(2024-06-23) The Aspenwood-Moore Wedding (Reception) - Part 1

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	With the Society Event of the summer season, the Aspenwood-Moore Wedding Reception offers opportunities to many of the attendees, ranging from the ridiculous to the significant to the poignant to the painfully awkward. 21,00~ words. PART ONE OF TWO.
Rating:	T for Teen

Reception

The band strikes up a pleasant celebration, following guests through as they move from the ceremony to the reception area. (("At Last (Violin Cover)" - Ana Done))

Beyond the gazebo, among the sweet flowering myrtle trees and slim white aspen trees are tables of golden wood and white metal chairs with delicate, whimsical filigree. There is no immediately obvious rhyme or reason for the placement of the tables and their stretched white canvas shaded coverings, for they are not in orderly rows or neatly spaced. It seems chaotic, unless one steps back, and perhaps takes a bird’s eye view, where it becomes clear that they are artfully arranged in the charming silhouette of a pert garden bird.

Long yellow and soft blue runners stripe the center of the tables, where vases of yellow gorse, blue irises, and white calla lilies stand up proudly ringed by aspenwood branches of greenery. White porcelain plates dot the tables at regular intervals, and provide perches for blue linen napkins formed into the shapes of birds.

Rather than a formal meal of either luncheon or supper, there are a collection of tables laden with dozens of varieties of small food, suitable to graze upon, or possible to pile up for entire meals made of many pieces. Succulent melons, ripe and sun warmed berries, ice crisped vegetables, skewers of herbed meats, and curls of grilled shrimp invite the hungry to indulge.

An entire table is dedicated solely to display a trip through the Alliance’s great selection of cheese varieties, from the well-known Stormwind Brie to the Stromgarde Muenster, exotic Northrend Sour Goat Cheese and Salted Yeti Cheese for the adventurous, and with Fine Aged Cheddar and Dwarven Mild for those who prefer the traditional; an observant cheese lover might note that one cheese, long absent from most selections, has made its way here of Gilnean White.

Adorable white wood ornaments of two birds perching on an aspen branch encased in a heart overlook the table of sweet iced tea, tart lemonade, and sparkling Aspenwood wine. Conjured bottles of Cressidha Aspenwood water remain perfectly chilled throughout the day, tasting like the very essence of water itself.

On a center platform is a modest looking wedding cake of rustically crumb vanilla frosted lemon and blueberry, decorated with sprigs of mint and sugared slices of lemon set with sweet little summer blueberries, topped with two little birds over an edible sugar made gloxinia flower. Sprinkled liberally on the table are tiny individual lemon pies and blueberry pies, with Westfall styled lattices and coverings. The couple slices into the cake for their first together, the rest is expertly divided for guests in appropriately generous portions, and they are served according to preference of either cake or pie.

Avrenne is first through into the area, standing at the entrance of it to help usher and gesture people into the guest area, holding that place until sufficient people have passed into it to create a mingling group.

As Zath passed her on his way in, for just a brief moment his carved-from-ice features softened slightly into the ghost of a genuine smile as he inclined his head to her.

There's an answering warmth in Avrenne's eyes, quick and fleeting, as she dips into the barest suggestion of a curtsey, and a quick flick of her eyes to a very specific point of his hip for some reason, before she turns her attention to the next guest moving into the reception area.

Captain Zath Tyrrell, unsurprisingly to anyone who has ever met him, does not touch the food, but escorts his wife toward the food tables nonetheless. He then stands there as though guarding her and making sure no one dares touch any food she desires to consume.

He also seems a little bit as though he is there to make sure she eats.

There is a quiet discussion among the Lysanders. Kyris wheels his mother's chair around the front of the house, and a staff member helps her get the chair indoors. It seems like she's going to rest somewhere quieter.

Alaisa begins to start towards the reception, but Lord Lysander tells her, "Wait for your brother." The two of them wait until Kyris returns, and then Lord Lysander begins walking towards the reception, his son and daughter behind him.

Bertrand and Priscilla are seated at a table being either the most romantic or the most obnoxious newlyweds imaginable. Give them five to ten minutes and they'll probably get around to interacting with their guests.

A child cries out, "Cake!" That's Arnie Aspenwood, now eight years old, tugging on his mother's skirt to tow her towards the cake.

Lady Gardenia follows along, rocking the child in her arms. Eighteen-month-old Beatrice Aspenwood is wearing a cute little violet dress with shorts underneath.

Yveris prowls the area in cat form, cleaning up any food that spills. She has no problem eating off the ground.

Velrin makes her way toward the festivities. She has Celaven on one side and Nylarria on the other. She looks around seeming a bit overwhelmed as to where she should start.

Ralaea stands under a tree, having given up entirely on the idea of sitting. The sun might be starting to bother her, by this point.

The Cheese Table

Estel gives Avrenne a cheerful wave on her way to the food tables. She has her priorities straight. "Niris!" she calls. "Look at all the cheese!"

Niris releases Elohad's arm and lifts her skirts with one hand to make a beeline. (The skirt-lifting reveals that she is also wearing hiking boots. She learned her lesson at the Fallon wedding.)

There's the sound of a bird's cry as a stormcrow flies overhead, circling the reception area and then landing to perch in a tree - recognizable, perhaps, to the Westfall team as Annuvin.

Kenelly points excitedly at the stormcrow as her family enters to the reception area. "Mother, look! That's Annuvin, the crow I told you about. He's ever so clever."

Natlee spots the stormcrow and makes kissy noises in its direction.

Rozalin, much more at home now that things have turned to food, makes her way to the table and fixes herself a plate.

Glyphe makes for the cake with focused intensity.

Ordered by her parents to go mingle, Kenelly is overcome by the realization that she knows only a handful of people here, and just one of them is part of noble society…and he's the groom. She finds herself at the refreshment tables, selecting cheeses. Spotting Glyphe, she offers a friendly smile, "Hello, Glyphe. Lovely wedding, isn't it?" She gasps in surprise to find Gilnean White among the cheeses. "Oh goodness, it's been an age since I've had this."

"It's my first wedding," Glyphe replies. "I dunno how it ranks in loveliness, but the kissing sure looked great." She eyes the cheese. "Since you've had cheese?" she asks, doubtful.

Kenelly chuckles. "This cheese. It's Gilnean White." She takes a nibble and sighs wistfully. "It tastes genuine. My word, that must mean some Gilnean cheesemakers made it out. It's nice to think that some aspects of our culture will survive."

Niris, who was just reaching to add a slice of Gilnean White to her plate o' cheeses, smiles a little conspiratorially at Kennelly. "Just the most delightful, isn't it?" After a moment's thought, she takes two slices instead of one.

Glyphe giggles at the pun. Cheese. Culture. Well, she thought it was funny anyway. She helps herself to a piece of Gilnean White and chews on it thoughtfully. "Pretty good," she says with a nod.

Kenelly beams at Niris and Glyphe, delighted that others can enjoy her homeland's…well, cheese is a start. "It tastes like home. I must find out where they got it from."

"We could go ask," Glyphe says, craning her neck. She sees only legs and skirts. "Where's Birdie, he'd know where they got the cheese."

Kenelly peers about. Though towering over a gnome, she isn't particularly tall, herself. "I'm not sure where the bride and groom have gotten off to. I'm sure they'll be making the rounds soon."

"Cheese quest!" Glyphe declares. She shows no signs of immediately setting off on the cheese quest, though, and helps herself to another piece.

"They were at a table, I believe," Niris offers helpfully, her attention on the cheeses. There are so many tables here, Niris.

Kenelly giggles at Glyphe's quest declaration. "I suppose it can wait. At least until I have a topic more interesting to them than cheese."

"Hey, I know! Let's find Annuvin, then we'll find Birdie." Glyphe looks up and around, searching for one particular bird.

Annuvin is still perched on a branch, watching the gathering.

"C'mon," Glyphe says to Kenelly. "Cheese quest! You can think of more interesting things later." She heads for the branch the bird is on and checks any tables under it.

"Oh! Alright then…cheese quest, it is!" Kenelly laughs and gives Niris a helpless shrug as she is swept away in Glyphe's wake.

The bird is off to the side, unfortunately. "Hey," Annuvin croaks. So helpful.

"Darn," says Glyphe, staring up at the stormcrow. "I guess maybe they're off somewhere still kissing. Someone else will know." She eyes Kenelly. "What about the gold woman who started the clapping? She looked like an in-charge person."

Dane/Rozalin/Ivri

Atley marches towards the reception area. "Proper food first," he contends with a growl, briefly giving her arm a squeeze with a bicep clench that looks to be testing the elasticity and durability of his jacket sleeve. He finds a table somewhere in the middle and pulls out a chair for her with its back to the edge of the property and a view of the entire ceremony.

Ivri sits and looks at the buffet tables. "Get me one of everything," she says.

Atley gently takes her pale chin in his paw of a hand. "Aside from the fish, f'course." he growls fondly, moving off to conquer two plates and take to stacking them.

Rozalin snickers at him when he sees the piles of food Atley is preparing, “Hungry guy, eh?”

Atley scoffs with amusement. "Something of the sort," he growls before he nods at her. "You look lovely. Fine day," he observes, with a glare.

Rozalin grins at the compliment, “Thanks. And yeah, couldn’t really have asked for a nicer day, huh.”

Atley grunts once he has two veritable piles and nods over to his table. "My wife's here. Ought to meet her properly."

Rozalin has limited herself to just one (1) pile, “Sure. Lead the way.”

Taeavon/Elohad/Thuraniel

Taeavon leads Thuraniel to greet Elohad, “Sir Elohad! It’s good to see you.”

Elo's face splits in a huge grin. "Taeavon!" he says. "You're looking sharp. Wasn't it a gorgeous ceremony?"

“Yeah! It really was.” Tae replies with a smile, “Oh but I’d like to introduce you to my mother here. This is Archmage Thuraniel Noonshade, sir.”

"The honor is mine, Archmage," says Elohad, reaching out to bow gallantly over her hand. "Taeavon has been a great help to me in some of my personal projects."
Thuraniel inclines her head to him. She looks absolutely stunning and her impressive stature (6’2”) and regal bearing make her look not a little bit imposing, “Lord Ference. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Taeavon has many good things to say about you.”

“Has he now?” Thuraniel raises an eyebrow, “Well I am happy to hear he has been a help. He’s growing to be a fine young man. I am glad that Cobalt Company has given him an opportunity to take after his father’s old days of heroics.”

Taeavon beams at Elohad. He is clearly quite pleased to be compared to his father.

"I hope one day to hear a full accounting of all his father's adventures," Elohad says. "I know some of his history, of course, but I'm sure there are more tales to tell."

“Of course. Perhaps someday I can recount some of them for you, though I fear I may not tell them best as he retired soon after we were married.” Thuraniel offers.

Lysanders

Lord Kieran Lysander takes a seat with some food - chosen for ease of eating with one hand. He is wearing his prosthetic arm, the left hand covered in a black glove, which hangs at his side.

Lord Kyris Lysander, left to his own devices, finds a spot in the shade to stand and stands in it. His expression is severe and not particularly friendly.

Lady Alaisa Lysander steps up next to her brother and leans up to whisper something to him.

Kyris whirls on her, looking shocked. "Must I?" His whisper is loud enough to be heard.

Alaisa nods, smiling innocently, and heads off to examine the buffet tables, looking like she's gotten the last word in an argument.

Natalyah/Sintha/Arric

Natalyah cannot actually get a plate of food and carry it back to her table, both hands occupied by the task of walking, and she doesn't try. She moves to a table on the edges of the party, and sits down like this is exactly the only thing she wanted to do, actually. She isn't even hungry or thirsty, declares the stubborn set of her head.

Sintha, still toting Arric, stops abruptly by the table, her eyes round. "Oh my gosh. Lady Natalyah? Is it you?"

Natalyah does not hide well the moment of oh no, before she forces up an answering smile, remaining seated. "Lady Sintha. Yes and no. It's just 'Natalyah' now. My parents have removed me from the succession of the family, but they let me keep my name at least, ever generous." She raises an arched brow at Arric. "Don't tell me you ended up married after all as well, I'll have to quit the field in a huff and I'm saving that for another special occasion."

Sintha laughs merrily. Then she catches her breath and laughs some more. "Oh, stars, no." She holds out Arric's arm and pats it fondly. "This is my dear friend, Lord Arric Falrevere of Tiragarde. Arric, this is Natalyah Kensington-Whit. I haven't seen her in an age. Look at how clever her gown is!"

"You didn't have to say stars quite like that, did you?" Arric says to Sintha with jovially wounded puppy eyes. Husky pup, I suppose, as they're pale blue. Then he smiles again and turns to Natalyah.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Lady Kensington-Whit. It is indeed a clever gown."

"Is it?" Natalyah says, her smile curving wickedly at both sides, her gaze a little sharp. "Do tell me how it's clever, Lord Arric."

Sintha looks tickled. Oh gosh, someone's been put on the spot. Sorry, Arric.

She pats his arm again. "Why don't you sit and get acquainted, Arric, I'm dying to hear everything, but I'm also dying for something to eat. I'm going to go scavenge us something. Is there anything in particular you both would like? Speak now or eat shrimp forever!"

"Oh, anything but shrimp, honestly," Arric says with a slight wrinkle of his stately nose. Sintha knows darned well that "anything but" is a lie, there are probably six or seven other things he will also reject, but he'll be nice about it.

"It's fine, Sintha, I can get what I want when I decide," Natalyah says. She's probably going to end up with a plate of shrimp.

Arric does not sit, himself but he goes to stand at a conversational distance from Natalyah. "So how do you know the bride and groom?" he asks politely, evading the topic of gown cleverness.

