(no subject)

[bringmethatnpc]

The prisoners reach through the bars, whistling and coaxing. It's a rare thing to have such a pretty inmate about. For some of them, it's the closest they've ever gotten to a lady of Elizabeth's stature.

They wonder if what's under her skirts is the same as what's under more common wenches.

"Come closer, we don’t bite!" leers one, waggling his filthy fingers at Elizabeth.

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[bringmethatnpc]

Lord Cutler Beckett is working late into the night. The business of empire requires a lengthy correspondence.

The decanter of brandy is one third full. At the beginning of the evening, it was two-thirds full.

The glass at his left hand is -- naturally -- half full. Beckett thinks of himself as a very positive-thinking man.

[mr-mercer.livejournal.com]

Two smart raps against the door interrupt the scratching of Beckett's quill pen before the door is opened. Mercer steps swiftly into the room, his black clothes a deeper shadow against the dimness of the office. In strange contrast, his voice is light and unhurried.

"Miss Swann is making her escape, as expected. She and her father are most likely heading for the docks."

[bringmethatnpc]

At times it is a veritable burden being right.

"Then I trust, Mr. Mercer, you shall do your duty well and with all haste, and intercept."

Beckett lifts the glass, but not in a salute -- a mere delicate sip, before setting it down with a quiet, demure thunk on the very nice wood of his very nice desk.

[mr-mercer.livejournal.com]

The faint upturning at the corners of Mercer's mouth are the only changes in the still figure.

"Of course."

He's out the door, then. Striding swiftly, Mercer tells one of the soldiers to gather those who are not on duty and meet him at the docks, then he goes on ahead.

[bringmethatnpc]

And Beckett smiles (a lord's smile, he thinks to himself) and bends his head (with no delicately powdered hair out of place) over his letters.