Find Me Somebody to Stab-early afternoon, Sept 16th

[Catriona MacGregor]

Quote

Fencing Practice Hall

 

 

The enclosed area was filled with mirrors. In the middle a large circle was drawn with all kinds of lines, known as the Spanish style, it was used in the instruction of young men just learning the arts.

 

Several artful displays of armor and rapiers to the walls called attention. Two dummies were set up for those courtiers that wanted to practice their stabbing technique but more often than not the men gathered here to train with each other, or to observe others.

"How many times must I tell you, my lady, you need to correctly position your hips," a gravelly male voice with the Lowland's Scottish tinge with a hint of France grumbled.  "Adjust."

 

After taken care of the palace room situation, Cat had continued on to the fencing practice hall with her guard/instructor.  "My hips are not the same as your hips.  That position makes me lose my balance.  My weight distribution is MUCH different than yours, Jack," she reminded him, but still attempted to adjust.   Against the practice dummy, she lunged.  

 

"I am beginning to think you want to be stabbed," the guard commented.  "Again."  So had gone the lessons since she had hired him to the dual position.  "Adjust your wrist.  Again.  Why is your shoulder that way?  Adjust.  Again."

 

Cat's shirt was starting to get damp from her exertion.

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

A small group of people entered the practice hall, three of them carrying a much heavier dummy than the ones already setup. One other carried a rosewood case with engraved brass furnishings, and the leader was a man over six feet tall, his head crowned by a black, cylindrical hat that added at least another cubit to his figure. He wore black, loose, silk trousers, and an unusual long outer garment, open in front, with very wide short sleeves and a fitted back. It was made of red silk embroidered in gold thread, with curious-looking wingless dragons, gold-thread bobbin lace on the sleeves, and a stone-studded collar. The garment was wrapped over left-to-right and held in place by ivory buttons.

The group had been speaking in hushed tones in a language not heard in the English court since 1662, with the exception of the short stint when a princess had been sent to be considered as a possible queen. When the man with the tall hat realized they were not alone, he signaled the others to fall silent and setup the training dummy. Meanwhile, he silently observed the woman and her trainer as he removed his hat and outer garment, revealing a white silk long shirt that hung lose over the trousers almost to the knees, and a red sash used instead of a belt and worn low. The sash held a bejeweled curved dagger sheath, not unlike those used by the Ottomans.

I cannot identify an accent in her voice, so she must be English. I do hear the Scotch accent in the man, mixed with something I cannot recognize. Meeting Scots was one of his goals. They did not fear the cold. She hesitates once in a while, and her balance could be thrown off with the right push. But she would not go alone to the other side if it came to it. Shee seems to have determination. He remained silent out of respect for the lady’s concentration.

A smile formed on his face. Perhaps.

Edited December 10, 2022 by Pyotr Fedorovich

[Catriona MacGregor]

In the back of her mind she might have registered the group entering, but it was not part of her concentration.  Jack stepped up, took her hand and repositioned it.  "Too loose of a hold and you'll have it knocked right out of your hand.  Don't lock your wrist but also don't act as though you're presenting your hand to some pretty boy lordling."  The one eyed man stepped back but not too far.  "Move around.  You need to be able to flow with your opponent.  All the men would appreciate you remaining alive and not full of holes.  Some of them fear your brother."  He gave a Gallic shrug.  "Me...eh."

 

Cat listened as Jack spoke, thinking the advise was similar to using a dagger.  But her attention was too focused on her body that when she took a step in the direction of him, he stuck out his food, causing her to trip.  The resulting meeting of Cat and floor resulted in her saying, with her brogue in full force "*Mhac Na Galla!  Tolla-Thon!  Fer tha, me lad, ye'll be on Fiona duty."  She had landed face first, so she went to her knees before pushing up from the floor with her bottom in the air.  "There's teachin' and there's being a arsehole."  With little thought, she pulled out the dagger between her breasts from it's sheath in her corset, gave a topside wiggle to reset her bounty before returning it.  All while still not taking in her surroundings.  

 

Jack, on the other hand, noticed the newcomers.  Trying to speak softly, he said, "Milady..we have..."

