(2022-10-18) Making Friends and Influencing People

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	Ben and Sil visit Sil's widowed ex-sister-in-law and baby nephew in the hopes of building a bridge of friendship.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

It’s a busy day at the Stormwind Bank, and people of all sorts are streaming in and out of the solid building, dozens of conversations reduced to contextless babble in the brisk autumn wind. Just outside, a brown-haired young man rests his back against the wall, an unmoving node in the swarm of people. Somehow, he seems to not be attracting any particular attention from the crowd or city guards. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t look like trouble, with his neatly combed hair and well-fitted but modest brown suit. Or maybe it’s the yellow flower in his hand, which makes it clear he’s waiting for someone.

Well, the flower might be misleading, but he is waiting for someone.

Ben Hazan approaches the bank with a purposeful stride rather than at his usual ambling pace; he’s tall enough to peer over most of the crowd around him, craning only now and then, scanning for someone. When he spots the loitering young man his pace quickens further, and he murmurs apologies as he weaves his way around more leisurely pedestrians in his path.

He, too, is slightly more presentable than usual, wearing his navy blue vest and trousers with a neatly-pressed white shirt — although as usual, the top shirt button is undone and his sleeves are rolled. His boots have been shined for the occasion and his hair damp-combed in some effort to neaten it, clearly not destined to last long. His hands are in his pockets; under one arm he is carrying a roughly-shoebox-sized box. (Not actually a shoebox.)

He stops before Sil and nods gravely. “Hey. Lookin’ sharp. Hope I’m okay.” He rakes a hand self-consciously through his hair. (I told you it wouldn’t last.)

Sil nods, and a lock of his own hair flops out of place. He shoves it back. “Yeah, you look great. Real officer-like. Just two respectable guys comin’ to visit a widow and a baby.” He smiles at Ben. “I tried toys for the kid and also a pie, before. So this time, I thought maybe a flower’d be disarming. What do you think?”

Ben considers the flower seriously. “Yeah. It’s a nice flower. Yellow is a good color, you know? White is kind of funeral and red is, like — you are tryin’ to get with her. Yellow is friendly.”

He takes the box from under his arm and hefts it. “I brun– I brought cookies? I do not know what is a good ‘Sorry I locked your husband in a wardrobe that one time’ present, but I figured everybody likes cookies?” He looks hopeful. Cookies, right?

“Yeah, everybody likes cookies,” Sil nods eagerly, but something in his eyes still looks worried. “And that’s what I thought, too. Yellow is like… here’s a pretty flower for your breakfast table. Not like I’m trying to court or anything. All right, let’s do this?”

Sil pushes off from the wall with one foot, heading out into the trade district. He glances back to see if Ben’s following. “It’s not too far from here, they got a little townhouse.”

Ben nods, following along gamely as though he does not remember exactly where the townhouse is, the cookie box under his arm and his hands in his pockets again. After a few more paces in silence, he clears his throat. “Hey, Sil. I got to tell you somethin’. It is… not related to this, but it ain’t– is not great news. So I dunno if you want it before or after.”

Sil turns sharply to Ben, suddenly a lot more worried. “Your folks okay? Mizzy’s? Guess before, now, ‘cause you can’t say a thing like that and just leave it.”

Ben grimaces. “Yeah, sorry, that was– maybe not the best way to start it. But my folks’re fine, and Dane. And Mizzy’s ma. It’s, uh. Your friend, Aze? I run into– ran into” — a pause to cuss briefly under his breath, because Grammar is Tricky — “a Company priest yesterday. Selwin? Salven? Something like. He knew Aze’s sister.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sil brightens. “I better get them in contact, then. Aze’s been lookin’ for her sister. Colson even said he’d ask his contacts, too, ‘cause she didn’t answer Aze’s lett…” Sil trails off, as he notes the past tense. “Bad news, huh?”

