(2024-04-11) Two Captains

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Author:	Jessa
Summary:	Skylarke calls upon Siamus. They both have news; his is good, hers is not. The whiskey doesn't survive intact.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: Before the Cataclysm

There's a knock on the door of the Fallon estate, a knock from the kind of person who doesn't look like she has any business knocking on the door of such a fine place. But there she is, wind playing cat's cradle with her hair, sun warming her weary face and sunken eyes. Is it even Skylarke if she looks tired and worn? It is, actually. And she's knocking. Politely.

The door is answered after the barest moment's pause by a tall, dark-skinned gentleman in footman's livery and an eyepatch.

Shine's pause at the sight of Skylarke is barely perceptible, only a beat, and then he says with composed, footman's courtesy, "Captain Skylarke. Are you expected, madame?" His tone says he knows perfectly well she is not expected, but this is where she is allowed to fill in the blank with her business or request.

Her smile is automatic, but a pretty thing for all of that. "Shine," she says, imbuing his name with a wealth of relief as though someone else might've answered the door. "I can't imagine he's ever precisely expecting me, but we both know he's always glad to see me." She pauses, and some vestige of honesty makes her admit, "Well, almost always. Is he home? I've come about the sea."

Shine's brows draw together and he leans slightly out of the door to peer to the west, as though maybe the sea is up to something even now and he hasn't been apprised. Even as he does so, though, he says, "He is, yes. I'll let him know you're here."

He stands aside from the doorway to admit her. "Do you prefer to wait here or in the library?"

"The library, please," she says. "There's a nice comfy couch there, if I recall correctly." The possible dual purpose of a couch doesn't even occur to her immediately, but after a moment, she winks. No salacious smile accompanies it, but she put a bit of effort into recognizing the potential hook-up so she must not be all that tired.

"It is a comfortable room," Shine agrees blandly. "This way, Captain."

Within the foyer, on the wall between the two sides of the great double staircase, hangs a portrait of a severe-looking blonde woman in an equally severe navy blue dress, clasping a bouquet of yellow flowers and gazing sternly out at the viewer.

Shine leads Skylarke to the right and down a broad, wood-paneled hallway. The first room on the left, through an open set of double doors, is the lamplit library: quiet enough for conversation, and large enough for several of them to take place separately at the same time.

There is a comfortably plush array of overstuffed velvet armchairs and couches, and two walls of the room are floor-to-ceiling bookcases. (With a rolling ladder, obviously.) A third wall is a cluttered gallery display of framed, hand-drawn (by a variety of hands) maps and nautical charts, as well as some pretty boring rich-people oil paintings of ships and horses. Against this picture-wall is also a sideboard with trays of cut-crystal glasses and decanters of liquor. The far wall is a rank of tall casement windows.

"Here you are," Shine says. "I will let his lordship know that you are here."

"Thank you, Shine," she replies. "I promise not to nick anything while you're not looking." She does walk to the sideboard and eye the liquor, though. With a sigh, she denies herself a glass and instead passes over to the wall of windows. Her expression loses any sense of presence, her thoughts spinning inward.

And she waits.

It is perhaps five minutes later that a familiar tread sounds behind her, pausing in the doorway before approaching, and an equally familiar Kul Tiran accented voice says, "Lady Larke. An unexpected pleasure. I don't suppose ye've come to offer congratulations."

She turns, a suppressed jump and a blink making a poor attempt to disguise her surprise. Whoa, the guy she's looking for in his own house came into the room where she was waiting for him! A little warning, dude. "Are you due congratulations?" she asks when her brain catches up. "Did you get divorced, because if so, I can think of other things to offer you than simple congratulations."

Her arms are folded over her chest, and she's not smiling. Man, what's she thinking of offering him? A duel?

Siamus pauses again and raises his eyebrows, taking in her expression. His usual faintly sardonic smile fades. "I've a new daughter," he tells her. "Some ten days ago. Will ye have a drink? Ye look like ye want a drink."

