(2024-06-23) The Aspenwood-Moore Wedding (Reception) - Part 2

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. 25,00~ words. PART TWO OF TWO.
Rating:	T for Teen

Continued from...

Fourth Dance

Unsurprisingly, the music returns once more for a waltz for the fourth dance, this one more formal, a slightly older traditional styled Stormwind Waltz (("Waltz No. 2" - Cihat Askin)). The summer afternoon heat lingers in the air, swelling up above the music, the brisk turns and circular sweeps of the waltz providing its own breeze.

With this dance starting, Colson raises Mordecai's hand, bowing over it. "May I have this dance?" He asks politely.

Mordecai stands up straighter, smiling. "Oh! Yes. Please." He glances at the stage, out fully in the sun, and mutters, "Fortitude." The Power Word is spoken very softly, but the force of the prayer ripples outwards, catching many of the nearby guests.

Colson's smile is gentle as the prayer takes hold, and he guides his husband to the dance floor as if they both have every right to be there (and they do). Colson's lead is graceful, and sure, his attention on Mordecai, but with a dancer's awareness of the other couples spaced around to avoid collisions.

Velrin smiles and waves to Mordecai and Colson while she enjoys dancing with Ven.

Colson inclines his head politely to Velrin as they pass near. "Velrin," he says to Mordecai, to alert his husband.

Mordecai's attention is fully on Colson, so the verbal alert is definitely necessary. He looks away from his husband, says, "Velrin!" happily, and immediately stumbles into Colson. He cannot, apparently, coordinate greeting a friend and dancing at the same time.

Velrin giggles at Mordecai and leaves him to enjoy dancing with his husband for now. They can talk more later. She just wanted to say hello.

Mordecai relaxes again. Colson's got him, everything's fine. He has improved significantly at the Stormwind Waltz since last anyone saw them dance in public.

Count Lester Amerith leads Almeiria onto the floor for the fourth dance, and within the first few steps, it is clear that they are both rather skilled — which may be surprising, in Almeiria's case. Throughout the majority of the dance their eyes remain locked — except during twirls — giving the impression that they are communicating with their eyes alone.

Kyris/Siamus

Siamus and Kyris share a dance

Cressidha/Patricia

It is actually Cressidha Aspenwood, rather than one of the servants, who intercepts Patricia on her own way back towards the reception area. "Excuse me," she says politely. "Are you looking for someone or somewhere in particular?"

Patricia pulls up short, turning to Cressidha. "No, I… I just thought to find someplace quiet for a moment or two. I didn't mean to go anywhere not open to guests."

Cressidha smiles faintly at her. "No, of course, that's fine. Here, right this way." She moves towards the staff entrance door, which is the closer one, holding it open for Patricia.

Patricia smiles gratefully at Cressidha. "I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Patricia Sullivan. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh! Silvestre's mentioned you." Cressidha smiles back. She leads Patricia through a dining room, down a short hall, and begins climbing the stairs. "I'm Cressidha, of House Aspenwood. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Patricia follows Cressidha to the side entrance, smiling at her apologetically. "I didn't mean to be such a bother. Sil's even watching my son so that I could mingle, and I just… it's difficult. I'll get back in practice, over time, I expect."

"Sil's watching your son? You know, we do have - my sister-in-law, Lady Gardenia, has her eighteen-month-old here, and Jasper's been very good at keeping her entertained. There's a little playroom, I could help get him set up with a sitter for the afternoon, if you'd like." Cressidha looks at her questioningly.

"Oh," Patricia says, blushing. "I didn't even think. I'm sure Nate would love a playroom. He's two-and-a-half now, but he's been very well-behaved so far today. We just brought a few toys to keep him occupied for the ceremony and the reception."

Cressidha, halfway up a flight of stairs, stops walking and, offers, "Shall we go fetch him?"

"Oh, now?" Patricia threads her fingers nervously. "I suppose so. If it's not too much trouble. I hate to ask you to walk up and down the stairs, just because I don't know what I'm about here."
"Not at all," Cressidha says. Her expression is composed, but her voice is kind.

When they reach the first floor again, Cressidha calls, "Jasper," and one of the footmen leaves his post in the front hall to approach. He was not alone, so the front hall is not left unattended.

Jasper is a young man whose facial features can be described as either 'interesting' or 'unfortunately ugly' depending on one's perspective, but he has a nice smile and kind brown eyes if one is being charitable. He has curly close-cropped black hair and wears the same black and white suit that the rest of the staff do. "Milady?" One of his front teeth is badly chipped.

"This is Mrs. Patricia Sullivan," Cressidha says. "Her son, Nate, will be moving to the playroom for the afternoon."

Jasper looks as if he's been told his birthday has come early. "A little boy? How old?"

"Two and a half," Patricia answers, smiling at him in turn. She does not seem to mind Jasper's interesting features, seeming to note the kindness more. "And I do have some toys for him, but I expect he'd be happy to not be surrounded by stuffy adults in formalwear. Is it just the other little one there now?"

"Lady Gardenia took the Lady Bee outside," Jasper tells her.

"I'll introduce you, if you'd like," Cressidha says to Patricia, smiling. "Bee hasn't had anyone in her age group to play with since she moved here."

"Oh?" Patricia says, brightening. "I'm sure Nate would love to have a new friend. I'd be delighted to meet Lady Gardenia."

Cressidha nods and steers Patricia along.

Leric/Siamus

While hiding from his wife (unsuccessfully) Siamus encounters fellow War Friend Leric to talk about World Events

Avrenne/Thaniel

Thaniel is standing alone by a table, leaning over it, admiring one of the vases in the center.

Avrenne approaches with the full weight of her station letting her slip through the crowd with only minor interruptions. When she closes in on Thaniel, she greets him. "Mr. Clay, I am pleased to see you made it. We met some weeks ago, in Darnassus. You were looking for your sister Dame Briellen Clay, if I recall correctly?"

Thaniel looks over to Avrenne and smiles. "Hello. She found me. The knight wrote to her and she came to see us. I forgot your name. What do these flowers do together?"

"I am Lady Fallon," Avrenne says simply. She has her hands clasped lightly in front of her, left hand over right. "I am pleased to hear you were reunited." She raises her brows as she flicks her eyes to the flowers then to Thaniel. "I beg your pardon, I am not certain I take your meaning for what they do together?"

Thaniel stands up straight. He's only four inches taller than her. "I've used gorse branches for magic before, but not the others. Do they do anything special when they're combined? You can't eat them or you'll get sick." He gestures to the irises and calla lilies.

Avrenne makes an mm sound of understanding. "I see. No, these are not for either consumption or magic, only for the purpose of providing an engaging visual as part of the wedding. Are you an alchemist then, Mr. Clay?"

Thaniel nods slowly. "Sometimes you need to brew or combine the plants with other plants, for the magic. I'm a harvest-witch, I make wreaths and charms too. But these are just together to look pretty…?" He stares at the flowers.

"Well," Avrenne says, reaching out a hand to gently nudge a calla lily slightly more into place. "In the language of flowers, they also say In Enduring Affection with Valor, Faith, and Wisdom, Magnificent Beauty, I am Yours. It is intended as a statement of the couple, my friends Priscilla and Lord Bertrand, married here today. I have not heard the term harvest witch before. May I ask what that is, if you will excuse my ignorance?"

Thaniel gasps. "That's beautiful," he says. "I didn't know there was a language. I want to learn about that." He looks at Avrenne with some confusion. "You haven't? We take care of the land," he says. "We listen to it. We help it bloom."

"I see. Interesting." Avrenne's polite tone might be difficult to parse, but it does seem sincere, if not effusive. "The Language of Flowers is an…outdated fad of sorts, but a particular interest of mine. I would be pleased to speak more of it another time. In the meantime, have you heard of Lady Niris Ference? She is an accomplished alchemist, and married to Sir Elohad Ference, a paladin. I wonder if your sister and he share an acquaintance. I would be pleased to introduce you, if you would like?"

"Okay," Thaniel agrees. "Thank you."

It takes Avrenne a few seconds to actually locate the Ferences, but she does, leading the way with Thaniel to Niris and Elohad to facilitate an introduction of the world's softest, sweetest worgen boy to a member of the House and part of the leadership of Cobalt Company. For no reason.

Sintha/Merelda/Lena/Arric

"Oh, gosh, I just love gables, it's very Kul Tiras as well. Are you familiar with Kul Tiran architecture? Tell me you are, because Shay would probably love to commission you, he'll want some reconstruction done soon. I mean it doesn't have to be in the Kul Tiran fashion but gosh, he'd be thrilled. I'm sure Gilnean adapted would be lovely as well. You should make an appointment to bring him your sketchbook. He's — where even is he right now?" Sintha sits up and cranes her neck, just in time to see her brother vanish toward the dance floor on Kyris's arm. She glances at Alaisa with a little arched-brow look and then turns back to Merelda. "Well it looks as though he's occupied at the moment, but he's the gentleman in the waistcoat with the birds. Lugging a baby around earlier? Has rather a degenerate look about him."

Alaisa says to Sintha, "My brother is going to dance with your brother," as if this is completely nonsensical and she has no idea what to make of it.

Sintha leans toward her and says, "I am certain it is my brother's fault," as though the situation requires reassurance and apology.

Merelda does not seem to have any idea why this would be either nonsensical or anyone's fault, so she just smiles. "That must take some talent, to look like a degenerate while holding a baby. And I'm certain I could adapt my style to Kul Tiran - especially if you've any paintings or existing buildings to point me to for the characteristics of the style. I was hoping I might be able to contribute to the reconstruction work, as it happens, so I'd be delighted to be considered for commission."

Sintha beams at her. "As it happens, we've loads of paintings — Miss Coit can tell you, I believe they're chiefly collected in her suite — and you'd be welcome, I'm sure."

Arric blinks at Sintha. "I'm sorry, Sintha, did you say Miss Coit… has a suite at your estate?" He then blinks at Lena as she confirms.

"Oh, yes, I should clarify," Lena blushes faintly, smiling at Arric. "With all the fighting in Northrend, I let go of my old place in Stormwind. And with all that's happened since then… I've been staying temporarily on the Fallon estate."

Sintha nods blithely at Arric. "She hadn't anyplace to stay after the Northrend campaign, and she works for the fleet and Shay thinks ever-so-highly of her… He collects guests like… seashells, or something, honestly. I'm not even sure he knows how many people are living at Fallon House at any one time."

Ask the Duchess. She's the only one who knows.

Arric looks from Sintha to Lena again. Looks off in the direction Siamus went. Is clearly trying to do some mental math in his head. Then he looks between Lena and Merelda. And Sintha again. He clears his throat, coloring slightly, and surveys the area. My, what a lovely… area!

Sintha leans forward and pats Arric's hand sympathetically. "Oh, no," she says in a confidential tone that is nonetheless audible to everyone at the table. "Miss Coit has much better taste, I'm certain. Why, the bride even lived there for a time recently when she was in straits. Shay hardly looks up from his newspaper."

This sort of contravenes her earlier remarks about degeneracy, but who's here to be a reliable narrator? Not Sintha Fallon.

Merelda raises her eyebrows at the apparent impropriety, but makes no other comment.

Lena makes no effort to defend her reputation, but says instead, "They are very lovely pictures of Tiragarde. I half-feel I've been to the place myself."

"Well then," Arric says brightly, "It is well that the lady shall be the one to see them - I should become far too homesick!" His eyes rove the crowd casually.

"In any case, I expect I'd need to see your current estate, as well," Merelda says to Sintha with a smile. "Characteristic style is one thing, but perhaps more important is what your family has chosen to incorporate in their constructions to date, and in what manner." She glances at Arric and adds, "Have you any need of rebuilding, for your estate?"

"Oh all manner of need," Arric says amiably. "Eventually. The property was a steal for a reason. I am attempting frugality for the time being, however, and adequately paying my staff is all I can responsibly manage until I establish a more reliable income. I've seen to repairing the roofs, and the fences, and beyond that it seems like mere vanity at this stage. I shall certainly keep you in mind, however, when the time comes for more extensive renovation."

He gives Merelda a little half-bow, part of what appears to be an emerging exit strategy.

"There's certainly a place for vanity in construction," Merelda says with a smile. "But there's a time for it as well. I'll hope to work with you in the future."

"Indeed!" Arric says, exuding sincerity. "I should be delighted to give the property a bit of Gilnean flavor, as a show of support for the newfound Stormwind-Gilnean alliance. We may be a few wool and apple harvests away from doing it justice, however. Do not worry! My memory is long. On that note, I shall leave you ladies to discuss… ladies' matters, as I have just noticed I am rather - how might one phrase it - the cuckoo in this little nest of lovely warblers? And you're far too polite to shoo me away. So I'll see if I can find myself some gentlemen I've not yet met."

Sintha blinks big amber eyes at Arric, and then breaks into a cat's smile. "Oh, darling," she says, but does not elaborate. She waves him off cheerfully. "Do find my sister-in-law or Shay if you feel you require more introductions, but I'm certain you can charm Stormwind all on your own."

Merelda looks a little puzzled, but waves farewell in an amicable manner. "I might recommend Lukas Rhenardt, if you're interested in meeting more Gilneans. He's a bit gruff, but I would suggest not to let that put you off."

"See you around, I imagine," Alaisa says with a little wave.

Once he's gone, though, Ally stage-whispers, "Ladies' matters?"

Sintha nods, very straight-faced. "Women's wiles. Feminine fancies. The mysteries of the moons. Lesbians."

Merelda looks back at Sintha, startled. "Is it that obvious, at a glance?"

Sintha raises her eyebrows at Merelda. "Oh, there, you see? It seems Arric is just very sensitive to these matters." She smiles catlike again. To Lena, she says, "I do hope you'll catch up with him later, he's honestly lovely. I'm sure he'll be at the House now and then."

"Guilty as charged," Alaisa says with a laugh. She gives Merelda a second, more discerning look-over. "It's rarely obvious."

Sintha studies Merelda thoughtfully for a moment, then tilts her head, her smile turning impish. "Actually, darling, I think I would like to make another introduction for you, if you would?" She gets to her feet and offers out her hand a little imperiously, the same way she'd offered it to Arric earlier. You will hold Sintha's hand now. She has business with you.

"Oh, certainly," Merelda says, taking Sintha's hand. "I'm here to meet people, after all."

Sintha beams. She turns to finger-wave coyly over her shoulder at Alaisa and Lena. "Behave," she tells them. "Or don't." And then she tugs Merelda away energetically, her chin up, scanning the crowd.

Alaisa turns to Lena. "Off she goes to matchmake."

"She's probably better at this scene than I am, " Lena says with a sigh, turning back to Alaisa. "And to think, he was afraid of driving me off. I'm afraid I'm not doing this very well. Bouncing between too subtle and not subtle enough."

"She's one of the very best," Alaisa says, and darts a glance over her shoulder to see who Sintha might be leading Merelda to. "What are you here to do? Network, make friends, meet potential suitors?"

"I'm here to support Bertrand and Priscilla, with whom I weathered the cataclysm," Lena says, following Alaisa's gaze. Then she sighs. "But yes, the idea had been raised that I was a marriageable woman. So I am trying to be charming, but it's… a different sort of charm than I'm used to."

Alaisa chuckles. "Do you dance at all? You could start asking people. Not me, I'm terribly unmarriageable, but perhaps that Arric, or perhaps one of the Gilneans."

