Beautiful People: Diccon Quarry and Adelaide Macefield

Slightly nabbed from Jenny. :P

In linking up with Beautiful People this month, I am a bit sad to say that this will probably be the last month dealing with my family from The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. The book is over 69,000 words as of today, the big battle has been fought, and all that is left is to wind up all my loose ends and get everyone back where they ought to be. This month's challenge has to do with two characters. They can be any two characters, only they must have a relationship with each other. The two people that immediately came to mind are Diccon Quarry and Adelaide Macefield. I had not known they would end up being with each other so much, but there you have it. Enjoy. 


1. Do they believe in anything that most people think is impossible?

Nothing impossible--Diccon is a very capable man, and he tends to think he  can handle everything, therefore nothing is impossible. Adelaide is an optimist, therefore she never thinks anything impossible either.

2. Are they strong, or the "damsel/knight in distress" sort?

A strange expression lit his eyes—half fierce, half curious, entirely determined.
“What? Why are you looking at me so?” Adelaide asked. She tossed the feather aside and watched it drift into the grass.
“I was only wondering,” Diccon said. He toyed with his knife, tossing and catching it as some children play with an India-rubber ball.
“Wondering what?”
“What you’d do if I captured you.”

Diccon does rescue Adelaide at one point, however Adelaide was in distress without being too...distressed over it. Diccon and Adelaide are both what are commonly called "strong spirits." Diccon is rough and clumsy with relationships, and yet he is good at heart. He doesn't know where is loyalty lies and it confuses him. Adelaide, however, is loyal to many people--she feels things passoinately. If she hates you, she hates you. If she loves you, she'd die for you.


3. Do they have a special place? (e.g. a corner in his/her bedroom, under a tree...)

Diccon's special place is in the fray of battle. He is in his element there, every fiber alive, every talent taxed and stretched and used to their height. I think he loses himself in the excitement and forgets his troubles--it is almost a drug with him.

Adelaide has no particularly special place at all--anywhere she is admired, I should think.

 4. What occupation do they have, or plan on having?


Adelaide's ambitions follow her whims. She has thought of being an actress, once upon a time, but she would be a house-maid if it would bring her the sort of admiration she craves.

Diccon wants to be an honorable man. That is all he covets.

5. Describe their current place of residence.


Diccon has no home at present. Adelaide is staying in the royal palace of Scarlettania...

Below lay a valley and in the valley a castle—turreted and towered, glistening in the wash of moonbeams as if it were made of sugar cubes.

6. Explain their last crisis. How had they changed when they came out of it?


Oy. Well, this is rather an interesting question, as Diccon and Adelaide are only together because of a crisis. You see, Adelaide and Dear-Heart had been kidnapped by a defector of the Scarlettanian army. He was going to sell them to Fitz-Hughes in exchange for protection for Scarlettania. Diccon happened upon the scene and rescued the girls. It is too late to return to the castle, so they spend the night at Diccon's camp--during the night, however, he begins to question how he ought to act...

        The warrior-blood of Diccon would not be at ease in the company of a Scarlettanian. True, for an hour that evening, he had thrown aside his tangled heritage—any thought of faithfulness to Gildnoir. But as the night deepened, so did the labyrinth of his mind and strange thoughts and stranger loyalties cavorted there in a ghoulish ring.
      Perhaps he owed it, not to Fitz-Hughes, but to his father, to be faithful to the Gildnoir. True, he had defected, but he could remedy that and do one last service. What would that service be?
       Diccon once again scooped a glance of Adelaide’s sleeping form and held it up to his mind’s eye: A daughter of Macefield—a pretty bird to keep in a pretty cage.

Diccon says as much to Adelaide--she confronts him, rebukes him, turns vixen, and bites him with her wit. In the end, the two are closer than ever--sibling-souls parted by two worlds.

 7. If they could drive any kind of car they wanted, what would it be?

Car? Come now--that's not fair. There are no cars in either London or Scarlettania at this point. The Authoress takes the liberty of deleting this question.

8. How do they deal with change?

They revel in it. Both Diccon and Adelaide crave adventure--the more change the better. They thrive on the unexpected.

