He's there rather without appearing to have come: a dark young man of Mediterranean aspect, twenty-five or so, soberly dressed. He stands easily in the doorway with his arms folded, surveying the room cautiously.

Typist: This chatty lad is Leonato, offspring of Don John and Hero. He's mostly harmless.

"...Ceri? Ceri, it's not funny anymore. You win, alright?" The young man who emerges from the bushes has a smudge on his nose, some leaves in his hair, and is just old enough to begin to get lanky. "...hello?" He frowns and looks around. "Shoot."

I couldn't resist. Pedr, Ceri's younger brother and the son of Peredur and Cimorene. He's ( Read more... )

The carriage that rattles to a stop outside the mansion late at night is of a very old-fashioned kind, and is being drawn by a pair of matched black horses. The coachman reins them in before hopping off the carriage and disappearing into the night, presumably to find a stable to put his horses in ( Read more... )

*though she's well put-together, she's just a little less well put-together than she should be, and so she's hastily smoothing down her skirts and adjusting her collar as she realizes that she's found herself surrounded by people* *she's tallish, around five foot nine, and slim, dressed in slightly darker colours than are probably considered ( Read more... )

*in comparison to her brother, she's also redheaded and nice to look at; in contrast, she's younger, about sixteen, dressed simply, with very little decoration save some ribbons tied round her waist and in her hair, and carries a parasol at her side. She actually blushes when she sees the assembly ( Read more... )