(2024-08-10) The Risk and the Truth (The Heist Part 3)

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	The day after an attempted heist to look into the secrets of Count Amerith, Natalyah and Lathrik uncover even more secrets, and learn what are and are not acceptable risks. 19k~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

+ Show additional content warnings

Brief self-harm, water burns, brief anti-Horde sentiment, non-graphic nudity, suggestive content, flirtation, romance, kissing

The Next Day

It’s an early morning for Lathrik. Earlier than usual, in fact. Despite having a rare day off, he rises even before he would have to for work; the sun has not even begun to rise over the gates of Stormwind. The routine is the same, minus the extra step of getting dressed. He sets the water boiling for coffee, and sits at the table to wait — and brood.

And forget, apparently. The sound of fierce bubbling doesn’t reach him. It’s the water leaping and spattering over the counter and floor that sees him rise from his chair and rush to the stove to turn it off. As he reaches for the knob, a violent burst of water explodes from the pot, catching his finger in its overheated jaws.

Lathrik pulls back, too late of course, with a mild, whispered swear. The water begins to settle, with the heat fallen away, and he stares into the pot, his mind already elsewhere, despite his throbbing finger. He may have forgotten again, about making coffee.

In the other room, Natalyah's ears twitch at the sound of the whispered swear half heard in sleep, and she moves her head into a more comfortable position…which is on the bed, and not Lathrik as expected. Her eyes flutter open as she mumbles, "She has isles an' apples."

Lathrik is not there. Hasn't been there long enough for the bed to cool down.

She sits up, blinking in the dark. "Lathrik?" There's a distinct note of high anxiety in her voice, a loud call, as if she's worried that he's not there in the house at all.

Hearing her call, Lathrik moves into the doorway, casting a long shadow from the light spilling in around him. He’s wearing his usual house clothes: a white linen shirt and brown pants, though he is still barefoot. “Something wrong?” he asks, a frown of concern on his face.

He can hear the whoosh of her breath, possibly see the outline of the way she goes from clutching desperately at the sheets around her to relaxing at the sight of him.

"No, not with you here," she says, and her voice has that gravelly sound to it, but none of the anxiety of before. "I'm sorry, I — I woke up and you weren't here, and I thought that maybe you left, went out to find out what happened, and I was…" Alone. She shakes her head for the rest of the sentence.

“Most I’d do is see Risk back to the stables,” Lathrik says, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “You’re part of this. I wouldn’t leave ye out of the loop.”

He falls into that brooding silence, his gaze distant, before he seems to remember himself again, and glances back towards the kitchen. “I’m making coffee,” he says, with no comment on how successful that’s been so far. There is definitely still water everywhere.

"I was sleepy, and confused from just waking up. I wouldn't expect you to leave without telling me," she says defensively, a verbal pouting in her tone. She scoots along the bed until she has one leg over the edge onto the floor, and then halts. "I don't have clothes that fit this form," she tells him. It's either a dare or a warning, or some secret third option.

“S’pose I should make the coffee a bit faster, then,” he says, eyeing the window. If the sun is planning to rise, it’s sure taking its time. “Or ye can wander about like that for a bit. Seems we’ve probably got time.”

"We're probably completely safe until the very moment I can shift back and try to kiss you to lure you back to bed. That will summon someone immediately," she says, as she rises out of bed to lope over to him in the doorway, taking the dare to wander around naked in a bold stride. "Maybe the whole guard."

Lathrik chuckles, but something in him still seems far away, as he turns from the doorway and seeks out a towel from a nearby shelf. With it in hand, he wanders over to the stove, wipes up the water on the counter around it, and turns it back on before crouching to see to the floor. “Aye, well… We have a bit to discuss with everyone.”

Unless they don’t show. It remains unspoken, but the tension in his body screams it silently as he cleans up the spill.

"Unless they don't show," she spokens. She brushes up against him, nuzzling her cheek along his shoulder, offering what physical comfort she can. "I know you're worried about them. You don't have to pretend you aren't. I'm worried, too. About all of them. If they don't show, we'll go looking for them, chasing after where they've gone."

Lathrik blinks in surprise as she speaks aloud his thoughts, but he nods. “We’ll have to.” He finishes mopping up the water, then rises, sparing a quick glance at the door before returning his attention to making coffee properly this time. The index finger on his right hand is red where the water bit it; it’s probably burned, but he doesn’t try to baby it.

“Ye slept okay?” he asks, turning his gaze on her more fully.

She stands, holding onto the counter with both hands to balance, and leans against him slightly as he works. It's more difficult to read her expressions as a worgen, but there's that sense of her smile, and her eyes have a dreamy soft velvet to them as she bends down to nuzzle her cheek along his — a compromise for what would probably be a kiss in her other form, possibly. "I slept — " is as far as she gets before her eyes are drawn to his hands working on the coffee.

"You're hurt!" She pulls back as if she's the one stung by the revelation, and maybe she is a little. "You're supposed to come to me, so I can heal you. How long ago did this happen?" She asks, but she's already gathering the Light in her hand, and reaching out to cover his wounded finger with a large, bestial clawed one of her own, pressing down firmly with a larger than necessary heal.

Lathrik lets out a shuddering sigh as the Light flows into him, his head lowering and hands flattening on the counter. “It wasn’t… that bad,” he says breathlessly. His eyes glow a little in response to the overheal. “Wasn’t long ago. You were sleeping, and I didn’t see the need to disturb ye.”

Natalyah's frown is more intense in the worgen form, a snarl that lifts her lips off some of her teeth, as she stares intently at Lathrik. "'Not that bad.' The kind of thing you can just ignore, no reason to bother someone with a heal, is that right?"

The water, already still hot from its previous boil, with new application of heat is rapidly returning to that state.

Natalyah reaches over with a worgen's quickness, and plunges her other index finger directly into the middle of the scalding water, burning herself, as she keeps her gaze on Lathrik. She is not stoic; she yelps in obvious pain, tears immediately springing to her eyes, as she reflexively pulls her finger out — wounded.

Fear flashes across his face, and Lathrik grabs her hand, his grip tight. He channels the Light into her finger, a controlled burst no more or less than needed. When he is done, his expression loosens, a familiar lazy smile appearing. “Ye should warn a fellow before you go pullin’ that sort of nonsense,” he says. “Care to have a seat? I’ll finish up here.”

She doesn't back down, and she doesn't pull her hand out of his, instead gripping back onto it — carefully. "No, I don't want to sit," she says with a snarl, but her eyes are pained and pleading. "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that especially if we're here, and you get hurt that you will treat yourself the same way you would treat me with the same thing. That feeling you get when you see me in pain, that's what I feel when you are. I can accept that you're going to get hurt at your job, and I hate it, but here? Lathrik, I'm right here. Wake me up, and let me help you, the same way you would want me to wake you if it was me hurt."

Lathrik turns to face her, the smile still present. “You’ve got a lower pain tolerance,” he informs her. “It’s not the same thing. If I forget what pain feels like, I won’t be able to do my job. To push through when lives are at stake. A little burn like that is nothing to me, but I can see it’s different for you. Don’t see why I had to wake ye for something like that.”

