It was a bright and miserable day to be out and about in the world and no self respecting being would be out in this runny, soggy mess where it not for the little fact that it had been continuing on in this vein for about a month now... and people gotta eat eventually.

Still it was a nasty sort of day, the kind where the sky just cant seem to make up its mind between a sunny-ish drizzle, and a spiteful black-gray overcast, all-about drenching the miserable poor souls stuck under the monstrous canopy of the sky. Right now, it was a teasingly light drizzle, clinging smocks of the clouds breaking into bits like broken promises as a weak, pale and sickly looking wisp of a rainbow fazed in and out of sight.

Aye, a perfectly miserable day to be at the market, Molly thought as she stalked through the crowd with her usual swagger, comfortably clad in her new warm coat she'd bought, just a few moments earlier to be exact. Although you could hardly call it bought, the hideous thing had been practically a steal: a grotesque patchwork of small hingle pelts, multi-hued in the natural neutral colors, with as many pockets as pelts and reversible, although only th' gods know why th' madman of a tailor did that. Still, Molly had been charmed by its sheer ugliness, and the potential possibilities of all those pockets- and had bartered with the merchant simply to see the utterly baffled look on his face.

Beyond that, she and her motley crew, were wandering the too-overcrowded-for-this-weather Traders Market, picking up the various things, implements and accoutrements needed for the continued construction of the hulking, rusted beast and its future use. Clothing was very much on the docket, as the majority of the crew, herself included, was dressed in an attire with the uniform theme of threadbare and worn out. The mudpuppy in particular was in desperate need of warmer wrappings, his thin frame was most likely already soaked through- and this was gonna be nothin' compared to the freezing heights they were planing on flyin'. But then th' cooky was in need of somethin that actually fit, and th' clover was in desperate need of something... less green.

Eyes catching sight of a large red-tented stall, the swarthy pirate made her way to the stand, the sent of damp Mug-spices thick in the air as she perused the assorted nick-knacks and other sharp pointy things. The stall was littered with all kinds of useful things, as one would expect from a mug merchant, and probably the best one they'd seen all day. But it wouldn't do to let on to that just yet, bartering was a delicate art- one of which Molly was well versed, if a bit heavy handed in it's practice.

Her idea of a good day at the market usually ended when somebody lost an eye...

The gleam of a pare of fine goggles perked her attention, as did a bolt of what looked to be fine Mugrobi cloth or a shawl of some kind through her peripheral, but she ignored them for now paying more attention to a pair of plain, sturdy looking boots.

“These arra pare o' clockin shit boots, clockin madder thin' me ifin this clockin cut-purse thinks 'e's gonna be sellin mooch a' this spitch.” Molly said with a bored sneer as she spoke to her crew vaguely, with an air of not much caring which one heard, before nodding over to a pair of sharp daggers, “Ha' mooch arr them blades thar ye think? Kn't have ta manny points tucked away, ifin ya ask me.”

A woman weaved her way through the crowd, looking at stalls without really looking. Trinkets and fancy's passed her vision, but nothing caught her eye. It wasn't the eye of a shopper however, and an anterior motive pushed the woman's wanderings. She wore a beautiful, expensive looking outfit, red skirts over white lace in thick layers and a brown leather vest over the bodice. Black gloves covered her hands from her fingers to her elbow and two fine golden pistols hung from her gun-belt. Her red and blonde hair was pulled into a fine pearl woven up-do, and a red feather brooch adorned the side. She was clearly a pirate, but a very well to do one. Perhaps with a rather good upbringing.

Glancing over the stalls with one yellow eye, one brown eye, the woman seemed to be looking for something or someone. If she passed close enough to a patron, they would turn to look at her with a frown of confusion, then turn away. Occasionally, the woman would stop and examine a stall carefully, her eyes not really on the stall, but the buildings behind it. And the rooftops. Moving from spot to spot, her strange eyes scanned the rooves of the establishments along the market, assessing and calculating.

Moving past the crew, she bumped into Molly, and the woman would feel a sudden overwhelming field consume her, pushing out to touch each of the crew members with her, before it suddenly withdrew - as if it was never there. The red dressed pirate looked at her.

"Excuse me." She said politely, her gaze falling on each one of them in turn.