"Oh, I doubt you're less marriageable than I am," Lena says with a friendly smile. "Though I expect you know that, from a mutual friend of ours. Anyway, I take your meaning, and take no offense from it. My ex-girlfriend's on the dance floor, though, and I'd not want to sour her day." Lena considers, and then moves to stand. "Maybe I'll go grab a drink. Take care, Lady Alaisa."

Alaisa smiles, her face giving nothing away. "Do take care."

Lena moves away towards the refreshment tables.

Vel/Gardenia/Sil

Velrin decides to take a moment to retire from the dance floor with Ven to mingle more. She picks up Nylarria and makes her way over to Sil and Gardenia. “Mr Silvestre! Hello.”

Sil looks up at Velrin and Nylarria and smiles. "Hello again! Lady Gardenia, might I introduce Velrin Silverbloom and Nylarria…" Sil belatedly realizes he does not know her surname.

Lady Gardenia smiles politely. "Good afternoon. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've not met many night elves."

Bee looks up at the two very tall women and goes, "Toy." She bonks Nylarria's legs gently with the toy elekk.

“It’s nice to meet you. And Silvestre I didn’t realize you and Nylarria had met?” Velrin raises her eyebrows in surprise.

Nylarria recoils a bit at being bonked and takes a step back. She sort of freezes after that, “Yes, that looks like a toy.”

"Bee, say hello," Gardenia prompts.

"Ello," Bee says, dropping the elekk into her lap to flap both hands in a sort of double wave.

“Hello…” Nylarria responds perplexedly.

Velrin’s eyes light up and she’s all smiles, “Hi there Miss Bee. Is that an elekk you have there?”

"Elk toy." Bee wiggles the elekk's ears with her hands. "Cow goes moo."

"An elekk isn't a cow," Gardenia says gently. "But cows do go moo, that's right."

"Yeah," Sil says, with a smile. "I ran into the two of you in the Ironforge Headquarters not long ago, remember? I'd met Nylarria before, though, when she came through Bruuk's one evening, passing through on business."

"Cows go moo," Nate repeats confidently, holding up his zhevra for the new people to see.

Celaven looks on with a gentle smile.

“Oh goodness. What a small world we live in.” Velrin says. She kneels down to the children to join them playing, “Oh my. These sure are some funny animals if they all go moo.”

Nylarria just stands there, “I think they’re confused.”

Sil laughs gently. "They're children. Right now I think Nate doesn't understand half the words he says. Are kaldorei children not the same?"

“I wouldn’t know.” Nylarria responds curtly.

“Neither would I to be honest. I just saw my first baby a few months ago. An old officer of mine gave birth late last year. Babies are rather uncommon for us.” Velrin explains.

"That's a shame," Sil says, smiling down at his nephew. "Nate here's only two, so he's not real great on communication yet. He'll get there, though, give him another few years."

Velrin smiles at him too and ruffles his hair, “I’m sure he’ll grow into a fine young man.”

Nylarria remains frozen, watching the children intently. She’s not quite sure what to make of them.

Bee giggles and shakes the elekk. "Moooo."

Nylarria furrows her brow in confusion, “But you were just told that it doesn’t go moo.”

"I sure hope so," Sil says, glancing up at the elves, and then back down at Nate and Bee. "I'm not too confident his grandfather's going to be a good role model for him, so I'm doing my best."

“Oh no, why’s that?” Velrin’s ears droop a bit.

"Oh, he wasn't really a great dad, so I can't imagine he'd do well the next time around," Sil says with an apologetic grimace. Then he grins at Nate. "This little guy, though, he's got a mama who loves him very much, and an Uncle Sil."

Velrin's expression softens a touch, "Well that's good to hear." She starts making silly faces at the kids.

Bee drops the elekk, toddles over, and pats Velrin's cheeks with her hands.

Velrin blows a raspberry at Bee when she touches her cheeks.

Bee giggles and picks up the elekk again. "Play?"

“Ok!” Velrin scoots closer and follows Bee’s lead to see what they’re going to play.

Bee begins to try to teach Velrin peek-a-boo by covering the elekk's eyes with its big flappy ears and then pulling them back suddenly. "Peek-aboooo! I see you!" She clearly expects Velrin to react to this in some way.

Gardenia smiles warmly, watching her child socialize. She remains on alert just in case Bee decides to start pulling hair or something else inappropriate.

Velrin gasps when the elekk’s eyes are revealed, “There you are!”

Nylarria watches from above, “It never went anywhere. Of course it’s right there.” She mumbles.

Kennelly/Slicket/Natlee

Kenelly stands near-ish to the food table — close enough to acquire a bit more cheese, but not so close it seems that she's pigging out. A truly observant person might see that she is positioning to keep crowds of people between herself and her father's stern gaze. At the same time, she looks for familiar faces.

Slicket wanders by with a plate of cheese and other snacks. It's possible he might be considered to be pigging out. He's still in his rented tux, though, trying his best to look like a high-class wedding guest. His best is not amazing.

"Nelly! Hey!" Slicket says cheerfully, pausing as he passes by. "They got a great spread here, don't they? Birdie's the man."

Kenelly looks around for a moment before remembering to look down at the sound of Slicket's voice. She is not accustomed to gnomes quite yet. "Isn't it marvelous? I'm finding it difficult to restrain myself from devouring the cheeses." She giggles to make sure it's clear she's (probably) joking.

"Oh, I bet they've got more in the back," Slicket says slyly. "They won't mind some devouring. You met a lot of the fancy folk here?"

Chuckling, Kenelly shakes her head. "Not really, no. Other than that brief encounter with the Duchess. I believe Birdie intends to introduce me to his sister later. I assume he means for her to make introductions."

"Oh yeah?" Slicket looks curious. "The tailor one? I haven't met her yet either, but I think I'm pretty good for clothes." Other people, interested in fashion, might disagree.

Natlee, next to him as of that last sentence even if she wasn't before, wrinkles her nose eloquently. Natllee eyes Slicket up and down. "I mean that could work but you are going to have to let me help."

"Oh yeah? What'd you have in mind, Nat?" Slicket grins at her, like maybe it's something risque.

"Okay so I do not have the boots you need like… on me?" She makes twitchy little hand gestures as she talks. "But you should really put all the usual metal back in your face. And you need black eyeliner. Lots of black eyeliner. Like… need." Her tone suggests this is the only responsible approach to a Medical Condition.

Slicket boggles. "Really? But I was trying to look nice and posh. And eyeliner? What'll that do for me?"

"Um okay so you are not going to look posh? Like, ever? So your best bet is to kind of leeeeean into the whole" - she did an actual leeean there - "super grubby dangerous tough guy thing. Some girls are super into that. Like if they have not actually recently been locked in a travel trunk with very few air holes for almost an hour by guys that look like that. If that has not yet happened to them they find it super sexy. Here." She whips out an eyeliner pencil and points it at him.

Slicket flinches, and then realizes the eyeliner pencil is not a sudden stiletto blade. He leaaans towards it. "Yeah? So you think it'll attract the babes? The ones who haven't been locked in travel trunks, which has got to be most of them."

"Yes. It will definitely… 'attract the babes.' " She makes a brief little moue of yuck, and then focuses on applying eyeliner to a dude in the middle of a party.

A lot of eyeliner.

Slicket is excited. He's gonna be a babe magnet. He's holding still for Natlee, but already rummaging in his pocket for his piercings.

Natlee makes surprisingly quick work of him - she seems to have a lot of practice applying make up with rapid accuracy - and then steps back. "There, now your eyes pop." The delicate little sparkly 'pop' gesture she does with her fingertips may reassure him she doesn't mean explosive decompression or anything of that sort.

"Awesome, babe," Slick says, blinking his eyes closed and open really quickly for effect. He quickly puts in the usual metal and looks at Natlee and Kenelly. "What do you think? Sexy for the unkidnapped?"

Natlee gives him a double thumbs up and a yay!Face.

"I mean it really needs the boots, but."

"Next time," Slicket grins. He seems to assume he will be invited to more formal affairs."Big black ones."

With lots of like-" gestures! "-buckles."

"Buckles, yeah, I know just the pair," Slicket beams. "Thanks, Nat."

Tyrrells

Elsewhere, the Count and Countess Tyrrell of Drakewatch have been sitting in silence next to one another for long enough that it may be beginning to appear.. strange. As though aware of that, Zath randomly takes his wife's hand in his icy one, presenting a more Mainstream Marital picture.

Halliday looks a little startled by the gesture, but accepts his hand readily. And then just sits, holding it.

After a moment she resumes picking at her food, this time with her left hand.

Zath brushes her fingers with a brief feathery kiss. "Shall I sit on the other side?" he suggests. "I believe that is my proper hand to claim anyhow, metaphorically speaking."

"Oh." Halliday blinks at her kissed fingers and then at him, her cheeks stained pink. "Is — yes, all right. It would be easier." She lets go of his hand and shifts her plate over, expectantly.

Zath murmurs, "perfect," half to himself at her blush, as though she had provided it just to help him create The Picture, and then obligingly moves to sit on her left side and claim her non-dominant hand.

After a moment's pause as if to check whether he would like to adjust anything else about their arrangement, Halliday resumes artfully rearranging her food, with every appearance of absolute contentment.

"Your beauty is made all the more ethereal by silence," Zath says in a tone that is loud enough to be overheard by the nearest partygoers, but soft enough to seem as though it was meant to be private.

Halliday stops aligning blueberries in a neat row and blinks up at him. There is again the slightest air of wanting to look over her shoulder and see who he's addressing. "Thank you," she says politely. After a moment she adds, "You are the very direst looking here, I think," as though this might be a category among prizes to be handed out later.

"You are too kind, Lady Tyrrell. You shall turn my head." He gives her a wolfish smile.

Halliday smiles back at him, pleased, and returns to her true calling as a fruit arranger. "There are some people here I should like to talk to later. Are we supposed to dance? There is dancing, but I'd rather not if it can be avoided."

"I despise dancing," Zath replies amiably. "Talk with whoever you like. You may imply that I am too jealous to allow you another to lay hands on you in a dance, and then I shall refuse to dance myself. Such a terror, your husband."

Halliday blinks at him. "Should I? Imply that?"

"It would provide you with a way to refuse a dance without seeming impolite. Blame it on your terrible villain of a husband. You will be believed."

Halliday considers this, her brows drawn together. After a moment she says thoughtfully, "I think I ought to just tell them I don't like to dance. I wouldn't like to say that you're a terrible villain. Someone might think ill of you."

She offers him a blueberry.

Zath takes the blueberry between the fingertips of the hand not holding hers. "What a lovely way to discover that you have not widely asked opinions of me," he says, and then gently, briefly, touches the blueberry to the end of her nose. boop! "I am considered by most to be a man of very ill temperament."

Avrenne/Lena/Halliday/Zath/Kennelly

When Avrenne extricates herself from introducing Thaniel to the Ferences, she looks precisely to Lena, as if she knew exactly where the warlock was already, and makes her way resolutely through the wedding towards the buffet tables. She's stopped a few times enough to delay her, but not stop her. "Miss Coit," she greets as she gets near the woman.

"Oh, hello again Lady Fallon," Lena smiles, drink in hand. "I hope you're enjoying the reception."

"Of course," Avrenne says so smoothly and quickly that it might sound genuine, or extraordinarily well practiced, either one. She glances to the table Lena was at, which has emptied, and then back at Lena. "I do hope you are as well. I happened to meet an interesting person just some time ago, a young woman out of Gilneas, Lady Kenelly of House Ashewood. I don't suppose you've had the opportunity to meet her yet?"

"I don't believe I have," Lena says with a smile. "I only spoke with Lady Merelda briefly - I would be happy to meet more of the Gilneans."

Avrenne takes Lena in arm, raising her brows. "Then back into the fray it is," she says, and there's a bit of a playful tease to her voice, a sparkle of camaraderie in her eyes, swiftly covered. Ahem. Serious Duchess. "She has an interest on behalf of her father in the Gilnean White cheese I managed to import, and a personal stake in preserving the culture of her nation now that they are locked out of their country. I expect that someone with contacts to shipping and instant transportation across large distances might be of some interest to her, and she'd be glad to find a sympathetic ear in someone who knows what it is like to lose access to one's home country." Avrenne relates this information as just information presented. She is already looking through the crowd for where Kenelly currently is.

Kenelly has scooted a bit closer to the food table, and is nibbling on a sampling of other cheeses. Then she catches the Duchess's gaze and quickly lowers her cheese hand, raising the other in a finger-wiggling wave.

Avrenne doesn't finger wave back. She's a Very Serious Duchess. But she does incline her head a little in acknowledgment, towing Lena along with her to Kenelly's place by the cheese table. "Lady Kenelly, so glad I caught you again. I was hoping to introduce you to a friend of mine. My husband is Vice Admiral Siamus Fallon, of the Alliance Navy and Fallon Fleet. This is Miss Lena Coit, our Fleet Warlock, and one of the founding members of the Warlock Ethics Bureau alongside Lady Merelda's cousin Captain Zath Tyrrell, and part of our Fleet's success in the Northrend campaigns. She was instrumental in facilitating the relocation of soldiers to Wintergarde during a particular difficulty with troops needed at the front, and transporting goods. She's been working recently up near Gilneas as the Fallot Fleet patrols the waters to halt the aggression moving south." Just some information for Kenelly. Little fun facts.

Zath's head turns briefly and involuntarily in Avrenne's direction when she says "Captain Zath Tyrrell." goodness, that hearing! Ears of a dog… (blah blah blah Ginger blah blah…) he turns back to his more immediate and audible conversation.

Halliday's head turns to follow Zath's gaze, and she brightens. "There's Lena!" she says. "I'll talk to her when it's quieter. She looks lovely, doesn't she?" She turns back and offers Zath another blueberry. "It will get quieter, won't it?"

Zath takes the second blueberry, though the first is still in his hand. He begins to walk them both over each fingertip in turn using his thumb, somehow managing to keep them together enough not to drop either one. His other hand still holds Halliday's.

"I suspect where Miss Coit is concerned, you are unlikely to catch her alone. She has goals to pursue here, you see. All the same, don't let that dissuade you - I know she will be delighted to see you. She was the one who expressed so much concern for you at Winter Veil and set me on the path to extracting you."

Kenelly gives a more proper curtsey when Avrenne and Lena approach. "Thank you, Your Grace." She offers a warm smile to Lena, "I wasn't aware Lady Veyne had cousins outside Gilneas. Do you know Merelda herself? She was so kind to me during the evacuation. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Coit."

"I've spoken to her for the first time today, and that only a few sentences," Lena admits with a brief laugh. "I had no idea Captain Tyrrell had family in Gilneas, truth be told. So we're neither of us at advantage in knowledge there."

"A family trait of the Veyne-Tyrrells, perhaps," Avrenne says, her tone a little dry, her eyes flicking over Zath for a brief touch, before she refocuses on Kenelly.

Kenelly chuckles. "I do suggest getting to know her better, if you have the opportunity. She's absolutely charming. I think I would feel quite alone now if not for her. So, you work with her cousin? I'm so sorry, but I'm not familiar with this…warlock bureau?"

"It's a pretty new thing, so I'm not surprised you've not heard of us yet," Lena smiles. "It's an organization built to ensure that warlocks remain a benefit to the Alliance, rather than a danger. And yes, the Captain Tyrrell and I work together with it - it was his idea, really, and I joined in as a founding member."