That breaks through whatever miasma is fogging her brain. Her eyebrows rise, and her lips curve up. "A daughter? I hadn't heard; congratulations indeed, then. Did you name her Larke, dare I hope?" She doesn't respond to his offer of a drink.

"I did not, I fear. There remains only one Lady Larke in the world, inimitable. The child's name is Ery." Siamus turns away to move to the sideboard. "I'm having a drink, if ye don't mind. Ye look like I might want one. Will ye sit?" He takes up a decanter to pour a scant inch of liquor into a cut-crystal glass.

Right. Sit. Arms still folded, she walks to the nearest chair and sinks into it. "How long have you been home?" she asks. As the comfort of the chair sinks right back into her, she wriggles backward but doesn't bring her feet onto the chair with her. So that's nice.

"A little more than ten days." He comes to where she's sitting and settles into the chair set at a right angle to hers. He takes a sip of his drink and considers her again. "The day before the child was born."

His waistcoat is unbuttoned, and his cravat absent; his shirtsleeves are rolled and his collar likewise undone. His hair has been absently disarranged, and he has, on closer inspection, a hollow-eyed and weary look himself. He's summoned back that habitual smile, the tilted eyebrow, but his dark gaze on Skylarke is troubled.

"And where has your lot been making trouble, then, if I may ask? I've hired one of yours, by the way. Well, a former one of yours."

"A former one of mine? You? I'd have bet you'd fling yourself into the sea with chains around your wrists before you'd hire a pirate." Her brow smooths and her smile widens, gaining some of it's normal insouciance, and an amused gleam enters her eyes.

His own smile widens in answer and he tips his head in concession. "Ah, but she's not a pirate; I don't believe she ever was, save accidentally. A gnome. Niksi Knockfathom. And ye know I'd hire on the inimitable Lady Larke if she'd repent her ways and turn her skills to the service of the Alliance."

Her smile falters, crumples into an expression of near-desperation, then revives itself with effort. "Niksi! Her drunk tank has more to do with my success than I could tell you. People will throw the most interesting things overboard to avoid being taken by a pirate, you know. How is she?"

Siamus lowers his glass and regards her for a moment in silence. "She's very well," he says, almost gently. "And what about yourself, Larke? Are ye well?"

"Well," she echoes. Agreement or pensive, it's difficult to tell. "I'm well," she decides, speaking to the floor. "I made it to dock. With half my crew. The rest went overboard. Eight souls, lost to the waves. Payment, I suppose, for letting the rest of us go."

Then she looks up. "Siamus. There's something wrong with the sea."

Siamus freezes. He seems to have lost a shade of color beneath his tan.

After a moment, he moves again as if automatically, setting his drink aside on the end table. He is still staring at Skylarke.

"Tides ha'mercy, Larke," he tells her; his voice is hoarse-edged. "I'm sorrier than ye can know to hear of your people." He hesitates. "And… aye. There's something badly wrong. But why d'ye know it? What happened to ye?"

She sighs heavily, relieved. "You know, then," she says. "I thought you would; Booty Bay is nothing but talk of it. Stories, horror tales told to the nibs only these are no tales told about my-uncle-once-saw. There's not a crew that hasn't tasted the bite of the bitch. For me, it was waves. Waves from fore and aft, and how can you steer into that? A black sea in the bright sun. No clouds in sight, no wind to speak of, but a whirlpool or at least the thought of one, as if she were pondering swallowing my Skylark whole."

Her hair tangles around her fingers when she tries to comb through it. "Not a mast did we have when we finally paddled into port. Ripped sails on stubs, and it was mercy itself that we managed direction and any speed to speak of. We ran out of water two days out of port, the food was ruined. I've never come closer, Siamus, never, and that on fair days with a following wind."

Wordlessly, he picks up his glass of whiskey and leans toward her, offering it out.

She takes it, and takes a drink deep enough to swallow most of it down. "I don't know that she can be made seaworthy again," she admits finally, looking up at Siamus with dark eyes shimmering behind tears.

"Ah," he exhales, a shadow of pain in his own expression. "Larke."

