This couple they got married

And well they did agree

This couple they got married,

So why not you and me,

Oh, why not you and me?

- from the journals of Amard

When the day arrived, Jori had several moments to wonder what it was Alez ought to wear until Giersa bustled over, holding out two dresses. They both fit him, with some minor alterations. He opened his mouth to comment on the miraculous coincidence, but was pointed ignored. Maybe because whatever outfit Giersa was helping Alez in had too many ribbons and frills, "Are you going out like that?"

"Like what?" He had looked away when Alez was changing but now he gave the other other man's outfit a once over.

Alez looked like a pretty doll, the fancier ones that had some clockwork to make them move, and with the sun umbrella Giersa offered Alez and he tentatively raised it, the resemblance was uncanny. The look didn't quite suit him, Jori thought Alez looked better in the sailor's mix-match uniforms but dressing up seemed to erase the concern from Alez's face. He'd spent the better half of the morning with Giersa painting his face and worrying about the state of the cookies and if Marget would find them acceptable.

Marget. Jori dreaded the name now as the thought of it seemed to send Alez into a flurry of activity that went nowhere. At least Alez didn't speak in those question sentences. But he did ask stupid questions, such as if his baking was presentable, first to Jori then to everyone who would listen. Would Marget like this, would Marget like that. At the third iteration of this line of questioning Jori wished more than anything that he could pluck whatever mechanism that kept Alez in line out and chuck it into the sea. Though the more Alez fretted and worried, the more he wished to toss the clockmaker of said mechanism, Alez's dear Margie, into a very deep well. But adding to Alez's anxiety would do nothing, so he smiled, nodded and reassured him that everything was indeed in order. Which was the truth, because certain members of his crew did discover that Marget Garre lived next to Captain Wyne. Pierre had been overly enthusiastic in informing him that the Captain was not at home and the information had only cost him a beer at the tavern they stopped at the day before.

"Wouldn't he take the horn with him?" Giersa had said with a frown, "What with it being his source of power and all?"

"It doesn't work like that," Jori had said and they'd proceeded to stare each other down before Giersa shrugged and gave in.

But now when Giersa was giving his clothes dirty looks, he decided he had to concede to Giersa.

"Wear something fancy, or, I don't know, powder your face! I thought you wanted to blend in!"

"Giersa, dear," Jori said, rolling his eyes but accepting the powder offered to him, "you know I can cake on as many layers and they'll say I'm too…" he trailed off.

"Exotic," Giersa offered with a half-smirk.

It wasn't a thing he thought about much, his complexion, but next to the many servants at the Sun King's court he had been practically treated as if he was invisible. They had a hierarchy there as well, and him with his father's foreign accent and mother's dark skin practically put him at the lowest. At first he'd thought to whiten his face but he'd given up when he realized how exorbitant the powders could be charged at. Not to mention the odd smell.

"We'll go with that, yes," Jori sighed, and took whatever shirt and cravat Giersa handed him. Perhaps he ought to be grateful they were clean, and neatly pressed.

Alez, seeing Jori's face, chuckled, "Do you want a hand?"

"Oh, he does," Giersa cackled, pushing Jori towards Alez.

Then Jori was treated to a rather shy smile as Alez attempted to button up Jori's shirt and then his coat, mumbling something under his breath.

"What did you say?" said Jori.

"My sister's not as horrible as you think," Alez said fervently. Jori met Giersa's eyes and for once they both agreed to hold their tongues. "I haven't seen her in awhile, and I am… I am really looking forward to it. Will you please be… nice? It's not her fault she can be… stubborn."

"Nice," Jori nodded his head, distracted by how very wide and blue Alez's eyes could be if you look at them in a certain light. He glanced at Giersa, who gave several enthusiastic nods behind Alez's back. "Why do you doubt me? Of course I can be nice!"

He immediately regretted his promise upon seeing the house and the lady Marget that greeted them. The house was nothing to speak of, he had seen plenty of rich manors, enough to last a lifetime. This one had too many marbled sculptures for his liking. There were too many of them, and they all had an artificial look about them for the house's owner to have commissioned an artist to personally craft each one by hand. But to an untrained eye or to the guests the host was trying to impress, no doubt these were genuine works of art.

"Alez!" Marget exclaimed, throwing her arms around Alez and nearly knocking the plate off his hands, "Alez, I did not know of such horrible news!"