Natalyah looks over at Arric, and it's obvious his lack of response to explaining his agreement with Sintha on the cleverness of her gown and his question has evoked boredom. "I was a childhood friend of Scilla and her younger sister. Scilla also provided illustrations for my research papers, as needed.”

Arric, on the other hand, seems delighted by Natalyah. "How old were you when you were friends?" he says, seeming to actively attempt to picture her as a child. "Childhood friendships are so magical, aren't they? Sintha and I go quite a ways back ourselves. From the time we were around seven or eight we were running about having all manner of unapproved adventures."

"Oh, really? I suppose I know something of that sort of thing, running around with unapproved adventures. I'm fresh from having spent the past four years running completely feral in the woods having been cursed into a monstrous beast of a worgen," Natalyah says, as tart as unsweetened lemonade. "Truly magical as a childhood, as long as that childhood was filled with blood and dead animals."

"Goodness gracious!" Arric says with sudden and sharp concern. “How old were you when you were cursed?" His demeanor reveals no revulsion regarding her revelation; he seems mostly distraught about the implied hardship she has suffered.

"Why? Wondering whether or not I am still of age to be on the marriage market from a cursed bite four years ago?" Natalyah asks. "I'm positively shriveled, on the shelf, expiry date in view. You needn't concern yourself." Her age may be somewhere in the region of twenty five to thirty five. The large spattering of freckles on her face suggests a woman who has spent considerable time in the sun, muddling her potential age even further.

Ben/Ismene/Sintha

Ben has drawn Mizzy to a halt near one of the food tables, and is piling skewers of meat on a plate. After a moment and a glance at his wife, he judiciously adds one (1) slice of melon, and then goes back to meat-collecting.

Sintha Fallon pauses nearby and sets not one but two plates on the table's edge before her. She fills one with shrimp and then peruses the other offerings and begins to add morsels at random to the other. She glances over. "Oh my gosh, it's Lady Ismene! Darling, you look beautiful." She looks to Ben as if requesting his support for this assertion.

Ben nods, a little baffled. He will not argue that his wife looks beautiful. "Hi," he tells Sintha.

"Lady Sintha," Ismene says, dipping a small curtsey. "It's good to see you. I trust you're well?"

"I am…." Sintha considers the question, her lips pursed. "Oh, but it's polite to say one is well, isn't it? I'm awfully well, in that case. And you, darling?" Her eyes round, and a strawberry en route to her plate detours to her mouth instead. "Shay told me the hideous news," she says, chewing mournfully.

Any smile Ismene had is lost, withering to nothing. "I'm quite well," she says. Because she is polite and it's polite to say one is well.

Ben gives Sintha a frosty look. "Hell of a party, ain't it?" he asks.

Sintha actually wilts a little. She lays the strawberry stem down carefully on her plate's edge. "I'm awfully sorry. I don't mean to spoil it. It's… I suppose I'm in a queer mood myself, with… well, we just came back from Gilneas. And Lucy —" She trails off. A moment later she shakes her head. "Awfully sorry. Just ignore me. You do look marvelous. Have you seen Shay? Be careful, he'll try to make you say nice things about the baby."

Politely, again, Ismene sidesteps anything troubling. "I saw him with the baby. She's adorable, and such a good girl to not make a fuss."

"Honestly it's sort of astonishing, making fuss is normally what she does best." Sintha returns to piling her second plate. "But I'm sure he'd be pleased to say hello to you, if you have the chance." She lifts her head and looks around narrowly. "He's hiding from his wife, so if you see her, go in the opposite direction to find him."

Ismene blinks. "I hope there's no problem between his lordship and her ladyship," she says.

Sintha rolls her eyes and eats another strawberry. "The problem is that they're both lunatics." She lifts her two plates carefully; the heap of shrimp on the first is precarious. "I hope you do enjoy the party, though."

"Thank you, my lady, I'm sure we will." She loops an arm through Ben's and turns away slightly, as if regarding the buffet table with interest. She is regarding the table, but it's the interest that's faked.

Ben turns with her, shutting Sintha out with his back. Sintha does not seem to notice; she takes her two plates and sashays away.

"She didn't mean anything by it," Ismene tells Ben. Or maybe she's just acknowledging it. "It wasn't her fault." She sighs softly.

"Don't make me like her better," Ben mutters back, obstinately loyal. "She is some kind of somethin', that one." He looks around. "Wouldn't mind seein' the Vice Admiral though sometime."

"I'd say let's go and find him but I hate to tear you away from the food so soon," Ismene says with a renewed smile at her husband.

Ben glances up at her wide-eyed with a mouthful of roast meat. "Ikm eat n tock," he says.

Estel, doing another pass-by along the buffet, grins at Ben and Ismene. "Yep." She is definitely putting food in her pockets.

"He can not, don't encourage him or he'll spit bits of beef all over the Vice Admiral and then where would we be?" She hands Ben a napkin.

Ben accepts the napkin penitently, his ears red.

Estel laughs and moves on along.

Natalyah/Arric/Sintha/Alaisa

"I've decided on what I am to eat," Natalyah declares to Arric, pulling her crutches to herself to rise to a stand unassisted. There is only one shoe visible at the hem of her dress — she does not appear to have a second one. "Enjoy the magical wedding, near twelve years in the making, Lord Arric." She is already moving away from the table.

Arric had been taking a good long time to process her last remarks, his ginger brows drawn together as he tried to figure out What Sort of Thing Was Happening, and was just about to draw breath to compose some sort of reply when Natalyah saved him the effort by extricating herself.

For a moment he watches her go, and then stands looking Genteelly Distressed at finding himself suddenly completely alone at a huge party. He looks around to see if anyone remotely familiar is nearby.

Something remotely familiar is sashaying toward him with two plates of food. Sintha beams and then eyes the vacant seat and blinks. "Oh, gosh. Did she abandon you, darling?"

"I'm afraid I drove her away somehow," Arric says with obvious distress. "I'm terribly sorry. I promise to do better next time."

Sintha snorts and drops into a chair with a flounce of pink skirts. "Well, I absolutely put my foot in it at the buffet table, so we're a pair." She smiles up ruefully at Arric. "But honestly I cannot imagine you driving anyone off, darling. She did seem in rather a mood. Let me see if there's someone more amiable about." She sits up to scan the crowd.

Alaisa has gathered a plate of food for herself and is walking slowly throughout the crowd with deliberate purpose. It doesn't look like she's lost, it looks like she's on her way to sit down somewhere else, except that actually she's been doing this for some time. Weddings are excellent for people-watching.

Sintha brightens and lifts an arm to wave furiously. "Lace! Lace, over here!"

Alaisa's attention snaps to Sintha so immediately that it's likely she knew exactly where Sintha was this entire time. Carrying a little plate of food, she makes her way over to Arric's and Sintha's table. "Hi there," she says, dropping into the chair on Sintha's other side and looking across the table at Arric with curiosity.

Sintha beams. "Lady Alaisa Lysander, this is Lord Arric Falrevere. Arric is my dearest childhood friend, from Tiragarde," Sintha tells Alaisa, and then to Arric: "And Alaisa is one of my dearest mainland friends. She taught me to speak Gnomish! Utterly brilliant."

Arric brightens. A person! "Hello there!" he says to Alaisa. "Here for the bride or groom today?"

"You can call me Ally," Alaisa says to Arric. "A bit of both, but I don't know either of them that well. From Tiragarde! My. Did you have any trouble sailing here?"

"I have trouble sailing anywhere," Arric says with a little laugh. He briefly (but not graphically) mimes seasickness. "But no more trouble than usual I suppose," he adds cheerfully. "It's trying to get any word back that's been the very devil."

Sintha nods gravely and casts a grim, knowing look at Alaisa.

Atley/Ivri/Roz/Kieran

Atley grunts and nods Rozalin along. He leads to their table, where Ivrianna waits, and sets a plate down before her. "This is my wife, Ivrianna Atley. This is Terrineth. Prize fighter and Company member," he explains with a growl, remaining standing for now.

Dane does glance across the wedding at Lord Kieran Lysander for a moment.

Ivri reaches for one of the plates with grabby hands. "Hi," she says to Terrineth. "Have a seat and let me steal from your plate, too."

“Goin by Rozalin these days, but yeah.” She greets Ivri and is immediately struck by how beautiful she is. Rozalin blushes despite herself, “Well, uh, it’s nice to meet you.” She sits down with Ivri as she’s asked.

Atley grunts and inclines his head. "Rozalin." Atley corrects. He sets his own plate down, casting Ivri's grabby hands a wary look. "Excuse me a moment, ladies." He marches over to Lord Kieran Lysander in his seat, and extends a hand. "Milord," he greets respectfully.

"Sir Atley," Kieran says, shaking his hand firmly. He does not stand, but he nods.

Atley grunts and returns the handshake. "Worked with your son, recently. Swordsman lives up to the name, milord."

"I'm pleased to hear he's been conducting himself well in Cobalt Company," Lord Lysander says, nodding.

Atkey grunts and gives a crisp nod. "Bid you a gooday, milord." He marches off and returns to Rozalin and, taking up his chair.

Lord Kieran seems perfectly satisfied with the brief length of that social interaction. Ideal, really. He resumes eating.

"So," Ivri asks, chewing on a kebab of some sort of non-fish meat, "who do you know to swing an invite? We know the Aspenwoods, though I'm more familiar with Colson, Mordecai, and Cressidha than I am with Bertrand."

“Oh. Well I mean I am with Cobalt Company and, uh, well I met Bertrand with the whole Westfall team and all. Sorta helped them get their bearings straight before they set off.”

"Nice," Ivri says, glancing around. "Man, look at all the babies. I guess I should've brought Karson, but he's just at that crawling stage where everything must be head-butted at extreme velocities."

Rozalin laughs, “Got yerself a kid then? And yeah there sure are a lot of em. Been gettin a bit more practice with em myself bein back in Westfall.” She starts chewing on some meat as well, “Lots of mouths to feed and people to take care of. The kids are nice because they ain’t so serious all the time. It’s nice to play with em and cheer em up when I can.”

"They're a light to us in these dark times," Atley growls in agreement with Rozalin. "The next generation, sprouting like weeds. We've another on the way."

“Oh damn. Congratulations then. You’re a lucky guy to get to start a family with a beauty like this one, yeah.” Rozalin grins and winks at the both of them.

Atley grunts in agreement with Rozalin, looking over at Ivri. "I know it. Cheeky, too." He pops a white cheese of cube into his mouth as he shifts around in his chair. "Ivri and I met during the first year of Cobalt. She's a member, as well." he growls.

“Oh wow what a small world then.” Rozalin smiles, “Haven’t really found the right person yet, but maybe someday. Been a real confusing time for me, ya know?”

"Thanks, now I feel old," Ivri says with a light laugh. She shakes her head at Rozalin. "Where else has Cobalt been sending you? I mean, technically I'm still a member but kids are sort of hard to manage in the field. One of us had to stay home and it had to be me, unfortunately."

“Oh, I’ve mostly been sticking round here in the Eastern Kingdoms. Plenty of problems round these parts, especially nowadays.” She laughs a little, “But the past few months I’ve been back in Westfall helpin where I can. I’d do it for free but I gotta pay the bills somehow. Been really pushin it trying to keep people safe and fed out there.”

Atley eats as he glances between the two, shifting every now and then on the chair that's likely much too small for his frame. He grunts and clears his throat. "Hear there's a bit of trouble out that way," he growls, voice lowered to table-level volume.

Rozalin almost does a spit take and roars with laughter, “Talk about an understatement!” Rozalin does her best to collect herself, “Your man here’s got a real way with words.” She jokes to Ivri.

"Never uses two where one'll suffice," Ivri agrees, stuffing another cheese cube in her mouth. "Mm, shoulda got some water. I wonder if Cressidha's supplied some."

Atley scoffs with amusement at Rozalin and cranes his head in a nod of acceptance. He looks to Ivri and nods. "Saw some. I'll get us glasses." he growls, pushing himself up. "Care for one as well, Roz?"

“Oh. I mean I can get those for ya if you’d like.” Rozalin offers.

Ivri waves Rozalin down. "No, let him fetch and carry. He likes being the manly-man, and it's the man's job to get the food and drink for seated ladies."

Atley grunts. "You two keep carrying on." He shoots his cuffs and marches off to the beverage table, keeping an eye for familiar faces on the way.

“Hey, I ain’t never been accused of bein a lady, but if it’s comin from you then I might just have to accept it.” She says to Ivri with a wink, “Thanks Atley.”

"Everyone has to accept everything I say," Ivri says, smiling prettily. "Otherwise I kill them."

Rozalin grins, “Make sure all the thick headed folk round ya listen, huh? A woman after my own heart.”

Ivri grins right back. Then she frowns a bit. "Tell me about Westfall, though. How bad is it? Maybe I could help."

“Well the country is still as beautiful as ever. I been gone a long time so it’s nice bein back, but yeah. Things are rough out there.” Rozalin fiddles with her thumbs, “Folk are even worse off than they already were. Not enough food or jobs to go around. Got a bit of help with the wall and all that but it’s just makin people more resentful of all the homeless folk feels like sometimes. Now that they got less to worry bout with the gnolls, they don’t wanna shell out for anyone outside.”

Ivri's eyes fill with sympathy. "I can probably make some periodic food deliveries, if someone could come by the house. Not much; I already do baking for two other families plus my own, and feeding Dane could keep an army of cooks busy. But a few extra loaves a day wouldn't be too much to do."