There's that sting again, that drawing back like she's been bit by a wasp. "Really? How about because I've told you to, that's why — 'the next time you get hurt, you get to me as soon as you can.' And you said, 'I'll try.' And then you didn't." She pants slightly, and there's almost a shimmer to her fur, as if she's tried to shift and failed. "You're not going to forget how to do your job if you're not always in some kind of pain, Lathrik. A burn like that hurts, and I don't want to feel that again, but when it matters, if I had to swim through boiling water to get to you, I would do it." There's something of a dare in her voice, as if to dare challenge her that she wouldn't do it. "Nothing is going to stop you from trying when it matters, you're just not that kind of person, and you don't deserve to be in any more pain when lives really aren't at stake."

“Oi. Wouldn’t recommend swimming through boiling water,” Lathrik says. “If it comes to that, find a different way. I said I’d go to you when hurt, and that barely even qualified. I’m not going to risk your health — and mark me, you needed sleep after last night — for something small. Something I can handle. Can I make the coffee now?” He pulls a little, trying to free himself from her grip.

She lets go of his hand. "I'm not fragile," she says, and the hurt is obvious in her voice. "I never specified a degree of hurt, and I'm supposed to practice. You staying hurt isn't a way to protect me, not ever, especially if it means taking away my choice of what to do. It's not what I want, and it's not what you deserve." She pushes away from the counter, dropping down to leave the kitchen, back to the bedroom; she leaves the door open at least.

When she’s gone, Lathrik finally lets the smile fall away, lifting his face to the ceiling and letting out a soft sigh. He doesn’t follow her, instead doing as he said he would and finishing the coffee, pouring it into two cups. Instead of coffee, however, Lathrik settles onto the couch with a mana potion, putting his feet up on the coffee table and staring towards the door; his normal brooding position.

Minutes pass, and he doesn’t seem able to hold the same position for more than thirty seconds at a time, shifting constantly as if he’s in some sort of pain. Finally, with an agitated groan, he gets up, tossing the empty potion into the bin and snagging Natalyah’s coffee from the counter, fixing it up with milk and sugar the way she likes it. After trying unsuccessfully to force the lazy smile back onto his face, he gives up and enters her room, his expression neutral instead.

“It’s going to get cold,” he says, setting it on the nightstand beside the bed.

Natalyah is in a familiar position, her arms wrapped around her leg, head bent fully, the vulnerable curve of her neck visible — on his side of the bed, closer to the nightstand. She's wrapped the sheet around herself like a security blanket, and she doesn't look up at him as he enters, although she most certainly heard him.

She does, however, reach out to pick up the coffee after he sets it down, and that makes her lift her head up at last, so she can drink it. There's that penitence in her, chagrin and guilt, evenly mixed with some stubborn pride, and she pulls the coffee to herself to drink it, but her expression gets wobbly even as a worgen because it's been made the way she takes her coffee, a small gesture but it hits the mark.

She doesn't ask him to sit down or hug her, not out loud, but it's there in her eyes. What she says is, "I'm sorry."

Lathrik sits beside her on the bed even without being asked, leaning forward on his knees. At first, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the floor. Maybe this is a better brooding spot. But after the thirty seconds pass, he leans back again, and says, finally, “Me too. It’s been… a morning.” His eyes on her are soft, asking for forgiveness.

Natalyah uses her time as he broods wisely, drinking her coffee rapidly. It still takes her a long moment of concentration before the shift happens, and there's the woman, sitting wrapped in the sheet, and she drops one side so she can instead wrap herself partially around Lathrik with a sigh, pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

"I shouldn't have burned myself to prove the point. I know you're already worried about the others, and I know how much you hate me hurt," she admits shamefully into his skin. "And I know that it's new for you to ask for help, so I shouldn't have been mad at you for it. I don't know if I'm just still jittery from yesterday, or whatever, but I'm sorry all the same for making your morning a little harder. I don't want to do that."

“Don’t… do it again,” Lathrik says, his expression serious. “If you start hurting yourself because of me, then I’m not really protecting you, am I? I’m just putting you at risk. And that means, it would be better for me to… not be near you. But, I don’t… want that, so please. Don’t do it.” His hands tremble slightly in his lap.

She sets her coffee on the nightstand, nearly not making it onto the surface properly with her shorter arms, but manages to avoid spilling coffee everywhere, and uses her newly freed hand to slide over his hands in his lap as she shakes her head. "I won't. I promise you, I won't. Not ever again. I don't want to hurt you, not ever." There's a shaking exhale against him, a shudder. "Even beyond that, I will try to stay safe, and I will ask for your help if I'm in danger of getting hurt. I just want the same chance to take care of you back. It matters to me."

“Alright,” he says softly. “I understand. I’ll do better.” He leans into her, closing his eyes. “I was stubborn, and I’m sorry for it. Part of me was… trying to hide my fear. Thought if I acted like I didn’t care, you wouldn’t do it again, but… that wasn’t the way. Forgive me.”

"I forgive you," she says with a nod, relaxing against him contentedly, using her position to kiss along his neck to his jaw to his cheek, following the line to his lips to try to say the same thing in a different way.

Lathrik frees one of his hands and slips it around her, turning into her kisses to meet them with his own.

Outside, Risk wanders around the side of the house, in search of more grazing prospects. He’s fine, he’s only been out here all night. Probably made a mess of the front of the house. All good.

Natalyah, unused to thinking of caring for any horse, is focused predominantly on the risk hazard in front of her. She makes a low sound as she pulls back from him, tapping her hand along his shoulder, the curl up of her smile wicked and impish. "One of us is wearing the wrong amount of clothes for the day right now," she says. "I could be biased, but I think it might be you."

There is no mistaking the way he looks at her, hungry, intense, but after planting a kiss on the side of her neck, he pulls away. “Aye, ye are a bit biased,” he says with a light smile. “I should see to my horse. He did good, hard work — more than we expected — and deserves a proper looking after. You’re welcome to join me, if ye like.”

"If you were going to do it naked, I would definitely come watch." She runs a finger along the collar of his shirt, and sighs with a pout. "I don't really know anything about taking care of horses though to be of any help. And I should make something to eat." It's just the thought and the word and that's all it takes for her stomach to send out a warning growl in agreement.

Lathrik chuckles and gets to his feet. “Alright. I’ll be back soon as I can. If anyone turns up meantime, have ‘em stick around. Unless it's the Count. Do not open the door for the Count."

She bristles at the order, and her chin drops down a bit as she crosses her arms over her bare chest, but she huffs out in annoyed agreement. "Fine. I won't open the door if Count Amerith shows up here. I also won't go anywhere outside the house in the meantime, and I'll eat a proper meal, and not claw at any furniture or chew on your shoes while you're gone. Happy?" It's probably meant to be tart and sarcastic, but there's something just a little too real in the question, in her eyes, like she's genuinely asking it, under it all.

“Ye can claw and chew what ye like, and if ye want to leave, I won’t stop ye. Don’t imagine my shoes taste good, of course, but if that’s your preference…” Lathrik starts towards the door — where he keeps his shoes, because he needs to wear them, actually. “Stay safe.”

There's the faint thump as she moves off the bed, a worgen, and then another shift as she slides human arms around his waist from behind. "I will," she promises. "And I'm staying exactly where I want to be." Her left hand moves up to set over his heart. "I'm not going anywhere.”

Lathrik glances back at her. “It’s still early, you’re going to wear yourself out already?” Despite his words, he places his hand over hers on his chest, holding it there, reluctant to leave.

