Concealed by a tall hedge, Iago stood quietly and watched the two women from afar. He felt as though he appeared much like the ardent schoolboy, hiding in the arbor with a bouquet of flowers in hand, plotting the execution of the gesture comprehensively. He was not sure what part of Emilia he should appeal to. Her sympathy, perhaps? Her fancy?
...Nay, none. He would not appeal to any one sentiment directly. He needed to be adaptable in accordance to how Emilia responded to him, and knowing Emilia, his ploy would be most surreptitious if he did not assume any humor that was too unfamiliar to his character. He would not be able to know for certainty just how he would carry this out until he had already done it… Indeed, knavery's plain face was never seen till used.
"...for 'twas then that he finally gave up, and I have not seen the poor man since. A most stalwart suitor, indeed," Desdemona said, finishing her story with a demure smile. "Hark, I am nearly inclined to think that my father was he who set the act on...though of course he is much too honorable to admit that he might bid his servants unburden chamber pots over men's heads." She chuckled, then sighed, with a wistfulness in her breath. "Faith, at times I do miss my father, disavowed as I am…" She trailed off with the sorrowful thought, before noticing out of the corner of her eye that they were being approached. She looked up, and then turned to Emilia.
"Is that not your husband, good Emilia?" she asked in a whisper, leaning toward the woman that she might hear. "Is all well?"
The ensign had upon his countenance a peculiarly sorrowful-seeming demeanor, as if something troubled him so that it made him unable to think else. His hands were behind his back, and he made purposeful strides toward them. Immediately Desdemona looked once more to Emilia, hoping that in doing so she would find explanation.