Rozalin smiles, “I bet that’d be real appreciated. If everyone did just a couple extra loaves a day then we wouldn’t have a problem, yeah?” Rozalin reaches to pt her on the shoulder, “Course the city folk ain’t doin that though so we do what we can to pick up the slack. Yer doing good, darlin.”

Ivri grins anew. "Technically I'm city folk. Or, well, I used to be until that brute I married moved me out to the country and away from civilization. We're out by Eastvale, the logging camp out there? You should come visit sometime."

“Oh really? I’d never have guessed.” Rozalin smiles at the invitation, “And I’ll have to take you up on that. And if you wanna stop by my parent’s place sometime just lemme know. I bet they’d be happy for a little company.”

Ivri downs another bite of meat and looks around for her husband and her water. "Where do they live?" she asks Rozalin.

“Got a little farm a small ways off from Sentinel Hill. It’s not much, but it’s ours.” She answers.

Siamus/Kyris/Atley

Siamus ambles back toward the group, his daughter once again propped dozily against his shoulder. He spots Avrenne standing sentry at the Welcoming Point, and immediately and casually swerves away, making for a more circuitous path away from the main group.

This puts him in the vicinity of Kyris when he does arrive in the shaded gathering, and he glances sidelong and gives the other man a genial nod. He doesn't look like a guy who wants to see a baby.

Kyris nods back. He does, in fact, actually look at the baby. "Fallon," he greets. "Your firstborn?"

Siamus breaks into a grin. "Aye, that's right. Lady Ery, just three months." He turns his shoulder so that Kyris can get a better view of the infant without disturbing her rest, and then turns back again to survey the other man. "How've ye been, then?"

"Fine," says Kyris. He has not been fine. It is probably a little obvious that he has not been fine, because he looks at Gardenia and her children and sighs. He shakes his head, looking over Lady Ery. "She seems a healthy girl," Kyris says. "When do they stop looking so grumpy?"

"No idea," Siamus says cheerfully. "Eventually, the doctor said. I'm told she's not actually angry, she just can't… do other things wi'her face yet. Personally, I expect she's angry." He seems sort of proud of this fact.

He glances around the assembly again and realizes Avrenne has left her post. "Ye don't see my wife, do ye?"

"Been working with Cobalt Company up in Lor– the Plaguelands. But I'm always readying for the next." Kyris, a War Guy, turns a somewhat vicious smile to his fellow War Guy, Siamus.

Siamus smiles glitteringly back. Okay, now it's a party. "Will ye have a drink wi' me? And that reminds me I'm meaning to speak wi' Ference while I'm here."

"Aye, may as well," Kyris concedes. "Just one, my father wants me to dance later." He does not seem enthused about the prospect. He is thirty-eight years old.

Siamus, who has turned to wend his way toward a drinks table, pauses to eye Kyris up and down. "Not a dancer, then," he says dryly, and turns back to edge through the crowd, apparently expecting Kyris to follow. "Can be tedious, I allow, though the partner makes a difference. Ye must find someone ye'd like to talk to, and then just have your conversation while ye dance." He looks back again. "Is there no one ye'd like to talk to?"

Kyris follows him. "I'd enjoy dancing more if it weren't for all the spectacle," he says, grimacing. "It's not the dancing itself that I object to, simply…" He gestures vaguely. "The rest of it. Hm." He might be thinking about Siamus' question.

"'The rest of it' being the dance floor and the attendant gossip, or the whole market in general?" Siamus inquires. He has reached a drinks table and begins to peruse the selection when a glimpse of yellow-gold catches the corner of his eye. "Hell," he swears. He adjusts the baby against his shoulder and shifts to put Kyris between him and the rest of the crowd.

Atley clears his throat behind Siamus and Kyris, having been waylaid on the way to get drinks. "Right. Who might this one be, then?" he growls rhetorically and warmly towards Erys.

Siamus turns his head at the familiar voice and grins. He shifts again to angle the sleeping infant's face toward Atley. "This is our Lady Ery. Is your little one wi'us today, then?" He looks between the two men. "And d'ye know one another already, Sir Atley, Lord Kyris?"

"We do," Kyris says. "From Cobalt Company. Sir Atley." He nods to Dane.

Atley spots the sleeping face and has the experience to immediately lower the volume of his booming growl. "Not today," he says to Siamus, inclining his head. "Sir Kyris and I've drawn swords together recently in the plaguelands. Your first assignment with Cobalt Company, as I understand."

"Aye, it was my first," Kyris confirms.

Siamus lights up avidly. "Ah! Both Cobalt now. I've a friend minded to join as well, as it happens. And I believe Ta's lad, Falrevere, did the same recently. Ference has a demon's luck wi' recruiting." He shakes his head, turns to the table and selects a glass of whiskey, and then turns back to hand it to Kyris. He repeats the action genially for Dane.

Atley accepts the glass and raises it in thanks. "The man's a gift with it," he growls, before he takes a sip and inclines his head towards the sleeping Erys. "Saw you wielding this one about earlier. She's a keen look to her, no doubt in her blood. You ought to have a care with this one, Vice Admiral," he growls warmly.

Kyris accepts the glass with a nod to Siamus and sips his whiskey. He nods to Dane in acknowledgement of the compliment.

"Ah, she'll be a bloody hellion," Siamus says proudly. "Ye should hear when she's worked up." He leans back to take a glass of his own and lifts it to the other two. "And Lysander, find me later, will ye? When we're out of this din and can have a proper talk." He looks past Dane. "Your lady wife is glowing this afternoon, Atley."

"Aye, will do," Kyris promises. "Sir Atley," he says in farewell, and moves away from the drinks table to clear space.

Atley gives Kyris a stern nod in farewell. "Sir Kyris," he says before he looks back towards Ivrianna. "Aye, she is," he growls fondly, downing half of the whiskey at once before he looks back to Siamus with a subtle wryness in his eyes. "And she knows it. The Duchess is as lovely as ever. She's put on a fine ceremony." he growls.

"Aye, she's a brilliant lady," Siamus agrees fondly. He peers past Atley again. "Ye don't have an eye on her by chance, do ye?"

Atley grunts and looks around. He towers over most present, but then again so does Siamus. "I've not seen her since we moved to reception." He looks back at Siamus. "I'll keep an eye out. I've been set upon a crusade for water," he explains, turning to get two portions of Cressidha's Water(TM).

Siamus nods gravely back at him. "Give me a warning if ye do spot her." He glances at the water a little bemusedly. Is it… special water?

Atley nods, and seems to sense the look. "I'd recognize this anywhere. Conjured by Lady Cressidha — of the Aspenwoods, of Cobalt Company. Recommend a sip." He inclines his head and moves to return to Ivri and Rozalin, unless stopped.

Bertrand/Zath/Halliday

Bertrand and Priscilla have finally separated, off to speak to their guests.

Bertrand, having finally separated from Priscilla's side, goes to greet Zath and his new bride. "Captain, you made it," Bertrand says, pleased, clapping Zath on the shoulder. "Please do introduce me."

Zath gives Bertrand a brief shoulder-clasp that, to observers who know Zath well, reads like a tight seven-full-seconds worth of hug.

"Sgt. Aspenwood," he says, obsoletely, "allow me to present the Countess Halliday Tyrrell. A Kirin Tor mage of some accomplishment and a veteran of Mount Hyjal."

He might be saying this last bit because you would never guess that just from looking at the wee rosebud. She looks way too young to be married to Tyrrell. She is, in reality, only slightly too young for that. But it looks worse than it is.

Halliday, wide-eyed, offers a hand uncertainly up to Bertrand — for a handshake, it appears, rather than a courtly clasp — and then seems to realize she's gotten her steps out of order, and rises to her feet before trying again. "Congratulations," she says. "It's all so pretty."

Bertrand shakes her hand firmly. "Thank you," he says, very sincere. "Lovely to meet you."

To Zath, Bertrand says, "Wasn't sure you'd be free. Where's your unit been?"

"Gilneas," Zath says. He drops the word like a frozen bowling ball.

Halliday looks from Zath to Bertrand and sits again. She picks at a slice of melon.

Bertrand goes, "Ah," and looks at Zath a little more seriously. "If you want to talk about that another day, I'm all ears. I expect my honeymoon period will last another twelve years, but give us about two days and then write, would you?"

One corner of Zath's mouth turns up in a brittle smile, but his eyes are room temperature (read: very warm, for Zath) as he regards Bertrand. "I shall write in a week or so," he compromises.

"Sounds great. Cheers." Bertrand grins. "Captain. Lady Tyrrell." He bows to them both and moves along.

Tyrrell watches Bertrand go for a moment, obviously Deep in Thought of some variety, but then he turns his attention toward his wife, checking in on her current status and welfare.

CHEESE QUEST

Kenelly nibbles uncertainly at her lip. "I'm not sure. I'm afraid I'm still learning who is who in Stormwind society. Do you see her?"

Avrenne, the woman in the yellow gold, is in the middle of her way to Lena, having stopped to converse with several well dressed people who seem to take up some of her attention. Avrenne is not a tall woman by physical height, but her presence puts her at 7 feet tall, the assembly bending around her like a stone in a river.

With a huff of annoyance, Glyphe answers, "All I see are legs and skirts. It'd be rude to climb on a table, I bet."

"Oh! I think I see her!" Kenelly beckons Glyphe. "Follow me." She begins to excuse-me and pardon-me her way through the assembled guests toward the elusive Woman in Yellow-Gold.

Glyphe follows Kenelly, kicking someone only once when they fail to realize there's a gnome with Kenelly. "Sorry!" she says brightly.

Avrenne turns her head at the approach of the noblewoman and the gnome, her hands clasped lightly in front of her, brows raised as she senses their intent on her.

Glyphe pauses uncertainly, then bobs a (bad) curtsey. "Excuse me, ma'am," she says, "but we had a question about the catering. You look important, I thought we should ask you and then Kenelly found you."

Kenelly gives a deep curtsey to Avrenne, feeling a sense of importance about the woman. "Apologies if we're interrupting you, my lady. I am Kenelly Ashewood…daughter of Baron Leor Ashewood. This is Glyphe Tinkerspell …of Gnomeregan?" She gives Glyphe an uncertain look.

Avrenne makes a mm sound, with a small smile permitted briefly, to Glyphe and Kenelly. "I see. It's a delight to make your acquaintances. I am Lady Avrenne Esprit Fallon, Duchess Esprit of Lordaeron, Baroness Fallon of the Stormwind Fallons. I would be pleased to answer any question you might have." Her tone is cool, and polite, matching her composed expression.

Glyphe blinks at the long list of names, and eyes Kenelly dubiously. Maybe this isn't the place to start the cheese quest after all.

Kenelly's eyes widen a bit at the realization she is speaking to a duchess. She immediately curtseys again, "Your Grace." The words are said in the tone of apology. "You see… I am Gilnean, and I couldn't help but noticed what seems to be a genuine Gilnean White among the cheeses provided." She can feel the blood draining from her face: Asking a duchess about cheese? "I know this seems such a trivial thing, but I was ever so delighted to find even a small part of my homeland's culture has survived. I thought if I could learn where this cheese came from, I might be able to patronize a Gilnean tradesman and support the preservation of our nation."

In case it's helpful, Glyphe adds to, "It's a cheese quest." Quests are important.

Avrenne's smile makes another appearance, this one brighter, an answering automatic curtsey back to Kenelly. "I am delighted it met with approval. It is not such a trivial thing to have a piece of one's homeland present, something I know all too well myself, having experienced my own time as a refugee from Lordaeron. You would be looking to speak to a Ms. Connor, a woman I met in the Alliance's delegation efforts in Darnassus. I was very pleased to purchase what remained of her stock that she was able to secure in the evacuation. Many of her goods had been damaged in the journey, having not been as well secured in the rush. She is planning on a table for the Darkmoon Faire at the start of this next month, to move the rest of her goods, but if you would wish to purchase more ahead of time, I would be glad to pass along her current residence information." It turns out, the Duchess is the exact person to speak about this cheese.

Glyphe beams at Kenelly. "Quest complete!" she cheers. She tries to hop in the air but is thwarted by her skirts.

Kenelly lights up in a reverent glow at Avrenne, flashing Glyphe an excited smile. "Oh, thank you, Your Grace! That's wonderful news." Perhaps not the cheesemaker she had hoped for, but it's a start. "I'd be so grateful for the information about Ms. Connor. My father is a lover of fine cheeses. I'm sure it will brighten his spirits."

Avrenne nods her head regally. "Lovely. Do be sure to secure some for him, I have high hopes that the Gilnean White will spark interest in the guests. Please do enjoy the party, both of you," she says, and that is all she says to excuse herself, making her way to Lena's table.

Glyphe whispers to Kenelly, "She had a lot of names."

Kenelly nods to Glyph, blushing. "She's a very high ranking member of society. Oh, I hope I didn't just make a fool of myself."

"I don't think so. I told her it was a quest, that had to mean something." She finally spots people at eye level. "Look, it's Slicket and Birdie and Nat! Let's go say hi."

Kenelly nods emphatically, eager to move on from her possible social fiasco.

Atley/Ivri/Roz

Atley returns, having easily balanced the three glasses. Ivri and Roz are both given waters as he settles into his creaking seat with a whiskey. He hooks a finger into his tight white collar and grunts as he undoes the top button, growing more comfortable. “Ladies.”

"Oh, you're from Westfall," Ivri says. "Sorry, I missed that part. Pregnancy brain is real." She shakes her head, then picks up her glass and drains half of it in two gulps. She pats Dane on his thigh, possibly in thanks for the water.

Atley peers mildly at the near emptied glass of Ivri’s and takes another sip from his whiskey. He nudges her knee with his under the table, slightly bullying it, a likely and brutish discreet display of affection, and leaves his shirt with one button undone.

