#rescuemiriam

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Sparrow had fired off a round-robin of texts, finding a time that both August and Coradel could meet... and here she was, sitting on a rock, waiting.

((The rock being....where-ish?))

((firnost garden?))

((just checking))

For the occasion, she broke out proper voile - a silvery gossamer chemise with angel-wing sleeves under a blue, silver and red brocade bodice depicting lions and birds frolicking through bare-limbed trees. Dark blue suede with red braid tucked into elaborately tooled boots. She holds a silver circlet in her hands, embellished with oak leaves and pearls. Rapier, as always these days, belted at her hip.

Inside the Freehold, August enters from the bathroom trods and takes a moment to adjust his voile; dark blue, close, solid leggings tucked into black boots; a sky blue poet's shirt under a silvery, short-sleeved light chain mail shirt; spurs & a belt with a laurel wreath motif; these are rusted, but not terminally. A golden sword with a centipede design on the hilt is at his side; it is pitted in appearance, but sharp enough should he have cause to draw it. He wears a shield on the left arm (with a coat of arms). A dark blue cloak clasped over the heart with the same coat of arms as the shield.

His jaw as a small nick on it, dried, his hair is slicked and tied back, and he carries an air of nervous energy.

The messages for Coradel have mostly gotten to her through Shallimar, so there's little she can keep from the pooka about her departure. However, he has promised (as best a pooka can) to decline to bring her back for a good long time. Thus, Coradel has ventured through the trod again and emerges back at Firnost's garden.

She wears a gown of deep mottled greens that offset her hair's red dramatically, and delicate gold bracelets dangle at her wrists.

She ventures through the garden path, back to where she first met the winged-girl, frowning at an irritable sense of something just behind her, a gnat-like buzzing of glamour.

She turns the coronet over and over again in her hands, channeling most of her nervous energy there.

Eventually, she spots Sparrow. "Well. I am here." Impatience...why must things always involve waiting?

She rises, wings fluttering to her back. "And you wanted to meet him." A lift of her chin, a flash of irritation.

Inside, at the Garden door, he takes a deep breath and exits to the Da'an that awaits.

"Yes, of course! But surely this could have been done the first night I was here."

He squares his shoulders, looking around and then trying to follow the sound of voices to the designated rock.

"The world does not, in fact, jump at your beck and call."

She paces slightly, her skirts following her movements in counterpoint.

His footsteps slow, stop.... then continue on at the same, measured, pace.

That gets an imperious lift of the chin. "Careful, girl."

"I'm older than you. And this is Firnost - don't think to order me. Not here."

His footsteps on the gravel path closer now, soon muffled by grass as he arrives.

"I am not ordering you. I am warning you. I am not in the mood..." She cuts off as she notes the movement and looks.

Her wings rustle, partially spread. "I don't care about your moods."

He ducks under a tree limb and arrives, standing still.

She turns to face him, her expression puzzled.

She seems to be trying to resolve this face with the face she knew/knows, seeing both the dreaming and the mortal form for the first time here.

Sparrow takes a step back, ceding the floor, so to speak, to August. She rests one hand on the hilt of her rapier, and the other elbow - unconsciously settling into the cocked-hip posture of a fencer.

She doesn't move towards him. After the silence, she slowly performs a deep curtsey. "August. My Lord."

He seems to have forgotten how to breath, but manages to double over, eyes never leaving her face.

If breath is forgotten, speech is clearly beyond him.

He puts one hand over his heart, then on his left cheek, holding it there.

She rises, and watches him again...his gesture...a slight grin. "I am sorry for that."

A confused expression is hardly amiss on his features.

"The strike I gave you when...we parted. I did not want to do that. It was necessary."

"You... you remember?" He breathes.

"I...remember that. I remember...we...there was a reason. A goal. You had your role in it -- I had mine. And we needed to mislead others. Beyond that...it is vague."

"I remember hitting you. I remember it clearly." A moment, and she shakes her head. "I remember it was something I did not wish to do."

Her wings flex and she studies the grass at her feet.

He hears this.... pats his voile and finds some notes which he offers with a slight tremor.

She accepts them uncertainly, still at arm's length. "What is this?"

Since August's arrival, the irritability and impatience have gone out of her mannerisms and voice.

"N... Notes." His voice cracks. He clears his throat. "Notes about... ah. Our... my... line."

"Truthbranch." A brief frown and she shifts her weight to the other hip.

"Yes."

She looks to Sparrow, repeats, "Truthbranch." A nod, and she looks at the papers, then back to August. "You do not wish me to sit and read these now, I think. Not when we may speak. May I take these with me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." Her tone is soft, and she offers another small smile. "This is a strange thing, isn't it? I knew I must find you, and yet..." A pause. "I know you, but I do not know you."