(2023-05-30) A Ladies' Ladylike Shopping Spree

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	Dara and Sintha head out shopping together, before the politically-minded tea. They discuss //practically// everyone. There are //so many italics//.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: Ringside Seats

The Fallon townhouse, outside the Park District at the end of the row overlooking the Harbor, needs neither number nor nameplate: It is the one with the dark blue door, the silver knocker in the shape of a kraken. The windowboxes are a tumble of blue lobelia and trailing tendrils of darker blue morning glory, crowned with foam-white alyssum.

It is a breezy morning, the sky that indifferent shade of flat white that is neither sun nor cloud, a mild overcast that makes a dull, diffuse glow of the daylight. The wind off the harbor is brisk but warm, none of early spring's chill yet lingering.

Dara Tennerow walks up to the door, the very picture of carefully curated casual. Her dark hair falls in curls down her back and she's wearing a dress in a light springy blue, with blue and yellow flowers detailed on the skirt. She carries a small bag in the same color, with a little yellow flower on the corner indicating that perhaps the bag was designed for just this outfit. She smiles, with a touch of nervousness that she quickly banishes in her face, and then steps up to grab the kraken and make her presence known.

The door opens on the precise count of five after Dara's last knock, and the butler smiles out at her. He is a burly, barrel-chested man with his greying hair tied back in a sailor's queue, and he might look rather like a pirate playing unconvincing dress-up if it weren't, actually, so convincing: His tailcoat uniform is impeccable, his manner gracious and formal. "Lady Dara," he says, and bows to her. "Please. Her ladyship will be only a moment."

"I'm coming!" calls Sintha's voice from down the airy white-wainscoted hallway. "I'm practically there!"

The butler does not roll his eyes, because he is a butler and a good one. He does stand aside to usher Dara in. "The sitting room is this way," he murmurs, and leads her down the hall and through the door on the left, to sit. And wait.

It isn't a terribly long wait, as Sintha Fallon goes; it's only about five minutes before she comes sailing breathlessly into the room, beaming at Dara. She has her hair pulled back in a soft chignon, and is wearing a ladies' day suit of cream-colored linen; the high collar of her jacket, the cuffs of her sleeves, and the hem of her skirt are all embroidered with abstract dark-blue whorls that might be meant to represent waves. "Dara," she enthuses, and air-kisses the other woman so ecstatically that the air feels a little embarrassed. "Gosh, aren't you the most fetching? Let me see you!" She stands back to sweep Dara's ensemble with a look. "Such a spring blossom!"

Dara returns the air kisses as enthusiastically as they're given. As Sintha steps back, Dara holds out her skirt in the suggestion of a curtsey, perhaps to better show off the pattern. "I do try, Sintha, but I'm afraid I haven't your flair." Her gaze flicks up and down Sintha's own ensemble. "You look lovely. Oh, and I should congratulate you, on your brother's upcoming wedding!"

Sintha beams and dips her own merry curtsey, her smile as smug as a cat's. "Gosh, thank you! It's awfully exciting, and I can't even tell you how astonished I am! I mean, honestly, Shay, you might warn me a little, next time!" She laughs. "The wedding is going to be precious, though, I can hardly wait."

She makes a moue and casts Dara an impish, gleaming look. "It will be ever-so-soon. Apparently neither of them can bear to wait." Her tone is slyly insinuating: You know. You know why they can't bear to wait. Nudge nudge.

And then in the next moment she's breezy-blithe again. "Come on, then! Where shall we begin? What are you looking for today, do you think?" She links arms with Dara to tow her back into the hallway and toward the front door.

Dara giggles at the sly insinuation, but she can't quite mask a brief moment of wistful longing in her eyes.

"I'm certain the wedding will be a fabulous affair, if the charity gala is anything to go by!" Dara says excitedly, tilting her head towards Sintha as they walk. "But today… today I wanted to refresh my wardrobe. It's nearly summer and I feel I haven't a stitch to wear! I'm certain my brother would disagree, but, well… what do brothers know? There's a lovely little tailor in the Mage District I often patronize, but have you any recommendation?"

"Oh, there's a darling woman in the Canal District just outside Trade — you wouldn't think it was the place, honestly, with that location — but she does really remarkable work and is very good about specific requests. But let's go and see yours first, if you like, hm?"

Sintha shepherds Dara out the door and onto the street. "How is your handsome brother, anyway? I didn't see him at the Gala!"

"Oh, sure, I'll go to as many dressmakers as needed," Dara smiles, leaning against Sintha slightly as they move out into the street. "So which handsome brother are you referring to? Leric was all hung up over an elf he met in Northrend, and Devon was locked away in the library with Aubrienna." She says this last like it's terribly scandalous, with no indication that the the library was actually a public setting.