Kenelly tilts her head curiously as she listens to Lena. "What a clever idea. I admit, I had some caution about the notion of warlocks, myself. But after speaking with the leaders of Cobalt Company, it became clear to me the matter was more nuanced than I first realized. I got to thinking that a warlock's situation is not entirely unlike that of my kind." She pauses for a beat to let what she is trying to convey sink in. "Perhaps we could use something similar. A sort of public relations agency for worgen."

Avrenne's ears only metaphorically perk up, because her ears don't actually move. But her eyes brighten. "Oh, that is an excellent and interesting idea, Lady Kenelly. I think we have arrived most certainly at the least for some call to spreading correct and accurate information about worgen through official channels and not word of mouth gossip, and an outreach to the public sounds like an exceptional step towards that. How would you consider going about that?" She's Listening, Lady Kenelly.

Lena turns politely to Kenelly to hear as well. She is, at least, not turning away at the realization.

Kenelly's eyes widen when she's put on the spot to expand on her idea. But she has Her Grace's interest, and that is not something to be taken lightly. "Ah…well…I suppose I would start exactly where I am. You know of Cobalt Company? I've come to understand they're a most reputable organization, and I'm attempting to win them over and gain membership. I've even been working with one of their teams in Westfall on a probationary period. I think if I can earn their trust it will put me in a better position to be heard. Then, I think…" She has to pause a moment to collect her hastily-assembled thoughts. "I think I would try to organize other worgen to collectively show the Alliance how valuable our friendship can be." She perks up, growing eager even as she formulates the ideas in the moment. "I would begin by inviting other harvest-witches, like myself, to Westfall to help them rejuvenate the farmland there."

Avrenne's head moves up a little, a small pleased smile gracing her features. "Very well thought, Lady Kenelly. That is exactly the sort of perspective that can be most beneficial, and much needed. Harvest-witches, as I understand it, take care of the land and help it bloom," she says. Her understanding is like, twenty minutes old, but what does that matter? The Duchess knows everything. "And I think it would go very far with the population of Westfall to invigorate their commerce and greatly aid the people living there. Gilneans have much to offer to the Alliance, and we are grateful for it. The Alliance is strongest when we all work together, and offer our unique cultural perspectives to mutual benefit." She turns her attention to Lena. "Miss Coit here has some experience in setting up the early stages of an organization with ambitious goals, and she was a member of Cobalt Company for several years herself."

"Oh, yes," Lena smiles. "I do hope I'm still on good terms with Cobalt Company, and I could point you to a few people to maybe speak with, who'd have a sympathetic ear. As for WEB, Captain Tyrrell and Lord Ference did a lot of the initial organization, so either of them might also be good to talk to - they're both here. I mean, I'd be happy to give you my perspective, but the both of them are nobles and running a House and whatnot, so I bet they'd be great at seeing what you need to get things grounded."

"I've met Lord Ference, during my initial interview. Perhaps this might sway him further toward my acceptance if he likes the idea." Kenelly presses her hands together, as if in prayer. "And I'd be delighted to meet Captain Tyrrell also." Or so she thinks. "Not to discount your own input, Miss Coit. It takes all kinds to change the world."

Lena reacts a little at that 'delighted to meet'. Just a little startled grimace, nothing major. She carefully says, "If you do meet Captain Tyrrell, I'd warn you he's got a bit of a sharp tongue. If I were you, I'd just ignore it and pretend he's being perfectly cordial."

"Miss Coit speaks truly. His bark is far worse than his bite." Or, uh, it was. Ha ha any way. "Captain Tyrrell is a friend of mine, and at the moment, not especially preoccupied," Avrenne declares. If he might consider himself preoccupied in comfortable silence, that's another matter. Too bad for you, Captain. "Let us stop by so you might have an introduction in a friendly setting." It's a suggestion, but it's a Duchess Suggestion, which means she's already started moving. Lena is still attached to her, so Lena's coming along. And Avrenne seems to think her words are sufficient to drag Kenelly with them.

Avrenne is correct. Kenelly knows her place in the social order of things, and follows like a good girl. "I'm accustomed to sharp-tongued men. I suspect he and my father would get along famously…or not at all."

Avrenne does not voice the depends on where he put that sharp tongue but she might think it. Who knows. She's a very serious Duchess.

Once again his name causes that dog-like twitch of attention. But this time people are coming over here. Oh my. "Hm," he says dryly to Halliday, "It seems Lady Fallon has read your mind, for here Miss Coit comes."

Halliday brightens and sets down the latest blueberry to fold her hands politely in her lap and smile like a little lamp at Lena's approach.

Zath takes the opportunity of Halli's distraction to sneak the blueberries back onto her plate, mindful of their correct ordering.

Avrenne drags escorts the two women to the Tyrrell's table, her expression as composed as ever. "Captain Tyrrell. Lady Tyrrell. Might I have the pleasure of introducing an acquaintance of mine, Lady Kenelly of House Ashewood, recently of Gilneas. She's an acquaintance of your cousin, Lady Merelda, and we were just discussing the possibility of modeling a potential worgen organization for the benefit of both the worgen community and the Alliance in the similar vein as the WEB. With your experience in setting up such an ambitious organization, she hoped to get your advice and experience." Information for everybody.

Lena nods at Captain Tyrrell and then smiles at Halliday. "Lady Tyrrell, it's been ages, hasn't it?"

Halliday beams at Lena. "I was just saying how I'd like to come and talk to you. And —" She seems to realize there is another conversation supposed to be afoot here, and falls silent, looking around. After a moment she nods graciously to the other ladies present. She seems a little tongue-tied, abruptly.

Zath just stares blankly at Avrenne for a moment in a way that indicates she has said More Than She Realizes and he is trying to moderate his emotional response.

"Yes," he says at last. "I believe I am just the person to talk to about this matter, given my… experiences. And for once you may call me Lord Tyrrell, Lady Esprit Fallon, as my military rank is currently a matter of debate, during today's some wounds I sustained in Gilneas." His eye contact remains steady in the night-psychic duchess as he says this. He is providing her with Information and trusting her to know what to do with it.

Lena turns to Zath with a faint frown, glancing over him appraisingly in a search for the supposed rank-destroying wounds. Finding nothing, she returns to a polite, friendly expression, and does not comment on it.

Kenelly curtseys in greeting. "Lord Tyrrell. Lady Tyrrell." Thank goodness he clarified the matter of rank. Her brow lifts in compassionate concern toward Zath. "You were injured in Gilneas? Is it still ailing you? I am familiar with some healing techniques that may differ from what you would find beyond my homeland's borders."

Halliday eats a solitary blueberry very slowly, and slides a wide, gray-eyed gaze from face to face.

"You are very kind, but I have received the best possible healing already. Unfortunately some faculties, once lost, cannot be regained even by magic. As I am certain you understand."

Avrenne frowns as that information hits. Then, there's a distinct break in her careful composure, a slight paling of her features, and an instinctive startled reach for Zath that she immediately quells and hides by releasing Lena's arm to clasp her own hands together in front of her, as she forces her face back into Composure. It's over so quickly that those watching Zath rather than Avrenne might not catch it at all. Instead she makes a careful mm sound. "Oh, yes, your dancing wound. I was so sorry to hear of it, that you won't be able to indulge in any dancing. I do hope it continues healing well. I know your team must have provided excellent first aid." Her voice has a practiced lightness to it. "Tell me, how is the Drakewatch orphanage?"

"The orphanage is thriving, despite my recent reluctance to spend time among the children. My staff is excellent, and Lady Tyrrell has taken quite a shine to the children herself. Miss Coit, my wife has truly been most eager to speak with you. She has not forgotten your service to us last December. "

Avrenne flicks her eyes from Zath to Halliday, and then to Lena. "I am glad to hear it," she says to Zath. She keeps her hands held together, as if it balances her out, to hold the composure. There's no sense of distress or concern.

Kenelly nods solemnly to Zath, a new kind of concern crossing her features. "I do understand, Lord Tyrrell. All the same, my offer stands, even if it might only bring you some relief or comfort."

"You bring me comfort by treating me as one whose expertise may be of value. A terribly male trait I cannot seem to shake." He gives her a faint, crooked smile.

Kenelly gives him a bright smile. "It seems a very reasonable trait for someone who has earned his, or her, expertise." She gestures to Lena and Avrenne, "Her Grace and Miss Coit believe you can advise me on this potential venture, and I'd very much like to hear what you have to say."

Halliday smiles up at Lena again. Her hands are knotted together tightly in her lap but otherwise she seems perfectly, smilingly — if a little shyly — composed.

Lena frowns at Halliday, noting the clenched hands. "Lady Tyrrell, have you had a chance to walk around and enjoy the reception?"

"Oh. I… haven't? I was eating. I did mean to, though. Eventually." Halliday flicks a look at Zath.

"Do as you like," he says, the sudden warming of his voice making the words seem less apathetic than they would in his usual tone. He releases her hand and gives it a little pat. "It is a party, after all. Enjoy yourself however you may."

"I do think we should have a chance to catch up, the two of us," Lena says with a carefully polite but friendly smile.

Halliday looks from her husband to Lena. "Right now? Is it… I don't want to interrupt a terribly important conversation. If it is?"

"Or later. But today." Lena is still smiling.

Halliday nods and subsides.

"I have a great deal to say on the matter, but some of it might wait until after the party. For now I simply encourage you to form a leadership board that contains people who have particular reason to be wary of worgen. Kirin Tor who hail from Silverpine, for example, or members of Duskwood's Night Watch. Those of the rank and file who doubt the idea of an ethical worgen will be reassured by the presence of those leaders who are equally wary, as many are reassured by the priest and paladin on the WEB's board."

"I myself am from Silverpine," Lena adds mildly, like it's an afterthought. "And I've spent considerable time in Dalaran during the past few years. I could help you come up with somebody, or assist in the approach."

"A very smart idea," Kenelly nods, making a mental note. "That would be wonderful, Miss Coit. Thank you!" She takes a heavy breath, trying to catch up to her own thoughts. This is all happening so quickly.

Avrenne nods her agreement with Zath. "Ca — Lord Tyrrell's advice is perfectly sound. With the Alliance still learning its new perspectives, there is a great deal of benefit in also including the established organizations that would benefit the most from a close, personal understanding of what being a worgen means, and how that affects their place in the Alliance. We are much stronger when we understand each other."

"You are very wise, Lady Kenelly," Zath says, "in attaching yourself to two such formidable women. Miss Coit is an absolute force of nature, and Lady Fallon has a real knack - " here his gaze comes to rest on Avrenne's again, " - for knowing how to handle controversial information, and what the various possible societal repercussions might be. In that sort of social calculus she is vastly my superior, and so I leave all such matters in her hands."

Kenelly dips her head gratefully at the compliment, even if it is mostly directly at Lena and Avrenne. "I'm quickly realizing they are both good friends to have." She beams at the ladies. "I hope that I can be as valuable an ally to them, and to you, my lord and lady." She nods to the Tyrrells.

"You may be assured that you have an ally in me, Lady Kenelly," Zath says, though his tone is oddly somewhat less than warm.

Avrenne's head moves slightly, a touch of her eyes narrowing in a flicker. There's a pause as she considers that, possibly doing that social calculus. "I will admit to some experience in this matter, yes. House Fallon stands firmly in the position of supporting our Gilnean allies, both uncursed and two-form worgen. My husband, Vice Admiral Siamus Fallon, has been working closely with one of the prominent pack leaders, and an old acquaintance of mine, Lukas Rhenardt, Lord Graves. As with Ca — Lord Tyrrell, a long time friend of my husband, Miss Coit, and I, we have every intention of holding our friendships with worgen, whenever they have been afflicted, no matter how recently, and how badly it affects their dancing. And, as Lord Tyrrell says, his dual-perspective on the subject, as warlock and worgen, provides him with a unique outlook on navigating this sort of question of what to do about a new presence among the Alliance that is not as well understood as others, such as mages and priests. I am simply happy to assist in any way I can."

Yes, this information that they all had, and was not a total surprise to Avrenne a moment ago. Lena also knew it. Ha ha everyone is fine. We're just chatting about this thing, leading into business concepts.

Lena flicks a startled glance to Lord Tyrrell, but the surprise quickly subsides into her usual polite expression. "Then it sounds like you've all the experts you need, Lady Kenelly."

Zath visibly twitches when she says "warlock and worgen," but then seems to make a point of relaxing into it. He reaches for his wife's hand again, which he had only so recently released. He gives it a little squeeze and then releases it again.

Kenelly lifts her brow at the open admission of Zath's state, attempting a bit of social calculus of her own. Was that not a secret? She nods to Lena, speaking softly. "So it seems. Of course, I'll need to bring the matter to Lord Graves." She nods to Avrenne in acknowledgement of her mention of Rhenardt. "He is my pack leader. That's what I meant about Lady Merelda ensuring I was not alone. It was primarily her that convinced Lord Graves to invite me into the Gravehowl Pack."

Avrenne makes an interested mm sound, and turns her head to look directly at Lord Graves, as if she knew precisely where he was at that moment. "I see. I understand that there is some level of complexity in the nature of the pack organization. Do let me know what he says, if there are particulars you find yourself in need of, from a location to people."

"I have only one 'pack,' " Zath says with a tightening of the corners of his eyes that Avrenne likely views much as though he had doubled over with pain, "and that is the 6th Expeditionary Unit of the 7th Legion. Perhaps you might be able to help me in return, Lady Kennelly, by working on Lord Ference on the subject of worgen, so that he might then work on his longtime acquaintance, High Commander Wyrmbane."

This is definitely the most efficient route Zath, as always. Excellent plan. YOU SEE FERENCE ALL THE TIME, DUDE.

"I just introduced another member of your pack, Mr. Thaniel Clay, to Lord Ference and his wife," Avrenne remarks to Kenelly. "Lady Ference is a fellow alchemist, and Mr. Clay's sister is a paladin, Dame Briellen Clay." She's already on it, Zath. Avrenne is Like That.

Zath shoots Avrenne a grateful glance.

Avrenne's own expression softens a little from her Composure in answer. It's brief, and covered in a blink. But it's as close to a reassuring reaching over to squeeze his hand as she's going to get in a public setting.

"Dame Clay… I think I've fought together with her before," Lena says, her brow creasing. "I'd no idea she had family in the walls, either."

Kenelly bobs another curtsey to Zath. "I'll do everything I can, my lord. I do not know Lord Ference well, but it is my mission to impress him and the other leaders of Cobalt Company." She lifts her brow at Avrenne. "Oh, Thaniel! He's delightful. He was another that I met before joining the pack. He was very welcoming, even then."

"Mr. Clay seems like a very peaceful young man. Sir Dane Atley, knight of House Ference's sponsorship and member of Cobalt Company, knew of his sister, and was able to locate her to reunite the two. I hadn't realized you were acquainted as well, Miss Coit," Avrenne says. "She is well, according to her brother."

"I really only heard the name in passing," Lena murmurs to Avrenne.

A thought seems to occur to Zath. "If you all left on the same boat, more or less, perhaps you know an Oslynn Boles? Lady Veyne's ward?"

Avrenne gives a start at the name, almost a flinch, and she looks sharply at Kenelly for the answer.

"I do," Kenelly confirms. "She's dear to me. In fact, I've known Ozzy…sorry, Oslynn…longer than I've known any of the others. She and I were part of the same coven."

"Her older sister Keiley was Master Sergeant in my 6th E.U. until her death at the Wrathgate. And because I have a policy of ensuring my unit's family are cared for, I was the one who arranged to have my aunt - Lady Veyne - look after Oslynn after the wall closed. I suppose secrecy on this matter is no longer necessary."