 

"If I find bruises, you'll be on Fiona duty for a full week," she continued, not bothering to listen to her guard.  She brushed herself down of any dust that may have had the audacity to land on her.  

 

"Milady..."

 

"What?"  She finally glanced up at Jack, then, she stiffened.  Slowly, she turned around.

 

* Son of a bitch! Asshole!

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

The ambassador raised his eyebrows as the instructor stuck his foot out, and the young lady fell to the floor. Serves you right. He told you, and you did not listen. He thought. Then, a string of Scotch words that the ambassador recognized came out of the beautiful lady’s mouth. General Alexander had been his English teacher, and the Scot had added a few “choice expressions” in English, Scotch and Irish to his language education, just in case they were ever used to insult him. Her bottom is quite shapely, he appreciated as she tried to get up. And the rest of her curves are too. She is too thin, though. The ambassador liked women like his own wife, pleasurably plump, full of love handles. They tended not to die from sickness in the deep cold of winter.

And then, something totally unexpected. The young lady pulled a dagger from her bosom. That was too much for Pyotr, and the man started to laugh a deep, hearty, uncontrolled laugh. This assignment might prove much more interesting than I imagined, the Russian thought amusedly.

But laughing at a lady was not proper form in any civilized land so, as soon as he could control it, he stopped. There were small tears coming down from the outer corners of his eyes, which wrinkled with merriment. With as much propriety as he could muster, he bowed deeply from the waist, without turn of leg, and held his bow for a moment. Then, as he straightened, he said in a baritone voice with as serious a tone as he could, and with an accent that sounded like Scotch mixed with something else, as the trilled 'r' sounds were exaggerated. “Pardon me, my lady. I ask your forgiveness for me laughing, but I could not stop myself. And before you stab me with that… corset accessory, allow me to introduce myself. I am Pyotr Fedorovich Sheremetev, Okolnichy, and ambassador of the Tsardom of Russia to the Kingdom of England”.

The towering man tried to remain as serious as he could, but he could not erase his smile, and a chuckle rebelliously escaped from his throat.

"Who do I have the honour of addressing?"

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat was not one to get embarrassed.  Blushes and such really weren't the Scotswoman's forte.  But she was quite flushed as she heard the laughter.  She had some options here.  Run away?  No.  Get angry?  Already done today.  Take it for the humorous situation that it was and just go with it?  As she thought about what the man had witnessed, that seemed to be the correct option.

 

He was tall, of a height with Adam or her Royal lover.  As her blush started to cool, she chuckled herself.  "If I were you, I would have laughed too," she replied honestly.  At the mention of her corset dagger, she opted not to mention her other daggers or sgian dubh.  "Lady Catriona MacGregor, Countess Alyth."  Instead of a curtsey, she made an elegant leg and bowed.  "While I could wish we had met without me falling flat on my face, we'll have an amusing, mostly for you, story to tell.  As for my 'corset accessory', would you think of checking there for a blade?"

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Catriona MacGregor, Countess Alyth”, the finer details of the English form of address were not his forte yet. “And yes, it is an amusing story, though one I promise not to tell anyone on this side of the Baltic Sea”. Russia would be entirely different. “As for your accoutrement...” he chuckled as he lightly puckered his lips towards her bosom, “I thank God that Russian custom has ladies buttoned up all the way up to the throat, or my daughter might want to follow suit!”

Perhaps, yes. Perhaps they should meet.

The man that had carried the wooden case walked towards the ambassador. He was short, about 5 feet tall, and spoke in halting Russian and very deferentially to his master. If the Scots paid any attention, his eyes were slanted, his hair was black, his beard and moustache were thin, his skin was tanned, and he moved like a predatory cat. The ambassador received a heavy saber with his left hand, putting his hand through a lanyard, and swinging it to ascertain its balance. Meanwhile let the man tied some sort of glove to his right hand. It was made of hard leather with brass studs placed over the knuckles and the back of the hand and forearm.

“If you excuse me for a moment, my lady, I seldom get time to practice, and today I do”. He bowed from the waist again.

