By Court and Cargo.

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"An' clearly she don't like you, friend." Coby stated bluntly before the mace came from below the man's jaw. Were it not for him looking up at the last second he'd likely have broken his nose with that brutish cudgel he insisted on carrying everywhere on his hip. The next blow came from his booted foot, with the man clutching what was left of his teeth with blood dripping rapidly down his front and atop the young lady's garment.

"Why th'yuu--" That was when his boot connected with his face, fingers cracked and snapped as they were crushed into his nose.

Save the hand that held his iron banded cudgel Cobiah's hand was in his pocket. "Would ya' kindly escort this rotten bloke to the docks an' give'im something to drink, lads?" He mused with an almost maniacal twinkle in his eyes while wind swept hair clung to the sweat rapidly beading on his brow.

His two companions, bigger than he, hefted the man under each arm and began dragging him down the road as if he were little worse than the last weeks catch gone rotten in its stall. Luckily he was out cold else he'd likely be crying up a storm and drawing more attention to them, even the city guard. The one who did come to see was standing distantly by, having only witnessed the butt end of the encounter and thinking it best that it sorted itself out.

"Ya' shouldn't be out 'ere alone, Miss Addy." Coby stated softly as he knelt before her and offered a hand up if she wasn't already beginning the process. He'd not begun until after his conscience declared something afoul as the oafish man wallowed out not moments after. Easy picking he may have thought.
 
The trembles would not stop. Refused to. The event had so rattled her down to her very core, she wasn't sure she would ever recover. She felt sick. Only the sight of Cobiah's revolting shadow kept her from retching on the lane right there. She sat up and tugged at her blood-soaked skirts and played with her mussed tresses with a shaking hand, delaying getting up. Even after the bloodbath long ceased and the bull stooped over her with a smirking jeer, Adella could not feel her legs ready to stand. She turned her head from Cobiah and dabbed at her running nose and puffy, red eyes with her shawl. Gradually, her panting abated into a more normal breath and she felt she could speak without her voice wavering. Appearing weak before this man was almost more injury to her bruised pride than whatever violence the beefy, bloody brute had planned with her.

She sniffled and cast an appraising look upon Sir Bull's outstretched hand. Part of her coiled up inside out of childish disdain. Never mind that she had gotten entangled in a web she could not undo. Never mind that this man had probably saved her from a fate worse than death. Never mind that she had been so vulnerable only a few moments before! The ingrained snubbery reared its ugly head and slithered back with contempt that a commoner would presume to touch her. Oh, that abominable pride of hers! But it was wounded now, wasn't it? And Sir Bull did have the decency, a small part of the gentleman, to offer his assistance. And last but not least, she was trying to play the part of a commoner now, wasn't she?

Her head still bowed to refrain from making eye contact with the man, she slipped her hand inside his and got to her feet. Now, to say something to prove she was in complete control of herself.

"I don't know what you think you were doing there," she said at last. "You've completely ruined my gown and I only have the one." Her breath sucked in to catch an escaping sob. She sniffed again and wrapped her arms around herself. "I suppose, Sir Bull, you're looking for some sort of compensation now." That was a bit too much of a cutting remark for the man who had just saved her life, even if the man happened to be a bastard. "Tea, was it?" she added.
 
Somehow he was surprises she accepted the offer of his hand, she seemed too much the haughty type to accept it. Which would've been quite rude, Coby had even wiped it off on his clean trousers just so it was clean for her.

More to his surprise was her simple presence outside thick walls and plush living. It was natural to give her that appraisal before he got the real answer, kicked out maybe, perhaps crossed the wrong suitors temper? He'd no idea, though lying would be not admitting it was eating at him to know.

"M'names Cobiah. An' I'm no knighted man if yer' paying attention." His correction came with a warm smile, despite her disheveled look he could see she was pretty, a bit too much make up for his taste though. More a fan of a natural woman than one kept in a cage all their life.

"A thank ya' would've sufficed. Ain't no reward I'm rooting around for." Now his eyes looked over the ruined outfit. "Sorry bout that though." It was a shrug of nonchalance with that cheeky smile this time.
 
"I couldn't exactly address a man without a title, now could I? Cobiah?" She tried the strange name and grimaced in displeasure. It reminded her too much of the lip exercises her tutor made her practice as a little girl. Even now, the shrill voice echoed in her memory, 'A lady must always be mindful of the lips!' Saying that name would be all the thanks she'd give the cheeky chap.