Alez gave Jori a frightened look and Jori found the wits to say, pulling his hat from his head and putting on a very solemn gentlemanly air, "Very sad, we heard about it as we were coming to Byhil."

"Who are you sir?" said Marget. She motioned for them to come in to the house but did not walk them to the sitting room.

Instead the three of them stood in the hall, and ignoring her attempt to stare him down he returned the gaze. Up close, Jori could see the family resemblance. They both had the tilt to their nose and the high cheekbones, though Marget's gave her a hawkish air while Alez's simply made him look pensive and brooding. The former would be painted as some lady of the house while the latter would be some artist's muse of tragedy, Jori thought, eyeing the paintings that hung behind Marget. At least these portraits looked genuine.

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"I am but a humble captain hired by the late Captain Edmund, Madam," Jori lied, "the doctor prescribed a trip home for Alez and Captain Edmund was so kind enough to acquiesce."

"How kind of him to hire a man from foreign parts!" Agreed Marget, and she pulled out a fan, motioning for Alez and Jori to follow her.

That was never a good sign, Jori thought, irritated, ignoring the jab that was clearly meant for him. If only he could use his hat as a fan he would do the same. Speaking of sending signs, he glanced quickly over his shoulder at the window overlooking the other manor as he passed by it. It was night time, and as they'd planned, three candles were lit and blown out in succession. Well, Robaus always had a way with tools, didn't he? Though how they'd know how long it took him and Alez to be shown i, Jori had no idea.

The thoughts of the heist quickly were pushed aside when Marget ushered them into her sitting room, and summoned the maids to bring out her children. She had five little ducklings, Jori observed wryly, five little ducklings all lined up in a row and ready for a roast courtesy of mummy dearest. Then they were all led out again, all except the eldest.

"This is Ellis!" Marget exclaimed proudly, motioning towards her eldest who looked about fourteen. "Doesn't he look like you, Alez?"

Alez nodded, smiling, "Good evening, Ellis." The servants had offered them drinks, wine in delicate glasses and for the first time Jori saw Alez willingly reach for one.

"Ellis just returned from finishing school, didn't you, darling, and he is such an accomplished musician!"

"I… am?" Ellis said, then, at a look from Marget. "Yes, my tutor gave me very high grades. Yes."

So the questioning thing was an inherited trait, Jori thought idly, the same as the names, did this family possessed creativity? If, say, poor Ellis decided to jump into a pond to escape the clutches of his mother, how on earth would the rescuers know which syllables to call out?

While Alez and Marget made what Jori could only guess was polite conversation, he wandered over to where Marget framed the needlework and placed the best porcelain in a glass cabinet. He would interrupt the lovely conversation but Alez was a freeman and freedom meant making horrible choices without interference.

Jori stared at the plates, first disinterestedly, because heavens knew the artists needed to work and it was none of their faults that their patrons had bad taste. His nose wrinkled at the smiling faces of the subjugated and civilised Ndikou, bowing and prostrating themselves before the throne of King Harmund. Truly only the gracious and generous hand of the monarchy could bring peace and prosperity, he thought, irate, staring at the golden throne that his Majesty sat upon and the heaps of riches depicted all around his handsome face. It was twenty years out of date, King Harmund was as wizened as the family tree he came from. Then the blue of the porcelain caught his eye and he leaned in to look. It had been a while since he'd seen any work from Yichan.

"Captain?"

"Hm?"

"My mother will fuss if ah…"

Ellis wore the exact same nervous expression as Alez. Perhaps that was why their names matched, Jori thought, to go with how Marget wanted their lives to be lived. He cast a look at where Alez was sitting with Marget and decided on the spot that Alez had never clarified how nice he ought to be with Marget. He could be polite, in fact, he can even be genteel.

"Say, Madam," said Jori, loud enough to get their attention, "I did not know you approve of such fanciful behavior."

Marget frowned, but she fluttered her fan in front of her face just in time, "Whatever do you mean?"

Ellis squeaked when Jori tapped on the glass of the cabinet but Jori ignored him. The boy should do his nerves a favor and take a hammer to some of the plates.

"This plate," Jori said, sprinkling all innocent curiosity, "it's a tale from Yichan, surely you would know?"

"It is part of a series, yes," Marget said, fanning herself. "My father gave it to me when I got married."

"Captain," Alez began, in the same tones as Ellis.

