(cowritten as a series of emails between GM Jaime & player Dru)

You show up at seven o'clock on the 23rd of Sarimiere at Renae's apartment with the coach and driver you've hired for the evening. You feel odd and a little decadent in the outfit the priest of Laerme helped you put together -- after all, it isn't something you would normally wear ... but it isn't a disguise, either. You consider briefly that your mother would approve of the look and that puts your mind at ease somewhat. As you walk up the stemps to her apartment, Renae's door opens and she comes out to greet you. Attired simply but elegantly in green in black (matching her hair and eyes), you don't have to struggle to compliment her - she looks beautiful. She locks the door, and you take her arm and lead her to the coach. She smiles when she sees it, not surprised but certainly approving.

The ride to Melanie's is mostly quiet. Renae seems lost in thought, staring out the window of the coach, which suits you fine - you spend the trip studying her. This is the closest you've been to her since the night you met. She will catch you staring at her, but she will only smile (white teeth lighting up her face) and look away blushing.

Too soon the ride is over, and the driver opens the doors to the coach in front of a house with the sign "Melanie's" hanging from its shingle. You step out into the cool winter air, and help Renae from the vehicle. She happily takes your arm as you lead her to the entrance of the restaurant. There is no sign of recognition on her face, she has obviously never been here before (or she is practicing her Acting skill).

You are greeted by welcoming warmth and the delicious spiced odor of cooked food as soon as you pass through the closed wooden door. The small place is packed with people. You can't remember the last time you saw such a varied cross-section of people together in one place (although it crosses your mind that it was probably in Boeruine's dungeon). "That smells terrific," says Renae as a short, pudgy, ruddy-faced, blonde-haired and hazel-eyed woman comes over to greet you. "Thank you, Madam. I think you will find tonight's entrée quite appetizing." She looks you over and nods. "I'm Melanie. You must be Miran's friend. I have a place reserved for you. Please follow me." She leads you both to a small table that has been left open in a corner of the room.

"Who's Miran?" asks Renae as Melanie leaves you both and heads to the kitchen.

"The proprietor of the Gilded Scabbard," you reply simply. "Where I stay. He recommended the place."

"Well, you must thank him." She gestures around the room. "There isn't another seat free in here. She must have been holding a space for us." Looking around, you see that she is correct - Miran must have pulled a few strings for you after you asked him about the place.

As you are getting settled into your seats, Renae breaks the ice. "So Malachai ... the last time we were together it was all about me and my problems. Which, by the way, I'm not sure I ever properly thanked you and your friends for solving. I am really grateful for everything you did. When you came to see me at the Sackbut, I had already decided to give up my dreams and move home. Only your intervention kept me here, where I believe I was meant to be. So, thank you. And please thank your friends for me too. Laerme, I'm starting to sound like Chiles. Enough about me. So, what exactly is is you do? Are you in the employ of Lord Halloravant?"

"Sometimes." You pause a moment, uncertain how to describe `an adventuring company.' You mentally try out and discard a few possible answers before settling on, "We work together to solve crimes and protect the realm." Finding that to be an incomplete description, you add, "The viscount also occasionally asks me to act as his bodyguard and aide. I was a bodyguard before I joined his group."

The invisible tattoo on your face seems to itch slightly, and you resist the urge to scratch or rub it, uncomfortably aware of its incriminating presence.

She seems fascinated by your reply, but still curious. Before she can probe you for further details, Melanie returns, her hands holding two large bowls filled with steaming soup of some kind, and a basket of bread, obviously still hot from the oven. "Careful, it's hot," she warns, setting the bowls and basket down in front of you both. "It's a fish chowder. I picked up the recipe from a woman from Grevesmuhl. She said it was passed down in her family since 'before Michael Roele was a twinkle in his mother's eye.' I can't vouch for that. I can, however, vouch for the taste. Here, this will help chase away the night's chill." A waitress hands her two mugs of what smells suspiciously like spiced cider, which she also leaves on the table. She then walks away, leaving you two to your cider, chowder, and conversation.

You both blow on and sip the thick white mixture of fish and cream, vegetables and pepper. It is delicious - and thick enough for the spoon to stand up on its own. "Grevesmuhl," Renae muses, "that's in the Overlook, in Brechtur, isn't it? You're from Brechtur, aren't you? Why'd you leave?"

"Brechtur isn't a very welcoming place to live," you reply, stirring your chowder slightly as you allow it to cool. Your words flow smoothly, having been chosen and practiced long ago to avoid stating anything would be a direct lie. "Cold and dangerous and nearly overrun by awnsheglien. Besides," you smile slightly, deftly changing the subject and gazing at her with undisguised admiration in your pale blue eyes, "there's no opera worth speaking of up there. I much prefer the Imperial City." You pause a moment to sip your chowder and watch her. "And you? Have you lived here all your life?"