Ben nods, somber. “She is– the sister is–” He hesitates. “I mean, there is not a great way to say it, I guess. The sister is a death knight now. She got– I mean, she must’ve got killed an’ then raised up.” Another pause. “I am real sorry. You will probably… I mean, you have got a lot goin’ on already. But she will probably need a friend, I figured. So.”

“Damn,” Sil says, stumbling in his stride and then turning to look at Ben. “That’s a lot worse than dead. I never knew the girl, but… yeah, Aze’s gonna be real torn up. She… she loved her sister. Hadn’t seen her since the Third War, though.”

Ben nods again. “I am sorry. If I can– help there, too, you lemme know, yeah? I know she is in Outland so when I head back that way if you need someone droppin’ in on her now and again, or–” He shrugs wearily and glances down at the box beneath his elbow. “Don’t suppose she likes cookies?” he asks hopefully.

“I mean, who doesn’t?” Sil says, with a shrug. “And food’s a traditional thing with, well, if the person’s dead-dead. I bet she’d like a visitor, if she’s not being all moody. Though probably most people would be moody about something like that, and she’s sorta… you know.”

He starts back in the direction of the townhouse and adds back to Ben, “I went with her to learn some dancin’ with the Aspenwoods the other day, and she was sayin’ how she ought to drop in on you and Mizzy. Mordecai tried to tell her to write in advance, and she was all ‘that’s how you get ambushed’. So uh… anyway, I guess that means she’d like to see you?”

Ben raises his eyebrows and then knits them, a swift up-and-down of bewilderment. “She would? Uh. I mean, okay. I can drop in on her, or she’s welcome to, y’know. Vice-verse. I dunno what Mizzy’d make of her, you know how she is with prickly people, but. Worth a try, I guess?” There is a frowning pause while he contemplates this, and then another thought strikes him. “… Dancing?”

Sil chuckles. “Yeah, we did some Stormwind dancing and then she taught some sin’dorei dancing. She’s got real good at gettin’ around with the whole…” he gestures at his face “…situation there. And a hell of a lot less prickly than back when you last met her. I guess she and Mordecai hit it off or something? I wouldn’t have thought.”

“Huh.” The eyebrows go up again. “Well. Maybe she will get on with Mizzy, then?” Ben sounds dubious. His gaze shifts past Sil and he up-nods at their approach. “Nearly there.” It sounds kind of like a warning.

Sil’s expression sobers as they approach the townhouse, and he holds the flower in front of him as if it were a shield.

“Here goes nothing…” he says, stepping forward and knocking firmly on the front door. There’s a long silence, and Sil steps back, turning to Ben. “Maybe she’s out? She’s normally not out. But I mean, she could be…”

The door budges open, interrupting his rambling. A woman peeks out, her pale, anxious face framed by the coppery hair falling to her shoulders. She has faint, dark circles under her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to be all that much older than her visitors. She spots Sil and says, “You again? I told you I didn’t…” She falls silent when she sees Ben.

Reflexively, Ben does his best boyish shucks, ma’am smile. Barely a moment later he seems to realize that maybe it isn’t the best expression for the occasion, and he is instantly puppy-eyed with solemnity. He gives the widow a Respectful Nod™. “Ma’am,” he says.

She nods back, lulled briefly by the respect, but then her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you one of those mercenaries, too?”

“An officer, ma’am,” Sil supplies hopefully. “He’s a lieutenant mercenary.”

“Yes’m,” says Ben. “Lieutenant Ben Hazan of Cobalt Company, paladin-initiate.” Honesty is the best policy, but so is framing things for effect. “Silvestre’s best friend. I am sorry for your loss. Sil has been pretty broken up, an’ I thought I would like to offer my condolence as well.”

“A paladin,” she repeats, and something seems to relax in her expression, just a hair. “I… I don’t think Simon knew any paladins, but… if you’d like to come in?”

Sil glances sharply at Ben in surprise, but he just as quickly covers the expression with a friendly smile. “I brought you a flower, too, Patricia. For, um, brightening the place.”

Patricia presses her lips together and doesn’t answer Sil. Still, she steps back, leaving the door open for the two men to follow her inside.