The day was indeed miserable, what with the rain and the chill, and the dirty puddles that bare feet had to trudge through, but some people who lived in Old Rosie had just about gotten used to miserable by now. Aye, for example, hardly noticed her soaked clothes and how heavy they were. She did, however, more than notice her soaked bandages clinging and rubbing against her wounds. Having to mash her bandaged feet into the mud and gravel was equally as noticeable. She did try to ignore it, but it was painful and odd that the cuts and burns were taking so long to heal, and that they insisted on being more painful and for longer amounts of time than any other past wound ever had.

Still, she did need clothes and supplies, and walking in the miserable weather was her only way to get them at the moment.

The clover was clothed in a thick, past the knee length, dark green coat that had not been there only moments before. As she sped up and stuck close to Molly, if one looked close enough they could see the way her wrapped hands clutched at the long sleeves of this coat, and the way she snuck looks over her shoulder now and then. It appeared that while Molly's coat had practically been a steal, Aye's actually had been. She had snagged the thing (rather nice it was, for Old Rose) about a block back. The vendor had been distracted by a customer, so the girl simply took the coat off its peg as she walked by. Now, the thing looked like it had always belonged on her. She gratefully hid her aching hands from the rain in the sleeves, and then looked around for the next thing on her list: mittens.

She followed the captain into the tent, spotting many other things on her list as well. Off in the corner was a long scarf, over on the side of the tent, and here on a rack were the most glorious mittens the child had ever seen. They were crocheted and red, and long enough to cover all the bandages on her arms, she was close to drooling, but knew she had to be careful when she took them.



The woman's voice dragged the girl’s eyes up and away from the glorious mittens, and refocused her attention on the boots. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, as if these were the most awful boots she had seen all day.

"Oes," she said disgustedly, "An' not a bit o' color anywhere on 'em. Spitch an' borin's what they are." It may have seemed like the girl knew her way around this whole bartering thing, but don’t let the child fool you, she really did think the boots were ugly. "Not a drop o' green anywhere on 'em, either."

She turned back to the mittens, nodding at what molly said about the daggers, and started to use her new coat as a shield to block the shop owner’s view of the mittens. She was just about to brush the mittens into her bag when a voice nearly scared her out of her skin.



The girl froze under the new woman's gaze, scared that the lady would dob on her, and slowly removed her hand from the glorious mittens. She whistled and pretended that she had never even seen them.

Bey had been trying to do what he thought he should be doing, whatever was good and proper for someone of his new occupation to be doing. Piracy, actually. He wondered loosely if he should have stolen something, though the idea of it make his stomach ill.

Little Aye seemed to have not a qualm about it. That was certainly a new coat. Still, Bey said nothing. There was really no point. He saw her handling the mittens out the corner of his eye as he was looking at a thick woolen coat and doing his very best to keep out from under the mechanic's feet. It wasn't too hard, given the growlish man's small stature, but Bey had learned enough to keep well clear of Grigori Hosturn whenever he could. The man scared him in a way that even bears or wildcats could not. Animals he could predict. He could not predict this man, so he stuck close to Juniper.

Bey was speculating at the price of the coat (not that he had any clue what it would cost, the concept of the currency was still hard for him to grasp) when he felt the woman's field. It raked over him like carnivorous eyes, sizing him to fit a maw full of piercing teeth. It drug down his spine and made his own small field quiver and his heart jump like a rabbit's. Bey froze where he stood, and his breath caught, his body trembled. Pure fear raced through his blood and his legs turned into rubber.

He wanted to run, but he could not. A small moan escaped him as he slowly brought his eyes to see the threat.

Juni hadn't any idea why he needed new clothes. Food shopping, he could understand; fresh food had to be bought almost every day without an icebox at his disposal, but clothes? They didn't go bad. He only threw out a piece of clothing when it was so riddled with holes that it was equally as bad wearing it as not. Or when it got a particularly nasty oil stain or something that wouldn't come out. Happened a bit more than it would were he not in the kitchen all the time, but Juni wasn't Juni without being in the kitchen all the time. Couldn't be helped. Anyway, his clothes were fine. Didn't even have any holes yet. Were a bit too big, yes, but he was too small a person for anything he got for free to fit. He could spend his meager funds on better things, like spices or drinks. Especially the drinks. Clothes-shopping was stupid. Molly'd been saying things about how it was going to be colder up in the air, but what did that matter to him? His work was in the kitchen, near the fire. He'd hardly be cold.

