A girl must do, what a girl must do!, [Open]

[Anne Mason]

A darkness loomed on the horizon, begging the last of the autumn sun into it’s folds. With the fading sunlight resting against her back, young Anne Mason, skipped down the well ridden path toward the forest. It almost seemed normal, to be wandering down this path with a basket under her arm, almost. But on this cold late afternoon, the laughter of her brothers and sisters wasn’t echoing in her ears. There was nothing but the wind beckoning her to listen as it ruffled the fallen leaves into the air. She could hear the steady beat of boots upon the earth, but they would not be her mother’s footsteps. Not this time.

“I hope the black berry bushes are not too far in.” murmured, Anne’s young friend. “My father says there are thieves in the woods.” Anne’s skipping feet skid to a stop, her dark eyes truly analyzing Susan, the little scully maid, for the first time. Round little Susan, was a tidy thing, despite the cold, red and ragged hands, nothing about the girl seemed out of place. Her blonde curly hair was neatly hidden way in her cap, her skirts were without flaw in comparison to Anne’s, and her sleeves were neat and tidily rolled all the way down.

As for Anne, well, once she left the palace her appearance tended to roll down hill. Her dark hair was loose and in the mercy of the wind, as her bonnet hung carelessly, only holding onto it’s mistress by the simple knot that Anne had put in it. Her cheeks and nose were taunted savagely by the cool wind, flushing them a brilliant scarlet, and while Susan’s skirts had remained decently clean, Anne’s were damp from a bucket that had been spilled upon the floor, and now they seemed to attract every blade of grass and every leaf to it’s wet wool surface. Speaking of wool, why did it have to be so itchy?!

Anne gnawed on her bottom lip, as Susan spoke. Maybe I should have waited for John at least…Nah. He’d eat them all before we even got home. But the girl quickly dismissed the idea. How many times have they come here to pick the last of the black berries before the world froze? Plenty! And they never had trouble then, so why would they have trouble now? Anne pushed the little prick of fear aside and began to roll up her sleeves. “Their not far at all.” She beamed. “Besides any vagabond that decided to stir up trouble just in the opening of the woods would be a twit.”

“Look at the profession they chose, they all ready are a twit.” Susan muttered, sending the pair into giggle fits. As Anne transcended into the mouth of the forest, her laughter slowly faded, replaced by silence in a look of awe. How was it the seasons could change clothes so quickly? “Isn’t it lovely?” Anne said lightly, her head titled back, watching the vividly colored leaves float from the thinning canopy as if they were merely feathers. Susan watched the young Mason crouch down to pick up a bright red maple leaf. “It’s just a red leaf.” She said. She didn’t have the same wonderment about her as Anne did, certainly for nothing that came from this cold weather.

Anne squirreled the leaf away into her pocket of treasures. “A rose is just red, but people find them beautiful.” Anne said with a shrug of her shoulders. Finding a large stick of cedar to walk with, Anne dusted it off and began to trek further into the wilderness, only pausing when a large sycamore divided the path into two, and there along the path edges were the blackberry bushes. “Here they are Moth- Susan!” Anne’s words tumbled out and suddenly remorse rushed to the pit of her stomach. This just wasn’t the same without her.

Though they were more plump in the earlier summer months, The shiny beaded berries still clung to the spiny red branches. As soon as Anne reached for one she ended up with a squashed berry and a needle in her thumb. Father had always been good at removing such bothersome things, but Anne found herself weeding it out of her flesh alone.

“You’re getting blackberry juice on yourself.” Susan warned. As Anne peered down, there without fail was a large purple streak rolling down her apron. Anne stopped sucking on her thumb at that point. With their daily wages hidden inside their pockets, the girls set their aprons neatly aside, knowing that black could hide a purple stain much better then a bright white apron. (or in Anne’s case…not so bright) It never crossed Anne’s mind that someone might want to take what she had earned.

So intent on filling their small baskets the best they could with the tart berries, that they had never heard the man coming. That was until he was all ready too close. When the sound of a branch breaking underfoot echoed in the air, Anne froze, before she could turn around she could hear Susan screeching. “Don’t you dare! That’s ours!” Anne dropped her basket.

Bending down to rummage through their aprons was a thin whippet of a man, but what he lacked in girth had had made up in height. He was taller then Robert, Anne surmised. He only turned his narrow face to them and smiled a yellow grin. “Finders, keepers my young friends.”

Anne felt herself moving, reacting without thinking perhaps, but she quickly sprinted forward and snatched the aprons from the man’s dirty paws. Whatever had been in Anne’s apron pocket was now strewn across the forest floor. So many notes and favorite odd and ends were going to be lost. She debated trying to pick up one of the fluttering pieces of paper but the man was all ready coming forward. Trying to back away Anne clumsily fell backward. “Now Missy, why don’t you just give me what you have and no one will be harmed. How’s that for an idea?” Reaching behind her and could just barely get her fingers around the cedar stick she had used earlier. “I have another idea.” Anne hissed, as her hand wrapped firmly around the branch, and clocked the man right on the side of the head.

The would-be thief howled, his thick hands clutching at his head. “Get in the tree!” Anne cried, crawling under the mans legs. “How did you know to do that?!” Susan said breathily as she scrambled to get into the arms of the sycamore.