Ben waits for Sil to lead the way, his deferential manner an effort to clarify that this is Sil's family matter and Sil's bereavement visit, and he is here as Respectful Moral Support. Any apologies for locking people in wardrobes can come after the niceties have been established, perhaps.

Sil takes a breath like he’s about to dive into a river and walks in after Patricia Sullivan. The townhouse inside is dim, curtains pulled over the windows, and there’s the faint musty smell of a space that hasn’t been aired in some time.

Ben’s manner is one of solemn incuriosity. His expression doesn’t change and he does not look around: he is not here to pry (Respectful Moral Support). And also perhaps he has been in this house before, but let’s not cross that bridge just yet.

Patricia, who can now be seen to be wearing a tidy green cotton dress and sensible shoes, leads them through the foyer and into what appears to be a sitting room. At least, there are several chairs for sitting, and a small table where one may set a tea tray. She pulls open a curtain by the window, and rays of sunshine illuminate the dust in the air.

“You’ll understand, I haven’t been entertaining,” she says, and her voice trembles. “Can I offer you tea?”

Ben glances at Sil and then back to Patricia and offers her a smile: the Small, Sad Version™. “Ma’am, we would not like to put you to trouble on our account.” He holds out the box from under his elbow. “We did bring you some cookies, if that is okay. Sil thought it would be nice. They are homemade. My wife, Lady Ismene, is also real sorry for your loss.”

He does not say that his wife made the cookies, because that would be an outright lie and Ben is a paladin now, but it is strongly implied by, again, framing. Sympathetic wives baking cookies seems wholesome.

A fresh thought seems to strike him. “Would you like me to make some tea? I understand you have got a new baby, you must be worn off your feet by all this. You an’ Sil can sit an’ talk family while I put on a kettle, if you want to point me at it.”

For a long moment, Patricia seems to have been struck speechless. Then some kind of social muscle memory kicks in and she nods. “I– I’d appreciate that. Nate doesn’t seem to like sleeping full nights anymore. And thank you for the cookies.” She reaches out to take the box, and gestures along a hallway. “The kitchen’s just back there a little ways.”

She settles down in one of the chairs, still holding the box of cookies. Sil sits down across from her, and proffers the yellow flower.

Ben offers Patricia another sympathy smile, then heads in the direction she pointed. Behind her back, once he’s passed her, he glances back over his shoulder at Sil and nods encouragingly. You got this, bro. He vanishes down the hallway.

(The cookies are molasses.)

Patricia hesitantly reaches out to take the flower. “Three times you’ve come to visit, Silvestre. Every time I’ve told you that you’re not welcome.”

“But we’re family. Did he like the elekk?” Sil asks, trying a smile. “How was the pie?”

“We’re not, though,” she says, resting a weary head on her hand. “You made that abundantly clear, before. You don’t even know how angry it made Simon…” her voice breaks, and she looks down at the cookies. “Nate loves the elekk. He won’t sleep without it. Or with it, sometimes, but not without it.”

“I could help, sometimes,” Sil says, leaning forward. “I can watch Nate. So you can sleep some.”

“Sil with his knives and his poisons, next to my baby,” Patricia stiffens, raising her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I would never,” Sil says, and his face is the very picture of honesty. “Not till he’s old enough not to nick his own fingers.”

Patricia looks uncertainly at Sil, clearly trying to work out if that’s a joke.

“Sil is real careful about keepin’ poisons out of the kitchen, too,” Ben assures Patricia as he returns with a tea tray. He sets this on the table, glances sidelong at her and crooks a rueful smile to indicate this is definitely a joke. “He and m–I were roommates for a while. You take sugar, ma’am?”

“Plain tea is fine,” she says, holding the flower closer to her chest.

“You got people who help out with him at all?” Sil asks, gesturing Ben to the empty chair. “I mean, I know my par– your in-laws are not the warmest sort.”

Patricia nods. “My parents have been coming over, when they can. And Simon’s…” again a flash of pain runs across her face, “…they’ve assured me that I’m still a member of the family. And Nate, of course.”

