a/n - Morning folks, have a good weekend? Hottest weekend of the year around here, but it was downright chilly compared to where my oldest son is. 117 at Fort Benning, Georgia.
Introductory meetings were long, boring and repetitious, no matter the century and as soon as it was over, the participants scattered. Anja Clark skipped the meeting, as she and her people were still assembling the large pavilion for their display, so she missed the official welcome made to the returning and still recovering Lord Jeames, but gossip soon gave her the details. As hoped, the apparently frail, but obviously wealthy single man seemed to catch her attention as they noticed her watching as they went back to their camp.
Final details of garb were added. Ziva, Palmer and Abby had mini cameras added to their headwear in addition to Tony, and Gibbs insisted that the one civilian in the group have a whistle hidden in her basket. Seeing the worry in her brother's face, Sarah agreed, knowing that the team was after a murderer and she could be considered the weak link. Of course the fact that she was training for the women's siege fighting championship hadn't come up yet.
Plans made, the group set out. Sarah introduced the brash Edwarde Oxton to Mistress Gayle and the bar wenches of the Bawdy Bosom. Mistress Gayle's slaps were a bit south of Gibbs' usual target, but they did get him moving and bringing in supplies to prepare for the tavern's opening later that evening.
Once Tony was set up in what would be the hub of activity most evenings, Sarah and Palmer went to the prep center for the food vendors. Palmer was pleasantly surprised at how modern and professional the food service was, hidden behind the scenes. They were sharing a trailer with a woman who specialized in breakfasts, so there would only be a slight overlap between them. Once the health inspection was finished, they headed out with a cart of lemonade and pasties and a basket of pickles. As they sold lunch to the participants, Palmer managed to get pictures of the stragglers that were still setting up Anja Clark's luxurious campsite.
On the other side of the Faire, Ducky and Abby were keeping an eye on the display pavilion. It would not be open until the Grand Feast on Saturday, but men were bustling in and out, moving in the tightly covered displays. Abby flitted about, telling fortunes to anyone who would stop, as she stealthily took pictures of the covered cargo and the men moving it. The Scottish storyteller wandered about, charming women and children alike as he stayed close enough to Abby to watch out for her.
While the rest of the group was on recon, the remaining three had Faire business to attend to. Wearing the hosen and arming doublet of a fighter, Tim went to the List, or battlefield, to meet with the other fighters at the Faire. This was also the time where new squires and old masters were acknowledged, so Ziva and Gibbs were with him. A few other nobles were in attendance, including the French Princess they were targeting. Ziva didn't spend much time photographing her, but managed to get some shots of the men she was with, especially the fighter she was sponsoring, a tall, heavily built man with an Eastern European accent.
After the schedule was confirmed and the rules reviewed, the official part of the meeting broke up and the conversations and bragging started. Gibbs would have loved to hear more of the story about last year's championship, which seemed to feature a great deal about his own agent, but they were there for a case. Making a mental note to drill Sarah later on the subject, he let the milling crowd propel him nearer to the Princess, giving her brief smiles on occasion as he eased closer. Finally, he was close enough to start a conversation, but she beat him to it.
"I believe we are both newcomers to this fair land, good sir." She held out a gloved hand.
Gibbs fell into the roll perfectly, slipping his hand under hers as he gave a low bow, leaning heavily on the walking stick. "My lady, thy beauty doth stagger the sun as it travels towards yon sunset. I am Jeames Hadricke, Earl of Bedford, and I am at thy service."
"Thou honor me, kind sir. I am Guillette le Blont, the true and rightful heir to the throne that was stolen away from my father, Lord Guillaumin Philippot le Blont."
The team knew that her insistence of royalty was one of many reasons the local Faire was upset with her intrusion, but as the old saying goes, flattery will get you everywhere. "Your Highness, the honor is mine. Mayest I escort you to thine abode?" His hand still under hers, Gibbs shifted so that his entire arm was supporting hers.