Rozalin takes her water from Atley and nods, “Thank you kindly.”

Atley grunts and raises his glass towards Rozalin. “Bloody shame about the land there. Light knows we could use it, especially these days.”

"I think the people livin’ there outta be able to use it first before we get all worried bout the Alliance." Rozalin says calmly.

Atley faintly knits his brow in confusion. Those unaccustomed to him might mistake it for a flash of anger. He briefly looks to Ivri. “Well, that’d be one and the same then, innit’?”

Ivri munches on a grape. "Don't ask me, I'm eating."

Rozalin shrugs, "I dunno. I'm just doin my best to help out. That's all."

Atley peers at her for a moment before he grunts and raises his glass. “All that any of us can do,” he growls. “You’re staying out there these days, then?”

"Yeah. Been stayin’ with my folks on their farm. Y'all can visit sometime if ya like." Rozalin offers.

Atley looks to Ivri again. "Just may. I've spent most time lately checking the Blackrock incursions into Northshire, but I've a mind to check on the rest of our kingdom." he growls. "You mentioned these were confusing times."

"That they are." Roz agrees.

Atley grunts, and finishes off his whiskey. He similarly clears his plate. "We'll see our way through this," he growls, commenting on the world at large. "I'd get into the food if you've not yet," he advises Rozalin, finishing up.

"I had a bit, but I just might have to go and get some more. This shit's damn good, huh?" She's swearing so you know she really likes it.

He grunts. "Too bloody right. Warrant it's time for seconds." He takes Ivrianna's plate and his own, standing and marching off to do just that, laying siege to the buffet table again.

Rozalin follows on his heels to refill her own plate, "Be right back, beautiful." She says to Ivri.

"Shoulda warned them about his appetite," Ivri muses.

Lena/Avrenne

Lena is sitting peacefully at a table with a plate with a socially-correct amount and distribution of food.

Lena looks up as Avrenne approaches, and greets her with a polite smile. "Lady Fallon. It was a lovely ceremony. I hope they'll be happy together."

Avrenne sits, with the brief poise of someone intending to get back up again soon. "Well, they have managed to be moderately happy thus far while apart, so one can hope that they will be much happier together," she says, somewhat neutrally, her eyes on the gathering. "I don't believe you had an opportunity to meet Lord Arric before the ceremony, did you?"

"Lord Arric? I don't believe so," Lena says, trying to follow Avrenne's gaze. "I'm afraid there are quite a few people here I've not been acquainted with."

Avrenne's eyes have a particular light in them, the fire of Matchmaking. "Well, I happen to be acquainted with a great many of them myself. Let us see that you have the opportunity to do so, then, shall we?" She says, not waiting for Lena's full agreement before she stands, offering Lena her arm in a friendly manner.

Lena smiles a little ruefully, catching the particular flavor of Avrenne's fire. But she stands and straightens her dress and her hair, touching one hand briefly to her lips to check that her lipstick is still there. Then she takes Avrenne's offered arm. "I would be delighted to make new friends."

Slicket/Bertrand/Natlee/Glyphe/Kenelly

Bertrand finds Slicket and drops into a chair to equalize some of the height distance. "Hey, you made it!"

Slicket grins. "Yeah! Like my tux? It was a great ceremony. The kiss was A+."

"Looking sharp," Birdie says, too polite to point out that the tux doesn't fit precisely. He also probably doesn't care. His expression goes a little dreamy. "Thanks! It was my first. Is it always like that?"

"Your first kiss?" Slicket's eyes go wide. "Wow. You two have some natural talent, then. I hope for you every kiss is just as sweet. And just as long. Or longer. Maybe even longer."

Natlee appears behind Slicket, possibly with Glyphe in close proximity. "Ugh, Slick, can you at least try to be civilized?"

Birdie throws his head back and laughs. "Hey, Nat, you made it too! You look lovely."

Slicket laughs. "What? At least I'm honest, right? Or do you have some other variety of kissing commentary?"

Natlee makes a faux-modest oh-go-on gesture with one hand, faking the motions of a blush without actually changing color. Then she grins and gives him a friendly finger-jab in the ribs (she has to reach way up to do so).

"But look at you!" she says, grinning and eyes both very wide. "Getting married and looking so dapper! Such a great look for you, all of it."

Glyphe makes it to the table and waves at everyone. "Hi Birdie! Too late, we already found an answer for the cheese quest. Hi Slick! Natlee, look, I found Kenelly."

Natlee's eyes go wide at Kenelly's dress, with obvious horror. But then she switches quickly to a big bright smile and says, "Kenelly! Wow! Look at your dress! … So fun!"

Kenelly looks down at her flowery gown, giving the skirt a little swish. "Thank you! Isn't it, though? I just couldn't resist the flowers. You look lovely as well. Your hair is done so pretty!"

"Cheese quest?" Slick asks, raising an eyebrow and straightening his mustache. "Now that sounds fun. I'd ask what the reward is, but I think I can guess."

"Glyphe, Lady Kenelly!" Birdie greets. "Purple is such a good color on you," he says to Glyphe. "And you look so bright!" he says to Kenelly. "Thank you all so much for coming."

Natlee beams at the compliment to Glyphe as though Bertrand had just paid her a compliment.

"Kenelly found Gilnean cheese on the food table and we went to find out where they got it from," Glyphe explains. "Then we met a woman who told us but she had so many names. Just the most names ever."

Kenelly nods along with Glyphe's recounting. "Lady Avrenne Esprit Fallon, Duchess Esprit of Lordaeron, Baroness Fallon of the Stormwind Fallons," she clarifies. "I hope we didn't annoy her."

"Oh, you've met already, excellent. She's got connections for days, she was one of the people I was going to introduce you to. And Cress… where is Cress?" Birdie stands from the table, looking around the crowd for his sister. Cressidha is not immediately visible.

"Oh wow, worgen-made cheese?" Slick grins. "I bet that's delicious. Which one is it?"

Kenelly chuckles. "I doubt it was worgen-made. But definitely Gilnean. It's called a Gilnean White. It's the one on the very end of the cheeses, over there." She gestures to the appropriate table. "I'm trying to acquire more. I hope there's still a Gilnean cheesemaker out there somewhere. I could use their help soothing my father's ire."

"I'll make sure I get a chunk of it," Slick says cheerfully. Then he adds, "Wait so which name do we call her by, the lady with connections for days? Lady Duchess? Something like that?"

"Your Grace if you want to keep it simple," Bertrand says, shrugging.

"Your Grace or My Grace?" Slicket seems genuinely confused on this point.

"If you're speaking to her, you call her 'Your Grace'. If you're speaking about her, you call her 'Her Grace'." Birdie grins. "Easy, right?"

"Why's your dad mad?" Glyphe asks.

Kenelly shrugs meekly. "He isn't very pleased that I'm afflicted. I suppose he might also harbor some resentment over me nearly killing my family when I turned." She puts on her best, hopeful, please-don't-think-I'm-a-monster smile.

"Afflicted?! Has he seen both cat shapes? What about the seal shape? Maybe he doesn't know about those." Glyphe seems genuinely confused. "You're the coolest thing ever."

"Oh damn, worgen are hardcore," Slicket says, but he sounds admiring. "I bet they'll come around. You didn't kill them, anyway, and that's got to count for something."

Kenelly cannot help but smile at Glyphe and Slicket's admiration of her abilities. "I suppose he hasn't seen my other shapes. In truth, I kept my life as a harvest-witch a secret from him. He would not have approved. Now that I'm learning the ways of druids, I imagine it is even less appropriate in his mind."

Slicket shakes his head disapprovingly, his mohawk bobbing slightly with the movement. "He doesn't know what he's missing, clearly. Maybe he'll figure himself out someday."

"At least he hasn't kicked me out of the family?" Kenelly makes a feeble effort to defend her father. "He's still holding out hope I can secure a good marriage…or any marriage." She beams at Birdie, "Speaking of which, congratulations on yours! You're absolutely glowing."

"Thank you!" Birdie grins. "I'll see if I can track my sister down for you after the dances. And you must meet Scilla, too. Oh! The dances!" He gets to his feet and gives his friends a little bow. "Please excuse me. Human tradition, the married couple gets the first dance. They're probably waiting on me."

First Dance

The band takes up their new residence in the shade of the gazebo, a string quartet of three women and one rather short man with a cello nearly as large as he is, playing lively music. A wooden platform takes the place of the ceremony chairs, placed on the grass to provide an even ground best suited to dancing, but it is in the full sun of the summer. The nearby shade is only what is granted by the taller trees of the estate as the day leans more and more away from the peak of the afternoon and drifts into the cooler hours.

The waltz is often understood to be a couple’s dance, and it is not a surprise to anyone who knows this particular couple that the first of their dances is of this variety. It is sumptuous and romantic, filled with bright sparks among painfully sweet yearning and dulcet hope. (("Open Arms" - cover by Vitamin String Quartet.))

Bertrand leads Priscilla up onto the stage. He has left his suit jacket somewhere back in the reception area, and he's sweating lightly, but what can you do about the weather?

Priscilla seems very happy. She has had her long hair pinned up into a hurried bun (it was down for the ceremony) by now, and she sweeps onto the stage like a woman fully comfortable in her own body and unselfconscious of the spotlight.

Bertrand bows, Priscilla curtsies, and they waltz, Bertrand leading. Bertrand is an excellent dancer, and Priscilla is not half-bad, but it falls to Bertrand as the lead to make her look better, which he does with ease.

Despite staring into each others' eyes the whole time (except during the twirls), they never get dangerously close to the edge of the stage.

Alysson/Miranda/Jo

Elsewhere, at one of the tables, Alysson and Miranda are seated, and for once, Alysson is behaving. Miranda looks a bit uncertain herself, scanning the crowds, perhaps looking for someone in particular, or at least a familiar face.

Jo is at a table in the corner, enjoying some cheese.

Miranda nudges Alysson, who startles into a standing position, bumping the table they were sitting at and causing the whole thing to violently shake. With an exasperated sigh, she leads the way towards Captain Jo.

"Captain Sparkwire," she says in greeting. "You received my letter, I hope?"

Alysson offers a subdued smile.

Jo smiles. "Yes! I was very pleased to hear you were both back safely. It's been a dangerous time, and we've… we've lost people." Jo glances over towards Priscilla at that last. "She seems so happy today, though, doesn't she? I'm so glad there's still happiness in the world."

Miranda's smile wavers, but only for a moment. "It is a lovely occasion, yes. I am glad for her." If she has anything to say about the loss, the thoughts remain unspoken. By her.

"We lost some fellows?" Alysson asks. "Cobalts?" He looks worried.

Jo's smile falters a little. "Yes. Torvald and Nis… Cog… Cognitia." There's a little wobble in her mouth for a moment, but then she smiles. "Nish was planning a party, for summer. I'm thinking I'll hold it sometime soon. In her memory."

"Aw, Jo…" Alysson kneels down and holds his arms out for a hug. From the look of guilt on his face, he probably needs one too.

Miranda busies herself with scanning the crowds again. Don't look at her, she's perfectly fine.

Jo happily welcomes the hug. She makes a little gesture with one hand outstretched, inviting Miranda to join.

Miranda seems a little startled by the gesture, but she kneels carefully beside her brother and joins the hug. "I'm…I'm sorry," she whispers softly.

Peril Farrens is intently examining the cutlery, for some reason.

Second Dance

In contrast to the romantic first dance, the second is a rolling, rollicking country jig, one that those who attended the Aspenwood-Harbrooke wedding two and a half years ago might recall. There is no real formality of the usual rigid dances, encouraging a large circular barn dance of twirls and joyous stepping. (("Christina’s Jig" - Hanneke Cassel))

Velrin takes Celaven's hand and leads him off to dance with her. Nylarria remains behind in the reception area for now.

Celaven is less familiar with this style of dance, but he does his best with Velrin to fit in with the others.

Velrin is all smiles while she enjoys dancing with her mate. Weddings always put her in a good mood.

Both Bertrand and Priscilla remain on the dance floor for the jig.

Rozalin steps onto the dance floor to see who’s available. She hopes she can find someone before the music switches to something really formal.

Estel/Miranda/Alysson

Estel finds the two time-travelers and befriends them with pie

Arric/Sintha/Alaisa/Lena/Avrenne

Lord Arric is busy talking animatedly with Sintha and Alaisa. He seems… very cheerful? And very red-haired? And well dressed?

"Ah. Best of luck in that," Alaisa says. "How did the two of you meet?" she asks both Arric and Sintha.

Arric looks at Sintha and just bursts out laughing. "Oh, perhaps I should let her tell it. She's ever so good at stories."

Before Sintha can begin this tale, Avrenne, guiding Lena along through the crowd, steps up to the table. "Sintha, Lord Arric, Lady Alaisa. I see you have found an excellent shade and entertaining table." All of the tables have shade, but okay. "I do hope I'm not interrupting. If I might have the delight of presenting the Fallon Fleet's warlock and one of the founding members of the Warlock Ethics Bureau, Miss Lena Coit."

Sintha narrows her eyes briefly at Avrenne, smiling. I see you, lady. Then she fixes on another rapturous smile. "That's right, a most accomplished lady, Shay finds her absolutely indispensable. Miss Coit, may I present my dear childhood friend, Lord Arric Falrevere of Tiragarde?"

Alaisa gives Lena a little wave.

Lena makes a polite curtsey, having left her plate back at the table. Lena's voice still carries an obvious thread of rural Lordaeronian accent, for those who know to hear it. "Of Tiragarde? It's a pleasure to meet more folk from Kul Tiras."

Lena gives a small wave back to Alaisa after the curtsey.

