. And, once they were all within, the gates would close, blocking their retreat, the soldiers would appear on the battlements, and the slaughter would begin. Even Helene, the lightest rider on the fastest horse and with the greatest lead, wouldn't get there in time to change that part. More likely she'd simply go running pell-mell into the aftermath ... with Sir Percy close on her heels.

What would happen then was anyone's guess, as the arrival of the Pimpernel in any situation tended to knock everything awry.

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TAG -- Tybalt?

NOTES – None at present.

lyrics from DARKNESS, DARKNESS by ROBERT PLANT

made by ANYA of caution 2.0

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[HELENE DE ROCHAMBEAU]

Helene couldn’t breathe. Every breath she took caused her heart to ache even more, until she was crippled forward on the horse, straining to stay on. She rode with purpose, clinging with all her strength to the unsaddled horse as she rode to Essonne. Her fear was great; she was fleeing from the horrors that gripped the camp, her friends being shot down in cold blood before her very eyes. Helene was exhausted, but the adrenaline coursed through her veins, giving her the strength to make the long journey. Her eyes were wild and her hair unkempt, billowing out behind her as she ducked from the low branches, her feet digging into the horses flanks, urging it to gallop on.

The past few days had been frightful; she was still trying to blot out the stench of Lucien that lingered on her. His face, his words…she had just been looking for herbs…for something that could help the injured and sick. Instead she’d been found by Lucien, hunted like and animal. She’d been lucky…escaping with only a few cuts and bruises. Cuts she could easily, put down to her own clumsiness. Her head was still sore from it connecting with one of the trees as she had tried to escape Lucien, but her fear for Henri was far greater than her own pain.

Her journey was coming to a close she could see the road that led to Essonne stretching out in front of her. She slowed the horse down to a walk, her ears listening out for any sounds that could suggest Henri’s whereabouts. The gunpowder factory wasn’t hard to miss, she could see it looming over the rest of the village, she dismounted her horse to tread quietly along the edge of the road to the factory, not wanting her presence to be known, she found a quiet place to wait. Knowing Henri would have to pass through the road on his return to the camp. Then she could warn him.

Helene sighed wishing she could find him now, the waiting was making her anxious, but she couldn’t risk whatever task Henri and his men were on. Stroking the horse’s nose, she lead it to the steam and settled herself down for a wait, her ears straining for any sign of Henri.

[TYBALT SANS-GAUCHE]

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I am surrounded by idiots … idiots with a death wish

He had only picked on the man because an itch in the back on his mind had told Tybalt to do so, but he wouldn’t have thought to be met with such kind of opposition, even accusing HIM of cowardice. Hadn’t the guy gotten the memo who he was dealing with?! There was something to be said about working up Tybalt Sans-Gauche’s annoyance, and it never was a nice outcome! Too bad he didn’t have the time now to start and pick a bone with the impertinent git, for they were now sharply approaching the gates, and he knew that the less attention he called to his own persona here the better. It had been ten years, so many of the staff might have changed or retired, but there might be still quite a few around who would remember the sarcastic young man who had lost his hand in an exploding experiment. So all he chose to do was throwing the idiot who had dared to challenge him a meaningful glance that indicated he wasn’t by far through with him. It was also a good thing that he hadn’t acquired the hook on his hand, his signature feature, until after having been thrown out here.

Tybalt tried to pull off the at-ease-but-terribly-bored posture of a mere guard while Henri dealt with the guard at the door, even though all his muscles were tense like a singing bow string. He thought he remembered the face of the guard from somewhere, even though he couldn’t have been more than a kid back then. Oh yes… THAT idiot kid! Tybalt now remembered all too well, he had been acquainted with the family, they all had probably never left the vicinity of Essonnes, and this lad’s father was probably still working in the packing section. The good thing was that Tybalt himself had probably changed so much, for example acquired a beard and more muscles, so that he could hope they would still not recognize him in return.

Everything seemed to be going according to Henri’s plan, belying Tybalt’s own doubts and resentments, which of course was to be a good thing, and yet Tybalt found himself glowering sharply at Henri’s barely concealed smugness and righteousness. He would only believe that this coup had been a success when they were on their way with the gunpowder with enough miles between them and possible pursuers to justify pride and a feeling of achievement. And they were not even anywhere near any powder yet! Henri finally needed to learn not to count his chickens before they were hatched! Therefore, when they were proceeding through the gate, he steered his mount next to Henri and leaned over to murmur: “Great, so you fooled the village oaf’s son, Pierre. What an achievement! I doubt the rest will be such a walk in the park.”

Was it only his black mood and the thoughts of impending failure that made it seem like unusually many men were leaving their work in the courtyard surreptitiously to watch them ride in? And why were there so many on the courtyard anyway? Had business changed that much over the last ten years? Normally, the courtyard would only be used as a means of passing from one building to another, unless a load was to be dispatched shortly. But there were not the necessary carts around… Narrowing his eyes, Tybalt took a scrutinizing look around, and was even more alarmed when two or three of the men hastily looked aside. He didn’t look THAT scary…!
Once again, he leaned over to Henri and murmured: “I don’t like this… something’s off. I smell it, I feel it! Better retreat while we can. If they close the gate behind us, we’re trapped!”

[/style]

TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & SHINE

[COMTESSE ELEONORE ROCHECHOUART]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #222121; width:430px; height:550px; padding:0px;] You haven't seen the last of me They can say that, I won't stay around. But I'm gonna stand my ground. TAGGED: Henri WORDS: 366 Eleonore kept her head down, following close behind Henri she watched Tybalt from the corner of her eyes, wondering if he was going to make another wise crack, or let them get on with the mission. They moved forward towards the gates, Eleonore straightened up in her saddle as she tried to control the speed of her beating heart. There was no going back now, she had to face whatever was about to come and pray that she would get through it. She wished only to bring her child back to her, and yet somehow she’d found herself in the midst of a foolish attempt to secure an ample amount of gunpowder. Wasn’t life strange? They reached the gates and Henri introduced himself as Chauvelin, she refrained from making eye contact with any of the guardsmen as she waited to see if they would be allowed to enter the factory grounds. She was hazy on what exactly the plan was once they were inside, how they planned to secure the gunpowder and exit the grounds without seeming suspicious. She didn’t know government protocol and she found it hard to believe Henri did. As the guardsman indicated they were authorized, Eleonore noticed Tybalt’s unease, she moved as close to the two as she could manage without causing suspicion as she tried to overhear what he was saying to Henri. She couldn’t catch much, and so she leant back in her saddle her pale eyes scanning the area for signs of trouble. She felt comforted in the knowledge she had her pistol by her side, but looking around she could see far too many possibility’s that she could not control. It was certainly a risky mission and if this was the best the rebels could come up with, she suspected they could kiss goodbye to their revolution. They would be crushed like ants. NOTES: n/a.

this lovely template was made by Arro from Caution 2.0.