What followed could only be described as a dance of death. Every movement was designed either to cause extreme pain or injury, or to prevent an opponent from doing the same to him. The sabre thrusts, slashes, and hacks, added to the gloved hand’s blocks and punches, plus the kicks to the groin and the outside of the knees of the dummy would have left most opponents slowly and painfully dying, with cracked ribs, a broken knee, and guts spilling out. Maybe even holding a stump instead of a hand if the enemy had been unlucky.

As the routine ended, the ambassador bowed to the dummy, and walked back to Cat. That it had not merely been a dance could be seen from his perspiration and breathing. Although not winded, it was obvious that the man had put effort into his practice.

One of his other servants approached them with a tray holding two glasses in silver holders, Russian style. The glasses were full of a smoky, aromatic black tea that had been sweetened with strawberry jam. The ambassador waited until the lady accepted or rejected one before taking the other and started sipping slowly.

Edited December 11, 2022 by Pyotr Fedorovich

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat had to chuckle.  "Even being buttoned up all the way, a lady can find a way, she replied, then stepped back as his servant stepped forward.  Those of Far East descent weren't unheard of in England, but seeing one was exceptionally rare.  But, as someone who has been stared at, she merely nodded at the man and then watched as the ambassador took his saber and put on the odd glove.  She stepped away to give the man plenty of space, Jack coming up by her side.  

 

As the ambassador delivered his blows, she muttered to her guard, "I want to be that deadly."  

 

Jack replied in just as quiet a tone, "This particular style would be outside your physical range, I believe, milady.  And please, do us all a favor and do not challenge him.  Ever.  For any reason.  Even if Lady Fiona does something stupid.  Hell, if she does do something stupid, throw her at him and run."  He gave a grunt as Cat elbowed him in the stomach.

 

Once he was done, she moved closer.  She accepted the tea, taking a slow sip.  It was strong, but the strawberry jam cut through enough to make it delicious.  Her eyes lit up.  Taking another sip, she held it in her mouth while breathing in, allowing the scent to truly enhance the flavor.  "Oh, that is delightful.  Does it work with other jams?  The tea would likely overpower apple..."  She took another sip.  Then stopped, realized she was analyzing it for her business, not accepting it for the gift it was.  Swallowing before speaking, as otherwise the tea would spill out of her mouth, she said "I apologize.  I have a tea shop back in London and got a wee bit carried away."  She paused, then continued.  "I've never seen that form of swordplay before.  Does it have a name to the style?  My guard said it's not suited to me, but I found it beautiful."

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

“Tea caravans travel for sixteen to eighteen months from China to Moscow. The smoky flavour is the by-product of the nightly campfire smoke. If it is sweetness you want, you must add something. Sugar, even from beets, is not a cheap commodity in Russia. Thus, we use preserves. My favourite is strawberries, but blackberries also work”. The Russian turned to one of his servants and spoke quietly. The man left immediately, making almost no sound. “He will bring some blackberry jam for you to taste and compare”.

“A tea shop? You must be quite affluent, then. It is not a product easily acquired. Russian merchants that make the three-year round trip to China by land must pay in silver bullion. The Chinese do not take anything else as payment”. A pause, before he added sotto voce. “But the Stroganov family* have acquired many lands with the profits they have made from the tea trade. Enough so that they are financing the Russian conquest of Siberia and financed Prince Pozharsky’s reconquest of Moscow from the Poles”.

Then back to the business of killing. “A style?” The Ambassador’s look was puzzled. After a few moments of thought, his face lit up. “Ah! Style like those of the Italian schools? Oh, no! We are not as civilized as the Italians to have swordsmanship schools”. He chuckled at his private joke before his tone became serious. “What you just saw is not a style. It is the result of my personal experience in war. I have learned this or that from Poles, Swedes, Turks, Cossaks, Mongols, and Chinese. It is not an art form, but a necessity for survival. I have kept what works for me, and dropped the rest… as any good soldier and leader of men should do”.

