"Very well, if I must," Brenden said with a chuckle. "Give me the address of your next set of friends."
Eleanor frowned. "You're not coming with me?"
"I am, but I thought it best if I found a carriage of my own, lest I had to leave early. I fear I may have obligations of my own approaching," Brenden said, though in truth he had not idea what obligations he was referring to.
Eleanor shrugged, and gave Brenden directions on how to get there. Brenden took careful note of them, committing them to memory. The two exchange temporary goodbyes, and then Eleanor's carriage headed off.
Brenden glanced around the street, not entirely positive where he would find a carriage but feeling certain that if he displayed enough confidence he would locate one.
The street grew blurry after several minutes of searching, and Brenden blinked in surprise. On instinct he reached to his shirt and found a pair of small pince-nez tucked at the collar. He pulled them out and slid them onto his nose, finding he could see much better with them and then promptly forgetting there were there.
Finally he spotted a properly adorned carriage heading down the street and, mindful of the puddles and filth, stepped out to block the carriage's path.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" the driver asked indignantly.
"I was about to ask you the same," Brenden said with equal indignity.
"And just who do you think you are, laddie, talking to me like that?" the driver replied.
"My name is Brendien Bhamase, and I do not appreciate such lip from my servants," the boy replied, oblivious to the further butchery of his name.
This left the driver flabbergasted, and Brendien took the oppertunity to walk over and open the door to the carriage, peering with eyes that shifted from brown to a startling blue through his pince-nez to see who the current occupant of the carriage was.