He stuck close to Bey as well, more out of habit than anything. Juni wasn't particularly terrified of Grisha Hosturn, nowhere near as much as Bey. Sure, he could be rough, but the man responded to food. Juni made food. Thus, he had a bit of a trump card. Be nice to me or I won't make you coffee anymore. He was about to say something when the galdori woman's field made its presence known. ...Shit. Juni, from living in Vienda, knew a little about galdori field posturing. He also knew that galdori weren't anywhere near common in Old Rose Harbor. Unless one meant business, one did not wave their clearly nonwickish field around. This lady, whoever she was, meant business, and that meant...weeee're all fucked.

He quickly squeezed Bey's hand. "Shhhh. I've got your back, okay?" Juni's whisper was almost inaudible, as much to reassure himself as it was to reassure Bey.

Grish wasn't with the kids to shop. Grish had worked in shipyards, on ships, had been the chief watch on the forecastles of so many ships in so many kinds of weather that he had gained a wardrobe of clothes for all elements, even the most chilling storms. He was kitted for foul weather as it was, a navy twill bridge coat buttoned close to his chin, a flannel scarf courtesy of his wife wrapped around his face, and his ever present head wrap tied to the top of his scalp.

No, he was mainly here to make sure that Molly didn't cause a riot. He remembered days when she was a younger thing, telling her to go to market for some bread or a can of light machine oil or somesuch, and she coming back with a bagfull of stolen goods, a black eye, and a smile. The next day, going to get what she was supposed to get, she saw the place being rebuilt from what looked like a random and localized monsoon.

He shook his head as the children went about their business. The little clover girl was a thief, but he deigned to say nothing to her. It was a pirate ship he was crewing now and she was certainly a child of the Rose.

He was content to keep an eye on the young crew and growl at anyone who wished to try and sell him anything. But then he felt it. Up his spine, between his teeth, it permeated his body. And he could feel where it came from. He once had a captain who liked to do that on one of his ships, a thin little man with a horrid beard. He would pass by, pass his field over him, and look him dead in the eye.

"And how are we today, Seaman Hosturn?"

He could almost hear the voice in his head as the field retreated from within him. He wanted to retch, he wanted to bellow, he wanted to KILL whoever it was that had done that to him. The beast that consumed the Hosturns flowed through his veins, he could feel his heart battering his chest. All his muscles tensed. He gripped a pole of the tent they were at and it groaned slightly as Grish held it tighter, tighter, tighter still until his fingernails had dug into his hand's flesh. His breathing became heavy, labored. Sweat rolled down his face and his teeth ground against each other. A battle was being fought withing Grisha's body, and both sides were being bloodied by it. But he was still him, he had not given in. He didn't want to see who it was who had placed the field over them, lest the rage overtake him and he launched himself into his death. "Who..." he rasped out, calling to his daughter. "Molly, Molly... who is that?"

Molly had to strongly resist the temptation to roll her eyes at the clovers comment. The witch child was, if anything, consistent in her desires. Green as a color was all well and good but Aye'd got it to the point the pirate was half expecting the child to start sending off shoots or flowering or some spitch. As far as Molly was concerned th' lil' pirate wannabe was still far to young to be givin' off fruit of any sort. The green had to go.

Opening her mouth to voice a thought half formed into the air, the swarthy pirate was suddenly jarred. Already turning in a reflex response to snarl at the unfortunate pedestrian, Molly recoiled like a flaring cobra at the feel of the field.

One did not sail the high seas for as long, or as well as she had and not learn the tricks that golly pirates tried to pull to one up their weaker or field-less rivals. The touch of that woman's field was fully intentional as far as Molly cared, and the look in the golly's two-toned eyes merely confirmed her suspicions.

'Clocking two-eyed golly toffins' Molly cursed silently as, grinding her teeth, she bit back the words threatening to spill over her tongue, 'Watch're ya clockin goin- n' keep yer field ta yerself!'

Mad as she professed herself to be, Molly's not completely insane and learned early on not to tick off touchy magic users 'cause they just might use it- so she kept her thoughts to her self. Still, the pirate had had her fill of attitude with her own two-colored golly, redheaded woman wore to no end on her nerves, and golly fields made her itch.