After making sure the dummy could take another beating, the Mongol approached his master with another, more curved sabre. Pyotr exchanged weapons and excused himself once more. “It is never good to depend only on one weapon. The ones I use, although of better quality, are of the same design as those wielded by Russia’s enemies in the Steppes. That way I can easily pick one up in the midst of battle and use it effectively”.

The Ambassador then proceeded to face the dummy. His defensive moves, kicks, and punches were similar as those he used the first time, but he sliced and slashed more than he thrusted. A different weapon required different moves. A man attached in such a way would not have stood much chance of victory, or of survival, for that matter.

After the routine was ended, he once again bowed to the dummy, and returned to where Cat was, handing his weapons to the Mongol. By then his servants had prepared more tea, this time with blackberry jam. Pyotr waited until Cat took one glass, before he took the other, and sipped.

OOC: * The Stroganovs were the richest businessmen in the Tsardom of Russia. They were the rough Russian equivalent of the Ashburnahms in their relation to the Tsar. Grigory Dmitrievich Stroganov’s sons would be made barons by Peter the Great in the next century.

[Catriona MacGregor]

Oh, another flavor to try!  Cat's smile grew at the offer.  "Thank you so much!  I understand about how dear sugar can be.  I also bake items for the shop or to simply send to friends to let them know I'm thinking about them."  Plus it also helped with her anger issues.

 

"I have made some good deals with the help of friends who made the requisite introductions, which made it less onerous to open," she replied, not going further.  If he had done his research into the King, the names of His mistresses would be known.  "I set it up as a bastion for ladies as the coffeehouses aren't quite the best place for a woman to relax."  Not that she hadn't gone in a time or two, but men grouped together got rather loud.  "Not that I shut men out.  But I think they're there mostly for the sweets and the ladies."  Another grin.

 

While she had never gone to war, Cat had seen her share of fights and understood that you either adapted or died.  "That makes sense.  It from seeing how others do things that we can find the right things for ourselves," she replied, nodding.  And the suggestion about weapons was filed away as well. While she shouldn't need to be able to do such things, it never hurt to be prepared.  

 

As the ambassador faced his dummy, she decided to do some work with the blades she knew best.  Instead of standing still and just throwing her blades, she worked on striking while moving, slicing and stabbing, constantly moving.  When she was 'properly' dressed, the skirts added some issues, but she trained her body for muscle memory.  Perhaps it was providence that she didn't actually slick the bomber from the Dutch Receptions throat, only taking a couple of fingers and cutting the muscles and tendons along the back of the knee.  As she was moving into the final form, she swiftly drew her corset blade, turned and threw it right to the dummy's throat.  Still a bit off center.  

 

She wiped her face with the cloth Jack handed to her, her face flushed with the exertion, then turned back to the Russian, a grin on her face which grew when she saw more tea on offer.  She moved over to take the new cup, sipping the tea, letting the aroma pass through both her nose and her mouth, letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing.  "Slightly more bitter, but still delicious.  They both have their own distinct addition to the tea's natural flavor.  Thank you for sharing this with me."  In the back of her mind, she was already preparing a basket to send to him.

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

If the Ambassador knew that Cat was a mistress of the King or not, there was no hint. Even if he did, he would not have been a good diplomat if he had acknowledged to know that information, at least before he knew where things stood. “Your idea of a Tea House intrigues me. Not that I think it would be a successful one in Moscow for… religious reasons, but London is a different city altogether”. London was a very different creature from Moscow. Back home, almost everything was made of wood. To the Russian, the stone buildings in the English capital were a marvel to behold. But the real reason for a teahouse probably failing in Moscow was the nobility’s custom of keeping their women under lock and key. It was beginning to ease up, but the higher strata, those who could afford tea, were still holding on to it. Maidens were kept under lock and key because losing their virginity before marriage dropped their value to zero, while married women were kept the same to make sure a nobleman's children were actually his own.

As he went through his routine, the Ambassador caught a glimpse of Cat’s movements with her daggers. A Koshka*, just like Fedor Andreevich Kobylin, he mused. Most people would think of a house cat when the word was spoken. But those who had fought in the Russian expansion eastward would think about the Amur tiger or the snow leopard. Catriona seemed to be just as deadly. Then the pièce de resistance, a dagger throw to the throat. Not quite to the centre of the windpipe, but almost. I wonder if her aim was off, or if the blade is twisted off-axis.