He twitches slightly, nonetheless, as though he has removed some article of clothing that was preserving his decency.

Kenelly offers a sympathetic wince at the mention of Master Sergeant Boles's death. "I assure you, she was well cared for. Lady Veyne clearly loves her. She also seems to be under the unofficial guardianship of another: Special Investigator Gabriella Thorne. And of course there was the coven. We all look after each other."

Zath just nods at "coven." Of course Keiley's sister would be some sort of witch.

"I am very glad to hear of it," Avrenne says, her voice warmer than the cool politeness she's spoken with thus far. "If you will let her know when you see her, if it would be a comfort that is, that her sister is remembered for her service and sacrifice to the Alliance, and not ever forgotten."

Lena glances at Zath in sympathy at the mention of Keiley Boles. And then she remembers not to do that, so she stops.

Zath has his Cool Reserve firmly in place. He has no feelings about Keiley Boles. He definitely never sobbed like a child over the whole thing.

Avrenne definitely never held him while he sobbed like a child over the whole thing, speaking of things that never happened.

The Duchess squares off her shoulders. "Might I ask, Lady Kenelly, do you know if S.I. Thorne has made her way to Stormwind yet? Speaking once more of worgen who might offer another excellent perspective unique to Gilneas. We don't have the same structure of a police force here in the Kingdom of Stormwind, but that does mean that we could benefit largely from learning other methods."

"I'm afraid I don't know S.I. Thorne very well," Kenelly admits. "She's a fairly private person. But I did hear some talk about her possibly aligning her talents with Stormwind military intelligence. So it may be that she has come south, or intends to. I imagine Lord Graves will know for certain. She seems to be his right hand in the pack."

"I had that very same impression," Avrenne says, looking once more to where Lord Graves is, and back to Kenelly, her gaze pausing on someone else in that sweep. "Ah, I see someone I need to speak with before she leaves, and I believe she is nearly at that point." She looks back to Zath for a beat, and then encompasses her words to the group at large. "Excuse me. Do enjoy the wedding, and if you decide to join the dance area at all, do be sure to say hello to the Vice Admiral, while he's there." That's just offered to everyone. No one in particular. With that, and without waiting for anyone to actually excuse her, because she is a Duchess, Avrenne sweeps off towards an older woman wearing a very dapper suit and top hat, known among some for her business in real estate.

"Well, I feel like we've made a start at creating a better future for worgen," Lena says with a smile. "Lady Tyrrell, would you care to join me for a d… walk to the refreshment table?"

"Yes, please," says Halliday. She turns a bright smile on Zath. "I shall be right back," she assures him, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. Then she gets up in a rustle of skirts and beams at Lena. "You ought to still call me Halliday, I never know who people are talking about half the time when they say 'Lady Tyrrell,'" she confides in a not-at-all confidential tone.

Lena offers Halliday her arm, in that way noblewomen seem fond of doing.

Kenelly/Zath

Kenelly dips into a curtsey as the ladies depart, first the duchess, then Lady Tyrrell and Miss Coit. Left alone with Zath, she glances around to make sure there are no prying ears. "I'm sorry if Her Grace exposed you. If it's any consolation, I had already picked it up from your scent."

"I imagine so," he says. "So many ladies sniffing me today. Scandalous, really. I suppose I ought to get used to it. But no, as for Her Grace, I trust her completely. She knew I was leaving the matter in her hands, and she made a choice. It is almost something of a relief to know she does not see it as a disaster." Another pause. "I may need more time to come around to her view."

Sniffing him? Kenelly turns a shade of red that would make a rose blush. "I see. It's good that you have a friend you can trust so completely. She seems like a remarkable woman." She takes a moment to take a breath and smooth down her dress. The dress didn't really need it. "I understand how difficult it is to come to terms with this…new reality. If you ever need someone to talk to…or just to listen…I would gladly be that person."

Zath tilts his head. "A strange offer from a woman I have just met. May I ask why you would gladly listen to the troubles of a stranger, and not a particularly pleasant one at that?"

Kenelly furrows her brow at him, as if confused. "Because it seems to me you're in need…and I'm one of the few people in a position to provide." She gives him a gentle smile. "And I find you perfectly pleasant. You've been nothing but respectful to me."

Zath frowns. "I suppose I have," he says, as though he has caught himself in some sort of error. He lifts a hand to scratch lightly at his silvered beard, considering. "I have… some difficulties in expressing myself at times," he says vaguely.

Kenelly gives a little shrug. "If I may be direct, you remind me somewhat of my father. He has very particular ways, and little patience for those who upset his world. But as prickly as he can be sometimes, I know he loves me. Even now with all that's changed; my curse has made him…let's just call it agitated. So, maybe I'm just accustomed to interpreting men who don't express themselves well."

Zath studies her for a long moment, his attention fully focused on her. This can be unsettling for some; he has the sort of eyes that seem to pierce in almost more than a metaphorical sense. A gentle stabbing, like a careful nurse drawing blood.

"Perhaps," he says, "you should unaccustom yourself. Perhaps you should demand a better sort of man."

Kenelly responds to the intense inspection with a more curious look, as if trying to examine the nurse's technique rather than worrying about her own well-being. "Perhaps. But I've never found it especially effective to demand anything of others. Especially not my father." She chuckles, with just a hint of ruefulness.

"Hm," Zath says thoughtfully. "Well, I hope at least you do not take his character flaws too much to heart when they manifest as a lack of appreciation. It seems to me you are a woman with a talent for making the best of a bad situation… an underrated character trait in a world that abounds with bad situations."

Kenelly smiles, straightening up proudly. "Thank you, my lord. I'd like to think that's true." She lifts her brow. "So…if you'd ever like my help making the best of your situation, I mean it sincerely when I say please don't hesitate to ask."

Zath narrows his eyes slightly. "Ask," he echoes. "Yes, I suppose I do have a few questions. My time at the Howling Oak was brief, and I was in no mood for questions, especially not with my unit hovering nearby. But I have one rather pressing question."

He hesitates for a moment.

"Is there a way to stop it from happening altogether? Even when the blood starts to race, when startled… when angered… could I stay in my proper form?"

Kenelly immediately feels the weight of the question, compelling her to sit down and gesturing invitingly for Zath to join her (or taking a seat beside him if he's already sitting). "From what I've observed, it can vary somewhat, seemingly depending on an individual's temperament. There is a young man in our pack, Thaniel, who is as serene a soul as you'll meet; he's a priest. He seems to have considerable control. As does S.I. Thorne. Though in her case, she strikes me as someone with a highly ordered, disciplined mind. Then take someone like Ozzy…Oslynn Boles. She's always been a bit wild, even before the change; and she revels in it. So I don't think she even tries to resist.

"With practice, one can learn greater control. That said, thus far I've never witnessed anyone able to maintain human form in the face of immediate danger. Our instincts are powerful, and it's as if our bodies now know that the worgen form is much stronger and better able to keep us alive." Kenelly gives him a sympathetic tensing of her face that isn't quite a smile. "This is probably not the answer you wanted. But also bear in mind that, while many of us have been afflicted for several years, control is still quite new to us. Perhaps in time we'll learn how to suppress it better."

Zath takes in Kenelly's answer calmly and attentively; when she is finished speaking, he lets out a little sigh and strokes his beard.

"You are right," he says. "That is not the answer I looked for. Half of my life is combat, and to do the sort of magic I do in combat I have to feel that I am in control. My superiors trusted me with a command because I have proven that I am in control. I—"

He cuts himself off, abruptly, clenching his fists.

Control.

Kenelly sits quietly with Zath for a few moments, keeping her eyes lowered as he seems to be gathering his composure. "My lord," she continues at last, "you mentioned being at the Howling Oak. So, I assume you've undergone the Ritual of Balance with the kaldorei? I've given a lot of thought to what I experienced during my ritual. It was harrowing. But I think it may have been only the beginning of a journey, not the end. Consider that we drink not only from the Well of Balance, but also the Wells of Tranquility, and Fury. The latter of the three is said to give us the strength to command our rage, lest it command us. I think it is aptly named. In my mind, fury and rage are not the same thing. Rage is wild, uncontrolled…that which risks harming even loved ones or oneself when unleashed. But fury makes me think of soldiers like yourself channeling their anger to fuel their acts. It is the power of a storm or forest blaze that can be dangerous, but also renews the land. I think if we're to have real control, we must not suppress the beast's rage, but transform it into fury. Accept it…and use it."

Zath's eyes narrow as he gazes at Kenelly, but this time his gaze seems directed through her, to some point beyond, through a doorway she has opened for him.

"Fury," he repeats softly. "It bears thinking on further. I thank you, Lady Kennelly. My immediate future is rather uncertain, but I hope that I can be of further assistance to you in your efforts to advocate for worgen in the Alliance. I am no Gilnean, but I share your curse, and I would hope to share in whatever improvements occur in our… situation. You will keep in touch, won't you? You are welcome to visit Drakewatch at any time; I shall arrange for a flight pass for you."

"I'd be absolutely delighted to visit you at Drakewatch." It does not immediately occur to Kenelly that she doesn't know where Drakewatch is, but surely someone will able to point her there. "If I do this thing…this worgen outreach initiative…I very much intend that it will be for the benefit of all sapient worgen, not just those of us born in Gilneas. In a strange way, you are like kin to me now, my lord." Kenelly rises from her seat and bobs a curtsey to her new friend. "I'm very glad to have met you. I'll leave you with your thoughts now. May the light of the new moon guide you."

"The light of the– " It's clear this makes no sense whatsoever to this Lordaeronian. Nonetheless, after a moment's bafflement he inclines his head politely in farewell. "Until we meet again."

Sintha/Siamus/Winnie/Merelda

Sintha introduces two brilliant ladies, Merelda and Winnie, and Siamus helps

Cute Babies and Widows

Cressidha approaches Bee and Nate with Patricia Sullivan and a footman, Jasper, in tow. She takes in Velrin, Nylarria, Gardenia, and Sil with a courteous nod. "Lady Gardenia, if I might introduce Mrs. Patricia Sullivan? Mrs. Sullivan, this is Lady Gardenia Aspenwood, my sister-in-law."

"Ah, you're Nate's mother," Lady Gardenia says with a friendly smile. "A pleasure to meet you."

Bee is giggling at Velrin and uninterested in the arrival of new people for the time being.

Sil looks up at the two women and smiles. "Lady Cressidha, I see you've met my sister-in-law. And this little fellow is the nephew I've mentioned."

Nate looks up from his zhevra and makes a happy little squeal, raising his arms to be held. "Mama!"

Celaven takes a seat at the table, watching the scene.

Patricia obligingly steps in to lift the little boy to rest against her hip, and he grabs onto her fancy dress with slightly-damp hands. "Lady Gardenia, I'm pleased to meet you as well. I hope my Nate's not been causing any trouble."

Velrin waves back at Cress and then returns to playing with Bee, now covering her own face to play peekaboo herself. Nylarria stiffens sensing unfamiliar people but otherwise does not react.

"Not at all. He's a delight." Gardenia smiles. "This is my Bee, she's eighteen months."

Bee is completely preoccupied by peekaboo.

Jasper, the footman, smiles at Nate. "Hi there, little fella."

Cressidha says, "I had mentioned to Mrs. Sullivan that there is a playroom upstairs, and a member of our staff could watch the children if you wanted to free yourselves up to socialize."

"Oh, a playroom," Sil says, enunciating the word clearly. "I bet Nate'd like that."

"Say hello, Nate," Patricia says, gently prying one hand off the fabric of her gown.

Nate peers at Jasper and clumsily waves a hand. He scrunches his little face up a little, like maybe he's going to cry, but then instead he just says, pitched a little too loud, "We go… to play?"

Velrin has now decided to swap from peekaboo to some more interesting slight of hand tricks. She takes a coin and makes it disappear and reappear for Bee.

"Yeah!" Jasper sounds very friendly. "Bee, do you want to play upstairs with your new friend?"

Bee shrieks, making grabby hands for the coin. "I see you!"

Jasper kneels down in the grass to get Bee's attention. "Bee, it's playroom time."

"Asher!" Bee holds the elekk out to him, instantly distracted. "Play!"

Velrin giggles and keeps hiding the coin again whenever Bee reaches for it, making it reappear in the other hand or behind her ear. "Oh! Too slow! Now it's here!" Occasionally she takes a second to glance up at Ven with eyes that seem to say 'I want one'.

Judging by the gentle, dreamy smile Celaven has as he watches Velrin play with the baby, he's in for it. Not, you know, stealing a baby. The other thing.

Sil glances between Velrin and Jasper. "Could you use some help in the playroom? Seems like maybe Velrin'd enjoy that, too."

Jasper inclines his head to Sil. "If the parents are comfortable," he says.

"This is Velrin Silverbloom," Cressidha says by way of introduction. "I can certainly vouch for her." Her eyes pass over Nylarria without any recognition. Perhaps this other night elf is just looming nearby for some reason.

Gardenia smiles. "If you'd rather be playing with the children than outside enjoying the day, by all means, miss Velrin, I have no objections." She looks at Patricia, who gets the final say in this.

Patricia looks a little uncertain, but Nate doesn't seem frightened by the tall elf lady. "I suppose that would be fine. If he does start crying, though, please come find me. I think he'll be fine if he's playing, he gets very absorbed in it."

"I'd be happy to keep playing with these little ones if it's alright, but maybe…" Velrin looks up at Nylarria.

Nylarria regards all the newcomers, "Just how many people do you know?" she says seemingly to Velrin, but she's facing Cress.

"Ah, is she with you?" Cressidha nods politely, holding a hand out to Nylarria to shake. "I am Cressidha, of House Aspenwood. I have fought with Velrin before on her squad in Cobalt Company."

Velrin perks up to answer Cress, “Oh, yes. This is my shalan-“

“Nylarria Felkiss.” She finishes the sentence, then stands there motionless.

Velrin interjects again, “You’re supposed to shake it. It’s a human custom when greeting someone. Especially someone you’ve just met.”

Nylarria raises an eyebrow under her veil and moves to shake Cress’s hand, “Interesting.”

Cressidha shakes Nylarria's hand firmly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Gardenia gathers up Bee, collecting the elekk and the dropped zhevra as well. She offers the zhevra back to Nate. "Here you go, dear. Mrs. Sullivan, it's on the second floor. Let's just get them settled, shall we?"

Nate snatches back the zhevra and aggressively curls his head against his mother's chest. Someone is being shy all of a sudden.

"Of course, Lady Gardenia," Patricia says with a smile, patting Nate gently on the head. "Please lead the way and I shall follow."

Velrin, sensing Nylarria isn’t up to spending so much time around children today, says her goodbyes to Bee and Nate, gifting Bee the coin she’d been playing with, “Be careful with this, now. It’s a magic coin. Make sure not to lose it, ok?”

Bee takes it and tries to put it in her mouth immediately, which Gardenia intercepts.

"No, sweetie, that's a choking hazard," Gardenia says gently. "I'll hold onto this for her for supervised play until she gets a little older. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Velrin."

She returns to the house with Patricia and Jasper, leaving Cressidha, Sil, Velrin, Nylarria, and Celaven behind.

Velrin stands and her ears press back towards her head a bit. She takes hold of Celaven’s arm for support. Did she do bad? She didn’t mean to… “O-ok. Take care.”