Adella shook her head as if to bounce the remainder of Tutor's lectures far away and followed Cobiah's eyes to gaze down at the damp skirt. What was she going to do now? She couldn't very well blend in with blood splattered all over her, nor could she go back to Father's and exchange dresses until Jane, one of the scullery maids, came back into town to meet her man. Oh, it was such a tangled web! But Adella refused to give up so easily. Especially in front of that oaf. As if to prove the point, her eyes sparked with determination.

"I don't suppose," she held out her skirt for Coby's inspection "this would pass for a skirt of a butcher's wife, would it?"
 
"Address me how ya' like, but don't go callin' me Sir or else folks'll start looking at me funny. An' I don't need n'more bad eyes on me." He added while his cudgel went back to the loop on his belt. It didn't seem to bother him that it had a few bits of skin and some blood on the well worn wood and iron banding. Now the man gave it a testing bounce against his hip, the trousers avoiding any of the already drying blood as he gave a wide smirk as if to affirm it was where it needed to be.

The constant change of expressions confused him for a few moments, wondering why women had to do it so rapidly and at any given moment. Chocking it up to trying to confuse men or seduce them, somehow he felt the former was what she was attempting. At least until her naivety confirmed she was far from her element.

"A butcha's wife?" Cobiah quipped with a slight lean forward, brow raised. "A butcha's wife would be wearin' a smock an' not much else in the back o' her husband's shop. This dress." He pointed right towards the stain. "Is someone who got lucky's outfit."
 
Someone who got lucky. Another wave of nausea swept over her as the implications manifested in her head. A hand rose to cover her mouth as she swallowed multiple times to keep the bile down. She sat weakly on an overturned barrel and focused all her will-power on not making more of a spectacle of herself. Sir Bull--Cobiah-- probably didn't give her reactions a second thought. But if he knew just how strong a stomach she was proving to have, that cocky little attitude of his would turn around into respect in an instant! She was certain Lady Susan, or even Lady Catherine, would have retched enough to flood the alley and fainted dead away. If they had lasted long enough in the struggle at all.

What was he still doing here, anyway? Did not he have business to attend to or work of some kind instead of watching over a pitiful lady? Adella closed her eyes as the tears started forming again. She would not retch, she would not retch! Her hand pressed tighter against her lips. Why couldn't he go away already?
 
"Ya'lright there, lass?" He asked in a faked Scottish tone, though at least a little bit convincing. The man's brows furrowed in curiosity and confusion at the girls covering of her mouth. Nothing truly bad had happened, a little roughed up but he'd not let foul harm come to her. Then what could be her issue.

Coby was just about to speak up and ask her if she was hungry, a terrible idea, when his companions came back with oafish grins on their faces. "Job's done~." They chimed in almost perfect unison while brushing their hands off on their raggedy trousers, a few dark strains at their hips where hands often wipe off unsightly messes.

"Not too badly I wager?" Coby quipped with a knowing smirk.

"None too bad, bawss. E'll wake up noice an' so-ah." The brute on the left stated with an affirmative nod from his equally log-like companion, likely a brother. If one could only imagine the face only a doting mother could love, they fit it perfectly.
 
"Oh, fye!" the courtesan curse slipped from her lips as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Quickly, Adella dried her eyes on the back of her hand, trusting her settling stomach not to betray her now. One last sniffle and she was up on her feet to face Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum as they pulled up to a stop by their partner. Judging by the knowing looks between them, she did not want to imagine what had befallen the bloke they'd carted off. But whatever it was that brute deserved every ounce of it.

"Thank you. For helping," she said a bit thickly and with a curt bob of the head. This was mainly to the comical pair, but a flit of her eyes in Coby's direction invited him to be included if he wished. If she was going to say it, she might as well get it all over with at once.

"I've kept you tied up long enough. I'm sure you're...busy." Adella drew herself up to her full height and rearranged her shawl about her shoulders. "I can manage on my own." The words came easily, but even Adella doubted the validity of the statement. She honestly had no idea where to go or what she should do next.
 
It sounded like she kept damning a fire to something each time he heard her say fye, and it'd likely continue to confuse him until explained. Not that he cared an awful lot, for all he knew it was a simple exclamation that noble's said to sound haughty or fancy. Maybe it was an insult. Nah. She'd not insult him like before, something was far different from the over-dressed girl he'd met in the public courts in the past.

The two brutes smiled like a pair of ogres fresh from their den at her thanks, each one bobbing his head in unison. The left one let out a quiet guffaw at the thanks as well, rarely was such a pretty petite thing giving him any attention. It'd made his face flush red as he grew quickly bashful. While his companion on the right (her right, mind you) kept his smile with a far more refined tone. "Thank ye' m'lady. Jus' doin' what Coby says." Another bob of his head came as he welcomed the appreciation.