“And I’m not,” Sil says, nodding as he reaches for the tea. “But I could still be a friend. I bet Nate could use a friend, when he gets bigger. I can be a good influence. Right, Ben?”

Ben offers Patricia her teacup, and then settles comfortably in the chair Sil indicated. He nods. “Sil has… come a long way, I expect, from when his folks kno–ew him. He has been on a forward squad for Cobalt Company for a while now, workin’ for the Alliance and Sha’tar in Outlands — the Sha’tar is the draenei faction out there that hung in after orc warlocks shattered the place, servin’ the Light and battlin’ the Legion — and he has been workin’ a couple years now for the dwarves’ Explorer’s League also. He is a damn fine scout, who has been commended personal by Thane Kurdran Wildhammer and Khadgar himself.” (For a given definition of “personal.”)

He hesitates and then clears his throat. His gaze on Patricia is level and earnest, and his tone and manner suggest he is broaching a delicate matter. “I have not met Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan personal, mind you, but I do suspect they have not known Silvestre real well for… well, a few years now, and they have not exactly made an effort to know him.” He spreads his hands apologetically. “Family expectations, you know? Sometimes people lose sight of each other. Does happen, even to the best.” It’s possible he is doing a low-key impression of Sevastyn or Elohad. Or both.

Patricia takes a sip of tea, listening to Ben with mounting incredulity. “If you’re trying to get me to think better of him, you might make the story a little more believable. Sil, working with legendary mages and battling the Legion? To hear my husband and Sylv… the others talk of him, you’d think Sil was an imp himself, sowing chaos wherever he goes.”

“You know I’ve been over in Outland,” Sil says quietly, pouring himself some tea. “And Ben’s a paladin… uh, paladin-initiate. He wouldn’t lie. Sylvie, on the other hand, if that’s what you were about to say…”

Patricia rests back in her chair, closing her eyes (and thus, literally losing sight of Sil). “Fine, let’s just say it’s all true. I don’t want any trouble. People who do that kind of work shed danger onto everyone around them.”

“Which is why I, um.” Sil takes a sip of tea, gathering his words. “Why I asked to be let off that team. So I could be around more, and not dragging those sort of things with me.”

Patricia opens her eyes, looking at the two men in surprise.

Ben nods gravely and casts Sil a regretful look. “Sil asked to be stepped down from the squad because he felt it is his priority to support family in their time of loss. We are disappointed to lose a damn fine scout — pardon my soldier-language, ma’am — but we do understand family obligation an’ respect Sil’s responsibilities.”

Did he rehearse any of this speech? He ain’t sayin’.

He fixes Patricia herself now with a stern, reproachful look, though his tone remains gently courteous. (Definitely Sevastyn. It’s sort of a wonder he’s not doing the accent, too.) “As to what Sylvie Sullivan has got to say of anyone, or has said in the past, I am assumin’ you are aware that she is actively wanted by authorities as a traitor to the Alliance. Unlike Silvestre. I am not surprised she might have gone around smearin’ the names of decent people.” He steeples his fingers and does an excellent Hazan Eyebrow. “If you would like me to inform Khadgar or the High Thane that you require a letter of reference from either of them, I can certainly put in your request.” His tone is, if anything, even gentler and more courteous.

“Oh, I wouldn’t… I– I don’t need a letter from Khadgar,” Patricia stammers, her disbelief melting into something that looks very similar to fear. Then she adds automatically, almost as if she were reading off a script, “and of course I have no connection to that woman, nor does Sullivan Trade & Transport. I don’t think she ever liked me in the first place, anyway.”

One of Sil’s eyebrows twitches at that, but he lets it go unremarked. “So you see, I got a lot of time to help out, for now. While helpin’s needed.”

“Sil is good with kids,” Ben offers. “I am lucky enough to have got an infant half-brother.” Are these two statements related? Has Sil been babysitting said infant brother on the regular? Who can say?