Celaven places his free hand over Velrin's. "I'm sure she'll enjoy her magic coin, with supervision. She seemed to warm to you quickly."

"Yeah, no harm done," Sil adds with a reassuring smile, and then turns to Cressidha, gesturing to a seat. "Care to join us?"

Cressidha hesitates before taking a seat. "Very well. Celaven, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," Celaven answers politely. "It was a lovely wedding - my congratulations to your brother Bertrand. It's a shame I just missed serving with him in the 7th."

Cressidha nods politely to Celaven. She looks around at the other tables, her eyes catch on Jo, and she quickly says to the others, "Excuse me." She rises smoothly, making her way towards her Captain.

Sil watches Cressidha walk away a little wistfully, then turns to the elves. "I think I might go dance for a while, now that I'm not watching Nate. Hope you all enjoy the reception!"

Sil heads off in the direction of the dance floor.

“So they’re gone now.” Nylarria observes. She is contemplating the meaning of this.

Velrin just leans into Ven and does her best not to bite or nibble on him (too much) in public. The babies got her feeling a certain kind of way.

Celaven puts an arm around Velrin's waist, and looks down at her with interest. "This has been a lovely wedding. Are you ready to go home? Or more dancing?"

Velrin blushes and hides her face in his shoulder, “I’ll go wherever you want.”

Celaven glances at Nylarria a little apologetically, and says, "Maybe not quite yet. Would you like any more to eat or drink?"

Velrin nods, keeping herself glued to Celaven.

Celaven inclines his head to Nylarria and begins to lead Velrin over towards the buffet.

Sixth Dance

With the ending of the fifth dance, to start the sixth and final planned formal dance with structure, the band once more strikes up a merry tune, a reel meant for the young and spry, ready to kick up their feet and twirl.(("The Artist and the Dancer" - Hanneke Cassel)) The slight shift of afternoon edging towards evening gives the dancers longer shadows that match their energy. The ending of the song fades out as if it, too, has become slightly breathless in merriment.

Sil stands at the edge of the dance floor, looking around for a likely partner.
His eyes meet with Rozalin who’s standing in the middle, looking for someone.

Sil smiles and walks over, bowing to her politely. "Miss Terrineth, may I ask you for a dance?"

Rozalin makes a somewhat perplexed face at the display of formality, but breaks into a soft smile, “Sure. Let’s go for it. Also been goin by Rozalin these days if ya don’t mind.”

"Rozalin, huh?" Sil asks, offering her a hand, as the sixth dance begins its merry tune. "Sure. I can appreciate the need to change a name sometimes."

Roz takes his hand, “Oh yeah?”

"I wasn't born a Silentstep," Sil says with a smile, trying to pull Roz in for a twirl. "You ever want to talk about it, I'm game, but I won't pry."

Rozalin grins as he twirls her, “Nah, it’s a bit of a long story. Rozalin’s my real name anyhow. Been tryana move past some stuff and figured I’d go back to it.” She steps back out to try and coax him into a country jig, “Not sure where this all leads, but yeah.”

Sil moves smoothly to match her in the jig - he's well-practiced at dancing, and that spans a variety of styles. "The beauty of the future, yeah? Not knowing where anything leads. But that's good. Not letting stuff in the past hold you down anymore."

“I don’t know if I’d call it beautiful. It’s fuckin confusing.” Roz comments with a laugh, “Hopin it’ll turn out alright though.”

Sil grins as they continue to dance. "Confusing, sure, but if you don't know where you're going that just means there's all sorts of paths to try. I bet a lot of 'em'll be worthwhile, even if they don't pan out. That's where I'm at now, trying out different things and seeing what fits and what doesn't. I bet it'll turn out alright for you, if you keep an open mind."

Rozalin smiles back, “Yeah… Maybe yer onto somethin. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Sil laughs and pulls her into a spin. "Let me know if there's ever any doors I can help open for you. I'm good for that, sometimes."

“Heh, I’ll remember that.” Roz grins.

Atley returns from a moderate display of dancing with his wife. He's now two buttons down on his suit, thanks to the sunlight, but he doesn't seem to mind the warmth, especially with a chilled glass of whiskey in hand. He stands at the edge of the reception area, sipping quietly as he takes in the happy occasion with his usual inimitable glare. Keen green eyes often flick to the security detail nearby, and he casually turns his head left and right to check the perimeter without being especially overt about it. At least, especially.

Natalyah/Lathrik

Natalyah attempts an escape from the wedding through the back lawn; Lathrik halts her

A guard dressed in the full Stormwind armor, standing at 6'3 in height with black hair pulled back into a tail, weaves his way through the guests to the buffet table. His demeanor is calm and assured, and he begins to load a plate as though he is just another guest grabbing a bite to eat.

When the plate is sufficiently loaded, the guard tucks a napkin beneath it, collects the appropriate silverware, and then, still with that air of this is completely normal, hoists a chair up onto his shoulders from one of the nearby tables. After a moment of thought, he also grabs one of the vases of flowers, before heading back where he came from. Perfectly normal.

Not long after, from the same direction the guard went, comes storming out Natalyah Kensington-Whit, her face lit with fury, as she walks along the edges of the wedding with the determination of someone who is not traveling to a specific place so much as away from another. Her hair is sticking to her face and neck a little where she's sweat heavily, and tries tossing it back a few times to little effect as she focuses on moving. Her rough wooden crutches squeak a little with the force she applies to them, and she leaves behind small dents in the grass as she goes.

The same guard trails after her, still carrying the plate of food, but with the distance of someone stalking a butterfly, or perhaps holding a lady's bags. He looks perfectly content to just watch her, rather than call out.

Natalyah gets to the edge of the dancing area and halts abruptly. She does not want to be around the dancers. This is not the way to go. She turns around, looking to go back the way she came at the same furious speed as before.

Which means she almost abruptly collides with Joelle, yelping with surprise as she digs her crutches into the lawn to force a stop.

"Oh," says Joelle as she turns around. "Hello." He offers her the plate.

Lathrik, meanwhile, continuing the unusual parade of men in armor, approaches the festivities carrying the wayward chair and vase, returning both to a random table that is probably not where they came from, but whatever, before heading back towards the edges of the event. He catches Ralaea's eye on the way, and she shoots him a Look that says she is not impressed. Just in general. He's doing great with the ladies today.

Natalyah looks from Joelle's face to the plate and back to him. She moves her head in a show of genuine bafflement. "What are you doing?"

"Food?" Joelle offers. See? The plate has food on it. He stands firmly, like maybe he won't take no for an answer. His expression, however, is kind and gentle. Maybe he's taken up a job as a moving table.

Natalyah stares at him, and her eyes go to Lathrik returning the chair and heading back. Her lips form the word what, but she doesn't voice it. She looks back to Joelle. "The food was for me?" She asks him like she's concerned this is the case, and she's actually hoping he'll say no.

Joelle watches her, aware that there is a wrong answer here, but unsure of what it is. He scrunches up his face in thought, but when that proves too difficult, he says, tentatively, "Yes?"

Natalyah looks up, her brows drawing in and down like she's fighting off two different expressions at the same time and there just isn't enough room on her face for both of them at the same time. She nods, and exhales a bitter tinged sigh. "Just. Just go give it to him or — whatever you want to do with it. I'm going…" A strange brief pause. "Home." She moves to get around Joelle, stops, and turns her head. "Tell that man — " Does she need to be specific? Maybe. "Tell Lathrik — I'm sorry I assumed." Immediately after this though she shakes her head harder. "No, never mind, don't tell him anything." She pushes herself back into motion, angling now back towards the dancers so she can get to where a carriage waits.

Joelle looks down at the plate, then back to Natalyah, who is leaving because of him — again. But he was told not to follow her home, and he knows Lathrik will not want the plate back, so he sets it down on the grass where he stands. A moment later, a lithe panther — a druid, actually, arrives at the plate and begins to eat from it. Joelle watches her with a satisfied smile, having charmed a kitty, then wanders back to his post. It was a good day in Joelle-land.

Cressidha/Jo

Jo notices her approach and smiles. "Cressidha! It's good to see you."

"Jo," Cressidha says, and crouches down by her chair to go in directly for a hug. "I'm so sorry I haven't written."

Jo accepts the hug immediately. It's a hugging day. "It's okay. I know there was a lot going on. I was worried about you, but then I did hear you were safe."

Cressidha nods. "My brother Amadeus - he's gone, he was at the harbor when the wave came in," she says in a rush. "And my home - the townhouse in Stormwind - is gone. I need a break from mercenary work for a time. I can still fulfill my orders as Cobalt's tailor and enchanter."

"Oh, no," Jo's eyes shimmer with tears. "I'm so sorry for your loss. And of course, take all the time you need. Cobalt work will always be here for you, whenever you're ready for it."

"Thank you, Jo," Cressidha says, some tension leaving her. "I'll… let you know." She releases Jo and rises to a stand again, nodding.

Jo nods back at Cressidha, brushing a finger beneath one of her own eyes. "And if you do need someone to talk to - I know I'm no counselor, but I hope I'll always be a friend."

"Of course. Thank you, Jo. Please excuse me." Cressidha bows her head and departs, heading back in the direction of either the dancing or the house.

Zath/Avrenne

Avrenne catches Zath in a brief moment alone

Natalyah/Priscilla/Bertrand

As Natalyah passes by the stage, Priscilla lets out an audible gasp and rushes towards her. "Talyah! You're back!"

Bertrand looks over and grins.

Natalyah stops at the sound of her name. It's a hard stop, and she closes her eyes as she blows out a breath, the way someone who is putting weight on a wounded limb might, and then she turns in place, adjusting her crutches so that she is facing Priscilla and Bertrand. She pulls on something of a smile, the wicked curls of her lips seeming more painful than joyful but she's trying.

"Hi, Scilla. Congratulations. To both of you. I figured I would have long missed this event, but I am grateful you put the date off just for me. It was very thoughtful." It's obviously a joke, the sharp bite of her words absent in speaking to Priscilla, and she has already started moving her right crutch to rest against her body to free her right arm for a hug she knows is incoming.

Priscilla steps in for a hug, careful not to upset Natalyah's balance. "Thank you. It's so good to see you, I'm so glad you could make it. Were you behind the wall all this time? I was dreadfully worried, you know, when you never came back. But I told myself maybe you were still working on that Gilnean butterfly—"

"Zebra Longwing," Birdie interjects. "Hey, Talyah."

Natalyah does not release Priscilla. She holds onto the hug and seems to have no intention of letting go any time soon. The two women are nearly of the exact same height, and it makes for a very easy perch. Her expression wavers and wobbles much more unsteadily than her physical balance, and she breathes shakily, still trying to hold that smile on her face. It's not working super great. "Hey, Birdie." She forces some brighter tone into her voice, but it only makes it sound more brittle. "Well, as a matter of fact, I was still working on the Zebra Longwing. Until about four years ago, where I lost the bulk of my research getting terribly sidetracked with the matter of being cursed into a ravening wolf beast. A major setback for the lepidopterist community, but you know how it is when you misplace your notebooks to run feral in the woods." Yes, whomst amongst us has not.

"Oh, no," Priscilla says. She gives Natalyah a gentle squeeze. She does not seem scared or uncomfortable, because clearly her friend is not a feral wolf beast right now.

"I hate when I misplace my notebooks to run feral in the woods," Birdie says, snapping his fingers. More seriously, he says, "Damn. Years of work. That's awful."

Natalyah nods, and Priscilla can likely feel the hard swallow that makes her throat flash. "Rhodes didn't — he didn't." He didn't. You know. Live. Her eyes shine with tears and she looks up at the sky. "I'm sorry, I really — I really can't talk about it. Him or Lu — I mean, literally cannot. It's…a new fun feature of the curse. High emotion and suddenly I'm wearing a very hot fur coat. I'd tear your lace, and probably send you into spontaneous heatstroke, not to mention how embarrassing to cry at a wedding. I'll make people think I've gone all soft in the head."

Priscilla gives her another squeeze. "I'll have you know plenty of people cry at weddings. I cry at weddings. But it's far too hot to wear a fur coat over your butterfly dress. I remember this one, I think."

"Blue morpho!" Birdie grins at Natalyah.

"Birdie!" Priscilla chides. "You didn't let me guess! I might have remembered it."

Birdie gives her a look, raising an eyebrow.

"I probably wouldn't have remembered it," Priscilla admits. "We don't have this one around here."

Natalyah sobs out a laugh. "Saints and martyrs, I missed you two. At least not everything has changed. He got it last time, too, remember? When he finally tore his eyes away to look at anyone who wasn't you, at that miserable early fall party, the one where it rained all over the jugglers." Fur coat or no, the continued hug in the late afternoon summer heat is definitely growing uncomfortable, and more than a little sweaty. With reluctance, Natalyah pulls back, spending time deliberately resetting her crutch under her arm. There is an alarmingly loud, dark growl from the woman. Is her worgen form about to pop out? …no, that's just her stomach.

Birdie grins. "It's great to see you, Talyah."

Priscilla looks down, a little startled. "You seemed like you were on your way out," she says. "I already count myself quite fortunate that you came at all, and I would love it if you came to visit soon when we don't have hundreds of people in the back garden. Would you like any food to bring home?" Or, you know, eat in the carriage.

In a rare time where Natalyah does not have her words at the ready, she looks away from Priscilla, clearly searching for some quip or witty turn of phrase for how to play this off, because her body won't let her deny that she isn't hungry. It's a pause long enough that someone might put together the difficulty — she cannot both walk with her crutches, and hold a plate to gather food onto, let alone find a way to take it with her out. She has no sign of a bag or pockets on her person.

"Well if you do decide to send an invitation to something with a guest list slightly fewer people than the population of a mid-sized town, don't send it to House Kensington-Whit. I'm not part of it any longer. I have a C/O mailbox at Goldshire. Or perhaps I'll pop by after the honeymoon is over. Let's see, in a reasonable period of time with you two, I expect…see you in fifteen, twenty years?" Deflect onto something else, maybe no one will notice that she can't help herself to the food, and asking for help for it might be literally impossible for her.

"I expect a twelve-year honeymoon," Priscilla says, "but I should like to see you sooner than that. Is your carriage out front?" She makes eye contact with Birdie, who darts off towards the reception.

Natalyah narrows her eyes suspiciously at Bertrand, but turns her attention to Priscilla. "Yes." There's a ripple of guilt over her face. "I…I am sorry, Scilla. I just… I can't stay. I'm being a terrible party guest, all morbid and moody, like a man who just found out his hypothesis was refuted soundly by a younger, smarter woman." She reaches up to brush at her face, pushing her hair more off her cheeks. "Honestly, it feels like Lucy would be disappointed in me if she knew I was raining on your wedding day." There's a little, forced laugh at that, like she's trying to push it out so she won't cry instead. "You and Birdie should be the happiest you can be today. And I'll come back another time when I have a butterfly that Birdie doesn't know and tell you it ahead of time. A lady should always keep her smart husband on his toes."

Kenelly/Arric

Leaving Zath to meditate on their conversation, Kenelly drifts away to hover near the dancing. Aglow with a joyful aura, she is less conscious now of avoiding her father's gaze. Even if she hasn't found any potential suitors, she has made connections with a 7th Legion Captain and Lord, and the brilliant Duchess Esprit Fallon. That should satisfy him for the time being.

"Don't you look happy!" says a ginger-haired man who happens to be passing by. "Are you a relative of the bride? The groom?" He smiles genially with no particular air of flirtation, only curiosity and enjoyment of her mood.