"Oh, she is right, Mista' Coby." Came the educated of the oafs. "Ya've got that meetin' 'fore yer' ships off to the francs fer'--"

"That's plenty 'nuff, Russ. Miss here don't need to know 'bout our dealings down at the docks." Cobiah was swift in his interruption and quick on corrections.

"Sorry to keep you so occupied, Ma'am." He added with a knowing smile as he waved the pair off on down the street in the direction of the bustling river, at least local trade was still busy. "If yer' ever in need of help, jus' ask fer' Coby at the docks. They'll know." Once more he was quick to speak and even quicker to be over with the conversation, being reminded of his current duty seems to have motivated him to leave her be in a haste as he began to withdraw. A slight bow of his head before his heel spun him about.
 
Sagging with relief onto the barrel as the three jesters left her in peace, Adella hugged her arms about her middle while she contemplated her options. She couldn't very well gallivant around the merchants and upper class of society in this stained frock, but she was in possession of a few copper to get her through the day and a trip to a washerwoman might at least soften the blood stains if not scrub them out completely. And while she waited for her skirt, there may be something for her to glean from the gossip in the shop, for weren't the betters more likely to need someone to wash their clothes than the lessers?

Yes, now why didn't Adella think of that before? No matter, at least she was thinking of it now. Getting to her feet again, she inched her way out of the alley and onto the bustling street again. She half-expected all eyes to follow her, but it seemed a woman walking around with blood dripping from her legs wasn't as conspicuous as she thought. The occasional glance did make its way to her and the solitary person had to be told "Yes, I am well. Thank you," before passing on.

Adella kept her eye out for hanging laundry and eventually found a washerwoman with her arms bare up to her elbows. The woman looked up from her vats of boiling water as she approached, eying the blood stains with displeasure.

"Got yourself into a little trouble there, did you?"

"Only a little." Adella brushed at her skirt in pretended embarrassment. "Can you wash it out?"

"S'pose I could get to it later."

"Now, please." She dug into her blouse for her coin purse and held up a couple silver coins. "It's only a matter of coin."

The woman's eyes widened. "Well, that changes things. Take it off and drape it on the tub over there."
 
They had things that needed to be done, they weren't particularly important just yet. A few more manifests from local merchants for the cargo he was carrying, a few gifts here and there to make sure the voyage was a steady and safe one, and likely some food along the way. After that little spat, it had Cobiah a little hungrier than he'd expected to be.

"A'ight, gents. You two get goin'." He slapped the make-shift clipboard to the less mentally handicapped ones chest and he gave a solemn nod. "Sure thing baws. See ya' at the docks!"

Coby nodded with a smile and glanced down the street, he'd lost her somewhere along the way. Hopefully she'd get that dress cleaned up or changed, knowing Coby he'd be tossing it into the hearth, blood wasn't easy to get out after all. If only, if only.

((I finally posted. ;-; ))
 
Clad in only her muslin shift and bodice, Adella wandered over to the front door of the shop to duck her head outside to catch the breeze. Before, it had been most unwelcome with the way it threatened to bowl her over, but now it was a refreshing contrast to the soggy, steamy heat from inside the laundress's lair. She rested her forehead against the door frame and closed her eyes, savouring the chilly sweep of the wind against her cheeks.

"God's thumb! what a mess this is here. Lazarus's festered pores, that's a tooth!" the woman muttered from within. Breaking into Adella's revelry, she called over, "Where does a pretty little thing like you get pummeled like this?"

Adella stayed silent. Let the woman make her own surmises, she decided, and give Adella a plausible explanation for the next person who demanded one of her. However, like all brilliant plans, this one prepared to backfire. The washerwoman took the silence as embarrassment and concocted a none-too-favourable opinion of the lass in her doorway. Now, we mustn't be too harsh on the woman. All day long she slaves away over the boiling vats of water to clean the soiled linens of the betters and the only thing that makes this job even the least little enjoyable is the juicy gossip she can get her hands on. Thus, Adella fell prey to an active imagination, though it wasn't as far-fetched as Adella would wish it.

"Ah, you're one of that kind, are you?" the washerwoman clucked condescendingly as she scrubbed at the sodden dress. "Was it a brawl in a tavern or a quarrel over the bed? Who won? Your favourite?"

Turning back into the shop to face the woman, Adella stared at her open-mouthed. "Pardon me?"