Then they enjoyed their tea. The smoky aroma cut through the blackberry easier than through the strawberry. Still the sweetness and the added flavour made it quite the experience. “If I may, Lady Catriona MacGregor, Countess Alyth. May I suggest you have your… chest accessory checked for balance and symmetry? It might be just a little off”. The Russian was too well-trained to even hint at her aim being off. “Even if it is sharpened unevenly, it could hit up to an inch off-target or so”. Any good weaponsmith, or assassin, would easily check that.

The Mongol started packing the blades in the case. From where she stood, the Scottish noble lady could see there were other blades in it. The three servants that had carried the heavy dummy in were checking it for damage and figuring out which pieces needed to be replaced. It would be easier to repair it in place than to carry it in and out every time their master wanted to practice.

A thought occurred to the Ambassador. “Lady Catriona MacGregor, Countess Alyth, you are Scotch, yes? If so, would you know a Scotch military officer I could talk to? There is something I require help with…”

OOC: Koshka - cat.

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat had to chuckle at the Russian's description of London.  "That's a very nice way of putting it," she said.  "Indeed, London is very different from likely anywhere else.  And that's why it holds the attraction it does."  Of course, the furthest the Scot had traveled off the main island of England/Scotland was to visit her mother's family on Skye.  

 

As she pulled the blade from the dummy, she tested it with balancing it on her finger where the perfect point should be.  Handing it off to Jack, she said, "It's not right."  She had a few others to chose from at home, but she didn't like not having ready blades.  She would review it later or Jack would take it to have it readjusted.  It seemed the Ambassador had noticed it too.  "Something on it has shifted.  It should not have tilted when I balanced it on my finger.  While it would still do damage, when you're at the point of having to throw, it needs to do maximum damage, not just a cut."  She knew how important it was in a matter of life or death.  

 

While sipping her tea, she noted the container and all the different blades.  Was there curiosity in her gaze?  Of course there was.  The Scot was interested in new ways of using blades to defend oneself and family.  But then he used her full name and title, questioning her knowledge of a military trained Scot.  "If I may, Ambassador, after introductions, it is proper to call me Lady Alyth in formal settings or simply my lady.  Same for gentlemen, save they would be my lord.  To make things more complicated, when you meet my brother, Douglas, who is Baron Dundarg, you would refer to him as Captain FitzJames.  Scottish titles do not always convert over equally on English soil.  He is also a member of the Life Guard after serving in His Majesty's Regiment du Dumbarton.   If you would like, I would be happy to introduce you to him."  She paused.  "His Scottish accent is much more pronounced than my own.  Though from your own speech pattern, I believe you're familiar with another Scot and shouldn't have too much of an issue."  She hoped.

Edited December 15, 2022 by Catriona MacGregor
Because

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

Compared to some of the places Pyotr had seen, London was a gleaming jewel that smelled like roses. At least the stench of dead bodies rotting was absent... most of the time. His main point of contrast, which would be emphasized in his reports to the Privy Prikaz, would be building materials. Stone houses would last much longer than wooden ones, and the wood could be used for something else.

The lesson on forms of address was listened to intently. He repeated the forms in his mind, trying to memorize them.

The Ambassador turned to the Mongol and spoke softly. The man arrived with the case and opened it for Cat to see. “These are the weapons I train with, Lady Alyth”. There were four curved blades inside the case. The first you saw me training with is what the Mongols call a goose-quill sabre. It is largely straight, with a curve appearing at the centre of percussion near the blade's tip. The second one I used is called a willow-leaf sabre. It features a moderate curve along the length of the blade. The other two…” Pyotr removed them from the case so the lady could see better, “are a Polish szabla and an Ottoman scimitar. Each one handles differently, and each one has a different point of percussion, but they are all deadly if used correctly. None of them are Russian. Our traditional weapon is not easy to wield for someone not accustomed to it. Perhaps one day I will show one to you”.