Kenelly does a little twirl to face the man, turning her beaming smile on him. "I'm a friend of the groom. And I'm very happy for him and his bride." Uncertain of the man's station, she extends a hand to see how he'll respond. "I'm Lady Kenelly Ashewood."

The gentleman bows over her hand with the air of a man who has bowed over many, many hands. "Lord Arric Falrevere," he says. "A pleasure. Hm, Ashewood…that's a Kul Tiran name, but your accent certainly isn't of Tiragarde. But it isn't quite Stormwind or Lordaeron, either. Gilnean, I presume?" His eyes are bright with curiosity.

Kenelly tilts her head, looking impressed. "Quite right, my lord. Well done. And if I'm not mistaken, your certainty that I'm not Tirasian suggests to me that your accent does hail from that great island nation."

Arric lets out a delighted little laugh. "Aren't you clever, and diplomatic, too. I suppose that explains how you've already become a friend of the Aspenwoods. I have been attempting to settle myself into Stormwind's social scene myself, but with much less success. There are no hunting lodges, you see, and Kul Tiras isn't looked kindly on by most of the locals, despite the Fallons, who are of course dear friends of mine. I'll confess I have been clinging to their apron strings a bit since I arrived, that is, when I've not been helping manage my new little mainland property. What is your secret to befriending the local families, Lady Kenelly?"

"I bribe them with scones." Kenelly only manages to keep a straight face for about two seconds before she cracks. "No, no, I'm joking. Though I'm told my scones are quite good. In fact, it was mostly chance that brought me into the Aspendwoods' sphere. You must know of Cobalt Company? I'm trying to join them, and they've been kind enough to let me help one of their teams in Westfall on a probationary basis. Lord Bertrand is a member of that team, and I suppose we got along quickly, because he invited my family here."

"Cobalt Company!" Arric says delightedly. "I've done a few small jobs for them myself, but never as part of a team. Do you need any more help out in Westfall? What is the situation there?" He appears riveted.

"It wouldn't be for me to say, I'm afraid. But in my opinion, we can use all the help we can get. The situation is looking far more dire than I had originally imagined. I wanted to go there to help the farmers restore their crops. But there seems to be some conspiracy afoot." Kenelly pinches her lips with an apologetic dip of her head. "I'm not sure how much I'm permitted to say. But I'd be happy to introduce you to Birdie—…Lord Bertrand, and the others, if you like."

"I would be most obliged to you," Arric says. "I've been of use in small ways in Elwynn, near my home, but I feel I'm ready to venture into something more challenging. And I would greatly enjoy the opportunity to work as part of a team."

The groom, Bertrand Aspenwood himself, weaves rapidly through the crowd to reach the buffet tables. A servant brings a covered picnic basket to him and Birdie begins loading it up carefully with food, wrapping everything up like he's packing a lunch for someone who might turn the basket upside-down and shake it. He is fast. He puts two bottles of water in, then separates them in the basket so that they don't clink together.

"That's how I felt, too. My family moved to Stormwind, while much of my remaining coven has stayed in Darnassus." Kenelly gives a little shrug. "I wanted to be part of something. Useful. I have my pack, but I think we're all just trying to find out feet right now. What of you, my lord? You mentioned your property. Are you there with family?"

"Alas, no," says Arric with a sigh. "My parents, my brother and my sister are all back in Tiragarde. I came here on my own when all news about the Northrend war stopped coming and even asking about it seemed to paint a target on my back. The climate in Kul Tiras has gotten very strange. But I'm certain you know what that's like, spending years behind a wall as you did. I fear Kul Tiras is building a different sort of wall as we speak. A shame they didn't ask a few Gilneans first how that turned out, hm?"

Kenelly sighs ruefully. "I fear by the time we learned the trouble walls can bring, it was too late for us. Perhaps when Kul Tiras gets the news of our fate, they will rethink the wisdom of isolation. I hope so, in any case. I have cousins there, as I think you noted. I've never met them, but with Gilneas lost, it's nice to think that I might still have some kind of homeland out there. Do you still have contact with your family?"

Birdie adds utensils and an extra plate, and once he's closed up the basket he steals a ribbon from the decorations to tie around the handle of the basket in a neat bow. Then he's off through the crowd again, except he moves around towards the eastern side of the house, breaking into a full sprint. There he goes. The groom. Carrying a basket.

Natalyah/Priscilla/Birdie

Priscilla gestures Natalyah along and begins to walk at a slow, comfortable pace towards the road. "I understand completely, truly, and you mustn't for one second think she would be anything other than happy to see you, just as I am. If you pick a butterfly native to Gilneas, there's a good chance he won't recognize it; he's never been."

Natalyah moves with less extreme urgency alongside Priscilla. "He shouldn't go now. It's one part undead, one part feral worgen, all parts miserable rain. Is it true that he's part of a mercenary company? I thought you two had an arrangement, and I swear, Scilla, if you're about to tell me that he finally wore you down on it, I am quitting the field altogether, because clearly I'm actually just in some bizarre fever dream slash alternate reality where Scilla Moore found someone more stubborn than her."

Priscilla laughs. "It's true, but, he works locally only. My stipulation was that he be able to come home at the end of the work day, so no remote jobs off in Kalimdor or Northrend. He's been helping with the homeless outreach in Westfall, killing gnolls and murlocs, that sort of thing. Would you believe he actually made it into the 7th Legion the year before he retired?" She sounds proud.

Natalyah's face does a thing, twisting around as she tries to hold a smile as other, darker emotions press on the edges. But she tosses her head and pushes that smile back up. "Sounds like quite a career he's had. And, of course, the most natural course of it. The 7th Legion might have just barely managed to prepare him properly for the true terror of a murloc swarm. He could even have learned the technique of not walking directly into a nest of fourteen or fifteen of them, which puts him leaps and bounds ahead of the standard crowd."

As they round the corner, Priscilla does her best, "Rrglglglgl." It's fairly good, actually, and one of the staff members on guard near the coaches out front actually starts and backs up a step. "Just keeping you on your toes," Priscilla calls brightly.

Natalyah laughs, her unfettered slightly villainous cackle, maybe more at the staff member than Priscilla's impression, but here we are.

She has to come to a halt to raise a hand up to flag her particular coachman, standing in a crowd of them in the provided shade. "Make sure to do that later, when Birdie's on the other side of a wall or something, for the four or five seconds you two spend apart tonight once we all finally leave you alone."

Running towards the coaches from the other side of the house is Bertrand, ponytail streaming behind him, carrying a basket in both hands in front of him so as to jostle it as little as possible.

"I've yet to see him break down a wall, it's true," Priscilla says, grinning. She looks back the way they came, which is the wrong direction.

Birdie is coming the long way around, and he is definitely going to make it in time.

Natalyah looks back with her, as her coachman hops up into a very cheap hansom cab, small enough to fit perhaps two adult humans — or in this case, one adult worgen woman — with just one, sturdy looking horse. The driver takes up his place behind the seat, as it pulls to the drive.

Natalyah turns back to Priscilla, balancing carefully on one crutch so she can offer a hand out to the other woman. "Congratulations, again. Really. I'm glad you two made it here. A little proof to the rest of us that if you wait and stay with it, you too will find someone willing to run through a brick wall because there's possibly a murloc invasion in your bedroom."

Priscilla takes Natalyah's hand and shakes it. "Thank you." She releases her friend's hand so that Natalyah can get situated. "Before you go, where is… hmm."

"Coming!" calls Bertrand.

Priscilla turns to see her husband sprinting down the driveway and laughs.

Natalyah sets one crutch up into the hansom cab, and pulls and pushes herself up on her own, drawing up the other crutch to set it aside like a fair maiden pulling her hair up from a tower. She looks to the picnic basket he's carrying — and the reason for it — and her expression wobbles dangerously. She leans back into the cab to yank the curtains fully closed, black fur already sprouting up around her fingers. "Oh, sh — " She closes her eyes as she tries to hold onto her human form.

Priscilla moves as if to body-block Natalyah from view as Birdie approaches. "He must have run the whole way," she says, chuckling. She reaches into her purse. "Don't even worry about what happens to that basket, Talyah." Looking up at the hansom driver, she says, "I'm sure this kind gentleman can spare the time to help a lady take her luggage back to her home, but if you'd prefer to leave it in the carriage for ease once you're done eating, that's perfectly fine as well."

As Birdie moves in to hand off the basket to Natalyah, Priscilla shifts back to pass the driver a few extra coins. "We really don't need it back," she says.

Birdie looks like he's catching his breath, but he grins.

There's only so much the darkness of the cab can offer, especially on a late summer afternoon, and it's too obvious that the hand that takes the basket is darkly furred, and clawed, yellow tinted eyes faintly visible in the shadowed cab.

Birdie passes the basket up to her and bows.

The driver looks confused, but hey, free money. "If the lady would give directions for her home?" He asks politely.

Natalyah's voice sounds exactly like it has — there's no change despite the different shape of her face. "No, just — as we agreed. To outside Goldshire." That's weird. Why isn't Natalyah going back to a specific place, not even the inn? "Thank you, Scilla. Birdie. I'm sure the basket will make a lovely flower box, might even snag a tiger swallowtail, I play my cards right." She taps at the ceiling. "Drive on." She closes the door, and the driver gives the newly wedded Aspenwoods a shrug as he sends the cab into motion.

"Thank you for coming!" Priscilla calls, and stays to wave as the hansom drives off.

Arric/Kenelly/Slicket

Arric frowns. "Not in some time," he says. "I am beginning to strongly suspect they have blockaded incoming mail. Or else are stopping mail from leaving the island. Or both. I have written, but heard nothing back. It has been long enough that I strongly doubt my family has simply been distracted or occupied."

Kenelly offers a sympathetic pout. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how painful that must be. I'm glad that you at least have the Fallons to give you some sense of home. I fear my own Tirasian ties are distant, at best, but I can at least offer you friendship to make your time on the mainland more palatable." She gives him a hopeful smile.

"That sounds delightful," Arric says. "A pair of displaced souls starting anew in Stormwind while they wait to see what's become of Home. And with your knack for making new friends, if I follow along with you before long we'll both be hosting grand gatherings of our own, no doubt!" He beams a smile at her.

"Oh my, wouldn't that be something?" Kenelly laughs cheerfully. "My mother has always been in charge of such events. Not that we had many at our home. I filled the void with our local festivals. The people were always more celebratory than my father." As she speaks, she peers about for Birdie or her other Westfall companions.

Slicket catches Kenelly's gaze and waves. He's so fashionable right now, with his rented tux, heavy eyeliner and facial piercings. Just. So. Fashionable.

"Ah, festivals…" Arric looks almost pained for a moment. "I'll be missing the Norwington Festival this year. You've never seen such a time! Horsemanship and shooting competitions… music, dancing…" He sighs deeply. "Surely they have something in Stormwind to compare? Something we can grow to love?"

"I've been delighted to see the Midsummer Festival celebrated here," Kenelly says. "Oh my, but you should have seen our Midsummer Festivals in Gilneas. We had enormous gatherings with games, performances-…your Norwington Festival sounds like it might be of that scope. If we don't find something of the like here, perhaps we can bring some of what we love from our own cultures!" She lights up with excitement. First worgen initiatives, now festival planning. She's putting a lot on her place. She perks again and waves across the crowd. It isn't clear at first just who she is waving to, until a few humans step aside to reveal the mohawked gnome waving back. "Oh, that's Slicket! He helps us in Westfall." She beckons Slicket to approach.

Slicket waddles over in that usual gnome way. "Nelly, hi! I think Natlee's fashion is gonna work way better on gnome girls, but I still look good, right? Who's your friend?"

"You really do stand out, Slicket." Kenelly moves on quickly from the subject of Slick's appearance, gesturing the ginger-haired man. "Slicket, this is Lord Arric Falrevere. He hails from Kul Tiras and now has an estate here in Stormwind. My lord, I'm pleased to introduce Slicket Gearthrottle. Slicket races…some kind of steam-powered wagons? Forgive me, I'm not entirely clear on the details."

"Slicket Throttleblast," Slicket says, holding up his four-fingered hand to shake. "And it's rocket cars, or was. Raceway's like a whole other place now than it was before. I guess catastrophic flooding in a canyon will do that to you. Kul Tiras, huh? Hope you didn't have to swim over to Stormwind."

Kenelly winces as Slicket corrects her on his name. At least she got part of it right?

"I did not," Arric says amiably, reaching down to give Slicket's hand a vigorous, gnomelike shake rather than a gentlemanly clasp. "Though it's beginning to look as though I may have to swim back. Rocket cars, you say? I haven't the faintest idea what that is, but I've known enough gnomes to suspect it's something splendidly clever."

"They're amazing," Slicket says, his eyes lighting up. "True works of genius, let me tell you. You've never felt speed like that before, especially when you start using stuff like seaforium to boost. Skimming over the salt flats, the canyon walls blurring in the distance… that's living." He sighs, and briefly there's a moment of genuine yearning in his eyes. Oh, rocket cars, how I love thee. Then he sobers. "Of course, the whole place is all underwater now, the salt flats. I guess speed boats will be the new thing."

Arric's eyes gleam, taking on a rapt, distant look as he gets drawn into Slicket's description. Then he frowns at the conclusion, looking down at Slicket with sympathy. "Dreadful, how much has been lost in the Cataclysm," he says. "I'm so terribly sorry."

Approaching together are the groom and the bride. Birdie is keeping an eye out for the rest of his team, having promised to introduce Priscilla to them.

"Hey!" Birdie calls, raising his hand that is holding his wife's hand. It's a weird combined wave. "Scilla, this is Slicket, our first-into-danger guy. And this is Lady Kenelly."

Birdie looks at Arric with a friendly smile. "And you even I don't know! I'm pretty sure they said our names in the ceremony a time or two, so you have me at a disadvantage."

"Hello!" greets Priscilla, all smiles.

Arric laughs out loud at Birdie's quip about names. "Also they were helpfully written on the invitation," he says cheerfully, "and so I'm fairly certain I can even spell them properly! But I hate to have the advantage, so… I'm Arric Falrevere." He gives a little bow. "A-R-R-I-C, F-A-L-R-E-V-E-R-E," he spells rapidly with a grin. "Of Tiragarde Sound. A friend of the Fallons, of course. The ceremony was absolutely lovely, Lady Priscilla, and you look radiant. Radiant. Happiness is the finest garment, is it not? Lord Bertrand, I've been meeting some of your Westfall team, as I'm interested in possibly helping you out, if you're willing."

Priscilla beams. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh! I imagine you'll have to check with Sir Ference, he's the one who put our group together in the first place. But I'd be happy to have you if you get the go-ahead!" Birdie says.

Kenelly clasps her hands with excitement before giving a formal curtsey. "Lady Priscilla, it's wonderful to finally meet you. I'm so very happy for you and Birdie. And I could not have put it better than Lord Arric, you are absolutely radiant."

Slicket beams at Priscilla, too. "Pleased to meet you! Birdie's lucky to have found such a pretty gal."

Estel/Celaven/Velrin/Nylarria

Estel says, "Celaven, hey," as she wanders up to the buffet tables.

Celaven smiles at the familiar face. "Estel! It's good to see you. Did you bring the children today?" Then he gestures to the other two elvish women. "I can't recall - do you know Velrin and Nylarria?"

Velrin’s ears perk up at the mention of children.

Nylarria stands back for now and regards Estel warily.