"Of course not. Why would I wear myself out when I could have you wear me out properly later?" There's an impish hue to her words, her face pressed into his back, the sense of a kiss in it. "Besides, you should know as a matter of fact that I slept wonderfully last night. And that, by the way, I am happy. With you." Another hard kiss lands on his back.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. “I’m happy with you as well. When everything’s settled at last, I’ll be sure to wear you out right.”

"That sounds risky to say 'everything' settled," she counters. "Practically inviting the universe to meddle. I think I'll just take 'time passing' instead.”

Time Passes

When Lathrik returns, he is not alone. He is also not smiling. In fact, he looks furious. The first thing he does when he bursts into the house is head over to the table, where Peril’s belongings still sit, grabbing the notebook and throwing it into the bag.

Hana follows him in, looking a bit nervous. “Lathrik, calm down. I’m sure he had a good reason for going out, and I mean, he’s Peril Farrens. He can do what he wants, right?”

“Aye, he’s Peril bleedin’ Farrens,” Lathrik growls, slamming the bag down on the table.

The door bursting open means that in the other room there is, suddenly, a worgen, moving quickly to the bedroom doorway, only to halt with relief when she sees who it is. She's back to human, her canes down on the ground properly, as she watches Lathrik toss Peril's things into a bag. She's dressed in another tea dress of her former noble life, puffy cap sleeved and with a sleek A-line, in the style of the Gulf Fritillary, also known as the Passion Butterfly, a bright, flattering orange against her tan skin, the lace hem of the dress providing the brown patterns of the edges of the butterfly wings.

"What is it? What's happened to Peril?" Natalyah asks, worry and fear obvious enough in her expression and voice.

“Hana saw him leave Stormwind last night,” Lathrik says. “We stopped by his office and his assistant hasn’t seen him since last night. Which means, he didn’t go home. What business do you suppose he had, going out at that time of night, without his things?” He turns his gaze to Natalyah, his eyes fierce and pleading, hoping she has some sort of answer for him.

Hana shrinks a little. “I-I would’ve talked to him, but he seemed a bit… I dunno. It didn’t feel like a good idea.”

Natalyah has an ashen cast to her skin, and there's a high pitched canine whine. She looks from Lathrik to Peril’s things, and then her jaw hardens with some determination, as she looks to Hana. "Did he have his imp out, when you saw him?”

“There was a little green thing scampering at his feet, yes,” Hana says, nodding.

Lathrik pounds a fist down on the table. “I will smite that little green felstain until it’s too afraid to emerge from the Nether,” he hisses. Light draws around him in a vengeful glow.

"Well, that little green felstain might just be the one and only thing that can lead us right to Peril," Natalyah says, with relief and matching, protective anger. "Because trying to find Peril's scent in the middle of the city would be like looking for a single scrap of fabric in a basket of thousands of other similar scraps, but his imp has a very distinct, very strong scent of sulfur, brimstone, and curry power that I can practically feel burn in my nose just thinking about it. I can find that, and as long as that imp stayed on the ground, I can track it, and I can find Peril. And then you can kick the thing into the sun for all I care." She shifts into her worgen form, shedding her canes off her wrists. "Hana, I need you to take me to where you last saw Peril and the imp."

“What if he doesn’t… want to be found?” Hana asks. Lathrik’s stare sends a shiver through her. “Right, no, of course, I’ll take you. Are we going right now?”

"Hana, things did not go according to plan last night, and Peril was acting strange, left his things, and told us he would see us this morning, so he really can't claim he's surprised when he does. Whatever he did or wherever he went, even if all he did was go and get very drunk by himself somewhere that he likes to go to be alone last night, this morning, he could use a friend there with him. I'm going, right now." Natalyah looks over at Lathrik, her eyes large and faintly luminous in the dim morning light. "What about Ren, and the others? Do you know if they're all right?"

“I’ve no idea,” Lathrik says with a sigh. “I ran into Hana on the way back from the stables.”

“Joelle hasn’t heard anything either,” Hana says, leading the way towards the gates of Stormwind. “But he hasn’t checked in at the barracks yet. I heard Ren went into the Count’s manor?”

Lathrik follows her out, Peril’s bag slung over one shoulder. Hurt mixes with the anger in his expression at the mention of Reniya, giving him the look of a wounded animal.

Natalyah nods her head as they move out of the house, following Hana closely. Her fur is sticking up like a full bristle; this is the first time she's walked through the city in this form and she keeps sending nervous glances around, as if expecting someone to leap out at her and yell monster or worse, but she isn't shifting back. "You should go find Ren, Lathrik, make certain he's all right. I can find Peril," she tells Lathrik. "Ren did go into the manor, and we need to know what happened with the guards and Pennings, what's going to happen."

“Ren is… Ren is fine, he can handle himself,” Lathrik says. “But Peril is a civilian, and he’s my responsibility. I…”

Before he can finish that thought, a familiar flash of Stormwind armor approaches them. Tabiana, dressed for duty, as usual.

“Lathrik. Hana. Lady Natalyah,” she says, greeting them and falling into step. “I see Lathrik is safe.”

Natalyah yelps at the sudden approach — pure adrenaline, that she covers badly with some bravado, drawing herself up slightly. "Yes. Is Ren safe?" she asks immediately, foregoing all proper niceties, searching Tabiana from some sort of sign or emotion that would give the answer.

Tabiana blinks, then frowns. “He didn’t check in with you?” she asks. “I had thought that’s where he would go. There was no sign of him at the manor, so I assumed he got out on his own and decided to stay with you. He was not at the barracks this morning.”

Lathrik stumbles a little, then forces a lazy smile onto his face. “He’s messin’ with us,” he says. “Just seeing how long ‘til we start really sweatin’. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Natalyah starts sweating. (Ren does not magically appear from thin air, so there goes that hypothesis.) She also stops walking, turning to face Lathrik directly. "Lathrik. Go. Find. Ren. I have no idea where he would go, no way to find him, or have any reason to just show up at the door of the recently assassination attempted Count's manor if he's still there like a fool or caught, but any possible way, I will be of no use at all. Peril, on the other hand, I can find. Something is wrong, and you don't have to choose between one or the other, because you're not alone to do it all. We can find both. Hana can get Elle to come with us, and Tabiana can go with you."

“We’re going the same way for a while regardless,” Lathrik says, “because I’d check the Count’s manor first. If we’re lucky, Peril will be on the way.”

“This doesn’t have to be the worst possible outcome,” Hana says reassuringly. “It could be that Ren just, ended up in someone’s bed after all that. And Peril… maybe he did just get drunk somewhere?”

“We searched the manor, with the Count’s permission,” Tabiana says. “Reniya could have come out at any time, but it’s possible he wanted to keep his, and your, involvement in this hidden. Did he not return with Risk?”

“Risk came back alone,” Lathrik sighs, flexing his fingers. “If I find out he was with a lover, I will make him wish something bad had happened to him.”

Natalyah sways dangerously, and then sits down as if her options are sit down or fall down, shaking like a leaf in the wind, looking as if she might be sick then and there. "Oh, no, no. I…I was there with him, and I lost it, I lost the connection, while he was in danger, I abandoned him," she whispers up at Lathrik. She looks even worse than after the first time she used [Mind Vision] on him, as if she's one single step away from an edge of needing to curl up into a ball and start screaming or crying or both.