"Oh gosh, that elf," says Sintha inscrutably and laughs. "Well it was Lord Tennerow himself I meant, I would have expected him to be about in the ballroom, all gallantry and glad-handing what with all the ladies and the election. But he was saving all his gallantry for one young lady, hm? Gosh I envy those Glenarvan girls their lovely hair, don't you?"

"I suppose I encouraged it," Dara winces. "Maybe I was thinking more with my heart than my head, and he does trust my advice."

"It's awfully lucky for them, isn't it? Brothers like Shay and Lord Tennerow, that is, to have sisters so clever and concerned for them. Are you having doubts? About Aubri?" She tilts her head, her bright eyes avid. Spill, girl.

"About Aubri? Oh, Light, no, she's a treasure. Did you know she's a knife fighter?" Dara gives a nervous giggle. "I expect my brother will simply adore that about her. I only meant, doubts that I advised him correctly at the gala. I did think he'd find his way to speak to some of his possible future colleagues, and not only a young girl with shining hair. He ought to marry soon, though. He's already positively ancient for it."

"Remind me of how old he is?" asks Sintha.

"Devon? He's thirty-six. Why do you ask?" Dara looks over at her curiously.

Sintha shrugs airily. "Oh, just because you said he's ancient. I don't think he's really beyond saving though. Gentlemen do not go off quite so fast as young ladies, mm? Shay is thirty-two, and had assured me he'd be perfectly happy to wait until forty or forty-five, the beast." She rolls her eyes. "And yet he turned up his nose at any number of ladies I presented because they were past the age of twenty-six. Which, first of all, I am twenty-eight so I do rather take umbrage, Siamus Aidan, and second of all, is how you know it is absolutely true love with the Duchess, because she's thirty."

Sintha says thirty in a stage whisper, her eyes very wide, as though it is a bad word.

"At any rate I don't think thirty-six is hopeless. Has he — oh. Is he… interested in ladies? I mean he does seem amenable to Aubri, but…."

"Oh, that's just Devon. He's absolutely interested in ladies, he just keeps everything all locked up in his own head and all that comes out in the open is amenable." Dara winces and adds, "That's why I nearly despaired of him, because of course ladies love unbridled passion." She flushes faintly at that last, and adds, "Do you think many others think that, about twenty-six?"

Sintha opens her mouth to offer a breezy answer, pauses to consider Dara, and then says kindly, "Oh, gosh, no! I mean some gentlemen do, you know, think of childbearing years and whatnot, but it's terribly coldblooded of them — which is frankly Shay to a tee. Everyone thinks he's so swoony because of the way he can't stop flirting with anything, but do you know what it was about the Duchess that seduced him?" She leans in, conspiratorial, and says in that stage whisper again, "She knows calculus."

She straightens and makes a face. "Can you imagine? But it only goes to show that you may as well go ahead and be thirty and accomplished rather than worry about being twenty-six and beautiful. Not that" — she hastens to add — "the Duchess isn't beautiful. But you know. What sorts of accomplishments does your brother enjoy in a lady?"

"Whyever would one need to know calculus?" Dara ponders. "And I wouldn't think that would cause one to feel like… well, you know. Your brother is rather swoony, but of course now engaged which is lovely. As for my brother… hm. He's a hard one to read. I rather think he's fond of women with musical talent, but I don't know if I've just beaten that into his head myself. Things that require creativity, though, he definitely likes that. And he likes being surprised, though you would never think it to speak to him."

"Does he? You're quite correct, I wouldn't have thought it, and I am surprised to hear it! Naturally he must love music, with you for a sister, but what sorts of… creativity besides, do you think? A lady who paints, like Lady Moore? Or sews, like Lady Cressidha? Not that either of them is on the market, I mean — just by way of examples. Oh! We should find a lovely singer for him, and when you are sisters you can accompany her on the harp!" Sintha laughs.

Dara giggles, and then indicates a small building with tasteful purple curtains on its picturesque windows. One might think it's a little house, rather than a business, except for the confidence with which Dara approaches. "Here we are, Mr. Villan's shop. Do not tease him about the name, of course, he's no villain. Really rather a talent with tailoring, and of course with a magical touch."

"I would never tease, darling," says Sintha, who teases constantly. "I've heard of his work, but never frequented. I'll be thrilled to see it. Tell me, Lady Dara, what are your goals? Not in a husband, I mean — for yourself? Calculus by thirty? A career?" She follows Dara in through the shop door.