Arric bows over Lena's hand and gives her a bright smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Coit," he says. "I have a thousand questions, but I confess I'm afraid to ask them, as my last round of questions drove the last lady I spoke to away as surely as if I had unleashed a swarm of hornets."

"I am rather difficult to drive away, unless you intend to," Lena says with a smile. "May I join all of you here, to talk for a while? I'd be happy to answer many of a thousand questions, or to ask them myself."

Arric lights up. "Marvelous! All right, my first question is… 'Warlock Ethics Bureau?' I suppose that's not a complete sentence, but from my perspective that very three words is the most intriguing question. You must tell me everything. Oh and my second question, much in the same vein, is, 'fleet warlock?'”

Nylarria/Elodie

Nylarria wanders about the area somewhat aimlessly. She goes to the tables and grabs a couple small pieces of cheese which she immediately eats and then wanders off. Nylarria keeps a wary distance from Niris while she also snacks on cheese.

Elodie Gardner, the Scarlet Bride, approaches the table, her face also hidden behind a veil. She looks at Nylarria and freezes. (Same hat! Although the Scarlet Bride seems more intimidated by this than pleased.)

Nylarria also freezes. She doesn't turn around but she's clearly observing her and judging what to do next.

The Scarlet Bride stares for an awkwardly long time. She is a grown woman, but there's something about her expression beneath the veil that looks like a frightened child waiting for her parents to come pick her up and take her away from the scary lady.

There are people present who could come do that - the rest of her unit - but they don't seem to have noticed just yet.

Nylarria slowly straightens herself out and breaks the silence, "Hello." This is all she says. The short, scrawny kaldorei woman keeps still.

"Hello," the Scarlet Bride whispers. She reaches up to touch the bottom of the veil. "Are you… like me?"

Nylarria gently brushes her hand aside, "Do you mean blind? Then yes."

The Scarlet Bride lowers her hand. "Oh. No, I can see. I meant… never mind. I hope I didn't offend you. Would you like any help choosing food from the tables? I can tell you what there is available."

"No. It's fine. And I can tell apart the food well enough." She grabs another piece and puts it in her mouth, "Why are you so curious about me?"

The Scarlet Bride whispers, "I just… saw your veil. I wear one too. My apologies."

"Oh. I see." Nylarria pauses, "Are they unusual to wear? Velrin told me that they can be quite fashionable apparently."

The Scarlet Bride considers this. "Sometimes. In human fashion, women may also wear them if they're getting married. Or if they're mourning. Men don't wear them often."

"I see…" Nylarria lets the information marinate for a minute, "How odd."

The Scarlet Bride nods, remembers she's talking to a blind woman, and makes a faint noncommittal 'mmhm' noise. "Sorry," she says.

"For what?" Nylarria asks.

"Being presumptuous," the Scarlet Bride says. "I shouldn't have touched your veil like that either. I apologize. This is the first wedding I've attended since… well, since mine."

"Oh… It's alright." Nylarria says casually, "This is the first wedding I've ever attended."

"It's a very nice one," says the Scarlet Bride, smiling beneath her veil. "Nothing bad has happened."

"That's true. There are several warlocks here, though." She states plainly. It's unsure why she decided to bring this up. Her tone isn't a hostile one.

"There's a warlock in my unit," the Scarlet Bride whispers. "Lieutenant Paine." What an ominous-sounding name for a warlock to have.

“Mmm… It seems the humans do not fear the fel in the way the kaldorei do. I cannot say if this is from a lack of prejudice or plain foolishness, however.”

"I believe that the Light will safeguard me against the Fel," says the Scarlet Bride. "It's still frightening. Any corruption is."

"That it is." Nylarria is done eating cheese for now.

"I've been very rude," the Scarlet Bride says suddenly. "What is your name?"

"Nylarria. And yours?"

There's a brief hesitation before the priestess whispers, "Elodie."

"I see." The rhythm of social niceties is lost on her.

"Goodbye," Elodie says. She has had a whole entire social interaction and everyone should be very proud of her.

"Del nah'dris." Nylarria walks away from the table of food.

Siamus/Elohad/Niris

Siamus, whiskey in one hand and baby in his other arm, has sidled around the back of the drinks table to scan the crowd discreetly from this concealed vantage. He spots Elohad.

He tips his drink back in ungentlemanly haste, sets the empty glass down, and begins to wind his way through the crowd toward him. He casts the occasional cautious look around on his way.

Elohad is being generally sociable with everyone nearby, though does not at present seem to be deeply engaged in any exclusive conversation.

Siamus arrives at Elohad's side and greets him with a nod. "Ference. Ye look sharp. And your lovely wife appears to be in her element." (Niris's element appears to be the cheese table.) "Are ye enjoying yourselves?"

He shifts the baby casually against his shoulder. You can check out my awesome baby if you wanna, NBD.

Elohad is polite enough to at least reach out to give Siamus a warm handclasp and a hearty "Vice Admiral! What a pleasure," before his eyes are drawn to the baby like iron filings to a magnet.

"Oh my," he says, his eyes turning to melty hearts. "Oh my. Look at her. Niris, look at her."

Niris turns to look, discreetly shielding her mouth full of cheese with her fan. Her eyes widen. "Oh," she says, and bustles over to her husband's side.

Siamus inclines his head courteously to her, smiling. That's right, everyone admire this baby, as is her due.

The baby in question, fit to be admired, squirms in her father's arms, scowling in a somewhat directed way at Siamus. She seems to have zeroed in on his tie, correctly (?) placed straight up and down against his shirt. This is wrong. This is not her father's way. The 3-month-old bats at it, and then opens chubby fingers to grasp at it clumsily, yanking on it until it hangs askew jauntily, and also half out of his waistcoat. This task accomplished, she looks up at Siamus, and the black-eyed glare sparkles as she makes a high pitched little shriek — not really a laugh, but maybe in its gleeful scream neighborhood — and gives him a gummy grin. She fixed it! The world is right again.

Siamus gazes down at his daughter, struck wordless. He looks a little dazed, and then an answering smile spreads slowly across his face. "She's smiling," he says to Elohad and Niris, a little rough-voiced. He looks up, "She's smiling."

He raises his voice and turns to announce to anyone in the vicinity, "She's smiling!"

Niris laughs.

Elohad looks just as dazed as though it were his own daughter. "She is smiling," he agrees stupidly, smiling back. "Look at her!" he says, even though everyone is already looking at her.

Kyris takes note from a ways away and nods in approval. Yes. The baby has learned to smile. Excellent.

Avrenne's head turns at the sound of Siamus' voice — and she looks precisely at him, as if despite the fact that her back was to him, she knew exactly where he was in all the crowd. "Please excuse me," she says to the assembled table, without explanation, leaving Lena to navigate those questions on her own, as Avrenne makes her way to Siamus, Niris, and Elohad.

Avrenne closes in on Siamus, brows raised.

By this point, the announcement has made Ery return to her regular dark eyed glare.

Lena/Arric/Sintha/Alaisa

Lena laughs lightly, glancing to Avrenne and nodding in farewell before she moves to take a seat at the table. "Well, as you've probably noted, warlocks are not terribly well known for their ethical behavior. But any sort of profession has got all sorts of people, and warlocking is no different. What we aim for in the bureau is to keep warlocks safe and accountable, and make sure our people stay in the light, so to speak. Our goal is one day folk will employ WEB warlocks, knowing they're getting someone of a certain quality and integrity."

Lena pauses, taking a breath. "As for fleet, mostly I sail with Fallon and lend my skills to our naval success. That's often stuff like summoning, but sometimes combat as well. Really it's a matter of creativity, seeing problems and seeing where I've got solutions that'll fit."

Alaisa leans over to Sintha and says, quietly, "That's for Lucy, isn't it?"

She can probably still be overheard by the other people at the table, Lena and Arric.

Sintha, who has been putting away shrimp now that Arric and Lena are in conversation, pauses. Her expression does an odd little shiver, and then she nods firmly at Alaisa, her eyes artificially bright. "That's right. I knew she wouldn't like to miss it."

She eats another shrimp so no one can see the thing her lower lip does.

Lena glances away for a moment, making it plausible that she might have missed the moment of grief.

Arric, unfortunately, seems to catch the lip-quiver and be momentarily distracted by it, peering at her with gentle concern and stepping subtly closer without drawing attention directly to her distress.

Alaisa nods. She gets it. "Yeah. You look like a princess." It sounds like a compliment, given the context. "Save me a dance later? Or two."

Sintha beams at Alaisa. "I will darling, thank you."

She looks up at Arric and offers him a blithe smile as well. Everything's fine, nothing to see here, totally fine, these shrimp are great.

After an ambiguous minor delay where he took a step closer to Sintha for no apparent reason, Arric turns his briefly-distracted attention back to Lena. "That's simply marvelous. I've never known any warlocks personally, so I don't have a strong opinion about them. You hear tales of course, but no one with any sense puts stock in tales if he hasn't seen a thing for himself."

Lena turns back to the group, smiling. There was no private conversation she saw the outside of, nope, not at all. "Well, in this case, I'm afraid a lot of the stories have merit. Working with the fel is dangerous, and a lot of people go wrong with it. I'm dedicated to making sure I'm not one of them, nor any of the warlocks I work with."

"So how do you do that, exactly?" Arric looks genuinely interested, borderline fascinated. "If it's dangerous, how do you keep it from going wrong?"

"That's what we're keen to find out," Lena says with a reassuring smile. The smile is reassuring because her words are not. "There's only been warlocks in the Alliance for a few years now, so many things are still being sorted out. We keep an eye on one another, though. And we've got priests and paladins in our numbers to do the same. Spot any signs of someone veering off wrong, hopefully quick enough to correct it."

"Oh, an excellent idea indeed," Arric agrees amiably, "to have priests and paladins to confer with. One of the things that's so delightful about the Alliance is how many different perspectives there are to test one another. From the clash of differing opinions comes the spark of truth and all that. Kul Tiras, as much as I love my homeland, is very much of the mind of… we all agree, so it must be the truth." He sighs and shrugs self-deprecatingly on behalf of his homeland.

"Is that why you're here, and not there?" Lena asks curiously. "For the joy of differing opinions and freedom in thought?"

"Precisely!" Arric says, his manner suggesting that Lena has won a prize of some sort. "I got tired of asking what was going on with the war in Northrend and having backs turned to me in response. So I decided to come where I would get my questions answered. There is more to the world than just Kul Tiras, as much as a Tirasian might take offense at the suggestion."

"Well, I'm happy to tell you the War in Northrend's gone pretty well," Lena says with a faint smile. "And I - and Sintha - might be good folk to ask about it. We were there at Icecrown Citadel, at the end. I did a lot of work around the coast with the fleet, but I took a bit of time off to join the ground assault."

"I did hear that you finally disposed of the Lich King. Stunning news, really. Would never have imagined it could be done. I've been inspired to join Cobalt Company, you know, and I have been making myself useful in small, part-time ways around Elwynn Forest in the wake of the Cataclysm, as they've been calling it."

"Oh? Cobalt Company likes to hire all sorts of folk, so I'm sure they'd be interested in a Kul Tirasian," Lena smiles. "Especially if you've been helping out already. I'm around Elwynn these days myself, at least till there's more work needed with the fleet."

"Bit of trivia for you!" Arric says brightly, and unsolicitedly. "If you're speaking of someone or something that is natively of Kul Tiras, or a descendant of the original human settlers, you use 'Tirasian.' But 'Kul Tiran' refers to people who live there and are citizens but who might be, for example, gnomes or other more recent immigrants.

"We also sometimes use 'Kul Tiran' to describe any object or thing that has become a part of Kul Tiras but isn't truly of there by nature. The distinctions can be subtle, and even natives get it wrong sometimes, but that's the general way. In case you were curious!"

Alaisa smiles. She loves language trivia.

Arric catches her smile and beams it back at her, magnified! He loves it when people love things!

"Oh, that's really interesting," Lena says with a smile. "I'll have to keep it in mind, I would not want to offend. I don't think there's anything similar for Stormwind, but Lady Alaisa might have to tell you if I'm wrong. I've only been 'round Stormwind myself a few years."

"There's a bit of a shift toward just saying 'Kul Tiran' for everything. Probably started by the Kul Tirans." Arric grins. "But if you really want to impress a Tirasian, pull out the word Tirasian." He winks. "I suspect before long though, the word will mean nothing but a horse breed." His grin turns into an outright laugh. The very thought!

Sintha rolls her eyes fondly at Arric. "You can see, naturally, why Shay adores him," she tells the table at large.

This might be news to Arric.

This is clearly news to Arric. At Sintha's last sentence, Arric turns to her with Anime Eyes.

Alaisa is watching Sintha and Arric and Lena with a friendly smile. She's probably playing 5-dimensional chess in her head or something.

Sintha smiles solemnly back at Arric and nods her head. U know it, buddy. Siamus Fallon's #1 Guy.

She leans around Arric to inform Lena, in case she missed the assertion: "Shay just thinks the world of Arric, you know. Thick as thieves practically since we were children."

Arric's anime eyes escalate. They are all shimmery now. Is he, an alleged man, about to start crying in the middle of a wedding reception?

"Isn't it wonderful to find out people hold you in high esteem," Lena says, her smile bright. She does not point out that Siamus has never said anything like that to her.

"Especially a man such as the Vice Admiral," Arric says. "To capture the notice of a man like that is a true honor indeed."

Honey, Siamus's attention gets captured a lot. But that is probably not the kind of attention you meant.

Frankly that is ALSO an honor, excuse u.