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, watching her. "I've had reports from all over of storms and lost ships. From the Admiralty, from shipping brokers I've dealt with… The sea's in a wild rage, and I couldn't tell ye why." He pauses, weighing his next admission, and finally concedes, "I didn't come back by sea but by magic for the birth. I'm thinking to tell my lasses to lie moored in Northrend for now rather than chance the waters home. Six months ago I'd have laughed at anyone who said my ships might not make their way safe. But now — I've lost too many to this war. I'll not lose more to the tides' madness."

He straightens and sits back again. "Where is she now? And how many days back are ye, Larke? Did ye only just come in?"

"I rode," she says. "Oh. I forgot to tell Shine I left the horse tied up. Will someone see to it? I forget about horses sometimes. The Skylark's in Booty Bay. I'm paying for the slip, at least until I can get a competent shipwright to look her over."

She finishes the drink off. "I've only been ashore a couple of days, two spent in Booty Bay to listen to tales and tell my own. To get some sleep. Then I came here, hoping you'd know what a bunch of pirates didn't. Why. Hoping you'd know why."

"If ye left the horse in front, I expect Thredd's already come and seen to it," Siamus says. "I take it your lass isn't seaworthy enough to make the journey around the coast and up to Elwynn?"

"Rudder survived, somehow," she says. "She'll need…" Skylarke shakes her head. "She might, but she'll make all the speed of a leaky canoe. And I don't know if I can find people to crew her. Noone wants to risk the waves. If the merchants dare it, they'll find most of the lanes clear of pirate hazards." She laughs, a little snort of amusement. "Now there's a tidbit of information I probably shouldn't have shared." She toasts him with her empty glass and sips from the scant melted ice.

"The merchants don't dare it," Siamus tells her. "Not so far as I know. If she can't make it up here, I can send one of my wrights from Fallon Harbor down to Booty Bay to have a look at her, if ye like."

He gets up and goes back to the sideboard to pour a second drink. When he turns back, he brings both his glass and the decanter with him, and sets the decanter on the end table between them for ready access. He sits again heavily. "As to why — I couldn't tell ye that." He frowns at his glass. "When I was in Icecrown last summer, looking for a northern passage — the sea up there is mad. Not… raging, like this, but full of despair. When next I came south and she felt… wrong even here, I thought the trouble was wi' me, that I was carrying the feeling around after losing so many men to those black waters. But lately I've spoken wi' shamans, and they've told me it's everywhere, and it's no' just the sea."

He looks up at Skylarke again. "It's all of it. The elements. Something has them all in a rage, and none of the shamans can tell ye why."

She eyes the decanter, then decides in favor of it. "Damn," she says with sigh to follow. She pours two fingers for herself. "They're looking for reasons, Siamus. And where they don't exist, they'll make some." Ice rattles as she takes a sip. "We're superstitious, sailors, but pirates moreso I think. They're looking for someone to blame, some way to appease the sea, and I can't tell you where their eyes will turn. But fewer pirates on the sea may not be a blessing."

Siamus leans forward again, watching her intently. "And what d'ye recommend be done about it?"

As he leans forward, she leans back and laughs. "Solve it all, Vice Admiral," she says, toasting him with her glass. "'Tis why I came, you know. Looking to you to solve all the sea's problems." Shaking her head, she waves her own suggestion off. "No, I'll go back and tell them what you've told me. It's all the world, not just the sea, and nothing to be done about it. Is that reassuring?"

"Oh, aye, I know I was reassured myself." Siamus, smiling wryly, has a sip of his drink. "I'm flattered ye thought me the man to solve it, though."

His smile fades again and he rubs his eyes with his free hand. "If I learn more of it, I'll tell ye, shall I? Will ye be in Booty Bay for me to get word to ye? And ye didn't answer me about the shipwright. Will ye have one of my people go and see to your lass?"