"Not in a husband…" Dara says, confused, and then something sad flickers through her eyes as that question is clearly translated in her mind to what will you do if you never marry? "I'm not quite sure. I've no special interest in maths, but have you? I suppose I would keep up with the harp. Lately, Devon seems to think I should learn combat, but well… what are your goals?" Do tell me, older unmarried woman, says her gaze as she turns back toward swathes of fabric.

"Oh, well. I keep very busy with my engineering. I'm working on a rather major project for Shay, in fact, though I don't know how much success to anticipate — I was thinking I might confer with Lucy Moore on the subject. Do you know Lucy? Absolutely brilliant, a bit scattered. Beyond that I have — oh, the horses, my political meddling, managing some family business when Shay's at sea, that sort of thing. I suppose the Duchess Esprit will assume most of that last item once she's Lady Fallon, but honestly bless her for it, I've never had Shay's passion for numbers." She makes a wrinkle-nosed face and pauses to test a sample of fog-grey raw silk between her thumb and fingers. "Ooooh. Well, and also I suppose combat could be rather interesting, if one was disposed toward the service. Like Lady Cressidha or Lady Caliette. There's no reason, honestly, that brothers ought to take it all on. Naturally there are more genteel ways to serve — the arcane, like Lady Cressidha, if one has the gift for it, or perhaps the holy. Lady Ismene — you know, Lord Ference's daughter-in-law, married his Hazan son? — is a healer. Stars, but she's precious.

"Did you know that all three of them are in Cobalt Company, in fact? Oh, and also Lady Alaisa, who is Lord Ference's secretary and translator, and in fact Lucy Moore, now that I think of it! Gosh but Cobalt Company does seem rather the fashionable employer for young ladies of the social set these days. Mercenaries! How funny!"

"Goodness, engineering! And there were so many of them at the gala the other day, but I'm afraid I was rather intimidated by their, well, mercenary nature. As for the rest, Devon's always been all over handling the family business, but that's him having taken it all over at sixteen, and I never did get a bit of maths in edgewise. I am not terribly certain I'm disposed toward the service myself. Perhaps as a priestess, like Lady Ismene? But then, I've never been so holy." Dara smiles apologetically, running her fingers over a bronze-colored silk. "I'm not sure if this would make me look too pale. What do you think?"

Sintha steps back to do the full Critical Consideration, her head canted. "Hm. It's a lovely color, honestly, and it would bring out some of the lights in your hair — but I really think cooler colors would suit better, with your complexion and your eyes. Hm? Some jewel tones. Something assertive. You have such lovely dramatic coloring! You should absolutely not hesitate to be pale, it's awfully striking with your hair and eyes. I fear pastels don't really do it justice, and warmer colors might make you a bit sallow."

"Hm, perhaps you're right," Dara smiles, moving over to a shimmery dark purple fabric. "Something like this, maybe? Do you know them well, Lady Cressidha, Lady Lucy, and so on? Whatever made them want to become mercenaries in the first place?"

"That's very nice," Sintha approves. "And I can't say I know Lady Cressidha well. She's rather — one hates to say chilly, I'm sure she's delightful, just rather… hm. Serious, in that Aspenwood way. Very polite. Lucy, of course, is an absolute doll, we are the best of friends. She joined them… last year, after that ghastly business with her husband. The Aspenwoods were awfully good to her and I suppose that was persuasive, in part. Also Lucy's always been rather… adventurous, and I suppose now that she has her independence, she's decided to use it."

"Goodness, yes, that was absolutely terrible, I was positively devastated for her," Dara says, putting a hand over her heart. "I can't say as I've spoken much with the Lady Cressidha. Though she did go on about the most dreadful things with Count Tyrrell. I was rather shocked."

"Oh, the tentacles." Sintha laughs delightedly. "What fun. He's a bit peculiar, Captain Tyrrell. Do you know him well? Your neighbor, isn't he?"

"He is, yes!" Dara says, pulling a bit of the fabric along her arm to consider. "Though he's hardly ever in Redridge, or even Stormwind. He's something of a mystery neighbor, you might say. Very odd man. Do you know him well?"

"I do not," says Sintha. "I get the impression the man doesn't want to be known well." She seems affronted by this, as if he's being Mysterious just to annoy her. "He's awfully good friends with Shay, but of course that doesn't mean Shay will tell me anything about him. He doesn't like to talk about his friends." There is definitely a weird italic emphasis on friends.

"Oh? Does your brother have many friends whose confidence he keeps?" Dara has definitely picked up on the weird italics.

Sintha makes a face. "Oh, loads of them, off and on. They do come and go, you know?" She pauses to consider a bolt of runecloth that shimmers with violet iridescence. "Oh, I wish this one wasn't purpley like that, it doesn't suit me at all. I do like the black, but."