"To a wedding? Nah, they're way too young to get it. Alynnra's with 'em." Estel looks curiously at Velrin and Nylarria. "Nope! Hi, Estel Herald. I'm an alchemist with Cobalt Company."

Velrin looks visibly disappointed by the lack of babies present, “Hello there. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Velrin Silverbloom.”

“I’m Nylarria Felkiss.” She responds with a nod.

"Velrin is my partner, and she's in Cobalt Company as well," Celaven clarifies. "A melee fighter - she took part at Icecrown Citadel, as well as earlier in the Icecrown campaign. And Nylarria is… her… friend."

Celaven glances at Nylarria and back to Estel, with a kind of please be kind to her, she's trying in his gaze.

"I recognize your name," Estel says to Velrin. "You were on one of the squads, yeah? I remember you coming up in the newsletter a couple times."

Estel gives Celaven a thumbs-up. To Nylarria, she says, "You, though, you're totally new. What's your thing? Do you have a thing?"

“Oh yes.” Velrin smiles at the recognition, “I’ve served on the squad several times now.”

Nylarria gets a bit confused by the roundabout way of asking who she is and takes a moment to reply, “I’m a demon hunter.”

"Neat," Estel says. "That's more than just a job description, right? It's also a technical term?"

“I suppose so.” Nylarria agrees.

Velrin interjects to explain, “It is a certain path some of my people take. It has its dangers but they are enemies of the Legion.”

"It's a path that can be isolating," Celaven supplies to Estel. "As it is not one generally considered with approval. But I think that need not matter today, among us. Have things been well at the clinic lately? And Almeiria, is she well?"

"Last I saw her, yeah," Estel says, nodding to Celaven. "She's networking here today. By which I mean dancing. Things've been fine ever since the nightmare shit died down."

Estel asks Nylarria, "Is this your first big human social occasion?"

"No. I met with nearly a half dozen people just a few weeks ago." Nylarria is being serious.

Estel grins. "Half a dozen to a couple hundred is a big jump."

"Hmmm… I suppose so." Nylarria considers, "Either way it's an awfully large number to be gathered just to stand around and speak."

"Not only that," Celaven says with a brief laugh. "To witness the union of two people in love. Though I confess it seems that I joined the 7th Legion right at the time the groom left it, and I plan to leave Cobalt soon after he's joined. Unfortunate, but I hope we might become acquainted all the same."

Estel laughs. "They also eat food, or dance. And part of the point of the standing around and speaking is to meet people you'll wanna do other stuff with another time, yeah?"
"Another… time?" Nylarria has to think for a moment, "Are these people interested in hunting demons? Perhaps I should have asked them."

Velrin giggles, "I'm sure a lot of them would be happy to help, but people come together for more than hunting, as enjoyable as that can be." She gives Celaven's arm a big squeeze and nuzzles it. It looks like she very narrowly managed not to bite him, but she is still absolutely glued to his side and pressing close against him.

"I can speak for Cobalt Company, at least, that they do occasionally hunt demons," Celaven says with a smile. "There are at least two dreadlords I'm aware of that they've fought."

"I mean, I'm always down to fight the Legion," Estel says cheerfully. "If I've got the free time."

"Good. I'll remember that." Nylarria nods.

"There seems to be plenty to fight besides the Legion at the moment," Celaven says, "but if I hear tell of a particular possibility, I shall be sure to spread the word." He considers for a moment, and then adds, a little carefully, "Estel, have you had much chance to meet many of the worgen? I understand there are a number here tonight, but I'm afraid there are so many here I don't know that I'd be hopeless to recognize them."

"Brilliant," Estel says to Nylarria.

"Not yet!" Estel says honestly. "I don't know how to tell them apart from the humans."

"I would offer my help, but my sight is unfortunately not sensitive to their curse. It would be very difficult for me to tell." Nylarria admits.

Velrin shifts her weight, "But does it matter so much if they're worgen or not? It sounded like they found a way to tame the pack form."

"Well I guess, but that's their business isn't it?" Velrin glances at the ground and grows quiet, "I don't know… I'm just worried people won't like them just because they find out what they are… None of them are taking on their animal form right now. Is it because they're scared?"

Estel spreads her hands vaguely in front of her. "Some might be," she says. "Some might want to have fingers to hold forks, or to blend in. Some of 'em might not like that they were cursed at all in the first place, and see their human forms as their preferred ones. Some might be afraid of causing a fuss, scaring the children, being a subject of scandal, whatever. It doesn't seem like my business. The best thing you can do today to make them feel welcome is to speak out in favor of them, I imagine."

"I can understand that." Nylarria speaks to something she understands for once today.

"I guess so…" Velrin says sullenly, "I just hope they can learn to be happy as they are now. And that one day no one will feel like they have to hide."

"Yeah," Estel agrees. "I hope so too. Anyway, I'll see you guys around!" She scoops more food from the buffet table onto a plate.

Velrin waves goodbye with a smile. Nylarria does not. She just nods.

"See you around," Celaven repeats. "And give Almeiria my regards, if I don't see her first."

Arric/Lena/Halliday

An angelic-looking young blonde woman in pearl hairnet and embroidered rose-silk gown approaches Arric with a look of intent purpose somewhat at odds with the softness of her appearance. She is holding Lena Coit's hand, not quite towing Lena.

When they reach Arric, she releases Lena. "Hello," she says politely, and gazes up at him with solemn gray eyes. "You're Arric, correct?"

Lena, for her part, is blushing, but also smiling in a nervous kind of way.

Arric peers down at the two ladies with a bemused smile. "I am! Arric Falrevere of Tiragarde, lately of Elwynn. What can I do for you?" He looks between the two blondes curiously.

"Oh," says the angel. "Yes, I forgot. Countess Halliday Tyrrell. Please call me Halliday." She dips a little curtsey, but her serious gaze never leaves Arric's face. "Lena is not a lesbian."

Arric makes a soft choking sound, and his face turns quite pink in that striking way that the faces of redheads are known to do.

"I beg your pardon— did someone say I — forgive me if I — Tides, I would never speculate on a lady's — certainly not aloud, there must be some mistake! Forgive me, Miss - " He looks at Lena in dismay. "I've forgotten your name. I daresay I've forgottenmy name. I am so sorry for — whatever has occurred?" He coughs again.

"Oh, no, I'm certain it's out of your mind already," Lena assures him, still smiling. "I just realized a certain misconception might have been started as a result of my words and actions, and Halliday assured me the best way to fix it was to address the thing directly. I am, also, interested in men, as it happens."

Arric's eyes go even wider, verging dangerously into fish territory. He reaches out impulsively toward her as though to stop her from physically falling, then abruptly laces his hands behind his back. "My dear lady," he says fretfully, "whatever impression you may have made, I would certainly not be such a knave as to gossip about it. You need never fear that I would speculate on such matters aloud and cause you any sort of… repercussions . I am perhaps excessively talkative, if that is what you may have heard, but as much as I sometimes rattle on it is never about third parties, my lady, I assure you! Mother's mercy!"

"Your name is Arric Falrevere," Halliday supplies gently, helpfully, as an aside. "This is Miss Lena Coit."

"I reckon plain speech is sometimes not the best policy," Lena says, watching Arric curiously. "I'm not implying anything, and I would not have assumed you one to gossip. It's just information presented, as I think you might've got the wrong idea when we were all sitting at the table before."

Arric seems to calm somewhat, and even laughs a little, inclining his head toward Halliday. "Yes, Arric Falrevere, that was it. And Lena Coit." At this he inclines his head toward Lena. "If we are being frank - which it appears that we are - I did have the impression that you were … courting that lovely architect. But jumping to conclusions was my fault of character, and you are allowed to charm whomever you please. I only regret that my swift conclusion seems to have perturbed you in some manner; I am frankly unaccustomed to anyone paying any mind whatever to what I do or do not think." At this he laughs again; it doesn't seem to trouble him. "Occasional idiocy with impunity is the privilege of a second son, I suppose."

"People often don't," Halliday agrees sympathetically. "Pay any mind, I mean. But Lena is very good at it. She is always paying attention. She's trying to meet people she might marry, and so she didn't want anyone to have a false impression of her." After a moment, she clasps her hands primly in front of her skirt. "I find it's best to be honest about things, and then people can decide what they wish to do or not."

Lena's mouth falls open a little as she turns to Halliday. Maybe she hadn't expected quite that much plain speech. It takes her a moment to recover her own polite composure. Then she says, "So yes, I was… I was just kind of flirting in a general sense, with no particular constant direction. And now we understand one another, and I'm sorry if you'd thought no more of it and now you're, um, thinking more of it than you'd rather like."

Halliday makes big eyes at Lena. "Oh. Was that — I'm sorry." She looks uncertainly from Lena to Arric and back. "I can… return to my husband."

"There there," Arric says gently to both of them. "You've done no wrong. I'm easily startled, that's all. I am here to get to know people, and, well, now I know a bit about each of you! So you see, it's all worked out. And Miss Coit, if you're looking to be married, perhaps it's fortunate that you enjoy a variety of people, hm? I would think it would be quite easy for you to find a match, especially if you aren't hemmed in by all the family politics of the landed sorts. Why, you could make a love match, could you not? Or is there something in particular that you seek in a marriage?" He seems genuinely, benignly curious.

"I suppose I'm looking for the right person," Lena says, still a little stunned. She should have been prepared for the conversation to go this way. Somehow, she was not. "But indeed I've no land or family. Or family politics. I'm delighted to have learned a bit more of you as well, Lord Arric."

"You've no family?" Arric says, his brow creasing slightly. "None at all? That must be awfully lonely. Is that why the Fallons took you in? They're such lovely people aren't they? Lord Fallon came by my little Elwynn cottage not long ago. I enjoy talking horses with him."

Halliday surveys Lena anxiously, her hands still clasped before her. She is knotting her fingers restlessly, over and over.

Lena lets one hand drift over towards Halliday's knotted hands, an intended gesture of comfort. To Arric, she says, "Oh, I'm only at their estate temporarily, while I find a place after Icecrown. Fallon's my employer - I'm with the fleet. But… yes… they're lovely people. You like horses? I've got just the one now, a little mare I met in Northrend."

Lena lets one hand drift over towards Halliday's knotted hands, an intended gesture of comfort. To Arric, she says, "Oh, I'm only at their estate temporarily, while I find a place after Icecrown. Fallon's my employer - I'm with the fleet. But… yes… they're lovely people. You like horses? I've got just the one now, a little mare I met in Northrend."

"I adore them. I only brought two with me from Kul Tiras - the ones Father could bear to part with. I thought I would be able to convince Father to send more, but it seems Kul Tiras has decided to go the way of Gilneas and shut themselves off from the world entirely. So I've just a stallion and a mare, and they're a bit too closely related, and so I hope perhaps to breed them with some of the Fallon stock. What sort of horse is your mare? Do you like horses as well, Lady Tyrrell?"

It seems to take Halliday a moment to recognize that as her name. "Oh," she says. "Yes. I… do like horses, yes. I like animals in general." She looks from Arric to Lena.

"Penelope's just Stormwind-bred, but she's sweet-natured. Seems to get along well enough with the ones from Kul Tiras. I've not seen any new bite or kick-marks since she's been stabled with the Fallons, anyway," Lena smiles, relaxing a little into the safer topic. "Carried me all through Northrend without a fuss too, so not easily frightenable either, which is harder to get in a horse. I rented her, at first, because I noticed folks were a bit wary of the demon horse." She tilts her head towards Lady Tyrrell. "I don't think you've ever met Penny, have you?"

Halliday blinks and shakes her head. "I have not."

"She sounds splendid," Arric says. "Both of mine have their flaws, which I suppose is why Father let them go. Win-Win, the stallion, is a bit too spirited, and has off-color eyes. Dancer has a lovely temperament, but she's undersized. Lord Fallon seems certain that such things can be made up for with careful breeding. I take his word for it, as the breeding part of it is all rather new to me. I was more focused on the riding. Competitions and such. But if I'm going to be running about with Cobalt Company I should look into a more practical sort of mount, sturdy, with a solid temperament."

"Oh, I know nothing about the breeding, either," Lena says, shaking her head. "I don't really mind much breeding 'flaws' myself, and your horses sound lovely. I mostly just like the riding, too, not even competitions. For practical reasons and just, you know, the joy of it." Lena smiles, remembering.

The three of them continue to chat pleasantly about horses for a bit and then part amicably as friends to go mingle elsewhere.

Siamus/Zath

Near the end of the wedding, Siamus and Zath have a conversation about Zath as a worgen, please see CWs

Velrin/Celaven/Nylarria/Dane

Velrin tugs on Celaven’s arm. She has a small plate of food, but she seems more interested in nibbling Ven’s ear while she leans up to speak to him than she is in the hors d'oeuvres, “Can we go find Sir Dane? I want to say hello before we go.”

Nylarria seems to be a little fixated on Velrin with a somewhat confused and uncomfortable expression hidden under her veil.

"Oh, of course," Celaven says, scanning the crowd. "We should, I agree. Sir Atley should be around here somewhere."

“I suppose I should come with too.” Nylarria adds, “Just make it quick, Velrin. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Velrin giggles impishly and tightens her grip on Ven’s arm while they set off to find Karson Dane.

Atley's seated now, an empty chair on either side of him. He's moderately making his way through his third plate when the trio approaches. He grunts, and briefly dabs at his lips with a napkin before he pushes himself up. "Aye, hullo'," he growls, extending a hand to the group at large, namely whomever takes it first. "Fine day, you lot, innit'."

“It is!” Velrin shakes his hand without letting go of Ven, “It was such a beautiful ceremony, don’t you think?”

Atley grunts and nods. "T'was. Fine day," he repeats with a growl, moving to shake Celaven's hand before he turns to Nylarria. "Don't believe we've met, milady."

Celaven shakes his hand firmly, and says, "I'm pleased to see you Sir Atley." He nods towards Nylarria. "A friend, Nylarria Felkiss."

Atley grunts. “Ms. Felkiss.” He says, with a nod, cinching his thumbs in his belt, lightly pushing his jacket back. “How do the three of you know one another?”

“It’s sort of a long story.” Velrin explains with a nervous laugh, “She’s… my shalan. If you know what that means. Like a soul mate. We used to be rivals, but the goddess has seen fit to set us down a different path.”

Nylarria stands still and observes Atley. She inclines her head slightly when he addresses her.

He nods slowly, eyes alighting with recognition as he similarly observes Nylarria. “I see,” he growls. “Some of my greatest friends were once rivals. Were you sister sentinels, then?”

“No. I’m a demon hunter.” Nylarria answers curtly.

Atley grunts. “Can’t say I’ve met too many, personally.” He eyes Nylarria again.

"There's Aszera, at least," Celaven supplies. "She was with us in Zul'drak, Naxxramas, Icecrown… she's something similar."

Atley slowly inclines his head before he stops it in the form of a single, sharp nod. He raises a hand and points at Celaven. “Her I’ve crossed paths with. Work with the Argents, among those others.” He looks to Nylarria. “Another friend?”

“No. I don’t know her.” Nylarria states.

Velrin chimes in, “She’s been a bit lonely for a long time, so I’ve been trying to introduce her to more people. It’s always good to have friends.” Her ears wiggle.

Atley grunts. "Wot' do you find yourself up to these days? 'Sides the hunting of demons," he inquires with a growl, and a subtle dry humor.

"I've had a few run ins with the Horde now. That's one thing I suppose." Nylarria says, "Not my preferred enemy, but if they threaten others, then." She shrugs.

