A mask but no carnival, Open thread

[Juliana Fallaci]

She couldn't believe that he would do this to her again. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? She was no toy that he could show of to his friends. Juliana tugged angrily at the far to expensive dress that he had made her wear. Why could he afford this unnecessary thing but had to push the rent up to next month? She stilled herself and stroked the smooth, shimmery fabric of the skirt. It was truly a remarkable dress. The long sleeves ended with big bouquets of white lace and thick ruffles. The neckline was the proper low, rectangular one and the wasp waist tied neatly with the corset. The big skirts of heavy wool closest to her legs, meant to warm her and keeping her from getting a dreadful cold stuck in her uncomfortable shoes. She was the image of her fathers imagination, perfect on the outside, hiding all of her struggles beneath layers and layers of fabrics.

It was he who had made her out on this futtoto dress and sit there beside him being showed of as a newly bought gondola. It was her place he had said to her, being shown off. It was after all her duty to drag the family out of their shameful state by marriage. She would gladly do so, it was her duty, but lately her father had been dragging her to one party after the other spending tons and tons of her harshly earned money not thinking about her aching fingers after a full day of work. It was after all she and her mother that took the responsibility after their demise.

She looked up to her mother. She was a strong woman who had gone from a life in luxury to helping old friends with keeping their houses clean for a small amount of money. It was because of her mother Juliana had taken on a job, to her fathers disliking.

When the men had gathered in the other room to drink and probably sell her of like cattle she had made her escape. Excusing herself from the other ladies she had ventured, pleading to the guards to let her outside, out on the stone bridge combining this palazo to the rest of Venice.

She put her weight against the cold, thick stone fence separating her from the dark February water of the channels. Her hands shivered in their gloves, even though they were lined with rabbit. It was far to cold for here to stand out here in the dark for to much longer, but she lingered. She liked how the candlelit windows reflected down in the dark water and how everything was so quiet. The only things she could hear was the clucking of the water and a pair of heavy leather boots walking along the little alleys.

[Maltrou]

Maltrou, dressed in his customary black clothes and mask, was running. He was fast, faster than most, and quickly dodged from alleyway to street, around the odd nighttime wanderer. Behind him were his pursuers, not quite as fast but far outnumbering the lone thief. If Maltrou could still speak he would not doubt be cursing his own clumsiness and the whole of Italy vehemently. His interest upbringing had exposed him to some of the most eloquent expletivesmiths of Europe and he considered it something of an injustice he would never be able to follow in their footsteps.

He darted out of an alley and right into the midst of a group of men with torches lit and weapons ready. It seemed his pursuers were trying to pin him in. Taking advantage of the fact that he had caught them off guard, Maltrou charged right through the midst of them. He swept to the side to avoid a clumsy sword thrust, he completed the motion by spinning as gracefully as a dancer and applying an elbow to the side of the man's head. Even as his attacker crumpled, Maltrou was ducking through the others and was off down the street.

As he turned a corner, there was a crack and one of the guards managed to finally get his matchlock musket to bear on his retreating form. The ball clipped his leg, causing Maltrou to stumble. In contrast to the grace and guile he had thus far display he tripped as his leg gave out and fell face first on the cobblestones of the Venezian street. His mask was knocked loose from his face as he gritted his teeth through the pain and clambered back to his feet, running more slowly now. He needed a place to hide. He came onto one of the city's many canals, waters dark at this time of night.

Maltrou spotted a stone bridge leading to a private palazo across the canal. On that bridge was a feminine form. A terrible idea, but the only one that really presented itself. If all else failed, he could just dive into the canal. Hearing the guards closing in the distance but not within view yet. Maltrou rushed over to the bridge eschewing the walkway and instead leaping onto the railing. He tumbled down onto the opposite side of the woman and produced a dagger from seemingly nowhere. Without a word he pressed it to her side and crouched behind her. All he could do was hope the railing and the woman's fancy dress gave him enough darkness to hide in.

[Lorenzo D'Este]

Lorenzo had not thought that his evening would end like this when he had left his house just a couple of hours earlier. No not indeed With a smirk he continued chasing the masked thief down the alleyway. The bricks of the tall buildings seamed darker than usual, more, how would he say it...
Yes that was it, more gothic. As if the dooming air had carved sharp edges into the rough stones. It was still an early night, so he had no problem seeing where he was going.

His day had been like any other tiresome day. The nobility had whispered, the merchants had tried to manipulate him to buy something from their shop and the he, he had once again gotten the wrong information. The evening was heavy with salt, and the clothes hung to his body. And then he had been robbed. And that was why he now sprinted trough the narrow streets of the upper class part of town

He had his heartbeat up in his troath. The dam bastardo had stolen the satchel which contained the latest news of Guiliana....
At last he had gotten to know the name that the orphanage had given her. It sounded so sweet, and innocent. He hoped that this delay did not make him run out of time. He really needed to find his little sister soon, before it was to late.

They continued to run, past a group of men that also seamed to be chasing the man in black. A shot rang and he stumbled forward to get out of the bullets way. The smoke form the rifle concealed the scoundrels choice of path, but not for Lorenzo, no. With a grim smile he stood up and slowly walked towards the woman and the man hiding next to her skirts.

[Juliana Fallaci]

It was outrageous! Truly outrageous that this man... this common man just came up to her, a noble lady, uninvited. Did he have no manors? This question got a quick answer when he pulled the knife, obviously not.

Her heart pounded in a strange beat underneath her ribcage and the thick winter fabric. What was this violent, mischievous... Adventurous act? And why did a small part of her enjoy it?

It was truly strange what an unloving father and an uneventful life could do to people.

She kept looking straight forward, out over the channels dark winter-black water, afraid that if she moved the dagger would get the sweet taste of her blood and want more. With an exciting, and rather unexplainable, shiver she kept her mouth shut. Better to keep quiet than to spill any blood.

The icy wind gripped around her winter cape and exposed her under arms that went white in the sudden cold. Or was it because it had finally sunken into her that an unknown man threatened her to her life so that all the blood had frozen in her veins? No it was not that it had frozen, but she felt a chilly shrill venture up her back as the cold, metal blade pushed against the dark velvet of her dressed waist.

She allowed herself a glance down at the dark man. In the shadow she couldn't make out much... Maybe he was around 5'4 or 5'6, rather short for a "scary" man she thought to herself. She could see some brown strands sticking out from underneath his hood.

Now another pair of leather boots was closing on them, but Angie didn't dare to move her head one centimeter to look who it might could be... The only thing she could do was to pray to God for a savior.

[Maltrou]

Maltrou's eyes widened as he heard another set of footsteps pound up the cobblestones and then slow down to the speed of casual stroll. They got closer and closer to his poorly advised hiding place. He knew he had been made, it did not take a genius to put two and two together.

Carefully he stood back up, gasping in pain as his leg reminded him of the ugly furrow the matchlock's ball had dug into his leg with the glancing strike. It was most certainly bleeding freely at the moment. Certainly, not an immediately threatening wound but enough to make him feel a little light headed and not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

With his free hand he grasped the woman by the shoulder and turned her to face the approaching man. He was only a touch taller than her so he could hide himself behind her, and keep his unmasked face from immediate scrutiny. He produced another dagger in his empty and held it in front of the delicate skin of woman's throat.

His other hand wrapped around her waist and held her as close as a dance partner, hoping to prevent and undue struggling and to help keep her between him and his pursuers. In the cold night air, Maltrou was painfully aware of the poor woman's situation. She was stiff with what he assumed was fear. He had no intention to hurt her but it was not like he could presently explain himself, mute as he was.