Lathrik kneels beside her and pulls her into his arms. “It’s not your fault, ‘Talyah,” he murmurs. “You couldn’t’ve done anything anyway. Ren’s fine. He’s better than I am at stealth. Tabiana is right, he probably got out. Maybe he found somewhere to sleep for the night and is still on his way back. We’ll find him, alright? But first, we need to find Peril, and for that, I need you.”

Natalyah rocks in his arms, making a painful, high pitched sound. She does not seem to be able to pull herself together.

One moment, it's her looking at Lathrik, her eyes wet with tears, dark velvet brown, and then a blink, and they are not her eyes at all; they're pure gold, the pupils nothing but the tiniest of pinpricks of black. Unlike before, it doesn't disappear immediately, and it doesn't fade after just a brief touch. It holds. And it is not only a difference in color, some trick of the light or the Light. That is not Natalyah looking out at him, but something else, something ancient. It stares at him, Natalyah's body language calming, and then Natalyah's head nods, slowly.

A gasp, a blink, and it's her again, and there's a blend of fear in her dark eyes, glancing around at the others as if she's just suddenly become naked and clothed. She starts scrambling up to her feet, holding onto Lathrik. "Right. We need to — we need to find Peril. I can find Peril," she repeats.

“Yes, but are you alright?” Lathrik asks, rising with her. “You… went somewhere, for a bit. There was something else…”

“Your eyes changed color,” Hana says.

Tabiana stands by in silence, perhaps trying to avoid disrespect by pointing anything out.

Natalyah hunches inward for a moment, before she presses herself briefly against Lathrik, inhaling deeply as if this will keep her centered for a little longer, and then she tosses her head, moving back again in the direction they were going before she stopped, a walk that will hopefully force the others to start moving again as well by sheer social dragging along.

"I'm all right. Really," she says, looking back at Lathrik, pleading for him to believe her, and apologizing somehow at the same time. "It's nothing new. I can tell you about it later. Just not right here, and not right now, not with Peril and Ren missing. I really need them to be okay, and the sooner we know that, the sooner we can go back home."

Lathrik does not take much convincing, and it seems her composure adds to his own. He draws himself up, serious and confident, and gestures for Hana to continue walking.

“Tabiana,” he says. “Since we have ye here, tell us about how it went at the manor.”

“Yes, sir,” Tabiana says. “I will start from the beginning. I called for Pennings as soon as I reached the barracks. She did not, at the time, question how I knew the Count was being targeted for assassination, she mobilized the on-call guards immediately. Her efficiency was rather impressive. We rode to the Count’s manor together, and I did not see Risk along the way. The Count himself was cooperative with our investigation, and allowed us to search the property. He confirmed there was an assassination attempt, and he suspects it was done by a high ranking member of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. He also mentioned at least two other infiltrators, but stated he would not pursue legal action against them. We found one body, and I personally informed the young woman’s family of her demise. There was…”

Tabiana stops, takes a breath and holds it. “A death knight, on the property, who also submitted to questioning. I handled that myself as well. As previously stated, there was no sign of Reniya there, and given that the Count mentioned two other infiltrators, which aligns with our own information, I doubt he is hiding him somewhere, which means Reniya likely escaped. After the investigation, I was asked to write reports on it, and was at that time asked how I knew about the attempt. I told Pennings I overheard mention of it at a bar in town, but did not see the people who spoke of it. Whether or not she believed me, I cannot be sure.”

Natalyah winces, audibly. "We might still be able to work with that, but speaking from experience, next time you might want to say that you heard it from a source whose giving information was reliant on remaining anonymous for their own safety. Reporters aren't the only ones who can use that, and sometimes you have to protect a source. In this case, it's also not really a lie," she says, falling more behind Hana, who is the only one who actually knows where they're going. "The assassination attempt wasn't on the Count, anyway, not really. It was for his date slash collection person, Almeiria Fey. Ren overheard them talking about it."

“Almeiria Fey?” Tabiana asks, glancing back at Lathrik. “The woman from the trial? What is her game this time? Marry into power so she can enslave more people?” There is cold anger in Tabiana’s voice.

“Enslave?” Lathrik asks, brow furrowing.

“She… did something, to a friend of mine,” Tabiana says. “She may have helped Lord— Harvey… but I will never trust her motives.”

“Aye, so she’s dangerous, then,” Lathrik mutters. “Lovely.”

They finally arrive at the gates of Stormwind, and Hana stops walking. “I saw him leave while I was heading home. Right around here,” she says.

Natalyah absorbs the information about Almeiria, and whatever response she might have made is lost because she starts paying significantly more attention to their surroundings, inhaling deeply, her nose closer to the ground.

It doesn't take her long to get the imp's signature scent, and she sneezes as she takes a large breath of it, an explosive and simultaneously cute, high pitched sound. "I have it," she says. She begins following it, sniffing delicately and shallowly as she goes.

Hana smiles at the sneeze, and looks at Lathrik. It was cute! Wasn’t it cute? But Lathrik is focused on the mission, now.

“If you can hit a jogging pace and still follow it, do so. We’ll keep up,” Lathrik says.

“Running? I don’t think I’m wearing the right shoes for— Oh, I’ll be fine,” Hana says. “Just go.”

The trail leads them out of Stormwind and into the forest of Elwynn, turning off the road almost as soon as possible and following alongside the hills deep into the woods.

Natalyah's "jogging pace" is honestly fairly punishing of a run. She is so much faster as a worgen, even with only one leg, and even then — as all three of the others know, this isn't even her max speed. She could keep up with Risk if she really let the throttle go. She doesn't go that far, not wanting to lose her pack people, but she follows the trail moving along at a pace that will leave some of the group breathing hard. The off road scent is easier for her to follow to not conflict with so many others from the road, and the scents of Elwynn to ignore are familiar to her after so many months living in the forest. She's a sleek hunter, and for all the other weaknesses she has a worgen compared to another, inner categorization of scents is one of her strengths. For as long as the imp was out, she holds steady on the trail.

Lathrik, not wearing his armor, keeps pace with her, barely breaking a sweat. The other two struggle in varying amounts. Hana seems to be more of a sprinter, and is wearing sandals, not running shoes, and Tabiana is wearing full armor, her shield slung across her back. She, at least, has the stamina to push through, though she starts breathing harder after some time.

A good distance into the woods, a new scent joins the mix; a more vile scent. Burning flesh and fur. They arrive near a small cave, where a circle of wolves lay dead, charred beyond recognition. There are six in total, and the trail seems to continue on, deeper into the forest.

Hana stops for breath, and instantly regrets it, covering her mouth. “Oh… this is…”

“Is it felfire?” Tabiana asks, crouching by one of the bodies to investigate.

The fury returns to Lathrik’s face, and he glares around at the carnage.

Natalyah is probably the least bothered by the dead wolves, emotionally, although she sneezes again. "Felfire, definitely," she says, her voice sounding a little nasal, as if she's trying not to breathe too deeply. She moves outside the circle of the dead wolves, trying once more to find the trail, and it takes her a few moments, before she's off again.

It’s another three charred wolves until the scene takes a different turn. The trail leads them to another cave. In front of this one is a total of seven dead wolves, but three of them are not charred at all, and appear to have been killed with a long, sharp weapon. There is also a large amount of blood — more than there should be from only three wolves. A new scent mixes in with the others, a mild hint of spiced apple. Here, the imp’s scent disappears entirely, leaving only Peril’s and the new scent. A blood trail leads into the hills.