As Lady Alyth mentioned her brother, the Russian’s face lit up. “Yes, please! An introduction would be most helpful. As for his accent…” the Ambassador smiled, “... I have had the privilege of soldiering alongside some very good Scotch officers. General Alexander Leslie of Achintoul was my first tutor in the English language and Western warfare. General Patrick Gordon of Auchleuchries was the second. General Paul Menzies of Aberdeen was still another. They were all Scotch, and it was my honour to serve under or alongside them all. They not only taught me English, but also a few colourful metaphors like the ones I heard as I arrived here, as they tended to switch to the Scotch language in the heat of battle”. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as hew mentioned her words. “I do not think your brother’s accent will be a problem, my lady”.

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat very carefully kept her hands from reaching out to pet the blades.  She did like sharp steel but not everyone appreciated their weapons being fondled by strangers.  "They're beautiful each in their own right," she said, taking in the shapes.  The fourth one was not as foreign as some of the others.  "When I first came to Court, a Moor who claimed to be a Turkish prince would roam the halls of Whitehall and Windsor.  He had a blade if not the same, similar to that scimitar."  Windsor had a habit of bringing up old memories.  "As for traditional weapons, I'll never be able to manage one of the Highland's claidheamh-mòr as it is a bit more than I can handle, but I'm just fine with my sgian-dubh."  She patted the top of her boot, where she then pulled forth the slim, single edged blade.  The handle was made from Scottish ash heart wood, so it was almost black in color.  With a practiced flick of her arm, into her hand another blade slid.  "The sgian-achlais is normally worn up around the arm pit for men, but a noble lady's garb does not make allowances, so adjustments have to be made."  It's handle matched the previous blade's, as they were made by the same blacksmith at the same time.  It was blade sharing time, after all.  "As you might have noticed, I'm still learning with a sword, but it's not every lady who might walk freely with one.  But my little sharp friends can be placed where a lady can be a lady and yet still be able to defend herself, should the need arise."

 

She laughed, her face lighting up as he informed her of his well chosen friends and associates.  "Well, it speaks highly of you that you survived not one but three Scots and still hold a positive light to my homeland," she said.  "Would you prefer to meet him one on one or should I host a lunch?  I'll need a few days to make sure the kitchen is stocked.  And if you have any favorite desserts that you might like...and their recipes, of course, I'd be happy to have something arranged."  Yes, more recipes!  She would take on a patisserie some day.  

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

“These blades are very efficient tools of war, all of them. Mostly for cavalry, although infantry with a shield or a… cestus, like the one I use, can do well with them”. The Ambassador then realized that cesti would not be well-known in England outside historian circles that specialized in Antiquities. “Gloves like mine were used in Classical Greece and Classical Rome for competition. Not many losers survived those events, though”. Having witnessed its use, Lady Alyth would understand why.

The topic then changed to Scotch weapons. “I have seen the claymore being used” the pronunciation was off both in Scotch and English, “as well as the German Zweihänder. They are scarce in the East of Europe, but mercenaries sometimes field them in the first rank. Terrible sight when used well, but a little too slow for my liking”. The rest was a lesson on Scotch daggers, which the Russian appreciated. He was always interested in weapons, big and small, form all origins.

“I do not believe that ladies need to be frail”, he agreed, but said nothing more.

A laugh at his having survived three Scotch generals. “General Alexander Leslie has passed, but the other two are still in the Tsar’s service. They, plus many other of your compatriots, have served Russia better than many of mine”. Perhaps that was the reason Pyotr wanted to speak with a Scotch officer? “If you were so kind as to host a lunch, I would be honoured, my lady. In fact, would you mind if I took my daughter along? She needs to start meeting persons of quality”.

“As for dessert, there is a traditional one, medovaya kovrizhka*, that I enjoy very much. I will gladly send the recipe to you”.

OOC: honey cake. Two 1-inch layers of spiced honey rye cake stacked, with plum or dark cherry filling between the layers.