9. If they had to amputate one body part, which one would they choose?


I will take Jenny's answer and say their left-hands. That would leave the right hand for proper sword-play.

10. What would their favorite be at the local coffee shop? 

Diccon would drink his brew black. Adelaide pours an embarrassing amount of sugar in her cup, then licks it clean for good measure.

11.  How did they meet?

In that first crisis:

“Thank you, kind sir.” The merry, sweet voice behind Diccon startled him—he’d nearly forgot about the women-folk.
He turned about and smiled. “No trouble at all, my lady. I was merely passing this way. And may I have the honor of knowing whom I rescued?”
The girl curtsied, and he saw that she was very young. “Adelaide Macefield, and my companion, Dear-Heart.”
Diccon drew a deep breath through his teeth. A daughter of Macefield! By all the blood of Clan Fitz-Hughes, it was unexpected. So she was one of those whom Growlbeard had told him of. Diccon felt a strange sense of fear, as if he looked upon a goddess in the form of this tall, comely girl with the bluff voice. He crossed his left arm over his chest and extended his first two fingers, then bowed in the style of his country.
Adelaide laughed and clapped her hands. “It was rather brilliant of you—saving us like that. Rather like watching the plays Darby and Bertram used to put on. Hamlet was our favorite, you know. It had the most smashing duel.” 

12. How do these two deal with conflict?

The same way they deal with any other crisis: Expertly. They are not ones to be worked upon my surprise--dull, everyday monotony is what would affect them most.

13. Do they have a special song, phrase, item, or place? 

Not particularly. Unless you count the Scarlet-Gypsy Song which was rather important in Adelaide's life, at least.

14. What kind of things do they like to do together?

Haha! Escape...rescue...ride like the devil toward battle... :)

5. Describe their relationship as a whole in 3 words or less.



Loyal. Fraternal. Clumsy-tender.

Danger!

I am once again breaking the rule of conventional blog parties and blogging about something that doesn't have to do with husbands at all. What it does have to do with is a shocking revelation in my writing career--namely, that just this morning, I wrote my first "dangerous" scene. Now before all you adventurous, amazing, fast-paced-plot people get your cockles up, I will explain. Most of my books have been about children, and most of those about children in fairly normal scenarios. The strife/conflict in the plot of The Seasonings, for example, was built off of social awkwardness, surprises, and foils. There was nothing quite "dangerous" in that tale. In Puddleby Lane, Cora's dangers have been more abstract--her fears, the stock-market crashing, the move to a completely strange place with new people, Frank dying....but I have never ever ever written an actual danger scene. Wait. Hold that thought. My danger scenes are more intellectually or socially dangerous. I've never written a physical danger scene. But that, of course, had to change with The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. After all, battle, war-culture, and the conflict between two warring countries makes up a massive part of the plot. Therefore I give you a scene plucked out of chapter 11 of The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. You will remember Diccon Quarry? I thought so. I know you'll love this fellow--poor guy. He's so confused. Where does his allegiance lay? To Gildnoir, and Clan Fitz-Hughes? They people he came from? Or to Scarlettania, where all that is just and noble and beautiful is bred? Anyway, here's a bit of danger/adventure for you. :)

******

“The General will see thee now.” The gruff, frost-edged voice jerked Diccon from his memories, and he grew warm at the smirks on the faces of the men standing nearby.

“Yes sir,” Diccon was too embarrassed to have been caught in daydreams to feel surprise at the summons. He followed the metallic clinking of the man’s armor into the half-light of the tent.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the contrast, but by jumps and starts he was able to make out the shapes of the rough-and-ready table, a powerful-looking, iron-haired man, and the commander who had led him here.

The man seated at the table lifted his head and gripped Diccon in a hard gaze, as unwavering as the keen edge of a steel blade. “What a to-do a soldier of Gildnoir has made this day.”

Diccon frowned. “Sir?”

“To have failed in the act of information-gathering---even when the contact was none other than the Lord of the Night—to have insulted his Lordship to his face and in his own quarters…badly done, lad.” The man tapped a long finger on the tabletop, and Diccon’s attention was drawn to the large, elaborately cut ruby adorning it.