"I'm from Tariene originally. That's in Boeruine. My father was a soldier in the Archduke's army. He was killed when I was little. Mom says that his patrol was ambushed by Manslayer and his Elven assassins." You look startled and dismayed by her story. "They never recovered the bodies, but Rhuobhe is said to be merciless when it comes to human prisoners. After that, Mom got a job working as a seamstress for a theatre. That's how I got exposed to and fell in love with the arts. It was so much fun. When Mom passed away a few years back, I left Tariene and started touring the country with assorted theatre groups. And then I ended up here, in the Imperial City, fighting for my big break. And the rest is history. And ... and you see how easy it is for me to start talking about myself." She shakes her head, takes a sip from her steaming mug, and continues, "The danger of being an actress, I guess. What's your attraction to the theatre? Have you ever acted? I hope it's not just on my account - because if that's the case, you are probably never going to want to set foot in a theater again."

"I go whenever my job permits," you object, setting your spoon down and giving her another of your frankly admiring looks. "You have a beautiful voice. I could listen to you forever - and I never get tired of watching you on stage ... or off." As she reacts to your words you suddenly become self-conscious, all too aware that you're speaking as Corbin and not as one of your many other personae. You drop your gaze down to your empty bowl. A little embarrassed, you take a fortifying sip from his cider and look back up at her. "I'm not - I'm - " you pause to collect his thoughts, wishing you had Lord Phoebes' self-possession. "I'm just a musician. Uh, amateur." You uncomfortably move on before she can comment, afraid that she might misinterpret your interest in her and think that you're trying to use her to get a job with the theater. "But I love the opera. I never had much of a chance to attend, before joining the viscount's group. I wish I hadn't missed your other performances," you say wistfully.

No sooner are your soup bowls empty, than Melanie returns, hoisting large platters of food. "Don't let me interrupt. Tonight's entrée is roasted boar ribs. They've been marinated for hours in a molasses, vinegar, and honey brew. Messy, I know, but worth the trouble. Don't be afraid to dive in, I've got warm washcloths for you when you're through." The enormous repast she places in front of you is a little intimidating, but the smell is certainly inviting. After Melanie retreats, Renae looks around the restaurant and remarks, "Looks like everyone is having the same thing. I wondered when we hadn't been brought a menu ... I like it. It's a lot like acting. Someone else makes the decisions, and you just play your part. And for my part, I'm hungry. I don't see any theatre critics, so it should be okay...." She hefts a rib and starts devouring. For a moment you stare - this isn't quite how you pictured her (chewing hungrily, her face dripping with sauce), but like everything else, she wears it well. You join in, and for a time all conversation is stifled as you both rip tender flesh off of the ribs with your teeth.

After a time, your appetite is sated, and Melanie returns with a basin filled with warm water and washcloths. You clean yourselves up, and Melanie vanishes back to her kitchen.

For a moment you both look at each other, contented by the cuisine and the company. She smiles first, but you immediately follow. You catch yourself thinking that it is nice to spend time with a woman who isn't awaiting execution by your hand. Bracken would be pleased. He'd said you needed to find a woman who would take your edge off - make you appreciate life, instead of the `Rook morbid fascination with death.' Perhaps he was right.

You wait for a while, quietly but not awkwardly, expecting Melanie to come and let you know what you owe her, but after that doesn't happen, you realize that people are dropping coins into a jar by the door. So as not to ruin the mood, you silently stand and help Renae on with her coat and escort her to the door. There is a small sign next to the jar that reads "Dinner - 5 pence." "How strangely trusting," you think. You deposit your coins and head out to the waiting coach.

The trip through the streets of Anuire is as quiet as the previous one. It is dark in the coach although there is some small light from the lanterns outside, and you get the distinct impression that Renae is studying you carefully. It is mildly uncomfortable for you, but not unpleasant. "What is it she sees?" you wonder.

Too soon again the coach stops and you see Renae's apartment building out the windows. You walk her up to her door and gather your thoughts.

"Thank you for letting me take you out tonight, Renae," you say, reaching out to take her hand. Your self-consciousness evaporates as you gaze at her, entranced a moment by her beauty in the romantic lanternlight. You lift her hand to your lips and kiss it, reluctant to let her go. "Good night."

She smiles, kisses you goodnight and opens the door to her apartment. "See you at the theatre Mr. Gothos."

You walk back down the steps, pay the coachman, and start back towards the Gilded Scabbard, preferring the cold air and your happily muddled thoughts to the noisome clattering of hooves and wheels on cobblestones.