Third Dance

As if to allow a respite from the jig, for the third dance, the band moves into a mellow and temperate shorter quadrille, encouraging the dancers into groups of four or six dancers, pairing off to dance round each other in choreographed twists and turns. The main melody repeats three times and then ends. (("Fields of Gold" - cover by Stringspace))

As the third song begins, Birdie escorts Priscilla off the dance floor and goes to fetch them both water.

Atley/Roz/Ivri

Atley glances around as they move and lowers his voice to a growl. "How'd you get that, then," he inquires, dragging a finger across his face, just under his eyes. "Prize fighting?" He enters the buffet line and deeply inhales the scent of food.

Rozalin's face grows pale and dark, "Nah this was somethin else. You know the Hazans right? The ones that ain't Ben I mean?"

Atley grunts and shakes his head, shuffling patiently in line, looming over their fellow attendees. "I know of Jonas. I know of Niris," he responds, mildly.

"Oh, that's right." She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, "Just nevermind it then."

Atley peers sidelong at her, and grunts. An invitation for more, or an acceptance of what he's been given — it's hard to tell, but he doesn't say anything else. He finishes loading up the dual plates and nods back towards Ivri with Rozalin.

"Long story short I knew a Hazan and he and I didn't get along too well. Gave Ben a bit of grief cause of it." She decides maybe it's best to get this off of her chest and Atley seems like the type to keep this sort of thing to himself, "Feel a bit bad bout it knowin now he's a good guy, but… I dunno. Not sure how to bring it up and apologize."

Atley grunts, mulling it over. "I know Ben," he growls. "He's a forward charger, and he appreciates and respects it in others. If you mean it, tell him." He looks to Rozalin. "When he's a moment."

"Thanks." Rozalin nods to Dane, letting him lead the way back to Ivri now that their plates are full again.

Atley returns to Ivri's table with a second plate and takes a seat. He hooks a finger into his shirt and undoes two whole buttons, now. "Eat this. Then we'll dance," he explains, looking up at Rozalin with a nod as they return.

Nothing loathe, Ivri starts in on the strawberries.

Rozalin gets to work on her new plate as well, "Just don't eat too much if ya plan on being out there for a while. Made that mistake before."

Atley perks up and glances over, brow furrowed. "Out where?"

Ivri laughs, an unabashedly bright sound. "Dancing, Dane. Out dancing."

Rozalin snickers along with her, "Yeah, dummy. The fel did you think I meant? The Burning Steppes?"

Atley's eyes light up and flick towards Ivri, like a moths changing direction upon seeing flame. "Dancing, mm…? Now who said we were to dance? You've grown properly expectant, haven't you," he jokes dryly, playing dumb, briefly looking over at Rozalin, shaking his head as he cleans off a kabob. "Battle or something."

Atley cleans off his plate and politely daps a napkin at grunts before he grunts and stands, nodding down to Roz. “Excuse us.”

He lowers a hand to Ivrianna and grunts. “Come along then, my lady. Didn’t get all dressed up to sit around, did we.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll have fun you two.” Roz waves them off, “Maybe I can find a pretty girl for myself to dance with. Tired of sittin around.”

Rozalin sighs after they’ve gone and scans the crowd for anyone to dance with. Maybe Jenzelle? She thinks she saw her earlier.

Atley grunts at her and flashes a gruff, if wry look before he walks off. “Steal my wife, later. Show her a good time.”

“Careful what you wish for, cowboy.” Roz replies with a wink.

Atley grunts.

Sil/Gardenia

Sil has settled in at a table, with plates of half-eaten food, and seems to be playing with two-year-old Nate with a stuffed elekk. The creature traverses the chairs and makes flying leaps, as Nate giggles.

Sil's sister-in-law Patricia, on the other hand, is taking this rare opportunity for a social event with adults, as Sil watches his nephew. She seems a little uncertain what to do here, exactly, but then she notices the people huddled around baby Ery and wanders in that direction. That has the added benefit of a person she recognizes nearby, Ben Hazan.

As Gardenia walks past Sil's table, carrying Beatrice, the child goes, "Toy!" very demandingly.

Gardenia sighs and stops walking. "That's not your toy, Bee," she tells her little girl, and does a double-take as she recognizes the young man who Cressidha introduced to her children when last he visited. "Silvestre, is this your nephew?"

Sil smiles at Gardenia. "Hello, ma'am! Yes, this is Nate, say hello, Nate!"

Nate flails his hand rather wildly, and Sil does his best to corrall it into something like a wave. "I'm sure Nate could share the toy, if you like."

"Hello, Nate." Gardenia smiles at him. "Would you like to meet Bee? Bee, this is Nate."

Bee wiggles and squirms in her mother's arms. "Down." When Gardenia places her on the ground, she sits and begins trying to pull off her shoes. She doesn't have the coordination to manage the laces at all.

"Would you like to play with Bee, Nate?" Sil prompts, handing the little boy the elekk. Nate clutches the toy close, and stares at Sil blankly.

Sil chuckles and lifts the little boy, sitting him next to Bee. To Gardenia, he says, "I think at his age, it's more 'play next to', but he's getting there."

Bee reaches for the elekk. "Toy." She does not grab it out of Nate's hands, but she pokes at it.

"They'll grow into it," Gardenia says with a sigh. "Do you have any children, Silvestre?"

Nate holds the toy out, not looking at Bee and says. "Ellllek."

"Me?" Sil turns to Gardenia. "Oh, no. I've not even married yet. One day, I hope, for both. Meantime, I try to be a good uncle."

Bee wraps her tiny hand around the plush elekk's trunk and shakes it like a handshake.

Gardenia smiles at Sil. "One day."

Proud Papa

Siamus is still grinning ear-to-ear, and holds the scowling baby up like a trophy. He forgets that he has been hiding from his wife, and turns toward her glowingly. "She smiled, Your Grace. Ah, she smiled at me."

He looks expectantly at his daughter. Do it again, kid.

Avrenne steps in closer to Siamus, reaching out to straighten his tie in a dutiful wifely way. "I see," she says. There is a flicker of movement around her lips as if she is repressing a smile of her own, but her eyes are warm and bright when she lifts them to Siamus'.

The moment the tie has been straightened, Ery shrieks again, louder and less pleased, trying to grab at the tie, and grabbing at Avrenne's hair instead. She frees a wave from its careful coifing, scattering a pin or two into the grass. The blonde wave springs out, bouncing against Avrenne's shoulder. Ery's glare blooms back up into a smile. Yes, good, she is fixing everything today. Papa tie jaunty. Mama hair down. The baby swings both arms up and down vigorously, in a way that would dislodge her if not for the strong grip of her father.

"Oh," Avrenne says, and her mask slips a little as she smiles back at Ery. For a second or two. Then she recalls herself. Ahem. Serious duchess. You saw nothing.

Siamus tips his head back and laughs, unabashedly delighted. "Ah, she will be a hellion, then. Tiny little tempest." He grins at his daughter and swings her up briefly into the air before collecting her comfortably against his side again.

"She looks very like the two of you," Niris observes, looking between the Fallons, still smiling herself. "I wonder where she gets the hellion from, though?"

"That would be Her Grace," Siamus says solemnly.

Avrenne could not look any less like a hellion, her face back into perfectly composed lines, the very picture of elegant refinement and cool temper. However, what she says is, in her crisp Lordaeron accent, "Precisely so."

Ismene looks over at the proud papa. "I think I found the Vice Admiral," she notes dryly to Ben. "Did you want to go say hello?"

Ben swallows the mouthful he was chewing and eyes the little group dubiously. "They are doin' baby stuff. You reckon it is okay to interrupt them?"

"He's had her since the wedding started," she points out. "He'll probably be doing baby stuff all day. But we can wait, if you like." She doesn't seem to have any strong opinions.

Ben sizes up the group again. He shakes his head and sets his plate down. "Naw, let's go an' say hi. Sir Elo and Aunt Nir are there, too." He straightens his bow tie and glances down to offer Mizzy his arm.

Ismene smiles up at Ben and rests her hand lightly on his arm. "You look so handsome today. In case I forget to tell you later."

He smiles back at her. "Well, I got to try to keep up with you or no one will see me at all, with you lookin' so pretty." He leads Mizzy toward the group.

Elohad laughs delightedly, and continues to stare stupidly and happily at the baby. "She reminds me so much of my Elly when she was little. My firstborn. She's off having her own adventures now and I hardly hear from her, but she's a survivor, that one, and a bit of trouble herself."

Avrenne's attention seems to snag on something briefly, a flick of her eyes in a direct line to Merelda, and then another quick line, following the woman's line of sight to Zath. She reaches down to pluck her hair pins off the ground in a sweep of movement. "I should fix my hair. Lady Ference, Lord Ference. A delight to see you as always. Do enjoy the wedding," she says, sparing another look at Siamus, a fixing point, before she sweeps off again towards the house.

Niris pats Elo's arm affectionately, still beaming at the infant herself. "Oh, when she's a little older, I wonder if she'd like to play with Dane."

Ismene curtseys briefly as Avrenne passes by them and continues on until they reach Siamus's group. "Vice Admiral," she greets, bobbing another curtsey. "How good to see you." Her smile relaxes as she says her hellos to Elo and Niris as well.

Avrenne dips into her own automatic bob of a curtsey back. "Lieutenant Hazan. Lady Ismene," she greets in passing.

Siamus turns toward the young couple, faintly startled, and then smiles warmly. He bows his head. (He cannot bow over Ismene's hand; he's holding a baby.) "Lady Ismene," he says. "As lovely as the day." He turns his smile up to Ben. "And looking handsome yourself, Lieutenant."

Niris eyes him.

Siamus glances distractedly after his wife, and then carefully shifts toward Elohad. "Would ye like to hold her?"

Highest honor.

"Would I…" Elohad breathes as though he's been offered a medal from His Majesty. He reaches out immediately with dadly experienced arms.

This is the appropriate level of reverence, and Siamus passes the baby over approvingly. Ery gathers her little squashed fists to her chest again and glares up at this stranger. Her black-eyed gaze is uncannily like her father's, except like a thousand times less friendly.

His hands now free, Siamus turns again to the Hazans and bends to take Ismene's hand and bow over it. It is a strangely gentle, respectful gesture, more than a piece of gallantry.

"Who's a beautiful girl?" Elohad says to Ery solemnly. "Did you know that it's you? Did you know that you're the most beautiful, clever girl? Would you like to marry my son? My unmarried son of course. No need to make up your mind right now, but you should most certainly meet him, at least. He's quite handsome and will only smash some of your toys. If you like him, then perhaps in a quarter century or so you might marry him! Unless there's someone you like better of course. But I'm fairly certain he's flawless."

As if she only heard one word in all that, smash, Ery takes this opportunity to fall forward onto Elohad, angling her head to his tie to smash her face into it and try to get it into her mouth to gum it. Om nom nom.

Niris smacks Elohad's shoulder with affectionate humor, and then coos at Ery's effort to slime her husband's tie. So precious!

Siamus is the King of the World.

Elohad passes Ery toward Niris, inviting her to share in the joy of this flawless human.

Niris trades him her fan and accepts the small, flawless human willingly. She lifts Ery up to make cheery, wrinkle-nosed faces at her.

Ery shrieks out as she's deprived of her chew toy, but stares up into Niris' face with wide eyed solemnity, her mouth open and drooling still. What in the world is this woman's face doing. Can Ery's face do that? Maybe. She tries, scrunching her face up like she's about to need a diaper change, but possibly with intention.

Niris tucks Ery against her shoulder and rubs the baby's back in soothing circles. She looks about two minutes from suggesting discreetly to Elohad that they make a run for it with the kid.

Elohad beams a generally happy smile at everyone there, still high off of babysnuggles. His tie may be slightly damp.

Merelda/Zath

Merelda Veyne quietly collects a small plate of food, looking a little uneasy in such an unfamiliar crowd. As she turns away from the buffet, she steels herself and straightens her bearing, trying to project confidence.

And that's when she notices Zath across the room. She nearly drops her plate, but then recovers. She stands where she is for longer than she should, staring at him. There's a chance he won't turn and look at her.

Captain Tyrrell seems to have an uncanny ability to notice when he is being Watched, so he turns toward the sensation and… stares right back. For a moment he looks utterly disoriented. His wife is seated next to him, wearing a lovely pink dress and … eating, I believe. He is standing.

Halliday is indeed eating, by which I mean mostly rearranging pieces of fruit on a plate and watching everything wide-eyed as though she were at some sort of immersive theater experience.

Merelda doesn't look away, but she makes a few half movements, like maybe she's going to run away or hide. Instead, she walks directly over towards Zath and Halliday's table.

"Hello, cousin," Merelda says in greeting, in case he had any doubt. "It's been a long time."

Avrenne's sweep towards the house has completely and totally coincidentally sent her in the path of passing by the Tyrrell's table. Wow, how'd that happen at just this moment. She nods to the assembled. "Captain Tyrrell, Lady Tyrrell, Lady Merelda. I am so pleased you could join us today. I would stay a moment, but I must find a mirror to fix my hair." There is a single wave cascading down to touch her shoulder, where the infant Ery freed it. "The house is open to visitors, with private rooms on the third floor, naturally." Just…information, presented, in case someone needs that. Her eyes land on Zath for the barest moment, before she is already off again, forging ahead, her path set.

"Oh!" says Halliday at Merelda's greeting to Zath, and surveys her with unabashed curiosity. And then: "Oh," politely and a little timidly to Avrenne. It isn't until the Duchess is out of earshot that she thinks to call guiltily, "Thank you!"

She turns her frank attention back to Merelda.

