"No, Chrétien! You look like a Parisian, but you move like a harecatcher!"
 "Oh Augustin..." Conor turned sideways to survey himself more thoroughly in
the full length mirror. Gaul had changed a bit. the only thing they still had
was good wine. he felt like a fool, adorned in high-heeled satin slippers,
embroidered stockings, blue velvet, lace and gold buttons. And now being
slapped for not moving with graceful snobbery. Longinus could pull off the
facade perfectly. it figured.
  He waited passively while Augustin repositioned his arm in the air, and
brushed off his frock coat.
 "This is inane..."
 "the only thing that is inane, is your inability to behave yourself."
Conor eyed the waiting powdered wig with apprehension.
 "There is no way you're stuffing my head into that abomination..."
 "That 'abomination' is the highest fashion."
 "well as far as I'm concerned, fashion can sh-"
 "manners."
Conor scowled as his hand was slapped again. He felt about seven years old.
 "now sit down..."
 "why."
 "Chrétien..." Augustin's tone was threatening. Conor sat. he sighed and
waited while Augustin powdered and painted his face. When he looked back at
the mirror the face that looked back at him looked rather like it belonged in
kabuki theater.
 "I look like a woman..."
 "you look like a pretty young trump. A perfect target. Innocent, freshfaced
youths are easy to take advantage of...that is what you wanted isn't it?"
 "woman. No wig..."
 "you are an ingrate..."
 "no wig."
 "fine...have it your way...lousy little..."
Conor gave a little smile of satisfaction, while Augustin begrudgingly went
about powdering his curls and tying them back with a ribbon that matched the
color of his coat.
 "Chrétien!" Conor yelped as a pointed shoe careened into his calf, "do not
slouch!"
 "Honestly, Augustin..." Conor sighed, "first thing tomorrow I'm booking
passage away from France. Away from Europe all together."
 "and where do you plan to go, lord Chrétien?"
Conor closed his eyes, thinking. "I should like to see the Americas...I've had
more than enough of pomp and conformity to last a few decades, and just think
of it, whole new continents, with depths where no civilized man will venture
for years yet."
Augustin sniffed, "it sounds perfect for you. I can just see it...you
wandering around amid the redskinned savages weeks away from any outpost of
civilization..."
 "scoff if you will. It is the perfect time to go. the unrest of the peasants
is reaching a boiling point...I daresay revolution will break out any time
now. anyone with titles is bound to become a target."
 "Chrétien, you have always supported and helped the people. they will no
doubt remember their friends, and you will have nothing to worry about."
 "believe what you will, Augustin, but war makes men mad. i would prefer not
to see what would happen if my head were removed from my shoulders. now, do i
sufficiently resemble a cream puff?"
******************************************************************************
******
Western America, 1790

  Leaving Paris was one of the greatest decisions Conor had made for himself.
he loved the smells, the sounds, the sanctity of living alone in the middle of
no where. he'd rediscovered rabbit snares, and spear hunting and the feel of a
bow on his back. the stream provided him with cool water and plenty of fish.
he'd even managed to more or less make friends with the local tribes. at least
they didn't want to kill him or run him off their land.
  whether it was the native child he'd fished out of the river and bandaged
and fed, or the fact that when they'd stormed his cabin they hadn't found guns
or beartraps or a bolted door, or simply that they'd seen him doing his own
land worshiping, they accepted his presence. he hadn't mastered their language
yet, but he was getting there, and a few of them knew a little English from
trappers. it was enough for communication. he had yet to use Janos' technique
to lift the language barrier, but he might soon. Janos had always said the
best way to learn a new tongue was through the bed. Conor had always laughed,
but then Janos had spoken some sixteen languages so maybe there was something
to it.
  besides, he wanted to try their women. he'd heard plenty about Indian
redskinned savages, but he rather liked the way they looked. dark skinned and
exotic, with those piercing eyes...in time perhaps he would leave his cabin,
and join them. he wouldn't mind settling down, so to speak, and having a few
children running around again. It'd been a while since he'd had any,
especially any he'd been able to bring up in the heart of the wilderness. he
hoped Longinus had stayed in France too long and gotten a close up look at the
guillotine. but that was wishful thinking.
  it was summer, and summer meant no boots and no shirt, and hours in the
garden and sitting by the stream with a net. sitting by the stream with a net
meant the chance of native women coming to bathe or do washing.