Handing Susan the piece of cedar, Anne shakily forced herself to climb into the tree. “I-I clobbered Robert once…” She said her voice trembling. “On accident of course, we were playing and-”

Suddenly Anne felt the strings of her cap chocking her. “Why you little wench! Come back here!” The vagabond roared, clutching onto Anne’s dangling bonnet. As she tried to will her shaking hands to undo the little knot around her neck, she could hear Susan screaming. “LET HER GO!” fallowed by a ’thud’ as she smacked the man on the top of the head with the cedar branch. Anne quickly untied the knot, and yanked herself into the tree as the man stumbled backwards.

It was then with both girls in the tree that Susan began screaming for help, while Anne found a creative solution to deal with the theif who was persistent as a dog who had chased a cat up a tree. Every time the man’s bony hand would reach upinto the tree, Anne would rapp him across the knuckles with her stick. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to take things that didn’t belong to you?!” At that moment her eyes stung with tears. Her mother couldn’t tell her anything. And her parents wouldn’t be the ones coming to her rescue. “Serves you right!” Anne hissed as the man howled after she had cracked him on the top of his hands.
She just hoped if someone came along it was anothervagabond. One was enough trouble.

[Felicity Byrd]

Ever since Felicity had been dubiously honored with the starring role in Romney and Julietta, she was filled with misgivings and rehearsals had been filled with arguments. Though she was no longer young enough to successfully play the ingénue and realized this, Clarisse di Monti, had been actively campaigning for Thomas Nestor to enlarge her role as the heroine’s mother so that she became the heroine herself. Making matters worse was that Roberta was not content with her role either, and was furious that Felicity had been asked to take the lead. It seemed the only one content with the role given was Joshua Rosin, who decided to take a turn as the hero. Even placid Allison Nestor was fretting that she would not be convincing in her role as Joshua’s beautiful mother, for she was only slightly older than he. Fortunately, that was among the easily remedied problems for Allison was easily written in as his stepmother.

Though she was nothing of a cook, the girls who she shared her cottage with were fine ones, so they had sent Felicity to gather up the fat blackberries that grew in the woods. Eagerly anticipating a pie, Felicity had doned an old pair of brown breeches, an old tunic that was no longer prefectly white and a jaunty feathered hat. After belting a short, thin sword on for protection when the other girls complained about the brigands in the woods, Felicity was dressed to go hunt blackberries. Then she had saddled up her pony, Alyce, and turned her hand to the task. Felicity had planned to put the blackberries in the pony''s saddle bags so she did not have to bother with cumbersome baskets.

The short ride into the forest was a chance to clear her thoughts about the performances and instead wonder about when her fiancé would be returning home with Prince Aidan from his sojourn in the wilds. Loud shrieks pierced even the vaguest thoughts of Phillip’s return, and suddenly the woods were filled with cries for help. From astride her stocky steed, the young actress could hardly help but notice that two children were being held hostage in a tree. One was calling for help and the other was smacking the person below her with a stick to prevent being grabbed. A few aprons spread on the forest floor, upturned berry baskets, and a scattering of objects not commonly found in the woods led her to suspect that common thievery was not all the man had on his perverse mind.

Sneaking up behind him, Felicity held a thin rapier to the man’s throat, since he was too busy trying to extract the two children from their tree to notice her. Having to use a sword, though blunted, in her times in various theatricals spent masquerading as a boy meant that Felicity could use a light one with some degree of proficiency. Not enough to foil a nobleman who had practiced all his life or someone much stronger than she, but surprise is a great ally. The stiletto was her current weapon of choice if her own safety was threatened, but men’s weaponry was easier procured if one dressed as a boy and spoke as a noble, which she had done. “Get out of here immediately.” growled Felicity, adopting a boy’s deeper tones, “Some thief you are, stealing from scullery maids.” He glared at her but said not a word. “You may not be afraid of me, but…” Here she pressed the sword closer and a thin line of blood trickled down the man’s collar. “I could very easily slit your throat and leave you for the vultures to find. Brigands who prey upon little girls, well no one laments their passing.”

Even dressed as young man, the actress hardly presented an imposing picture, yet her tone was convincing. She lacked the dark villainous looks that Thomas Nestor swore by, to let an audience know immediately who was a powerful adversary. He also preferred the villains to have mustaches and leave trails of pig’s blood in their wake. The washerwomen of the theatre threatened to quit en masse if Thomas did not start allowing his murders to mostly take place off stage, because of the hard work they put into scrubbing garments worn in those scenes.

A sword being a great equalizer, the man scurried off as soon as Felicity withdrew her weapon. “Oh God, how dreadful.” She said, rubbing her hands upon her breeches as if to clean them like the queen in Witches and Kings. Murder would have been a stain upon her soul, one that might easily have stricken her name from the rolls of Heaven and condemned her elsewhere. A sword to her throat and an early grave, all for the mistake of loving Edwin, might have easily been her fate has she remained in Liston and the thought gave Felicity pause and made her shudder. Tendrils of whitish blonde hair escaped the feathered hat she had been wearing. Feeling eyes upon her, Fee then turned her own brown one upward to inspect the little girls still clinging to the branches. “Aren’t you one of Elizabeth Mason’s sisters?” She asked in a more normal voice, “Not Jane, of course, for I know her well. We work together at the palace.”

[[I would have sent in Lucian but he’s not heroic at all, nor would he have had access to weaponry. Hope it's okay]]