"Look, miss, I'm not going to condemn you for the way you live your life. We all have to earn our bread some way or another, and some of those ways happen to be unfavourable. Got yourself a little one at home, do you? Can't get no decent work because of him?"

"By my trowth!" cried an indignant Adella. "I've no-!"

"You don't have to make no excuses to me, miss," the washerwoman interrupted with a sly smile. "I've seen it all, coming through here, and I knows," she tapped the side of her nose with a forefinger and winked, "what I sees. But I hate to see a young, innocent one like you trumpled in a life like that. Tell you what, I could use a bit of help around here. It wouldn't make the coins like you've been getting, but it's honest, decent work and clothes don't get any cleaner."

All during the woman's speech, Adella fidgeted and tried to cut in multiple times with a protest, but when it ended with a job offer, she recognized her opening for establishing a foothold within the community. Closing her mouth, she folded her arms and stared out the door again. She mustn't seem too eager. If she was the type of girl this woman thought she was, she'd have to think over consequences and benefits of the offer.

"Wouldn't have to worry about adding another mouth to feed," the woman added. "Anyhow, you think on it while I finish up on your dress."
 
The day was suddenly freed up as he made his way down the street, the idea of returning to the docks so quickly didn't sit well with him. Maybe it was the thought of having to sit in a musty office filling out paperwork that irked him, he was too physical a man to be stuck with those duties. Cobiah's place was in the rigging and on deck, feeling the salt in the air, the bite of the northern wind, the spray of gray waves in his face. All these things had him daydreaming until he looked where he was headed, his parent's home.

A simple house surrounded by others, at least his mother's garden was beginning to come back, or she was being lazy and had not wanted to tend weeds this season yet. It didn't matter as he pushed through the gate and came to the door, his fist having not even connected with the elaborately carved wooden door depicting a great sea-beast with a harpoon in its throat before it swung wide. "Coby!" "Da'!"

It was pleasant to see family every so often, his father, out of work from a hurt leg and his mother, a simple house-wife who busied herself with local gossip and gardening. Though the son denied having room for more to eat any mother couldn't deny her child a meal and before long he was eating fresh bread and drinking a tea imported from the northern homeland. Subjects ranged from the weather to the local happenings of the court and all their nonsense. That's when he thought to mention Adella. Instantly his mother burst into a fit only mother's are known for. "Oh my Coby's after himself a lady! How is she, dear? Educated? Well bred? What does she like to--" "How's 'er bosom, boy!?" Fathers. While his mother wasn't a small woman it was often clear what his father's favorite part of her was, when not in company often finding any excuse to get his hands on her chest.

"Oi it's not like any o' that now.. She's a court lady, one o' Elizabeth's girls.. Least, I think she is.. Maybe was?" To be frank he wasn't entirely sure. Soon falling into a brief retelling of their meeting of wit and insults before delving into the short story of their second meeting. His mother gasping at his brutal actions, her spouse beaming with pride that he'd raised no bystander.

"Maybe she made the wrong kinda suita' mad, boy-o. Got 'erself kicked from the palace. Happens sometimes ya' know."
 
"Well, it didn't all come out, but you knew that already I wager. At least it's dimmed now and not so likely to catch people's eye." The laundress had the skirt draped over her arm and was pointing out the faded blood stain. "Did you decide about my offer, miss?"

Adella accepted the dress without a word and felt along the waist and hem. It was clean and it was dry. A frown pulled at her lips. She'd hoped the whole process would take long enough for a better-bred customer to pop into the shop, but even though it'd taken half the day to dry on the line outside she'd only succeeded in gleaning from the butcher's wife that the palace had ordered veal for dinner the following night and stocked their coffers well. A lot of good that information did her.

"I've got more to be done, so give me your answer now or be on your way."

"Oh," Adella glanced from the skirt in her hands to the older woman's impatient face and bobbed her head in acquiescence. "Thank you, I would appreciate it."

The woman grinned. "There now, that wasn't so hard now, was it? But keep in mind, I don't want you fooling around behind my back. One little word from someone suggesting anything of that kind-- and believe me, word does get around to this woman --and you're out of here. I suppose we'd best introduce ourselves now. I'm Molly Thatcher. And you are?"

Adella's eyes grew wide. A name! She'd thought of one before, knowing her own would instantly alert someone to her noble blood, but now it completely flitted away. "Addy," she said quickly, recollecting the revolting nickname Sir Bull--Cobiah--had bestowed upon her earlier. "Addy Hutchinson."

"It's a pleasure, Addy. Now get that skirt back on. When you're done fidgeting, I want you to extract those linens from that tub, wring them in that tub, and hang them out on the line." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she whirled on her heel and marched back into the steaming hovel. Adella meekly followed orders.



