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Hope

Viewing of the Moon | 10pm-ish 6th April

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St James Park gates are closed at 10pm, however keys are held by so very many that this only serves to keep law abiding citizens out.   During the day persons at their leisure may enjoy:    

St James Park

The Park was once a marshy water meadow, but now is a thriving attraction with all of London's elite. Charles' grandfather, James I, improved the drainage and controlled the water supply. Other royalty had made improvement to the park over their reigns, but it was Charles II who made dramatic changes. The Park was redesigned, with avenues of trees planted and lawns laid. The King opened the park to the public and is a frequent visitor, feeding the ducks and mingling with his subjects.

 

 

By this hour a gentle hush had decended upon the world, sheltered in a cloak of night, all was dark and still.

Well most of it.  A moving figure was Sir Isaac, who now entered the gates of the park (paying little heed to whoever had opened them, that was of no importance to him).  Rather he pressed on in to the grounds with intent to support his old school chums astronomical event.  He expected Henry would already be there...

A couple of others were walking silently that direction too, by the looks of things it was to be a popular night. 

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Edmund was still glowing from the effects of what could politely be described as excessive alcohol consumption from his first foray into court life proper at the evening's card game at Whitehall. Although he had not stayed particularly long, it had been enough to already form the basis of a memorable and enjoyable evening. His first thoughts had been to return to his lodgings and avoid any further trouble. There, in the privacy of his new digs, he could groan to his heart's content as his vision swam and would feel less exposed when he inevitably brought up the ill effects of his drinking. However, the effects of the wine had warmed his blood and his ardor and the imp that dwelt in his mind used now as the time to remind him of the stories he had heard of the women of ease virtue who, like nocturnal viragoes, supposedly patrolled the royal park at night in search of men to prey off. Ignoring the dangers of footpads and thieves and similarly ignoring the risks of entering the park after hours, Edmund had forgone on the choice of taking a carriage home and, as furtively as a tipsy man could, had stolen into the park via an open gate.

The cool of the night had a sobering effect on him. Unlit, the moving shadows of the trees seemed to suggest lurking people at every turn and soon Edmund's inner coward was shouting down the steadily more quiet drunken braggart. The only good thing, should he be robbed, is that he had precious little of value on him to rob, save for his good clothing and he could not imagine some rookery knave running about in these. After several minutes of stumbling this way and that, the cool and the worry had almost completely dispelled his tipsiness. Perhaps, he thought to himself, this is why soldiers drink so much - they can do so knowing that nerves will carry the effects away like sand in the breeze. 

He stopped suddenly in his tracks. What was that? A snap of a twig. Then another. A definite crunching of gravel. Someone was surely nearby. As he listened more closely he could hear other sounds, definitely those of other persons, from different angels. If these were the nocturnal park courtesans then they surely must be terrifying indeed if they snuck up on their patrons in such a manner. Perhaps that was the appeal? Fear aroused some men. Not this one. Moving closer he began to discern the shapes of men further on, all walking seemingly in the same direction. Intrigued, he began to head in the same direction likewise to see where they were off to.

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In good spirits, Sir Isaac begun to hum, a sound that carried even further than the harmless snap of twig beneath foot - the tune he picked up was religious by nature, and as the chorus came about the godfearing scientist lifted his (actual) voice to sing "Hallelu-jah.... hallelu-jah..." 

And he, still unaware that anotehr figure was so very lose by! 

 

 

 

OOC: while Handels Messiah is not actually written yet, you can imagine it that sort of thing, ;) a real toe tapper! 

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Edmund stopped abruptly at the noise. A cheerful singing. His mind continued to race in the dark his eyes were slowly coming more accustomed to. He had heard, in the sensationalised news-sheets, of ritualistic cabals that met at the dark of night and who held black masses for purposes of witchery and necromancy. London, from what he had seen so far, was a mad place and as sure a place as any where one might find midnight magick of the malevolent manner. Or worse, it could be a conventicle of one of those happy-clappy, born-again evangelical types. The sort who were so "washed in the blood of the lamb" that one supposed you could wring them out and make enough black pudding to feed a battalion. Running into a crowd of do-gooders who would want to have him turn from the path of sin was surely as bad as running into a constable who would turn him in for trespass and presumably intent to solicit. 

One way or another, he was so far off the beaten track and, slightly tipsy in a yet mostly unfamiliar city, he had no clear idea where he was or his immediate means of returning to his lodgings. He had gambled plenty this evening but would gamble once more on the hopefully good intentions of whom-so-ever may be about a place such as this in the middle of the night.

Taking a step forward he spoke in a clear voice, far more confidently than he really felt: "Good evening, sirs. I will do you the favour of confirming that I am not the authorities if you will do likewise!"

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