The petite girl maintained perfect poise while the captain was in the tavern, neatly scribing in the book, “Elaine of Gascony—Master Gunner,” in an elegant hand.  The moment she and her mate were gone, though, she sank into a chair gasping as if she’d just been chased down the street by a ferocious dog.<br/><br/>The girl listened while the others got to know each other, carefully composing herself and praying they would not shame her by calling attention to her fear—especialy not with expressions of sympathy!<br/><br/>*   *   *<br/><br/>It was the sound of her native tongue that finally snapped her out of it.  She stood reached too smooth her skirts.  Finding herself in not only wearing leather pants—but pants as tight as any boy’s hose, she tittered nervously at the wicked outfit and strode across to the Frenchman.  She bowed Paige-boy style, quick enough that her tail of red-gold hair bounced up in the air behind her.<em>“Bonjour, monsieur Cartier.  I am Elain.  It is a pleasure to meet a Frenchman so far from home.”  </em><br/><br/><em>OOC:  When did I start this post, that so much has happened while I wrote it?</em><br/>