"Oh, and… you must be the Countess TyrrELL? TYRell?" Merelda stumbles a little over the 'new' pronunciation. "I'm Merelda Veyne of Gilneas." She pauses, trying to think what other introduction to give. "My mother is Zath's aunt." Yes, Merelda, that is indeed the definition of a cousin.

"Halliday," Halliday corrects, and rises to offer her hand. "I haven't met any of — well I didn't know he had any — it's nice to meet you." She gives Zath an uncertain sidelong look.

Zath reaches out to take Merelda's hand, but then his nostrils flare strangely, and his eyes flare as well. There is the faintest hitch in his movement but then he follows through, taking her hand and bowing over it in a gentlemanly manner.

"Cousin," he says coolly. "It has indeed been a while, and to see you alive and well does my heart good." His icy tone is at war with his words.

"To be fair, darling wife, I wasn't aware I had any remaining family either. Until just now." He gives Merelda a strange smile.

Halliday turns a little pink and looks between her husband and his Sudden Cousin. She is not clear what's going on here, so she sits down again and resumes rearranging fruit.

Merelda breathes in sharply as he bows over her hand, and then she curtsies with the movement.

"I would have sought you out sooner, only it was impossible." There's a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, as she continues, "You might be pleased to know your aunt and uncle live as well. And Ozzy Boles."

Zath lays a hand on Halliday's shoulder gently, and leans down to murmur something very close to her ear, inaudible to anyone but her. Then he turns his attention back to Merelda.

"I … looked for her," he says, his voice strained. "Boles. That's how I — ran into trouble. Has she —?" He exhales a sharp sigh. "She got out safely before I even got there, didn't she." His voice is flat, knowing the answer, and bitter about it.

"I don't really know," Merelda says, looking at him. "When were you there? We left by boat for Darnassus on the 2nd of June. She's not an easy person to keep safe, Zath. It was a difficult promise to keep."

Halliday is watching and listening to this exchange like she'd rather have popcorn right now than fruit.

Something almost warm flickers across Zath's face at Merelda's complaint. "Ah, so she is a Boles after all," he says. Then the warmth is shot through with pain for a moment before it resolves back into his usual cool distance. "Where is she now? I would like to meet with her."

He turns somewhat belatedly to his wife and clarifies, "Miss Boles is the sister of my former Master Sergeant, lost to us at Wrathgate. As Miss Boles was on the wrong side of the Greymane wall, I employed my cousin to ensure she was taken care of these past years."

Halliday nods, wide-eyed. She loves backstory. She still needs popcorn.

"Her sister was… oh no," Merelda says, losing a touch of her confident demeanor. She clasps her hands together, looking down at the fingers for a moment. She just needs to compose her (human) self. "I could tell you where to find her, but I'll need to talk with her first. I told her… what we agreed upon. She's made her own theories, but I'm afraid none of them are close to the truth."

"Whatever you think is best," Zath says. "You know her well enough, by now, I imagine. And I do apologize for saddling you with a Boles, but there was nothing I could do, thanks to … the vagaries of politics. Thank you for keeping her alive and out of prison as I requested. I look forward to meeting her and telling her of her sister's many years of heroism. As for you, I am very glad you survived. I believe you must be my only surviving family, unless by some miracle Aunt Zura also made it through that nightmare."

"I think mother would make it through the world cracking open like an egg," Merelda says, with a brief laugh. "She and father were out of Gilneas on an earlier ship than mine. So you've a little more family now, Zath. Congratulations. Or condolences. Whichever seems appropriate to you." Merelda pauses, then asks, with just the slightest hint of vulnerability in her voice, "Did you ever… leave the signal we agreed upon? I wasn't able to get to the island, for the past few years."

Zath shakes his head. "I did not. I suppose… now none of it really matters. Now we focus on… moving forward. Somehow." For just a moment, he looks… absolutely, utterly lost. But he smooths over it quickly. "Where are you living now?"

"I've been in the Howling Oak, in Darnassus, in recent days," Merelda says smoothly, with all the implications that might carry. "Mother and father have found a place elsewhere in the city, though I'm certain they're planning to move closer to Stormwind."

"The 'Howling Oak,' " Zath echoes, a touch of acid in his voice. "Yes, I know where that is. I suppose it is fortunate that we ran into each other here rather than there.. I do not think you would have enjoyed my mood at my last visit."

"You don't approve?" Merelda raises an eyebrow. "They went to some effort, getting a Gilnean oak there to help us feel at home. It's all a bit… kaldorei, I admit. But they've been trying."

Zath gives her a long, flat stare. "Please consider carefully the circumstances surrounding my last… and only… visit to that place," he says, very very quietly. "And then you may understand what I mean when I say it is best that was not our second-ever encounter with one another." His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

"We all make do with the hands fate deals us," Merelda says, and glances over to where Kenelly is with the gnomes and Birdie (probably). After a moment, she seems to decide a greater degree of clarity is needed, and she adds, a little tersely, "I am afflicted with the curse, as I suspect you've noted. Ozzy is as well. Your aunt and uncle avoided it."

"Thank you for letting me know," Zath says crisply, with no sign of emotional response to the news about Ozzy or his aunt. "Though I suppose it ought to be up to each individual to let me know themselves, when it comes to such a personal matter?"

One dark brow lifts slightly. Are you getting his message, oh less-than-subtle redhead?

Halliday is actually eating now, putting food in her mouth in a slow, mesmerized fashion, as though it were in fact popcorn and this is the most amazing movie ever made.

"If the person in question were making a secret of it," Merelda says mildly, not seeming terribly taken aback by the coolness of his response. "I would, naturally, take that into account. Ozzy is not, and nor am I. But I'm not going to make a list for you. Or anyone else."

"Excellent," Zath says crisply. "I would not want to intrude on anyone's privacy unwarrantedly. On another subject, I would love to visit with my aunt the next time I am in Darnassus, as well. I was rather getting to like her, the last time we spoke. Or she could always come visit my estate, but as my poor wife can attest, my own residence there is… somewhat spotty."

"I can certainly provide you with the address," Merelda nods. "And a future one, if they move to Stormwind. I'm sure my mother would be pleased to see you. She's rather old-fashioned, so you'll want to send a card ahead."

She doesn't mention her father, how odd. Almost like it was intentional.

Luckily, Zath doesn't seem to give a damn about her father. Nice how that works out.

"A Tyrrell through and through," Zath says wryly, pronouncing it tuh-RELL. "But I'll forgive her that, given how well we got along at our last meeting. And because I am beginning to value family, and legacy, in a way that I have not for many, many years. That, in fact, is why I decided it was high time I got married. Well, my dear friend the Duchess Esprit-Fallon may have put the idea into my head. And I was most fortunate that a woman I have long admired was still unattached and was more than forgiving of my various eccentricities."

He doesn't even look at Halliday as he says this, so only context reveals that he's talking about the woman sitting right next to him. That he has apparently long admired. How long could he have admired her? She looks about twelve. (She is in her twenties.)

Halliday stops eating to eye Zath dubiously. She doesn't look over her shoulder in confusion, because he did not actually point at her, but one has the sense that she is definitely not 100% clear on who he's talking about.

She looks at Merelda. Maybe Merelda knows?

"I'll be needing to tend to that myself, sooner rather than later. I am heir to my own house now, as it happens," Merelda says, and there's a brief darkening of her expression, before she nods again and continues, "In any case, I'm pleased you've found someone so admirable for your partner."

She nods at Halliday. Yes, you.

Halliday blinks and turns shyly pink. She checks with Zath.

Zath's gaze falls down to his seated wife, and for just a moment, something soft flickers across his expression, like light reflected from water, but then it is gone.

"Admirable indeed," he says in an even tone. "She has accomplished a great deal, for one so young. But I should not speak for her. Unless her mouth is full." One side of his own mouth quirks upward slightly as he glances at her plate.

Ben/Ismene/Siamus/Niris/Elohad/Patricia

Patricia wanders to the edge of the group, waving a tentative greeting to Ben.

Ben glances up, still pink-eared from having been recognized as handsome by the Vice Admiral Pirateer, and raises his eyebrows in recognition of the woman. He steps back a little to make room for Patricia in the circle. "Hey, Missus Sullivan," he says warmly. "You are lookin' well. You come with Sil?"

"Yes, I… I don't know the Lord Bertrand and his new lady wife, but Sil told me it was fine, since he was bringing me," Patricia says nervously, clearly not sure exactly how far that stretches.

Siamus turns his smiling attention on this new lady. "Mrs. Sullivan, is it? And Sil? That would be Silentstep, aye? Fine young man. I'm sure any guest of his is welcome anywhere." He reaches for Patricia's hand to bow gallantly. "Siamus Fallon. A pleasure."

Patricia holds out her hand for Siamus to take, blushing a little. And then something strikes her, and she says, "Oh, goodness, Fallon with the navy?"

Siamus, straightening, flashes her another smile. "Aye, the same. Vice Admiral Fallon. A great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Sullivan."

"Elohad Ference," Elo introduces himself, with his usual understatement. So humble.

Siamus turns to gesture at the humble Ference. "Count Ference, that is, of Cobalt Company and the House of Nobles. I'm sure Sil's told ye all about him."

Elohad bows his head very modestly at Siamus's introduction to Patricia. Oh gosh, such a fuss!

Ben clears his throat. "An' this is my wife Ismene," he tells Patricia, before Siamus can introduce her in some more terrifying fashion. "Mizzy, this is Sil's sister-in-law, Patricia."

Ismene smiles at Patricia. "How very good to meet you. Sil speaks well of you."

"He… he does," Patricia says, her voice rising in a lilt that almost makes it a question. She smiles Siamus and Elohad, Ben and Ismene. "Pleasure to meet you all, then. Sil's been a great help since my husband died, and he just thought it would do me good to get away from work and childcare for a day." She glances at Siamus. "Have you any news, then, on the recent storms and such? I've been making my own estimates, but… you might have better resources than I've had in the commercial lanes."

Siamus's smile fades, and for a moment he looks drained, his gaze distant and weary.

He gathers himself in the next moment, but shakes his head regretfully at Patricia. "I fear none of the news I have is good, at present. Between the storms and now the Horde beginning to attack our lanes, it's an ugly time for shipping all round."

Elohad remains silent through this exchange with Patricia, but he follows the conversation with grave, sympathetic eyes.

Ismene blanches, then paints on a polite smile. "Please excuse me everyone. I haven't yet had a slice of cake." She drops a quick curtsey and turns away.

Siamus turns his head to watch her go, and winces. He flicks an apologetic look at Ben. "I beg your pardon, Hazan."

Ben shakes his head. "It's okay, sir. I better go see — I better go get some cake too."

Siamus nods gravely.

Ery drifts off into a baby's spontaneous nap on Niris' shoulder, drooling over the dress, her limbs slack with sleep, lulled by the hum and buzz of hundreds of conversations.

Patricia puts a hand to her mouth, clear that she's made a terrible social faux pas. "I didn't mean to bring up such a painful topic. I mostly came over here for how cute the little one looked."

"The fault's not yours, madame," Siamus tells her, watching both Hazans depart. "I could have spoken less frankly, considering the occasion."

Could he have, though?

Kyris/Gardenia/Sil

Kyris approaches Silvestre and Gardenia slowly, looking down at the children sitting in the grass. He is carrying a glass of water, half-empty. (It's not half-full, this is Kyris Lysander.)

Sil glances up at Kyris and gives a friendly wave.

Kyris nods absently, focused on the children.

"Sir Lysander," Gardenia says politely. "This is Beatrice. We call her Bee at this age. She loves flowers. Bee, this is Sir Lysander, a friend of your papa's. Say hello to Sir Lysander."

Bee flaps a hand without even looking up from the new toy.

"And the other one's Nathan Sullivan, or Nate, usually," Sil says cheerfully. "Lysander, huh? I'm Sil. Not a sir or a noble. Just a guy."

Nate is staring at stuffed elekk. Nate has no time for people.

"Kyris Lysander," Kyris says, glancing briefly at Sil. He kneels down on the grass. "She looks just like you, Lady Gardenia," Kyris says.

Beatrice does possess Gardenia's black hair and green eyes. She clutches at the elekk's big ear, flapping it at Nate.

Gardenia nods. "Arnie got more of Amadeus' coloring," she says, but now there's more of a guardedness to her posture.

Sil accepts the dismissal, but notes Gardenia's guarded manner. He's still smiling, but he keeps an eye on Kyris, in case the lady becomes more uncomfortable.

Nate, on the other hand, grabs the elekk ear in the middle and twists it sideways, then laughs.

"Would you like to dance," Kyris asks Lady Gardenia. It isn't even a question. It sounds like he would rather cut off his own arm than dance with this woman.

"Oh, no, thank you," Gardenia says, and smiles at Kyris with near-hostile politeness.

"Thank the Light," Kyris mutters, and walks away. Quickly.

"Is that fellow… okay?" Sil asks quietly, once Kyris is out of earshot.

"No," Gardenia says thoughtfully. "No, I don't imagine he is. He and my late husband were close, I believe."

"Close," Sil repeats, glancing after him. "If he does anything makes you uneasy, I hope you've got somebody you can talk to?"

Gardenia chuckles. "Yes, of course. You're a good young man. No need for concern. Is Nate's mother here today as well?"

"Oh, yes, I was just watching the kid, while she…" he gestures over to where Patricia stands with Elohad and Siamus. She looks a little uncomfortable, and then she makes her farewells and walks away, heading towards one of the empty rooms. "…she um, gets to meet some people."

Gardenia follows Sil's gaze to Mrs. Sullivan. "Is that her?" she asks, gesturing.

"Yes, Patricia Sullivan, my sister-in-law," Sil supplies. "She's had a bit of a hard time of it in the past few years. We lost my brother back in the plague outbreak, before the Northrend campaign."