"Black can be very striking, can't it?" Dara says, looking her over. "Or do you worry about looking too /funereal?"

"Oh, no, I adore black. It's just this purpley shine it's got that I don't think will suit. And it is awfully stern for the season." She goes back to consider the bronze silk Dara had been admiring. "Hmm."

"Lady Alwynneria looked ever so fetching at the gala," Dara says, glancing up to see where Mr. Villan might be. He seems to appear in a corner, as if summoned. He probably wasn't, though, there aren't any warlocks in the room. "I mean, she looked nice to start with, but then later in the evening…"

"Oh, did you like that?" Sintha laughs. "I did think it was rather a triumph. It would have been more of a triumph if she'd been absolutely drowned in dance requests afterward, but I think the only person who danced with her was Shay and then she did rather a flummox at Lady Thenedain."

Dara giggles. "She is such a nervous creature, I daresay she was trying to creep away half the time even I was talking to her, at the Children's Day. She has a kind heart, though, I can always tell such things."

"Oh, she's utterly the sweetest, poor darling, she just hardly knows what to do with her mouth when she's speaking to someone. Unless it's on the subject of the law, in which case she is suddenly as cool as an encyclopedia. Which does rather explain how she does her job, I had wondered what it must be like for her in court or a negotiation." Sintha holds up a corner of the bronze silk by her cheek, setting off her whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair. "What do you think? Would you be awfully cross if I got some of this instead? Honestly I think it suits me better than it did you." She offers Dara a regretful little pout.

"Oh, no, by all means," Dara shakes her head with a smile. "It's a lovely fabric and I was hardly claiming rights to it. Would you like to arrange for a dress to be made?" She nods over towards the tailor waiting silently.

"A day suit, I think," decides Sintha. "A cut like this one, with the full skirt." She's already breezing toward the tailor, holding the bolt of cloth and delivering instructions as she approaches. "A bishop sleeve, I think, and a high collar, with embroidery along the collar and down the front. Gold, if you please, something to look rather like military brocade." She flashes the tailor her sweetest smile.

Sintha knows what she wants.

She turns back to Dara. "What do you think? Will you get something with that purple? Oh, are you coming to tea? It's going to be awfully fun. Have Shay and your brother talked, do you know? I don't mean ever, of course they've ever talked, but about the election?"

The tailor takes in the information with a focused smile, taking the bolt of cloth and moving aside to take down notes.

"I do think it's a nice color," Dara says, biting her lip. The tailor finishes taking notes and looks up at his next customer. Dara smiles and says, "You know what sorts of dresses I like, Mr. Villan, I'm sure. With this color, I'm thinking silver embroidery at the edges? Something not terribly dull, maybe something in a bird motif. And it's going to be terribly hot this summer, I'm absolutely certain, so perhaps more of a slit on the skirt and a lower neckline?" She smiles innocently as the tailor takes the bolt of cloth from her, and turns back to Sintha. "As for your brother and Dev, I don't believe they have much recently, though they ought. They have quite a lot in common, those two, but I imagine your brother's been terribly busy lately - arranging his engagement, of course."

"Oh, gosh," says Sintha, already contemplating a bolt of sky-blue linen. "To be honest, all of the wedding business falls to me, Shay loathes events. He's busy putting together a navy, is what. Well, on paper, anyway."

"A paper navy?" Dara asks with a little giggle. "I do it will one day involve actual ships and men. But goodness that reminds me of that project my brother's on about. Pages and pages of numbers everywhere, it's all rather tedious. His obsession is the army though, naturally."

Sintha laughs. "Paper for now, but it's plotted out to the last spar of wood. An absolute book of lists and numbers and blueprints, he and the Duchess spent the whole of a day last week poring over it."

"The Duchess? I swear the papers multiplied after she came by to talk to my brother over tea," Dara raises her eyebrows, looking over the blue linen. "I daresay they should talk, make a plan to dominate land and sea. And that really is a lovely color, isn't it? Just the shade of the sky on a cool spring morning."

"It is such a color. I'm not sure pastels suit me either, though, hm? Not cool ones, at any rate. Perhaps if there's a lovely blush color…." She cranes her neck, surveying the selection.

Dara glances at Sintha appraisingly, and then strides over to the other side of the room selecting a soft fabric in pinkish red, reminiscent of a sunset. "Something like this, maybe? It's a little more dramatic than a simple blush, I know."