Itch for a fight, that is, and she'd been itchin' all day. Something about the market'd get to her. Maybe the full bodied crowds, the high raised voices and the sounds of barter and trade going on about her... It would get her blood up, a high rush that stirred a kind of savage emotion: one part anger, two parts feral joy. Clockin' gods she could go for a brawl- but not with a clockin' spell-flinger that's for sure.

“Watch're self,” Molly ground out shortly, fighting to keep the snarl on her face down to a mildly suspicious glare before taking a deliberate step away from the frilly toffin. Grish'd be proud of her, backing away like that- especially when the golly is so obviously asking for a little chat. Speaking of the old mechanic, Molly took another step and sidled over to the grizzled man's side. If the golly's field bothered her- it was near certain as sailin' that the same'd send the man into a red-rage.

“Clocks if I know,” Molly growled in a low tone, mutual distaste tempered by a calculating distrust. Her hand having strayed to her sword hilt unchecked, gripped the cold steel in a useless gesture- a comforting one though. “Jess keep yer head steady ol'man. Clockin golly like that... means trouble sure as nothin.”

The words were spoken with a sure solemnity, but a telling quirk tugged at the edge of her lips, and crinkled at the edges of her hard eyes that the pirate just could not suppress... Steady till I say go.

There was a deep and pregnant silence, as the galdori's eyes looked at each of them in turn. She didn't sweep across them with superiority or disdain, she spent her time on each - calculating and thinking. As her vision moved from one to the other, the woman's eyes displayed nothing. No recognition or emotion. It was like she was assessing them. As her gaze fell on Molly, they seemed to narrow ever so slightly, and a small smile came to the corners of her lips. Faint, almost non-existent, but there none the less.

Watching the other woman move closer to the older man, she turned her gaze to the table, picking up the gloves Aye had been about to whisk into her coat.

"I am dreadfully sorry, I didn't mean to upset your old friend. Or yourself. Carelessness, in my shopping. Please, forgive me." Looking down at the green dressed child, the woman leant over slightly and handed her the knitted garments. Her eyes studied the youngster, and without contempt that same field reached out to test Aye. It was only a touch, nothing like the overwhelming wave from before. As she felt, she ascertained. A wick. Smiling warmly, she straightened and flicked a coin at the stall holder. Looking back at Grish, the golly nodded.

"Who is that? Why, excuse my manners. I am Eliysse Dallium. And you," A slender well manicured finger pointed at the old man.

"You are an old hand at things that were and things that are. I have a friend who would have known you, in another life perhaps. Perhaps." Her voice was almost whimsical as she spoke in a curious riddle. Turning her gaze to the rooftops, she nodded to herself, then looked back at the curious collection of people.

"Fine day for shopping." Eliysse said conversationally, as though nothing had happened.

Aye stared up at the woman, as she stared at the crew. For a moment she was afraid that she had seen her grabbing the mittens, she was a golly after all. Even if she did appear to be a pirate she could still tell on her. When Aye saw the woman grab for the gloves, she lifted a hand and squeaked, thinking her mittens were now gone forever. Her face fell and she pouted, until she felt the mittens in her hands. She gasped and looked up at them, fixing the galdor with a grin; immediately forgiving any bumping and drowning people with fields the woman had done.

"Mujo ma!" She cried happily, clutching her mittens to her chest.

The field, again, was a little weird for the girl. Of course she had met gollies before in old rose, two of them, one hardly counted, but he had been around another pirate golly woman, and so knew what golly fields felt like. This new woman seemed friendly enough, even if she had smothered everyone with her field a moment ago. What mattered was that she had given Aye the mittens, so the girl would deal with fields poking her and a strange woman staring at her. Still, she couldn’t help but squirm at the feel of it, even if it was only a small touch.



Aye raised an eyebrow at the woman, slipping on her new mittens, and wondered what this Eliysse was talking about.



Aye looked back out the doorway to the tent, noticing the rain and the cold, but only nodded at the woman. Could be worse... She thought.

(( i have had this ready for a little while, but i was hoping someone else would want to post first. see, i havent really added much here, have i? lol ))

Bey watched the galdor woman, her appearance seemingly gilded in comparison to anyone else. This was not his first time to be in the vicinity of one. He'd learned that there weren't many in Old Rose. The harbor didn't attract many "upstanding" types so far from the capitol—Vienda. Of course, that also meant that those who were here had the innate firepower needed to ensure no one caused them unnecessary trouble.