“How long have you been selling out?’ he asked. He strove to control the indignation that nearly choked him.

The man started, and black anger clouded his mien. “I do not understand what you mean, soldier.”

Diccon slid his hand down to his knife, then tossed his head. “The ring, sir. Very unusual for a general of the Gildnoir. How much did they give you?”

“Who, you son of a catamount?” The general rose, and his nostrils flared with rage.

Diccon blocked the gold-sashed commander who would have stepped in to aid his general, and indicated for him to be still with a slight pressure of his elbow into the man’s stomach. “It is no use pretending with me, General Moorcroft. I know the royal jewel of Scarlettania when I see it. Do you not think Fitz-Hughes would pay a pretty price for this piece of knowledge? I might acquire a large bauble of true Gildnoirian topaz for my efforts.” Diccon flourished his knife and twirled the shining blade under the general’s gaze.

The older man’s eyes flickered to his commander. “Step outside, if you would.”

“Are you certain, General Moorcroft?” the commander asked, eyebrows crumpled.

The general’s voice was too smooth and too flint-bladed to be taken for easy as he waved the sentry away. “Of course I am certain, Fulham.” The ruby of Moorcroft’s ring caught fragments of daylight and sent them eddying into the quiet dusk as the sentry opened the tent flapped and ducked through it to the dazzling day outside.

 It was still for a moment within the tent, each man sizing the other up.

“Come now, boy,” The General said. He laughed, but Diccon knew there was the desperate snarl of a snared fox under the ill-fitting chuckle. “You and I both know that your brother hates you—the message you delivered with your own hands were my orders to stab you through with a Scarlettanian pike. Your brother bears you no great love.”

Diccon tossed his knife, catching it by the dark, obsidian handle. “And I return the compliment, general. That, however, does not deter me from my object. No man who deliberately fraternizes with the enemy can be called a soldier of the Gildnoir. You know that well, I think?”

The general ran a hand over his chin, jaw set, but made no answer.

Diccon tossed the knife again, this time catching it and thrusting the point forward until it made a little slit in the gold and black standard on the general’s chest. “I will take that as an answer in the affirmative. Therefore, by whatever honor is left in this wild country of ours, and by the authority with which every clansman of Fitz-Hughes is endowed, I am stripping you of your title.”

The general made a movement as if to spring on Diccon, and his mouth was a narrow, malignant slit in his face, but the knife-point kept him at bay. “You have no right. You are a paltry excuse for a soldier of Clan Fitz-Hughes. You are a half-breed!”

“A half-breed, my Lord, is far superior than a half-wit, or a half-truth. You, General Moorcroft, appear to be both.” Diccon coolly pushed the knife a bit harder against the man’s chest. He leaned close until he could smell the scent of stale tobacco and salt-pork in the general’s hair. “You will gather the men and announce my command over this army now. For all they—or anyone else—knows, the message was an order from Fitz-Hughes to invest me with your powers. Understood?” Diccon glared at the man, commanding his gaze.

Fitful blue stars collided with the staid grey of the general’s eyes in a storm of emotions, but Diccon saw no sign of resistance in them.

“As you say, soldier,” the general said. He held both hands out at his sides, and plastered a faint smile on his lips.

Diccon held him a moment more on the point of the knife, then nodded. Only now did he allow himself to tremble over his boldness—it was but momentary weakness, though. “We must make haste, Moorcroft,” Diccon said. He slid his knife back into the sheath in his boot, and turned to leave the tent.

There was a hurried step behind him, a low growl, and in a flashing moment Diccon’s arms were pinioned. He struggled against the iron grip of the general, but it made no difference—he was taken. The tide had turned with the agility of a panther on the run. Diccon growled his dismay and thrashed against the hold of his captor, but the general laughed.

“A half-wit, soldier? I think not.” The general’s voice was low and mocking. “But how would you like a half-life? I could bleed a few quarts of that sullied blood from your veins, if it would be to your purpose, General Quarry.”

~The Scarlet-Gypsy Song