Lathrik looks to Natalyah for her thoughts, struggling to reserve his own opinion until something more factual comes forward.

Natalyah halts at the scent changes, and she turns three circles around and around, as if she's confirming something. When she is sure, according to some internal scientific criteria she stops in front of Lathrik, using his shoulder to balance so she can straighten more. "It's Ren. He came here. Something happened here, and I can't tell entirely what blood is what. The imp goes away, Ren's scent comes in, and it's his and Peril's from here. They're a little harder to follow than the imp, but I can follow the blood easily."

Lathrik’s eyes roam the scene again, then he takes a deep breath and nods. “One of them is probably hurt. An estimate would have the wolves all coming at once, and overwhelming Peril. They probably took out the imp, and Ren… This is on the way back from the Count’s manor. Peril got lucky. Ren stepped in and took care of the rest.”

Tabiana pulls her hair into a higher ponytail to keep it off her neck, which has started to sweat. “Let’s keep moving,” she says.

“Ren… Ren was here…?” Hana asks, finally catching up, breathing hard.

“Take a rest if ye need it, Hana,” Lathrik says. “We need to move on. Tabiana, keep with her.”

Tabiana nods. “Yes, sir. Call if you need backup.”

“Aye. C’mon, ‘Talyah,” Lathrik says, starting to follow what he can see of the blood trail.

"Now I bet you're really hoping that Ren wasn't with a lover, given his limited company options from here," Natalyah quips, possibly out of a need to stave off genuine fear to avoid another panic attack, because she sounds a lot like how she did in Duskwood when they were facing the feral worgens, a sharp wit worn as armor. Natalyah does not need to go by her eyes finding the drops of red in the grass; she is following the scents, and while she doesn't go as quickly as before, she's still moving where Lathrik and the others will have to run to keep up, a homing beacon of worgen.

“Not sure Peril’s his type,” Lathrik says seriously, following her.

The trail doesn’t lead far; the two men must have taken the time to perform first aid. While the blood tail ends, their scents are much stronger. They are still nearby, most likely.

Natalyah pauses again, although this time she takes several deep breaths, and turns to look seriously at Lathrik, while they're just the two of them there for a moment longer. "I think they're close by. Lathrik, I know you're angry, but they've both had a rough night. Whatever you might think about what Peril has done, getting angry at him might only push him harder away. This feels like guilt, like he thought that if he had just had another soul shard, or more of them, he could have saved everyone. If he hates himself right now, and he might, feeling like he's also let you down no matter what he does won't help that."

Lathrik stares up at what he can see of the sky through the trees. “I want him to be alright more than I want to be angry with him. This was such a stupid risk he took. I told him he’s just a civilian, but that man…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll try to keep it in.”

Natalyah darts in to brush her cheek against his, soft silk fur, a warmth of her touch. And then she's off again, following the last of the trail, and because she is like that, not an especially subtle person, she calls out, loudly but the way a person who has done public speaking would shout, not a commanding officer, "Peril! Ren!"

Lathrik follows her until they arrive at a small mossy patch between two trees, where Peril is lying on his back, his arms folded across his chest, and his hat over his eyes. “Peril!” he calls, rushing to the reporter’s side and shaking him until the hat falls away.

Peril blinks at him through half-closed eyes, and mumbles something about sleep. He does not, mercifully, appear to be injured.

“Oi, let ‘im rest, mate,” Reniya says, appearing from the shadows a short distance away. The rogue is seated on the ground, with one leg stretched in front of him, bound tightly with sticks and bandages.

“Ren, report,” Lathrik says, leaving Peril to examine his leg.

“What, right now? I could use a nap,” Reniya complains.

What he gets instead is a sudden armful of Natalyah, who shifts from worgen to human on the way down into a kneel, throwing her arms around Reniya in that particular way of hers, an exhale that sounds very suspiciously like a held back sob. At least she doesn't hit his leg at all.

“Whoa there, Swallowtail,” Reniya says, wrapping his arms cautiously around her, eyeing Lathrik in confusion. “You alright, lass? What’re you doing out here?”

“Looking for him,” Lathrik says, nodding towards Peril.

“Ah, Peril Farrens,” Reniya says. “I’ve got some stories to tell about Fireworks over there, but for now, if you don’t mind, I’d like some shut-eye.”

Natalyah squeezes Reniya. "Thank you," she whispers fiercely and feelingly into his shoulder. It seems to be for more than one thing, and there's a genuine, sincere moment in it.

Moment over. She pulls back, glaring at him in a way Lathrik probably recognizes all too well — that's the how dare you be injured look. "Well, too bad. You should have thought of that before getting injured saving the day, then you could have had a pleasant night with some random lover instead of wet grass," she says archly. "Besides, I know for a matter of fact that sleeping out here is enormously uncomfortable, and that wet grass is a mediocre cuddler. Hana and Tabiana will be here in just a few moments, and then we're getting both of you out of here and back home safely." There's an imperious sound to her voice, a noblewoman giving an order. It's undercut a little by the fact that she sniffles, as if she's been near tears recently, and one hand is still gripping onto Reniya tightly as if she's afraid if she lets him go, he'll go up in a puff of smoke.

She looks up at Lathrik. "Can you heal him?"

As Lathrik’s hand takes on a glow, Reniya tries to pull away.

“Can we, uh, skip the healing for now?” Reniya asks. “I can walk. Sorta.”

This is met with a glare from Lathrik. “Why?” His voice is tight.

“Why can I walk? Well, I’ll have you know, I’m quite dexterous—”

Lathrik grabs him fiercely by the collar, the anger returning. “What aren’t you telling me?” he growls.

At that moment, Tabiana and Hana join them, and Tabiana hurries to kneel at Peril’s side.

“He looks exhausted,” she observes. Her eyes move to Lathrik and Reniya, and she frowns.

Lathrik looks about two seconds from punching Reniya, who has fallen completely silent, avoiding his gaze.

Hana crouches down to catch her breath again, looking everyone over, trying to piece together what happened.

Natalyah watches the back and forth between Reniya and Lathrik, and it's clear that the anthropologist on strict observation rules has finally had enough, and she's willing to abandon her study and research in exchange for the right to interfere directly with the subjects. And by this, I mean that the hand she still has on Reniya's shoulder glows suddenly alarmingly bright, and a veritable monsoon of Light floods Reniya, a heal that would be massively disproportionate to even a deep wound on his leg, a surging power that suggests that while Natalyah might not have control, she does have strength, and she is willing to ask the Light on Reniya's behalf, that he be healed from everything. She is not taking questions at this time.

There is a quiet curse from Reniya, seeing the Light coming, and he all but doubles over, his arms wrapped around himself protectively and his forehead coming to a rest on Lathrik’s shoulder. A shudder runs through him as the Light sets to work, mending his leg and continuing up to his torso. There, it meets with strong resistance. Severe bruising covers Reniya’s chest, stomach and back, and for some reason, the rogue does not want it healed.

Lathrik glances at Natalyah. He does not seem upset by her decision to heal Reniya, but there is a question in his eyes.

Natalyah frowns darkly, and since he's already doubled over, it leaves him open to attack a jabbing poke as she sticks a finger on where a bruise was. "What are these? What beat on you? I know for a fact that ordinary wolves don't have fists." She inhales a sharp, annoyed sound. "Reniya Middle-Name Last-Name is this what happened at that bar? Something happened, didn't it? Where you 'walked into Elle's' fist?"