Another laugh, her deep and husky chuckle the first normal thing about her this visit. "And me thinking I'd imagined you offering to send a Fallon shipwright to Booty Bay. I'll not say no to the help, but I'll have her towed. As long as we stay in sight of land, I think I can find someone willing to do that. I still have funds after someone slipped me Horde shipping lane information. Alas! No more easy money to be made until the world is set to rights."

"There's money in working for Fallon," Siamus suggests mildly. "Ye know I'm not without ulterior motives, aye? For your ship I'll see what can be done whatever ye decide, as she's a lovely lady and I'm fond of her myself. She is practically a Fallon ship by now." His gaze gleams as he takes another sip of his drink, and then he gestures at her with the glass. "But I'll not stop telling ye, either, that we'd both be better-served if ye came over to the fleet yourself. Kul Tiras is closed to me, and it's not many captains I've found outside the isles that can sail like ye do."

He arches a brow at her. "A King's letter of marque for your ship-taking, and all the information on Horde lanes that ye could want. And life without a bounty on ye."

"Oh Siamus, but all those lovely fat Alliance merchantmen lumbering through the waves just begging for me to come and see what's inside," she says, smiling slowly at him over the rim of her glass. She takes a sip. "And we all know you don't play where you work, so how could I survive knowing we could never be again?"

She sobers without waiting for an answer. "Tell me true if that's the price for your shipwright; you know I'll say no. I can be bought, but safety has never been the coin of my heart."

"It's not the price," Siamus says. "I told ye — whatever ye decide. I'd not make ye an offer tangled wi' terms unless I'd given ye the terms up front as well. Ye know I'm a painfully honest man." His smile flickers, there and gone again. "And a sentimental one, too, for a pretty ship I'm certain misses me."

Her humor returns as a muted chuckle. "You'll stop at nothing to get your hands on Skylark, that I believe." A hearty swallow finishes the second drink. "I'll have her brought 'round and send word when she's safely docked, and thank you for the offer. The shipwright, I mean. As for the other…" She shakes her head. "I don't know, Siamus, and there's a truth for you. I've laid off Alliance shipping for the war, having my own sort of loyalty." Another hesitation. "I don't know."

He nods at her. "Well, and I'm not a man to press a lady. But the world's less certain by the day, and my fleet's as sure a harbor as I can make her, and a rich one besides." He arches a brow and has another sip of his drink. "I'll leave that offer lie, and ye can think on it in your own time. But do think on it, aye? There's no price on my shipwright or a slip for your lady. I can afford to be generous to my friends, and I like to be."

He studies her again, and lowers his voice. "Are ye well? Are your people who came through it well?"

"I will be," she says. "We will be. Sailors sail, no matter what that bitch of a mistress does to us. Give us time to get tired of solid land and we'll be back on the waves." She stretches out a foot to tap his. "None of us can stay off them for long."

Siamus glances down at the foot-tap and smiles again faintly. "True enough. And I'll tell ye to give your people my regards, if only because I expect they could use the laugh."

He lifts his gaze to hers again, still smiling. "And where are ye staying while in Stormwind? Or d'ye mean to turn right back again?"

"Right back out," she says, showing no signs of getting up. Getting up is hard. "The sooner I get there, the sooner I can arrange for the tow."

"A pity," Siamus says. "Always a pleasure to catch up with an old friend. Another drink? Will ye have something to eat before ye go?"

She laughs, an easy and light sound. "Ah Siamus. What I'd have would be a pure scandal with your wife and new child in the house." Setting her drink down, she hops to her feet and takes a deep breath. "No, I'll get back to the Bay tonight and sleep on my poor wreck of a girl. Look for us in two days' time, I'd suspect." She grimaces. "It'll take that long or I'm no judge."

He rises as well at once when she does, ever gentlemanly, and inclines his head to her. "I'll expect ye, and I'll tell ye to travel safely in the meanwhile. Let me see ye out, then." He sets his drink down on the table and steps over to usher her out, one hand hovering at — but not touching — the small of her back.

She walks back toward the front door, turning her head a little to say to him, "Truly, my congratulations on the child. They say a child born during storms will be a fine sailor; if it's true, she'll be the best of us all."