[Catriona MacGregor]

War weapons were very different from their more 'refined' cousins.  Cat could appreciate this, even knowing she'd only ever see war if it happened on this island.  She was too young for the Commonwealth and had grown up far away from the Court, even though she had been trained early on how to be a noble hostess.  Appropriate for hunts or tea parties, not so much for the life or death of war.  Not that she hadn't been in battle, but it was in the middle of a ballroom and Adam had been with her.  There was still just the faintest of lines where a bullet had taken some of her skin.

 

There was nothing to say to his response about ladies not need to be frail, but she did flash one of her delighted smiles.  "I may be a bit biased, but you truly can't go wrong with having some mad Scottish lads with you when you head into battle.  I am sorry to hear about your friend General Leslie."  As he accepted the invitation to lunch with her brother, she grinned.  It grew with the promise of a new recipe.  Her cook was exasperated with her crazy Scottish employer.  She needed to find a different activity to help her insomnia.  "Please feel free to bring her.  How old is she?"  She figured someone closer to her younger sisters' ages.  

[Pyotr Fedorovich]

“General Leslie used to tell me that I should one day visit the lands where twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion. I promised him that one day I would. Too bad I will not be able to do it alongside him”. Although Leslie had not really been a friend, they had bled together in the bitter cold, and that produced a sort of kinship unlike any other. Close friends they may not have been, but they had grown to respect each other as soldiers. “I have fought against Swedish berserkers. Only Highlander claymore wielders or a very disciplined musket line can stop such a thing. In truth…” a momentary pause, remembering battles best left forgotten, “... in truth, when it is snowing or raining, I’d rather have the Highlanders”. There was respect in the soldier’s voice.

As talk shifted to his daughter, his face brightened noticeably. “My daughter, Anna Petrovna, is twenty years old. My wife accuses me that she is my favourite child and that I spoil her too much”. The diplomat smiled. “I cannot contradict her. I may allow her to indulge in activities more proper to her father than to a maiden from a boyar family. You will meet her soon enough. Then you will know what I mean”.

His servants having made a list of the dummy’s needed repairs, and with the Mongol having carefully stored his master’s weapons, the group was ready to depart.

"A great pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Lady Catriona MacGregor, Countess Alyth". The Russian bowed deeply, from the waist. He then straightened, turned, and led his servants to his quarters.

OOC: Fin.

[Catriona MacGregor]

On 12/26/2022 at 2:03 PM, Pyotr Fedorovich said:

General Leslie used to tell me that I should one day visit the lands where twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion.

The quote had been said by both Adam and Douglas and was true.  Scots were always willing to join a rebellion.  "Understandable.  Highlanders are probably the only ones crazy enough to rush a berserker."  Of course, for years, the Vikings would raid and settle in areas of Scotland, so likely berserker blood ran through many a vein.

 

She was slightly startled to find his daughter to be her same age.  "I look forward to meeting her."  Maybe she'd be able to learn a little Russian.  Cat had a knack for languages, so learning some more foreign words would be a delight.  As he made his bows and bid her farewell, she executed a curtsey and replied, "It has been a delight and I look forward to our next meeting, Pyotr Fedorovich Sheremetev, Okolnichy, and ambassador of the Tsardom of Russia to England."  She probably mangled the pronounciations, but she hoped she came close.

[Catriona MacGregor]

On 12/26/2022 at 2:03 PM, Pyotr Fedorovich said:

General Leslie used to tell me that I should one day visit the lands where twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion.

The quote had been said by both Adam and Douglas and was true.  Scots were always willing to join a rebellion.  "Understandable.  Highlanders are probably the only ones crazy enough to rush a berserker."  Of course, for years, the Vikings would raid and settle in areas of Scotland, so likely berserker blood ran through many a vein.

 

She was slightly startled to find his daughter to be her same age.  "I look forward to meeting her."  Maybe she'd be able to learn a little Russian.  Cat had a knack for languages, so learning some more foreign words would be a delight.  As he made his bows and bid her farewell, she executed a curtsey and replied, "It has been a delight and I look forward to our next meeting, Pyotr Fedorovich Sheremetev, Okolnichy, and ambassador of the Tsardom of Russia to England."  She probably mangled the pronounciations, but she hoped she came close.