Lathrik’s eyes narrow as Reniya squirms against him in obvious pain.

“The bar?” Hana asks. “He didn’t get beat up at the bar, I was watching. Elle only punched him to keep him from going home with Ilanya. She made a move on him, you see, and he humored her for a bit, so Elle gave him a way out by… I admit, it wasn’t the best move, but it worked.”

Reniya remains ominously silent, and Tabiana’s frown deepens. She seems to be running calculations in her head.

Natalyah's eyes narrow further, and although she pokes another finger at Reniya, this one comes with another burst of Light, as if she's taken a hose and put a thumb over it and sprayed it on him, a rush that pushes back against the resistance. They already know, Reniya, don't be stubborn. But when some still resist, and not entirely against the rogue's will, Natalyah's anger dials up a notch, and also directs away from Reniya, as she meets Lathrik's eyes. "I can't heal some of these. They're too old."

Lathrik grabs Reniya by the shoulders and forces him to make eye contact. “Too old? How old? Was it a lover? You promised you would see a healer after.”

Alarm flashes through Reniya’s eyes, and he meets Lathrik’s. “It wasn’t,” he says. “I’ve been holdin’ to that. Can we jus’ head back, mate? I’ll tell you, but not… here.” His gaze drifts over to Tabiana, for some reason.

Natalyah huffs, as she glances from Reniya to Lathrik to Tabiana. She very obviously does not like what is going on, or what any of that might mean. She pokes another finger at Reniya — not on a bruise this time — and he can feel a strange sort of claw that sinks in, the Light in a blessing of [Fortitude] offered. "Now you can actually walk," she scolds him, as she shifts to her worgen form.

She leaves his side to lope over to Peril's, where she sinks down to another carefully balanced kneel. There's a shimmer and again the human form, although now she's sweating in the morning sun, and exhaustion is starting to show on the edges, deeper shadows under her eyes. But she reaches out a hand to Peril, touching his forehead as if checking for a fever. "Peril?" She sounds worried, although she doesn't yet use the Light on him.

Peril does seem a bit warmer than he should be, and when he opens his eyes more fully, a fading green glow greets her. “Natalyah…” he mumbles. “I did it. I can summon…” His eyes close again, and the next thing out of his mouth is a soft snore.

Lathrik helps Reniya to his feet, then joins Natalyah at Peril’s side. “I’ll carry him,” he says. “Tabiana, keep an eye on Ren and Hana. We’re leaving.”

Tabiana rises and moves to stand beside Reniya, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What? I’m alright, Tabby Cat, Lathrik’s just being cautious is all,” Reniya says, smiling.

Natalyah snorts derisively, undermining that statement. But she's still looking down at Peril, brushing his hair back from his forehead in a soothing, petting motion, wearing open concern and affection for her pack member friend. She sniffles again — she's fine, it's from sneezing obviously — and leans down to hug the sleeping warlock, with another, albeit more gentle than Reniya's, [Fortitude]. In between one blink and the next, she's a worgen, and shifting a large arm under the smaller man, lifting him up off the ground to make it easier for Lathrik to get a hold to pick his brother up.

Lathrik watches them fondly, taking Peril when Natalyah offers him up, and rising into a stand.

Natalyah picks up Peril's hat from the ground, and sets it properly back on the warlock's head, patting it down so it will stay over his eyes.

There is a small bag on the ground next to Peril, full of purple soul shards. “Hana,” Lathrik instructs, nodding to the bag.

Hana picks up the bag, peering into it warily. “Are these… souls?”

“Pieces of ‘em,” Lathrik says with clear disgust. The disgust quickly fades into regret as he gazes at Peril.

“I can try to lead us back,” Hana volunteers. “I’ve been practicing tracking in my free time. But we will NOT be running.”

Natalyah looks back and forth between Lathrik and Hana. "I know exactly how to get back. The trail is right there," she says defensively, pointing a clawed hand at…well, okay, it looks like she's just pointing into the empty air. Presumably she means the scents of them. "We don't have to run now, unless it starts raining. Then we all need to consider running, especially if there's a rainbow, as it might very well be a herald of an accidental prophecy of a new Dawnlight's Cult that Peril somehow conjured into existence."

“Oh. Okay,” Hana says. She sounds just a bit disappointed, but she smiles anyway.

Lathrik immediately starts moving in the direction indicated. He’s not running, but the pace is swift enough that Hana has to jog occasionally to catch up. Behind them, Tabiana follows with Reniya; the latter is dragging his feet a bit, probably from exhaustion, and he has a very slight limp.

“It shouldn’t rain,” Tabiana says, glancing at the sky.

Natalyah settles back into the middle near Hana, pointing out where to go when Lathrik deviates from where their scent trail is, but deliberately not overtaking him. He's first out, and she's in the middle; that's the deal. She looks over at Hana, her head cocked curiously in a canine expression. "What sort of tracking have you been learning?" She sounds genuinely curious, as if this is a sort of magical system she's never studied.

“How to track people, mostly,” Hana says eagerly. “How to tell if a place has been inhabited, or if there’s a person-made trail, and how long ago. It’s not a perfect system, but I think it’ll help.”

"Oh, I know someone who can do that — Birdie. He's really impressive, but he's been at it a long time. I learned how to track and spot butterfly and moth habitats, and their predators, but everything else is more by scent now, and experience with hunting." Natalyah bounds forward a little, and there's something playful about it. If she had a tail she would be wagging it. "Do you want to practice now? You could work on it, without worrying that if you didn't do it perfectly it would mean something terrible, because I can get us back on the track, like a backup."

Hana lights up. “Could I? That would really help,” she says, beaming. “I have to convince Elle I won’t get lost if I leave home, or he’ll never let me. Butterflies seem like they’d be hard to track, that’s very impressive. Are there any around here?”

Natalyah's laugh bursts out, a delighted little cackle. "There's only approximately 120 observed species in Elwynn as of Year 20," she says. "So, a few, yes. The Spring Azure will be out once the afternoon is in full swing, and we might pass some early risers while we're this far from the city. We've probably passed several Green Hairstreaks already but they are notoriously difficult to spot. As a matter of fact, there are yearly challenges for cataloging them among some lepidopterists. A few hours ago there were likely some Silver-spotted Skippers active right here, but they're probably resting out from the sunlight getting brighter. If you keep a close eye out, you might also see a Red Admiral, while they're still here for the summer, and I'd expect to see some of the Mourning Cloaks at this stage of their migration," she enthuses, leaping as she talks, a gigantic worgen fluttering butterfly in her orange tea dress. At the mention of the Red Admiral and the Mourning cloak, she looks over at Peril, some of her joy dimming back into worry. "Those are two of Peril's favorites."

Her pace slows and she tosses her head towards the trail ahead of them, a way to point while her hands are both on the ground helping her walk. "Anyway, go on, we're getting to another point where the trail isn't just a straight line, if you wanted to look for it."

Hana follows her gaze back to Peril, echoing some of the worry, before taking the lead, trying to scout the trail ahead. She’s actually pretty observant, and picks up the blood trail right away, leading them back to the wolf carnage.

“I found him here,” Reniya says, gesturing around. “It was dark out, but I was seein’ these flashes through the trees, so I came to have a look. Sure enough, there was ol’ Fireworks, but he was beginnin’ to run out of steam. ‘Twas good I stepped in. He was already on his hands and knees… wasn’t going to go anywhere but into a wolf’s gullet. Jus’ got a bit outmaneuvered after makin’ my entrance, is all.”