Jori ignored him, strolling over and casually pulling a chair to sit next to the siblings. Marget had best put her fan down and spar with him, he had no blood loyalty to be patient with her.

"It is rather curious," said Jori, "I thought a gentlewoman such as yourself would not entertain such fantasies. And it is such a fantastical tale as well."

He could remember it well, the perfumed ship of Madam Zhao, the smile on her red lips as her first mate translated his request. Her black hair was pinned severely on her head and as she leaned over to him with a shark's stare he smelled jasmine and red poppies.

'No,' she had told him through her second-in-command, shaking his head. 'I will not help you find Xelisa.'

The grip he'd had on the porcelain cup had been tight, and he'd stare, biting his lip down at the delicate plate it rested on.

'A good story,' Madam Zhao had commented, 'two lovers united by Xelisa, and now they swim on the sea, as porpoises, to guide us.' When he'd looked up, she gave him a shrug and her first mate had apologetically continued her words, 'But this is not your story to tell, boy. Leave Captain Amard be. No man should live in his father's shadow.'

No, his father did not expect Jori to take on the Plucky. It was Jori's choice, it was his own life to live, and at present, it was his decision to knock Marget down several pegs.

"There once was a rich merchant man from Yichan," he said, seeing from the corner of his eye Ellis looking up with interest, "and he had a beautiful daughter." Or son, to be fair, the Madam Zhao's first mate never said child. But Marget's plates had depicted a woman wearing the Yichan dress so it must have been this version that she had. "And she loved a lowly sailor," and as he said it, it occurred to him that the present must have held a deeper meaning that Marget was blind to, "but she was betrothed to a—" mandarin, was the word, but he settled on, "duke, and on the evening of her wedding to the man, the sailor slipped into the merchant's house and escaped together."

The plates told the story well enough and Jori watched from the corner of his eye as Ellis tried very hard not to look interested. Alez had left his seat to lean in, following Jori's finger as he narrated the story told on the plate.

"They ran over the bridge," here he pointed to the blue bridge and the figures upon it, "but the duke pursued them, he ordered the bridge to be burnt with them on it, and they looked upon the water, and made to jump, but Olysa spoke to them, and transformed them into porpoises."

They rescued sailors sometimes, Jori knew, kept them alive until another ship happened across them. He stared at the swirling blue-and-white bodies of the porpoises and marveled at how the artist managed to capture something he'd likely not seen before. You never realised how difficult it was to find and track down something from descriptions given by a drunken sailor.

"I have served porpoises on those dishes," Marget replied, curtly. "I suppose it is a fanciful tale." Then she took Alez's hand and motioned for him to join her.

Alez gave Jori a pleading look to which Jori nodded and joined the two, Ellis trailing behind him like a kicked puppy.

"You never wrote to me about the children!" Marget said to Alez, "I thought you wanted them! If you're running about on a ship doing goodness knows what then you won't be in the right mind to be having them!" Then a hand on his cheek, "You should think about it, you've only got so much time, darling, and you did want such a large family! Didn't he tell you, Captain? He's got the names all planned and everything, in that little book of his." Her eyes narrowed minutely then she was all smiles, "How many did you want again? Seven?"

"I was different—" Alez began, his hands gripping the settee and leaning as far as he could from her.

"You were so adamant on wanting to be a governess!" Marget continued in mock-obliviousness. There was a glint in her eyes that Jori knew quite well, and it didn't sit right with him. "Wasn't it kind of Edmund to spare you from such a plight?" She took up the fan again, and continued, the feathers fluttering in front of her face, "I have heard of horrible things happening to governesses!" Her voice lowered, "such poor girls!"

"I assume, Madam, that you have taken precautions that nothing of the kind happens to your own governesses?" Jori said loudly, deciding he might as well start drinking. The fan stopped moving, and Jori, struggling to contain his glee continued, "Gentlemen are known to have such insatiable appetites. I would know, what with me being a bit… dark." And now for the final snip and snap, "You could ask your husband if he likes such menus."

"Your mother must be so proud of you," Marget sniffed. "You are such an honorable man to escort my brother all this way."

"She is," Jori nodded, deciding that he very much liked to play Marget's little games, "very. For I have left her well-cared for in her old age and I visit and write often enough," a lie, but his mother would forgive him for it, surely, "I can only hope that your children will show you such kindness in your old age."

The silence stretched so long that it was Ellis that broke it, stammering that he really ought to get back to his school books.