"The poor woman," Gardenia says. She reaches down to stroke her daughter's hair.

Bee ignores her mama - she's busy playing with her new toy and the human attached to her new toy. She has even forgot to protest wearing shoes and socks, she has been so thoroughly distracted.

Sil nods sympathetically. "She didn't seem to have a whole lot of support with the other Sullivans. I took a step back with Cobalt for a while, when he was real little. It was hard for her, when he didn't want to sleep through the night. And now I guess she's starting to take up the family business, so… still hard. I help when I can. He's a fun little guy."

The fun little guy in question has now relinquished his toy to Bee, and looks up with teary eyes at Sil. "Elekk."

Sil notes the impending two-year-old explosion and hastily digs in his satchel, pulling out a little stuffed Zhevra. He holds it out to Nate "Look! The elekk's friend! Now you can share and play."

Nate reaches out, tears forgotten with this new distraction, and grabs the zhevra. He bonks it clumsily into Bee's elekk and says, "Friend."

"What is the family business, may I ask?" Gardenia looks down at the children.

Bee giggles and bonks the elekk into the zhevra. "Moo," she says. That is not the correct noise for either of these animals.

"Trade and transport," Sil says automatically, and then further explains, "It's a logistics company, basically. Helping people get goods from one place to another. Large quantities, I mean. They have connections with mages and merchant ships and so on, handle all the organization and the contracts and everything."

"Ruff," Nate says, not at all a zhevra noise, as he mashes the animals together.

Thaniel/Isla

Isla and Thaniel meet

Avrenne/Ralaea/Brendol/Jenzelle

Avrenne returns from fixing her hair, the curl pinned back expertly into place, and she stands at the edge of the reception for a long moment, her eyes flicking around the area, settling on five distinct points for a longer beat as she locates them: Priscilla, Lena, Merelda, Lukas Rhenardt, and Siamus. Satisfied, she steps back into the fray, angling for Ralaea and Brendol, her children, in a resolute sweep forward.

Perhaps fortunately for Avrenne, Ralaea and Brendol have gravitated to the same space, beneath a shaded tree, together with Jenzelle. Ralaea stands between the two, as they send each other awkward glances and nervous smiles.

Avrenne comes to a stop before the group, composed and cool as a spring wind. "Ralaea, Mr. Westwind," she greets them, and looks at Jenzelle expectantly. Someone introduce her.

There is an awkward pause as neither of the Westwinds spring for introductions. This is not surprising or unexpected in Ralaea's case. Bren, however, seems to be mildly panicking, unsure of where to look. He gestures towards Jenzelle, but the moment he locks eyes with her, his thoughts seem to drain away, leaving him all but pointing at her with no words to match the gesture.

Jenzelle's gaze flits between Bren and the duchess, her cheeks growing more pink by the second, until finally, Ralaea steps in belatedly.

"This is Jenzelle," she says, as if that explains everything. She is not manners enough to introduce Avrenne.

Perhaps surprisingly for those who don't know her well, Avrenne recognizes the name. She offers out a soft, well manicured hand to Jenzelle — in the manner of a handshake, not a lady's palm down offering — stepping forward towards the priestess. "Jenzelle. Ralaea has spoken of you, part of her former squad under Kaela Mondragon, if I recall correctly." she says, recalling correctly. "I am Lady Avrenne Esprit Fallon, Duchess Esprit of Lordaeron, Baroness Fallon of the Stormwind Fallons. But you may call me 'Lady Fallon,' if it pleases you." She is having mercy on the poor girl, in case she is of the same ilk that struggles with titles. "Ralaea and Mr. Westwind reside in House Fallon's Elwynn estate, and we have been most pleased to have them. It's a delight to make your acquaintance."

There is a quick and sudden flash of grief in Jenzelle's eyes at the unexpected mention of Kaela Mondragon, but she pushes it behind a smile and takes the duchess's offered hand in a surprisingly firm shake. "Lady Fallon, I thank you for taking care of Ralaea and Br— ah, Mr. Westwind during their times of hardships. I only wish I could have been of more use to them myself, but Rae at least is so stubborn, and —" She cuts off, as if she's said too much, ending awkwardly on another smile.

Hearing Jenzelle say 'Mr. Westwind' causes Bren's head to empty even further if that's possible. If he opens his mouth now, pure nonsense will come out. Ralaea shifts uncomfortably at Kaela's mention as well, crossing her arms as if they can somehow protect her from feelings.

"Ralaea has been turning her stubbornness to her advantage these days, stubbornly committing fully to her recoveries," Avrenne replies, a touch of faint fond warmth in the cool politeness of her tone. "I think she would do any healer proud for her considerable restraint, and we have enjoyed her company during her convalescence." Her eyes flick from Jenzelle to Brendol and then back. "I do hope you know that as a friend of the Westwinds you have an open invitation to visit House Fallon at any time. Has Mr. Westwind told you of his horse?"

"Oh, no, I could hardly impose," Jenzelle says. "Ralaea tells me she has a new sister, and…" Oops. Jenzelle covers her mouth.

Ralaea regards her flatly.

At the mention of a little sister, Avrenne's eyes flick to Ralaea, and there's a brief, warmer smile at the young warrior.

Ralaea avoids Avrenne's smile, probably out of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that wasn't… I didn't mean… Um, anyway, the baby! The Lady baby. I couldn't impose because of… I'm sure you have your hands full! N-not that you can't handle a baby of course." Jenzelle looks helplessly at Ralaea.

"I haven't told her about the horse!" Brendol blurts, as if confessing to a crime. Maybe he's trying to take the pressure off Jenzelle, and that was the only think he could think of.

Ralaea sighs.

With the revelation about the Secret Horse, and the nerves, Avrenne turns her small smile onto Jenzelle, and reaches out to touch her hand lightly on the woman's shoulder, not unlike she might with settling an animal about to spring off in fear. "We have many, many hands at House Fallon, and mine are but two among them. We have plenty of space, and would be so glad of a visitor. It would not be the slightest imposition, only a delight. My older wards are around your age, Finley," she says, pausing as she searches briefly through the crowd. She spots him after only a moment, over with Isla arguing about something near the cakes. She turns her attention back to Jenzelle. "And Otto. My youngest, Isla, is 16, but she would be delighted to speak with you. Do you ride at all, Miss Jenzelle?"

"Oh, yes, I can ride, though I wouldn't say I'm as skilled at it as Rae, or… Mr. Westwind." Jenzelle steals another glance at Bren, who is blushing madly by this point. "He was a messenger for the Argent Crusade — oh, but you probably know that already. What I mean is, he had to ride quickly between dangerous places, and, well, it's impressive. If he has a horse of his own now…" She pauses. That is what they were suggesting, right? "Then I know he will take only the best care of it."

"He is indeed an impressive rider. His horse is named Auriga, a full Tirasian bred mare, and he takes exceptional care of her. I have a lovely one of my own, Vesper, and I have not been able to ride her nearly as often as I am sure she would prefer. If you would be so good as to visit and could see your way into taking her out for a real gallop with Auriga, I would be most pleased. Mr. Westwind could show you the route down to Fallon Harbor, if you have any interest in the water, Miss Jenzelle. Ralaea has been learning how to drive our motorcar and I'm certain she would enjoy the chance to demonstrate it?" She says, looking over briefly to Ralaea before turning that dark, direct gaze back to Jenzelle. "The weather at the start of July is most pleasant, before the heat grows too oppressive, and it would be our delight to host you for the week while you spend some time catching up with friends." Yes, Jenzelle, now it's a week-long visit, it has an agenda, and it has a date attached.

Jenzelle opens her mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide. Wow, that escalated quickly. "Well, I… I suppose I could help with your Vesper, before the weather sets in." She looks again to Ralaea and Bren. This is a favor, right? She's just doing the duchess a favor?

Ralaea stares back at her passively. Yeah, you trapped now, girl. Duchess cast word magic.

Bren chuckles nervously. He hasn't managed to leave Fallon House yet.

"Lovely," Avrenne says. Got 'er. "Ralaea, Mr. Westwind, do make sure your friend has our address. I will let Shine know to have a room set aside. If you dance, there is dancing back on the other side of the gazebo," she declares. Just throwing that information out there. "Do enjoy the wedding." She doesn't give them a chance to bid her farewell as she sweeps onward to the next.

Siamus/Kyris

Baby Ery makes a noise and squirms against Niris's shoulder, rousing with a grim cry of outrage.

Niris's expression changes. "Oh," she says, Very Politely. "I do believe she needs changing now." She offers the baby back to Siamus.

"Ah," says Siamus, and accepts her again. He is Dad, this is his job.

That is, his job is to find the nanny and hand this job over to her. He scans the fringes of the crowd for Emelia, the nanny. "If ye will excuse me, all. Ference, I'll speak wi' ye later?" He bears his squalling daughter off to make her someone else's problem.

That someone else is Emelia Abadie, dressed appropriately for staff rather than guest, who takes over the business of changing the Lady Baby, relieving the Vice Admiral for the time being.

Siamus, having dispensed with his prizewinning daughter, heads back to the drinks table to find another glass. He turns to survey the current state of the crowd, and his gaze catches on a solitary figure; it takes on a wicked glint.

He tosses back his drink, sets the glass down, and weaves his way confidently among people and tables to Kyris Lysander's side. He claps the other man jovially on the shoulder. "Lysander. Have ye obliged your lord father's request yet?"

Kyris makes a so-so wiggly hand gesture. "Asked and been rejected. I don't know that it'll be enough for his satisfaction, but I shan't force the matter, so he gets what he gets."

"As it happens, I was of a mind for a conversation with ye, so. Would ye like to dance?" Siamus arches a sly brow at Kyris. "That's all the man asked ye for, aye?"

Kyris barks out a sudden harsh 'ha!' of a laugh. "Aye, it'll satisfy him well enough for today. He won't be able to send my little sister over to give me any more targets if I'm out on the dance floor." He offers Siamus his arm.

Siamus accepts the offered arm solemnly, though his gaze is gleaming. "Pleased I could oblige, then. Lead on."

Ben/Rozalin

Rozalin talks to Ben about the Hazans

Avrenne/Merelda/Arric/Lena/Sintha/Alaisa

Avrenne glances over at the table with Arric and Lena. Goodness, is he crying? Is this a disaster or beneficial? Difficult to say from here. Well, one way to find out. She just needs…ah, there we are. The Duchess sweeps her way towards Merelda and the Tyrrells. They're still here. "Lady Merelda," she greets again, an automatic curtsey to the table at large. "I am pleased to see you have managed to get reacquainted. I do wonder, if I might ask, if you have had the pleasure of meeting another of Captain Tyrrell's E.U., my sister-in-law, Lady Sintha Fallon. I should be very glad to introduce you."

Zath gives Avrenne a warm, wry look. "Why would you do that to her," he says. But he does not seem to be genuinely objecting.

"I have not," Merelda admits. "I would be delighted to meet with more of Zath's colleagues, I'm sure."

Avrenne raises both her brows at Zath, because she cannot raise only one, her expression saying back, this is why. That's the only explanation, as she takes Merelda's arm in a familial way and guides her over to the table with Arric, Sintha, Alaisa, and Lena.

Zath, now alone-ish with his wife, actually grabs a cup of tea and takes a seat next to her now instead of standing and hovering like a weird carrion bird.

He does not speak to her, but subtly seems to be enjoying her presence. He even takes small sips of his tea, like a normal person who consumes food and drink on occasion.

"Lady Merelda, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Sintha Fallon, Lord Arric Falrevere, Lady Alaisa Lysander, and the Fallon Fleet Warlock, and co-founding member alongside your cousin Captain Tyrrell of the Warlock Ethics Bureau, Miss Lena Coit." If the Duchess spends an extra beat on Arric, assessing his teary eyed look, it's only a beat.

"You always know the most interesting people," Alaisa says to Avrenne. She holds a hand out for Merelda to shake. "I'm Ally, a pleasure."

Merelda reaches out to shake it. "If we're on nickname basis here, you may call me Mere. Or Merry." There's a flicker of something in her expression on that last one, but she smooths it away quickly. "I'm one of the Gilneans, so I'm afraid I'm rather new to the area. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lena smiles at the newcomer in greeting.

"Lady Merelda," Avrenne says, because she does not do nicknames, "Is an architect." She turns her direct gaze to Merelda, a subtle movement of encouragement to have a seat at this table. "Have you had much opportunity yet to make any studies? I assume you did not bring your portfolio today, of course, but I should be pleased to hear if you have found time for some sketches and work."

"Oh, an architect," rhapsodizes Sintha, who loves a brilliant lady. "How fantastic. Sit, darling, tell us all of it."

Alaisa looks twice as interested as she did a moment ago.

"Yes, do tell us," Arric agrees. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

"I'd have loved to take you on a walk in Gilneas City to show my work," Merelda says wryly, "But I'm afraid that's an impossibility at the moment. I've been working on building up a sketchbook, but I didn't think to bring it to a wedding. Mostly what I've been doing these days is finding where I might adapt my work to the local style, and seeing where I might include a bit of.. you know, the gables and arches characteristic of buildings in Gilneas."

Kyris leads Siamus out through the reception area and back towards the other side of the gazebo, where the platform has been set up for dancing. He shoots his little sister a Look as she passes.

Alaisa narrows her eyes at him.

Avrenne's head turns slightly over her shoulder, as Siamus and Kyris move out of her line of sight beyond the gazebo towards the dance floor. As she turns back, her eyes touch on Thaniel. "Excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with, do enjoy the wedding," she says to the table, before sweeping off towards the young man.