“I’m… grateful, Ren, for that. For you being here.” Lathrik says. His voice is still hard from earlier, betraying his worry.

Natalyah looks around at the evidence again. "Well of course you were outmaneuvered to be bit," she says with a sharp, biting wit. "A wolf pack like this is leaps and bounds more dangerous than a single wolf will ever be."

Reniya chuckles. “Aye, leaps and bounds is how they did it, too,” he says. “Good one, Swallowtail. So, all-in-all, mission success?”

“Perhaps,” Tabiana says.

“Depends on the Count’s next move,” says Lathrik. “But we’re all alive… for now.” He gazes pointedly at Reniya.

"Which might also depend on what exactly Ren said to Ilanya at the bar," Natalyah adds, with her own pointed glare at Reniya. There's something hurt in her eyes. "And if she is going to show up at the house expecting something."

“Oi, Elle took care of it,” Reniya says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was tryina get something out of her, but all I got is she’s a wild ‘un. She’s a bit beyond poor Fireworks, I think, he wouldn’t be able to handle her. That one’s such a Top, she’d even steal my spot.”

“By ‘took care of it,’ he means they performed a little skit. He was about to leave with Ilanya, when Elle came in and punched him, and got him to confess he was saving himself for someone, at which point he told her he couldn’t be with her,” Hana says. “If I’m being honest, it made me gag a little.”

Natalyah just looks over at Lathrik up ahead, and even with her worgen expression, it's probably obvious that she's wondering how close to the Real Lathrik it was, of how well Reniya knew how to play him in that situation, and there's a complex war of hurt and hope mixed in equal measure, likely from various parts of the scenario.

Lathrik keeps his eyes forward, watching Hana as she picks her way through the trail. He doesn’t seem bothered by whatever the two men did at the bar, but it’s likely his thoughts are elsewhere. The trip to Stormwind is mercifully uneventful, and Hana only loses the way a couple times, relying on Natalyah to point it out and guide them back onto the trail. Peril sleeps soundly the entire way, occasionally mumbling something about butterflies or coffee.

Natalyah deflates and then stiffens at Lathrik's silence — possibly taking it as agreement, and her silence is not an easy going companionable one so much as a withholding. She only speaks to redirect Hana.

The city is now awake and active, the midmorning sun bringing them a kiss of summer heat, a hint of what is to come.

As they walk through the city in the full light of morning, Natalyah fits herself fully into the center of the group, and there's a strange blend of bravado and slinking down in shame, as if she is excruciatingly aware of being out in the city as a worgen. This early, and at this point in the cursed Gilneans' general assimilation, she is the only worgen currently out in that form. Her choices, however, are to continue that way so she can walk, or have someone carry her, and so she really has only one option: she keeps walking.

Guards on patrol greet them as they pass, throwing out comments directed at Lathrik and Reniya.

“Dinnsfield! Thought you were off duty, mate!” shouts one, nodding to Peril.

“Yo Hartrim, who’s bed didja fall into last night?” calls another, grinning at Reniya.

Reniya gives shoulder bumps and cheerful greetings on the way by, while Lathrik, lazy smile out in full force, makes jokes and shrugs them off.

Tabiana, despite being in full armor, is largely ignored.

So long as the comments directed towards the others aren't insults — or reversed, of wondering whose bed Lathrik ended up in last night — Natalyah stays quiet, keeping her head ducked down and body tense like she's expecting any second now to need to run away from someone stepping forward to slay the beast wandering the street.

Any guard who might have had a comment about the worgen in the group is discouraged from making it by the presence of Lathrik, who, despite his carefree mannerisms, is known among his peers to take his job defending civilians seriously. There are more than a few curious glances, though.

When they arrive back at the home of Lathrik and Natalyah, they find Joelle milling around outside. Maybe he’s contemplating knocking the door down again, who knows. He perks up when he sees them.

“Lathrik, Ren, Natalyah,” he says, smiling faintly, moving to pet Tabiana.

Tabiana sighs, allowing the head pats, grudgingly.

"Elle. You're looking particularly shiny and not dusty like you've just run through a door," Natalyah says as she scoots around them both, in case Joelle is considering again making a head pats round. "That's promising." She moves to open the unbusted door for Lathrik, just as she did when he was carrying her trunks and the bedroom door. He can likely tell she's in some sort of mood, glaring hurt at him, but it's likely extremely unclear why. Something upset her, probably. The one thing he's probably learned already though is that at some point or another, she will tell him what's wrong. She might be physically incapable of not doing so eventually.

Lathrik finally seems to register Natalyah’s glare, and he returns her look with one of confusion. What’d he do this time? Even so, his primary concern is Peril, and he steps inside to set the reporter down on the couch.

Reniya stops Tabiana just before she enters the house. “P’rhaps you could wait out here for a bit?” he tells her.

His words are met with a cold glare from Tabiana, as something finally clicks in her head. She steps closer to him, her chin raised. “I do not need your protection,” she growls, then she turns on her heel and heads back towards the barracks.

Hana watches her go. “Wow, Ren. What’d you do?”

“It’s uh… a whole thing,” Reniya says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Joelle pats Reniya on the shoulder sympathetically. “Women are difficult,” he says, heading into the house after Lathrik.

"Only because men are foolish," Natalyah snaps back in defense of women, as she bounds over to her canes, left behind, and shimmers into her human form, a smooth, effortless shift. "And we get tired of it." She sets her canes on the ground with hard thumps to emphasize her point.

Once Peril is settled on the couch, Lathrik heads over to the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing to it. “Ren, sit. Explain yourself.” He is not even going to touch that whole Men vs. Women conversation.

“What, right here? It’s a bit of a…private matter,” Reniya says, taking the offered chair. “How ‘bout I come by tomorrow, and—”

“Now,” Lathrik says, squeezing the other man’s shoulder with one hand.

Reniya sighs, leaning back in silence, conflicting feelings warring on his face.

Hana takes her own seat at the table, and Joelle sulks in a corner.

Natalyah takes one of the seats at the head of the table — her usual spot — and watches Ren for a moment, her own war of feelings waging across the frequent battleground of her face, before she blurts out, "I have an ancient wolf spirit that lives inside me, conscious enough still that the spirit can briefly take over my body, as per our deal that I made with her during a kaldorei ritual to contain the worgen curse, a deal of which is not the way most worgen do it to subdue the spirit to regain their humanity. Sometimes, I'm not me. I'm her. I can't undo it." It's spoken like she's torn off something, revealed a private wound, and she sets herself there like she's daring anyone to recoil from it. "And I said I would speak of it more when we weren't in the middle of the street."

She places her canes next to her, crosses her arms defensively over her chest, and directs that dare out at Ren, and then — in a way that might seem odd to the others — also at Lathrik. "There. Now you're not the only one who has to share a private matter they don't want other people to know. So. What's yours, Ren?"

Joelle looks like he’s having a sudden desire to pet Natalyah. Ancient wolf spirit… tempting.