Ben shifts to lean forward earnestly in his chair, elbows on knees. “Ma’am, Sil is like a brother to me and my wife both, and I know if — Light forbid it — somethin’ were to happen to him, we would feel responsible for lookin’ after his kin and affairs even though we are not blood. So I understand how Sil is feelin’ in this case, and I also know — because Sil has told me himself — how much he regret the drift between himself and your husband. It is a damn shame they did not get to mend their fences before your husband passed, but I know he hopes he can make it up some way to Simon now. And to be sure little Nate has a good uncle around.”

He glances sidelong at Sil now and offers another Small, Sad Smile™, though his eyes are shrewdly inquiring: Too much, bro?

Sil’s answering gaze is somewhere along the lines of: Maybe, but let’s see if she buys it? He’s starting to get the hang of this body-language-telepathy thing. Then he turns back to Patricia and nods solemnly.

For her part, Patricia looks close to tears. “I guess I never did know you before, Silvestre. You were already gone by the time Simon and I…”

There’s a whimpering sound from somewhere down the hallway, and it starts to build in volume. Someone is working their way up to a wail. Patricia sets down the flower and tea on the nearby table and sighs.

“Looks like naptime is over,” she says, pushing to her feet wearily. She looks over at Sil and hesitates. “But if you want… you could come back? He’s usually awake and a bit less fussy before lunch.”

Sil’s eyes brighten, but he tries to keep the same solemn look on his face. The effect might be strange, but Patricia doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, sure. Maybe I could bring him a backup elekk.” Sil glances over at Ben, with a look that asks success?

Ben doesn’t see the look immediately because he is once again making Respectful Paladin Face at Patricia. “We will get out of your hair, ma’am. I appreciate you welcomin’ us in at a difficult time. You enjoy those cookies, an’ maybe when they are both a little bit older, Nate can meet my little brother Dane, since they are about an age.” He rises to his feet. “I know Sil will look after real well, but if Cobalt Company can do anythin’ too, you do let us know, okay?”

As he turns (Respectfully) away, he glances down at Sil and catches the look. His nod is so slight it’s basically just a slow blink, but a similarly faint quirk at the corner of his mouth says he’s smiling, too.

Sil rises, gives Patricia a perfectly-executed bow, and says, “I’ll be just a tram ride away, you ever need anything.”

Patricia nods back, still looking a little confused, and moves to see her guests to the door.

At the door, Ben nods again solemnly. “Ma’am.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and follows Sil out onto the street.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Sil lets out a long breath.

“Thanks, Ben,” he turns to smile at him, as they move out of earshot. If she could even hear over the crying baby, anyway. “That was… I cannot believe how well that worked out. I may have overplayed with how much progress I was making? She never even let me inside before. I had to leave presents by the door.”

Ben jogs an exuberant step to catch up with Sil and huffs a laugh, hands still in pockets. As soon as they’re side-by-side he slows again to a sedate pace, just in case Patricia is peeking. “Overplayed what? You ain’t overplay nothin’. An’ nothin’ I said was a lie. Just– I was worried a little that I was overplayin’ some, you know? But it was all truth. Just, sometimes you got to arrange shit the right way, yeah? You make the right face, put things in particular order.” He shrugs modestly and then grins and rakes a hand through his hair. “Damn. Good work, yeah? I was worried she was gonna bring up… the whole wardrobe thing. Which, I had a whole thing planned to say about it, too, if she did, but.” He shakes his head and makes an exaggerated whew face.

“Yeah, that might’ve undercut the heroic paladin who hangs out with Khadgar persona,” Sil chuckles. “I reckon Simon didn’t tell her much about the whole thing? I guess he wouldn’t come out looking good in that story, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” Sil reaches up to unbutton a few buttons at the top of his shirt. “And now I get to see my nephew! I probably better give it a couple days, just to not push my luck. But… maybe his elekk needs like, a little zhevra friend.”

Ben grins and claps Sil on the shoulder. “Reckon he does, prob’ly. Everybody got to have a friend.”