Bey swallowed hard and squeezed Juniper's hand back. Any bit of pride he harbored in his ribs had evaporated when touched by that horrid field. Right now he was just glad that he had Juniper there to anchor him down. Running away would be too cowardly.

Even still more threats appeared.

The sight of a quivering Grigori Hosturn set Bey's blood on ice. In the few days he'd known the man, the abuse had been enough to teach him that there was something wrong with him. There was something else. The way he seemed to fight himself only proved it.

Bey's heart sped another notch when that woman loomed over little Aye. Oh, Vita, no, he pleaded inwardly. He wanted to reach forward and grab Aye, pull her to safety, but fear claimed his limbs and he could not move.

(( i'm here, can you believe it? pffft. good to be posting as Akiili again, though ))

Having always been the pack horse of any crew she’d been in due to her strength, Akiili now walked with the rest of her shipmates with two large canvas bags slung over each shoulder; both were stuffed with clothing, food, and anything else deemed necessary that could fit inside with the rest.

She was lost in her own thoughts this day. Oh, she was keeping an eye on the younger ones, for certain, but she was otherwise silently absorbed. Even Mabinty – currently draped across the Mug’s shoulders – was subdued (that is, if the leira could get any more subdued in her constant state of lethargy), and lay staring somberly at the passing scenery with hardly a flicker of her forked tongue.

Akiili’s chief worry was one she hadn’t shared yet with the rest of the crew, certainly not with Molly or Grisha. It concerned rumors she’d begun hearing around her old haunts…rumors of a threat she’d seen and heard of plenty, but never experienced, considering she’d known to keep far away. But what of it? Perhaps her madcap captain and the engineer both had heard, and were also waiting to say something…or perhaps the scuttlebutt was just that: scuttlebutt. Nothing to take stock in – just the mutterings of old sailors looking to entertain.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, regardless…

The silent explosion of a magical field jolted Akiili out of her reverie, and she ground to a startled halt behind Juniper and Bey. Some woman had collided with Molly, and as usually, Molly was taking things a bit out of proportion. But Akiili could see why now - the woman was a gollie…and dressed like that, an obviously well-to-do one. The Mug grudgingly admired the woman’s attire, but she otherwise returned the gaze she received with all the disinterest of an unimpressed veteran.

And yet those eyes – odd and piercing all at once, as though she were searching the very core of your being. It was definitely disconcerting.

Akiili noticed the boys before her looking very uncomfortable as well; the tension in the air was almost corporeal. Close to the gollie, little Aye had managed to acquire a new set of mittens, and was otherwise distracted and didn’t seem greatly bothered. Nonchalantly, Akiili let her hands come to rest on both Bey’s and Juni’s shoulders in a comforting way. “Not to worry, lads,” she murmured, loud enough for them to hear, but soft enough that any passers-by would’ve missed it. “Keep a watch on Aye, and I’ll keep tabs on Grish and the cap’n. If we can all stay calm and collected, this shouldn’t turn into anything ugly.”

Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ve got a clockin’ magic wand to make it all better if someone's head gets bashed in…

As Eliysse waited for the responses of the crew, her eyes fell on Akiili and a sudden smile crossed her face. Moving closer to the woman, the galdori made a small noise in the back of her throat.

"Well, well. A mugrobi in the mix. What a charming group you all make. I say, mug, are you native born or have you always lived in the Rose?" Her question seemed innocent enough, but behind her dual coloured eyes lurked a more intense curiosity. Something about the question begged the correct response. Which one it was, the crew could only speculate. A thick tension began to fill the air as Eliysse looked at her, still smiling. To passers by, it looked like a simple group in a simple conversation.

To the group, it was a test. The galdor was waiting.

"Well?" The woman said politely, all the while smiling.

Akiili’s smooth forehead furrowed with the arching of her eyebrows. “Well, now, what’s that supposed to mean, matey?” she bit back in a caustically calm manner. She was still holding the heavy canvas bags, but she crossed her arms over her broad chest regardless. If this woman was spoiling for a fight, then by Hulali, she would get it! Granted, Akiili hadn’t originally wanted to get in a scuffle today…but clocks, it’d been a while since she’d been in a good scrap. Besides, it might be amusing to knock this whice down a peg and get her pretty togs dirty. Then she’d see what it was like to be a real pirate.