Velrin frowns and her ears droop, "I really hoped the Ashenvale situation would be able to be resolved peacefully."

Atley's look darkens faintly. He glances around at nearby atteendees, nodding faintly now and then before he leans in towards the trio of kaldorei, voice lowered. "Ashenvale. That'll be the next front. Mean bush, too." he growls.

"It's not mean. It's a beautiful forest." Velrin sighs, "I understand that the Horde wants lumber, but killing civilians?" She starts to tear up remembering the Silverwind Refuge incident.

Atley sets a hand on her shoulder, nad gives her a tight squeeze and a small shake. "Ah. Time enough to handle that nasty business and those nasty curs, mm? Today's a day of brightness."

Velrin sniffles and smiles at Dane, "R-right. I-is Karson with you?" Velrin looks around for him.

Atley shakes his head. "He's at home, with my sister-in-law. If I'm not careful, she's got a mind to steal that child," he jokes dryly. "Growing fatter and taller by the way, him. Like a weed. He still has it in his head to try and eat the gifts you've delivered.”

Celaven chuckles. "Children grow so quickly, indeed. Though it may seem much more so for our people, whose years stretch so long in adulthood."

Velrin's eyes are filled with disappointment when she learns that Karson isn't present, but she giggles at Atley's comment, "Maybe he wants to grow up to be a hunter. Then he'll be bringing home real stags for all of you." She holds tight to Ven's arm, "We're still waiting on one of our own, but I can come over again to watch him sometime if you'd like."

Atley grunts. "I'd like that. Give the wife and I time to run off. Karson'd certainly enjoy it as well. He's bloody mercenary for attention," Atley growls fondly. "You'll have to let me know as soon as you know, for celebration." he says to Velrin and Celaven.

Velrin presses up against Celaven and wiggles her ears.

Celaven smiles, and puts an arm around Velrin. "We'll be sure to let you know. And I'd be happy to help watch little Karson as well. It might be something of a preview of things to come in my life."

Atley grunts. "P'raps. I've not seen many elven children, myself. Quel'dorei or kaldorei both. Especially not babies."

"Well you will. Someday anyway, goddess willing." Velrin beams, "I'm glad we got to see you today."

Atley grunts. "And I you. S'a fine day before the storm." He looks around. "Reminder of things worth fighting for, mm? Be certain to fill up. The food's good."

"Worth fighting for…" Nylarria echoes quietly, musing to herself.

Velrin nods, "It is. It can be easy to forget sometimes. For me at least. For so long keeping up the fight felt like all I had to live for."

"And now, there is so much more," Celaven says with a smile. "Family, friends, love… it is important to build something to return to, when the battle's over."

Atley grunts. "Makes the will too fight burn all the brighter. Can think of few better things to do in dark days like these than to hold a wedding. Shows friend and foe alike that we expect to have a future, no matter wot' faces us."

"Mhmm!" Velrin wiggles her ears, "No matter what we can always hold onto hope."
Kalindra/Zath/Arric

Kalindra weaves her way through the reception talking with people to get better acquainted with the area. She's working hard to put faces to the names of all the nobles she's read about. In due time she approaches Zath Tyrrell, "Good day, sir. This was a lovely ceremony, don't you agree?"

Zath turns toward Kalindra, seemingly startled out of some intense train of thought. His glacial eyes give her a quick once-over, and his demeanor is frosty at best, but his tone is mild as he says, "Indeed. I once served with Bertrand Aspenwood, and I am pleased by his good fortune."

This is the point where a polite gentleman would introduce himself. But he does not.

“Is that so? Then this must be a very happy day for you indeed to see a comrade joined with his beloved.” Kalindra curls her toes in her shoes, irritated by the petty breach of etiquette, but is all smiles and composure on the outside, “Kalindra Azuredown.” She offers her hand to Zath, “Though perhaps you might know me better by my fiancé, Leric.”

Zath's face looks blank at all of the offered names, but he takes her hand and bows over it politely. "Count Zath Tyrrell of Drakewatch, in Redridge," he says. "Your fiance was unable to attend the wedding today? Or has he been spirited away by some discourteous gentlemen, as often happens at occasions like this?"

"He has, I'm afraid. Which makes the task of introducing myself a touch more cumbersome in these lands. However, I am quite capable of holding my own in conversation." Kaldindra retracts her hand once Zath has finished and returns with a bow of her own. "Count Zath Tyrrell you say, though? It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My fiancé is from Redridge as well. House Tennerow. I do hope you can come to rely on me for decades to come."

Zath looks slightly startled. "Tennerow, of course. My apologies; I've mostly dealt with Lord Tennerow." Use of the title suggests he means Devon. "Before I was wed, he often looked in on my lands during my long deployments."

He makes another slight bow, as though he is now introducing himself to an entirely different lady.

"Welcome to Redridge, and feel free at any time to visit my estate, out of the way as it may be. The countess would be delighted to meet you I'm certain. Just mind that the west wing of the house is now an orphanage. With that knowledge you might steer clear or pay a visit, according to your inclinations."

Kalindra smiles, clearly amused at the sudden shift in demeanor, "Your generosity as well as the warning are greatly appreciated. I will do so when my schedule allows me." Kalindra responds, "I have been kept quite busy with the construction of my lodge and manor, not to mention my efforts to find quarriers and masons to bring to Lakeshire."

"I am fortunate enough to have a formidable seneschal who oversaw all such matters on my estate; at the time I was unmarried and barely present, and so the entire construction was done with virtually no input from me whatsoever, other than financial. I am afraid the few vague directions I did give only confused the workers, and so the results are… eccentric, to say the least. I wish you better luck. Have you had much chance to get to know Redridge?"

"That is understandable. I admit the construction of a lodge is somewhat outside my area of expertise, though the two decades I spent studying architecture will hopefully prove of some use in that regard. I am rather more concerned about the damaged bridge. It seemed prudent to me that I make an effort to rectify that before beginning the construction of my own home in earnest." Kalindra smiles pleasantly, "As to becoming acquainted with Redridge, I have spent some time toward this end, though not nearly as much as I should like. It is a beautiful country. The sight of the forest from the mountains is quite breathtaking."

"So when you say 'lodge,' Zath says, his angled black brows drawing together, "What precisely do you mean? I'd assumed at first you meant the groundskeeper's quarters, but your comment about expertise leaves me wondering if you meant something else altogether. Unless your groundskeeper is extremely particular."

"Oh, my apologies. Another cultural difference it would seem." Kalindra gives him a reassuring look, "Among my people we place great value in the use of rangers and build facilities to house, train, and supply them. It may perhaps be more useful to think of it as a barracks or an outpost."

"Ah, so a sort of… hunting lodge then?" he says.

As if the phrase hunting lodge were a fel incantation to summon gregarious gingers, Lord Arric Falrevere appears precisely in the spot he would be standing if they had purposely included him in conversation. The quality of his clothing suggests he is a member of nobility, though it is neither in a Stormwind nor Lordaeronian style. Not Gilnean, either - not nearly gloomy enough - though it is closer to that than the others.

"Good day," he says brightly to them both. Zath just stares at him, some sort of rapid calculations going on behind his eyes.

"Precisely. It is my hope that the traditions of the Azuredown family will help preserve Redridge from incursions from the gnolls and the Blackrock Clan." Kalindra turns to Arric, a bit startled at his sudden appearance, "Good day. I do not believe I have met you before either. Kalindra Azuredown, at your service." She extends her hand for him to take. She does not address herself as a noble but she is clearly dressed as one. He thinks… She is an elf after all.

Arric graces her hand with a courtly kiss, then releases it. "Lord Arric Falrevere of Tiragarde Sound," he says. "While we've not many elves in my part of the world, we do have an enthusiastic hunting tradition." He offers his hand to Zath as well.

"Tyrrell," is all Zath says this time by way of introduction.

Zath gives the hand a bare minimum polite grip, and something like unease flickers over Arric's face as he does so. Kalindra likely noticed earlier that his hand was rather cold, but it seems Arric is a bit more sensitive to it, or else to something else in Zath's manner.

"Tyrrell… That name is very familiar," Arric says faintly.

"You are acquainted with Serg— Master Sergeant Fallon," Zath says. "Master Sergeant Sintha Fallon," he clarifies, "of the 7th Legion."

"Why yes I am!" says Arric delightedly, all his unease washing away immediately. Lady Sintha and I have been friends all our lives. That is where I've heard the name! You're her captain! How fortunate I am to - " He cuts himself off, his eyes lighting up even more. "I beg your pardon - did you say Master Sergeant? A promotion already? How keen!"

"Yes," says Zath, the temperature around him seeming to drop ten degrees. "Keen."

Arric blinks, looks vaguely uneasy again, and then turns back to Kalindra. "Please excuse my interruption, my lady. I would love to hear more about this lodge of yours."

"A hunter then?" Kalindra raises an eyebrow, "Very well then. There may not be many elves in Kul Tiras, but perhaps you are familiar with the Farstriders of Quel'Thalas. I have been spending my time since the end of the war in Northrend to establish a ranger lodge of my own in Redridge for the service of the crown of Stormwind."

"Oh, I've read tales of the Farstriders, to be sure," Arric enthuses, "but to be frank I wasn't even certain if they were real or simply legend. My family is not what you would call well-versed in global matters. Which is why I came here; their cultural isolationism was terribly frustrating. But did you know, there is not a single hunter's lodge to be had in all of the kingdom of Stormwind? I have searched far and wide. If you were to establish such a thing, you would have an eternal friend in me. Is there any way I might assist you in your efforts?"

Kalindra grins at Arric's enthusiasm, "In fact there very well be. Once the lodge is finished I will want for recruits. I would be glad to have your assistance in this should you prove yourself capable. Perhaps you might even earn yourself a command position in time." Kalindra waves her hand, "I get ahead of myself, excuse me. However my need for rangers will be quite real in due time."

Arric looks like he may be in danger of starting to wiggle like a puppy in a moment. His pale blue eyes, fringed by equally pale lashes, are all aglow. Zath actually takes a half step back, as though the force of Arric's boyish enthusiasm is somehow physically painful to his brooding soul.

"Oh, splendid, splendid," Arric says. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a little card, extending it toward Kalindra with a gallant half bow, his other arm folded neatly behind the small of his back. Once she takes it, he straightens again, eyes merry. "That is the address of the little patch of land I purchased recently to rehabilitate in Elwynn." You'll want to send word ahead of your arrival, as I'm often out on social calls or doing jobs for Cobalt Company."

Kalindra takes the card, carefully reads it, then places it carefully in her pocket, "I will do so. I am glad to have the interest of someone with such enthusiasm."

"I also wish you the best of fortune with your project," says Zath crisply, "and look forward to such an addition to Redridge's security and prestige. If you will excuse me, there is another matter I must attend to. My lord, my lady." A stiff barely-there bow, and then the pale brooding man in black melts away into the crowd.

Arric's gaze follows him for a moment. "My," he says. "I'd been certain she was exaggerating, but he is precisely as Lady Sintha described." He marvels over this for a moment, then gives his head a little shake and turns back to Kalindra. "So!" He says. "Do tell me absolutely everything about yourself. Your House, your family, your pursuits. Do you know, I think you may be the first quel'dorei I have ever spoken to? Unless perhaps one came to Kul Tiras to attend the Norwington Festival when I was too young to remember clearly."

Kalindra is a bit taken aback by all the questions, but she does her best to answer him, "Well as to myself personally I always believe that it is best to let one's actions speak for themselves, but for now you may know that I am a swordmaster who has recently inherited headship of my house following the disasters of the Third War. House Azuredown had watched over a lodge in Quel'Thalas for some time until recently with the rift placed between me and my land after we refused to join the Horde. Since then I have ceded my holdings there in favor of finding a new purpose for myself in Stormwind which has been provided through the generous hand of Lord Tennerow. I am to marry his brother soon. Leric will then join my house and together we shall serve as a vassal to house Tennerow and of course house Wrynn by extension."

Kalindra seems quite pleased to elaborate on her family.

Arric follows this story intently, seeming to vividly imagine each twist and turn of the tale and experience the corresponding swings of emotion all in the brief time it takes her to give the summary.

"And Lord Tennerow's brother," Arric says, "what manner of man is this Lord Leric?"

“He’s a soldier, like myself. He’s a brave, even-tempered man. As well as principled, dignified, and conscientious without being suffocatingly so.” Kalindra find herself smiling fondly thinking about it, “He’s quite to my liking, I must admit.”

"Ah, that's excellent. I'm so pleased to hear it. There are many factors to consider in a marriage, and it sounds as though you were in a somewhat pressured situation, so it's wonderful that you did not end up trapped into an arrangement with someone unpleasant. The tides certainly— oh, let's see. What is your religious persuasion? I don't know very much about the quel'dorei, as I've said."

“I’ve never placed too much stock in religion myself. I prefer to trust in my blade and my spells more than divine intervention.” She shrugs, “There are some among my people who revere the Light, but they have become few and far in between in recent years.”

Arric nods. "I've been to the Cathedral in Stormwind, which is simply glorious. But the faith of the Light never truly reached Kul Tiras, and what religion we do have, my family is not particularly adherent to. Short of a few knee-jerk colloquialisms, I rarely even think of the Tidemother." He glances around for a moment. "Please do not repeat that; I wouldn't want the Fallons to get wind. So you said 'spells' - what sort of magic do you practice?"

“Mainly abjuration and enchantment. Things to supplement myself in battle.”

"I haven't a magical bone in my body. None of my family does. There isn't really a strong culture of magic in Kul Tiras, beyond the tidesages. The er…" He colors slightly and clears his throat. "Lady Jaina was something of an anomaly, and… we don't really speak of her in Kul Tiras. Beyond… the song, which is … more of a curse, really." He clears his throat again. "No offense meant, I know she is very dear to Stormwind's king."

“None taken. I cannot say I have any particular opinions on Lady Proudmoore one way or the other. And I would not fuss overmuch concerning magic. It is a time consuming endeavor to study. If you can make do without it, then that may be your best course.” Kalindra grins playfully, “I’ve had quite a bit more time to find use for it.”

"Ah, that's true," Arric acknowledges with a grin. "Lucky you. By the time I learn a tenth of what you know about hunting, I shall be too grayhaired and feeble to make use of it!" If this prospect truly troubles him, it doesn't show. "Well I've likely bent your ear long enough," he says, "but it was lovely to meet you. Do stop by my little cottage in Elwynn whenever you like."

He inclines his head politely as he prepares to move along to further mingling.

“Of course. Your hospitality is appreciated. You may do likewise once my manor is finished.” Kalindra bows, “Shorel’aran.”

Arric mouths shorel'aran to himself dreamily as he wanders away.

---

The buzz of the insects of summer have grown louder as the day swoons into the earliest touches of evening, the light growing softer and more intimate, the sun sliding slowly down along the edges of the mountains surrounding the valley. The air has begun to cool away from the summer’s heat and into the memory of spring recently ended, the breeze drifting stronger along the guests, picking up strands of hair and festive ribbons.

In symphony with this gentle winding down, the music shifts into a slow, romantic song of sweet yearning, played by the cellist on his own. (("Raglan Road" - Patrick Dexter)) This is not well suited for most organized dancing, nothing more than perhaps a gentle swaying together, and while this song does not rush guests off and away, it encourages the thought of leaving for one’s respite, to lounge at one’s leisure in the cooler interiors of one’s own home, and let the day pass into night.