Having never done a lick of hard labour before, the ex-lady-in-waiting found lifting the water-infused shirts, shifts, and other linens with the large, wooden stirrer into the dryer a taxing task. By the time she had the last article switched over, her smooth palms were chafed and threatening to bleed. "And she expects me to wring them yet?" Adella muttered. But being the determined, strong-willed girl she was, she simply shoved her sleeves farther up her arms and worked on spinning the excess water out of the clothes. Molly waddled over to check on her progress.

"That's all you've gotten so far?" She frowned and reached over to pinch Adella's bicep, making the maiden wince as her sore muscles protested. "Child, you have no meat on those bones! How can you afford to be so healthy looking with just fat, hmm? Now speed it up, they need to be drying on that line now before the weather turns sour."

Adella had to bite her tongue before something sharp lept from her lips as Molly retreated. So she was a fat prostitute was she now? Despite the liquid from oozing blisters coating her palms, she threw her whole weight into stirring the clothes. When her energy completely drained from her body a short spin after, she gave up and began piling the clothes into baskets to take into the yard to hang. One, two, three, four trips later and she was standing in that sublime breeze with dripping linens in her hands and clothespins tucked between her lips.

One question surfaced in her thoughts. How would she ever survive tomorrow?
 
The day with his parents had been a relaxing one at least, though after a large meal from his mother and a few drinks from his father's stock it was beginning to grow late. "Coby, dear?" Came the lilting voice of his mother. "Be a darling an--" "Oh don't make the boy run yer laundry down there!" "It's on his way!" That settled it. The dress had gotten stained while cooking and needed to be washed, but even this late in the day it felt unnecessary.

A kiss for his mum and a great hug from his dear ol' pa that'd crush a log between them was given before he left with the dress over his shoulder. It smelled like her, and her cooking, how nostalgic that was.

Even the street lights hadn't been lit yet as he neared the launder, helping himself on in as per normal and giving a mighty holler. "Miss Thatcha'! Know yer around here ya' wrinkled salt." It sounded crude, but on his face was a wide smile that told otherwise.
 
Adella had just set her weary bones down after tossing the last of the laundry over the line. She had just closed her eyes for a moment to catch her breath and regain the energy she would need to leave the shop. She had just sunk into a state of bliss when that voice... that unmistakable, awful, boisterous, confounded voice bellowed within the shop. Instantly, her eyes snapped open and she was on her feet again. Exasperation filled her. Would she never be free of the man?

Molly, elbow-deep in folding, nodded to the door with a sharp look. Adella steeled her nerves and obediently trudged to the front of the shop, her battered hands tucked firmly behind her back. When the overgrown, cocky sailor came into view, she flashed him a stinging glare. Exhaustion ate away at her very core to the point that she did not care if he blustered and unveiled her true identity. She just. Didn't. Care.

"Master Co-bi-ah," her tongue tripped over his name in her attempt not to think about lip exercises, "How apt it was that you introduced yourself as a 'hard northern barnacle.'"
 
The look of shock was somehow mingling with a look of absolute delight as the soiled dress was gently lowered to the counter top. He was at a loss it seemed, lips pursed briefly as he trudged through the mire of his mind.

Finally it came to him. "What're you doing here?"

He truly was a scholar and a poet with his words. Well, compared to a bear in a top hat anyway.
 
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied evenly with a glance at the soiled dress on the counter. For the first time since meeting this confounded man, she felt like she had the distinct upper hand and the temptation to gloat was almost unbearable. Amusement would have taken over by now if she wasn't so bone tired. Bones... Adella clasped her hands tighter behind her back. One look at them, and he'd have the upper hand.

"Did your second captain get away from you?"
 
"No, ma'am. Just helping out my dear old mum." Whether she had the upper hand or not he seemed quite oblivious to the fact. "It's no rush job." Came another addition to his response as he flipped it over to show the stain down the front, the attempt at washing it out at home had seemed to fail.

"So what're you doin' here now? Yer avoiding the question.." Curiosity was a strong factor in his probing. To his eye she looked haggard and quite exhausted, so far flung from the lady in the court offices he'd scarcely believe they were the same person. Was it not for the underlying snark and pompous attitude she toted about anyway.
 
Adella didn't move to accept the dress, but instead clucked her tongue as she adopted a poisonously sweet tone of informality. "Coby, Coby, Coby..." an eyebrow rose "...you of all people should be able to guess why I would be in a launder's shop."
 
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