As the mugrobi woman snapped a response, Eliysse merely laughed and straightened again, as though being threatened by a child. Glancing at the rooftop again, she nodded and looked back at the woman.

"Oh nothing. Just curious." Smiling, she looked over the crew once again.

"There was a saying I heard once, when I was in Mugroba. Something like, 'It's better to provoke the chrove, then to provoke the black drake.'. I wonder which one you are." Bowing slightly, the gold and red haired galdor began to move on.

"Have a pleasant rest of the day, won't you?" With a smile and a waft of delicate perfume mixed with gunpowder, she disappeared into the crowd.

Akiili was still staring after the gollie had disappeared, but her look of sneering contempt had been replaced by one she hadn’t shown in many, many years. It certainly would be new to her current shipmates - that was for certain. Her eye was wide - the pupil quivering in its tautness – her nostrils were flared, her lips parted slightly in a silent gasp. It was dread contorting the Mugrobi woman’s face, and at the moment, she didn’t notice or care. Her hands had moved to clench the straps of the canvas bags, her knuckles turning white. “Bajea…” she managed to whisper, still stricken. “Maguala...”

It would seem the rumors were all too true. The stories, the memories…it all made for one garbled mess in Akiili’s mind, and the only thing she could focus her thoughts on was the fact that the little rag-tag crew she was a part of was now in serious danger.

Molly bit back a savage grin as Bem mouthed off at the frilly peacock of a golly, bracing herself should things turn ugly. Her hand about her sword tightened. The words were clipped and short, nothing of the meaning given in this strange conversation between her helmsman and this uppity toffin. On the surface, it didn't look like nothin',.... but from the looks of it- Molly didn't like it. For one, the swarthy pirate had never taken lightly to being left out, and for another, she didn't like this golly. At all. And for another, tension like this dent stem from nowhere- things were bein said that wern't bein said outright.

Her suspicions about hidden meanings and unspoken words proved to be true, as with a cryptic riddle the golly left, leaving sturdy Bem in a fit of trembles from the look. Molly didn't like th' look.

Chewing back her snarls and grumbled curses until the Peacock Toffin was well out of earshot, Molly turned her squint eyed look to Akilli, stepping close as she laid a heavy hand on the mug's shoulder.

“A'righty Bem,” her low voices was a harsh growl, directed at Bem but not intended to be hostile although it could quite easily be taken that way. Bem doesn't' frazzle easily. “I'ma thinkin ya'll be wantin' ta be lettin us know wha'th clocks tha' was all about, right soonish now. Savvy?”

(( sorry for short post :C ))

The rush of the moment was still upon Akiili when Molly’s hand clapped on her free shoulder; she didn’t jump, but Mabinty did, and emitted a short huff of protest. Then the Mug turned, her face still pale and stiff with shock.

“The Black Drake, Molly,” she murmured in hushed tones. The others would end up knowing as well, but she didn’t want to scare the younger ones…not yet anyway. “They’re here.” Then on sudden impulse, she took Molly’s arm in a fierce grip – she didn’t mean to be harsh, but, being caught up in the moment, she didn’t realize she was exerting her strength. “Do you realize who that is? What they’ve done? I’d wondered why that gollie’s name was so familiar - she’s the first mate! And the Captain…” She raked her free hand through her short, dyed curls in a desperate way and shuddered. “Gods, Molly, if you’ve heard even a quarter of the things told about him, then you’ve heard enough. I've seen some of the things - I've seen the wake he leaves!” She released Molly’s arm and ground the heel of her palm into her eye. “I’m such an idiot for not realizing sooner! The Captain is back for revenge against the one who wronged him: Silas Hawke!”

Akiili paused and glanced around in concern at the hustle and bustle around them. “We shouldn’t be speaking of this out in the open – let’s move someplace where I can tell all more freely; that empty dock over there will do.” She moved to stand where she was in front of the crew. “I need to tell you this. All of you.” Here she made a point of looking each of her comrades in the face, her eyes softening when they looked on Juniper and Bey, and especially little Aye.

They're too young to deal with something like this...too young...

“This concerns our very lives, and quite possibly that of Old Rose herself.”