They were both silent until they had moved away from the crowds. Once they had more privacy, she began to stroke his hand. "Is it true that you had an accident in the modern world?" Her French accent had transitioned to her Russian accent and Gibbs knew she was taking the bait. "Yes, my now ex-wife became impatient waiting to become my widow and tried to hurry the process along."
"What a silly woman." Fully Anja and not the Princess, she snuggled against him. "I would take such good care of a man like yourself."
He pulled her closer still. "Oh, I imagine you would."
Now that they were coming into range of her encampment, she slipped back into persona, as did Gibbs. "Verily, I thank thee, Lord Bedford. Prithee, I find it helpful to support the peasants in the townships as I travel, and treat my workmen to a night of local ale. Might I see thee at the local tavern with the quaint name?"
"It has held no interest to me til now, but for thee, I wouldst. In truth, no drink couldst compare with the pleasure of thine company, but to assist the local peasantry is a kind and noble deed." Now at the entry of her camp, he bowed and kissed her fingers. "Til tonight, M'lady."
-NCIS-
Inside the tent, Ducky had looked amused as he checked the folds of his brat. "Really, Jethro, much more sweet talk like that and your teeth will begin to rot. Are you sure you're not laying it on a bit thick?"
A grin and a raised eyebrow was all he received before Gibbs changed the subject. "Are you sure about this plan of yours, old man?"
"Quite certain, and it's actually Sarah's idea, not mine. I don't doubt that her brother would not be thrilled with her playing such an active role, but she will be quite safe. The men who will play her attackers are gentlemen that she has known for years. I assure you, Sarah will be fine."
To look a little more accessible, Gibbs wore only the doublet over his shirt, and not the velvet jerkin. He'd also traded out the standard cuffs and collar of his shirt for the extra pair, which were much more formal. When he'd seen just how frilly and lacy they were, he'd known just why McGee had kept them hidden as long as possible.
Now he was sitting at a table in the Bawdy Bosom. DiNozzo had given him a snappy 'G'Day, Your Lordship' before he went back to wiping down tables and trading humorous insults with some of Anja's men that were already there. The woman herself arrived a few minutes later, obviously on the prowl.
Gibbs noticed that she, too, had removed a layer of her garb and struggled to remember what Tim had called it. Ah, yes, a partlet; a semi-sheer caplet that had covered her shoulders and chest. Without it, she fit right into the ambiance of the tavern, the low, square neckline of her gown giving an ample view of the treasures normally hidden.
He stood and kissed her hand before calling out to the nearby DiNozzo. "You there, boy."
"Yes, Your Worship?" Somewhere in the course of the day, DiNozzo had picked up a bit of a cockney accent and the attitude that went with it. Gibbs gave it right back.
"Might this tavern have a bottle fit for a lady? None of the common swill, lad, bring her Highness the finest bottle your mistress has hidden away and be quick about it."
-NCIS-
Throughout the grounds of the Faire, the rest of the team was equally busy. Knowing all the regulars had an advantage and Tim had invited himself into a camp of an old friend, Ziva in tow. Sitting across from Anja Clark's encampment gave them a bird's eye view of the comings and goings of her hired help. Most had left, presumably for the tavern or their display pavilion, but two had remained behind. Ziva listened to the argument that was going on in Russian, somebody was not happy with their mistress's interest in the new man she had latched onto today out on the List.
Hearing fragments of a language he didn't know, McGee kept up the conversation at the campfire, allowing Ziva to appear as if she were listening intently while actually her focus was on the next camp over.
Even further over, the activity was increasing at the display pavilion. A young wench with long, brown hair and a fiery temper was being accosted by several apparently drunk young men. An older Scot came to her rescue, the yelling and shouting managed to distract the men standing watch and two figures slipped inside.
"It's over here." Chair located, it only took a few minutes for Abby to swab for blood and collect evidence while Palmer examined the back of the chair. He'd used the damage from the body to map out which spikes had carried the lethal charge and the evidence remained behind if you knew what to look for. A night camera recorded the evidence without a tell-tale flash and moments later they were gone, the watchmen still enthralled with the young woman and her overly amorous suitors.