"Ooooh!" Sintha's eyes round rapturously. "Gosh, yes, that's quite the thing, I think! Oh, a lovely blouse and maybe an airy sundress of some kind." She moves after Dara to sample the fabric between her fingers again. "How perfect! Shay is awfully set on backing that Captain Tyrrell for his House bloc, but I don't think the man has a chance if I'm honest and I'd hate for Shay to tie himself to a losing platform, hm? He and Lord Ference and Lady Thenedain are such a tremendous trio, they really ought to choose a strong fourth to present a unified front with."

"Oh, yes?" Dara says mildly, looking at the fabric. "Well, if he's terribly set on Count Tyrrell, then I expect my brother has similar interests. They would be part of the Redridge bloc, of course, if they're both on the House. I don't think Dev cares at all that the man's a warlock."

"Oh, Shay's delighted about the warlock thing — as long as they're of Captain Tyrrell's mind about it, naturally, and not these murderous madmen beneath the Slaughtered Lamb — and he's got all manner of military applications in mind he'd like to apply them to. But as I say, I'm not sure of Tyrrell's own chances. He's rather — hm. He's not a very political creature, dare I say it. Doesn't play the game. Which means there ought to be a fourth member of Shay's bloc to present a unified front, but of course Shay would prefer it was someone who also favors Tyrrell's warlock reform agenda, because he certainly wants to get it heard for the man, at the very least."

Sintha tilts her head back and smiles at Mr. Villan. "This one as well, please!" she singsongs, holding up a corner of the sunset linen. "A blouse, high-necked and with flutter sleeves? And then a sundress of some kind, perhaps not too shaped, something very loose and breezy?"

"Certainly, Lady Sintha," Mr. Villan says with a polite smile, taking the bolt of cloth. "A lovely color."

Dara waits for Sintha to hand over the cloth and says, "I expect he would at that. I've heard such rumors about Count Tyrrell's speech not long ago, and Dev's always been one to stand by a fr…" she hesitates, and amends to, "…a reliable neighbor. But who knows? If he's such a good friend of Siamus's, and Dev and Siamus get along, then perhaps we will all come to know him better, despite his desire to be an enigma. And anyway, I can't imagine he wouldn't be in favor of reforming something so dangerous, of course."

Sintha tilts her head at the fabric she's currently examining, her gaze not quite on Dara. "Do you think? That Dev and Shay will get along? Your brother — I mean, a wonderful man, to be sure — has always seemed so — reserved? Conservative." She flicks a glance at Dara now.

"In… in what sense exactly?" Dara busies herself running her fingers over a smooth grey silk, color blossoming on her cheeks. "I didn't mean to say they ought to be friends friends, but are their political views so very different? They're both quite fond of the military, and I can't imagine Dev not taking a hard line against the Horde… orcs killed our parents for Light's sake. Perhaps Devon is a little more preoccupied with here, but…"

"Oh?" Sintha raises her eyebrows. "I didn't realize. I knew Lord Tennerow had served at Hyjal, and one does tend to hear — you know, the cease-fire, joining forces with the Horde, whatnot. Which is, naturally, in part what led to the debacle at Theramore — forgetting not just our alliances but our enemies." She considers Dara. "I suppose if your brother is a hard-liner on orcs, he might lead with that in talking to Shay. It would go a long way toward… putting them on common ground."

"Oh, yes, that was years ago for me, I scarcely remember them," Dara says, waving a hand to diffuse the potentially heavy topic. "Devon, though, remembers quite clearly, I think. I could advise he lead with that. I know they did join forces at Hyjal, and I suppose it was a good thing… world not ended and all that. But you can't trust orcs, not unless there's a knife at their own throat, you know?"

"Never," says Sintha with a coldness quite unlike her usual airy tones. "And naturally it's in their interest to cooperate when the world's in peril, as they want to have this world too, but that doesn't make them allies. Even now in Northrend, Shay tells me, when everyone ought to be focused on the Lich King, the orcs and Forsaken are still harrying the Alliance."

Dara makes a disgusted sound. "If only we could have just kept them out of Northrend entirely. It must be hard enough trying to conduct a war without all of that nonsense going on. Having to spend resources watching for knives in our backs from those creatures…" she shakes her head, picking up a fabric of shifting colors of grey. "Oh, this is lovely. Brings to mind the sky during a storm, rather, doesn't it?"

"Oh, stars, Dara, that is exquisite. You should have a day suit or a riding habit or something from it. Don't you think?" Sintha moves in to examine the cloth, her expression aglow.

"Ooh, maybe a riding habit! Mr. Villan, could you?" Dara waves him over excitedly. "Can you just imagine, flowing in the wind like billowing storm clouds?"

The tailor comes again to take notes on the requested garment with an indulging smile. He is probably going to make a lot of money today.