Reniya looks over at Natalyah, startled. “Oi, lass, you don’t have to go that far…”

Lathrik freezes at her sudden revelation, turning to stare at her. Nobody asked her to do that. His eyes soften with concern, then he catches her dare. Realizes what she’s asking of him. A flash of fear follows, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. No. No, he can’t do it. But he has to do something, so…

“I’ve been… having dreams, lately, Ren. About you dying in… various ways. Vivid dreams,” Lathrik says. “This last one was… that you had a disease you were hiding from me, until it finally took your life. So I swear to the Light, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I…”

Hana frowns and covers her mouth, her eyes full of sympathy, both for Lathrik and Natalyah, but she doesn’t interrupt. This is secret revealing time.

“Tide’s Grace, you know I wouldn’t do that to you, mate, don’t you?” Reniya asks, but the look in Lathrik’s eyes causes him to avert his own. “Look, I… The thing is, it’s not my private matter.”

Natalyah frowns, and then arches her left brow up high, her arms still crossed over her chest, oddly protectively over her heart. "Is it a private matter of someone else we also care about?"

Reniya sighs, and says, quietly, “Tabiana.”

Natalyah growls, low and protectively, her teeth baring in a snarl as she uncrosses her armd, sets her hands flat on the table. "Someone is trying to hurt her?"

“She’s not… well-liked, among the guard,” Reniya answers, looking guilty even as he says the words. “So I’ve got a deal with… some of her most extreme antagonizers. They lay off her, an’ I let them do what they like to me instead. She’s probably… figured it out, now, but it was really working for a while there.”

“She’s being bullied?” Hana asks, surprised. “But why? She seems so capable.”

Lathrik probably knows the answer, and his eyes glow furiously with Light.

Natalyah certainly doesn't know the answer, and it shows; she is also clinging to her human form with a fingernail grip, shadows of fur flickering around her hands. "They're doing what? And you're doing what?" Her voice has gone shrill with anger and indignation. Sorry about your nap atmosphere, Peril. "What sort of strategy is that? Hope that they have some sort of internal punch card going, 'come beat on this man 10 times and your 11th trip is hostility free banter?'"

“Figured they’d get bored eventually,” Reniya says with a shrug. “It’s not so bad.”

“Ren, stop,” Lathrik says. “We’ll find a more permanent solution. Give me a list. Their names. I’ll find dirt on them.”

“Oi, is that the best solution? You’ll just make ‘em your enemies,” Reniya protests.

Joelle watches thoughtfully from his corner, possibly making plans of his own.

"They already are our enemies," Natalyah counters. "They've gone after our Tabiana." She glances over at her notebook, still on the table from last night. "And they've messed with the wrong pac — group. There's nowhere they can go that I can't follow and learn what they're really like." It's definitely a threat.

“Calm down, both of you,” Reniya says, rising to a stand. “What they hate isn’t Tabiana, or me, it’s the Horde. They’re jus’ ventin’ their hostilities in the wrong place. ‘Sides, if we interfere too much more, we’ll just make ol’ Tabby Cat mad. Well. Madder. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Haven’t known ye to take such an interest before, Ren,” Lathrik observes.

“Pennings placed her under me — not like that — so it’s my job to look after her,” Reniya says.

"I'm telling Tabiana about it," Natalyah says, and she has not calmed down at all; in fact, if anything, being told to calm down has only added fuel onto the fire. "She should get to decide what she wants to do about it. She isn't fragile or helpless or someone who needs looking after like she has no ability to do it herself. And why, of all things, is Horde hatred being directed at her?"

“She came to us from the Argent Crusade,” Lathrik says. “From Northrend. She’s probably more skilled than Ren, Elle, and I combined. But the Argent Crusade is a neutral organization, which means she’s worked with various Horde races. Any animosity she’s seeing now, is a result of that.”

There's some distaste in Natalyah at the mention of working with Horde races, but it isn't strong, and it doesn't seem to alter her general opinion about Tabiana. "But she left it, to come work here, in Stormwind. Shouldn't that count for something more?"

“She’s not a citizen of Stormwind,” Lathrik says. “That only adds suspicion around her. It isn’t right for them to behave this way, but it’s easy to see why they do.”

“They’re a bit pent up, these ladies in question,” Reniya says. “I bet they’d rather be fighting the Horde than stuck guarding Stormwind proper, but someone’s got to be here, and the way to Tol Barad’s bein’ blocked by a kraken, or so I’ve heard.”

"Well, if she's not even a citizen, another mark against her, then what you've been doing, keeping it all from her, like you're cutting her out of really being a part of things instead of part of the team, that's probably been stinging even worse than whatever those 'ladies' might have thought to do. It's like you're still making her an outsider, everywhere she goes, even among those she wants to be a part of," Natalyah says, and there's something personal in her words, an awareness of what that might feel like. As someone who was a Stormwind citizen in Gilneas, after they left the Alliance and closed the wall behind them, she might. "She should be here. You might think you're protecting her or showing her respect taking the blows meant for her, but she's probably really lonely, and pissed off because she isn't trusted, not feeling safe and cared for."

“But if Pennings finds any fault with her, she’ll be…” Reniya sighs, dropping back into the chair. “Alright, lass, alright. But can you blame me for wanting to help? S’pose I should leave that sorta thing to Lathrik.”

"It's not the wanting to help that's wrong. It's not bad that you care, but protection doesn't have to mean taking the blows and leaving your charge on the other side of a wall. She can be in the middle of it," Natalyah says, looking over at Lathrik with that melting hot chocolate sweetness, and, as always, a little bit of a dare. She sighs, and eyes Reniya again, frowning at his torso.

"The both of you, I swear. Most of those are probably still unhealable, but what can be possibly healed, will you stop being so stubborn about it and let one of us fix it? You're not the only one who cares about someone, Ren. We don't want you hurt either. Now that you're actually here, you can let us take care of you as well. It's not against the rules, or anything, and if it is, then I'm having Milo redo them." Yes, she is commandeering Peril's assistant. Peril, back her up on this.

Or possibly keep sleeping, Peril. One of those.

Peril snores in agreement. It’s probably agreement, anyway.

“You’ve found me out,” Reniya says, slumping in defeat. “Do what you wanna do.”

Lathrik needs no second urging. All that Light already built up in anger needs an outlet, so he turns it to healing, sending a burst of it through his hand and into Reniya’s chest, frowning when he sees how bad it actually is. “Were you going to wait until they had you laid up in the infirmary to tell me about this?” he growls.

“Sorry…” Reniya mumbles.

“Elle,” Lathrik says. “Take him home. His home, not the barracks. Make sure he rests.”

Reniya’s mouth drops open. “Oi, Lathrik, mate. Not there. Anywhere but there.” He scrambles to his feet, grabbing Lathrik by the shoulders, but Joelle has his orders.

The larger man peels Reniya off of Lathrik, making ready to carry him out the door.

Natalyah scrambles to her feet, canes landing on the floor, and there's a burst of speed as she puts herself between Joelle, Ren, and the door, looking between the men like everyone just started speaking in some foreign language that she has only heard tone and a few key words. "Wait — what's going on? Why don't you want to go home?" She looks over at Lathrik, confused pleading warring with uncertainty. There are a few things Natalyah might also know personally, and not wanting to go to a place, no matter that it's supposed to be 'home,' is one of them. "And why are you making him?"

“My family’s at home,” Reniya says, voice laced with dread.

“Aye, and your family will see ye well, not have ye take more beatings,” Lathrik says.

Joelle hesitates, one arm still firmly around Reniya. Natalyah is in the doorway. His orders didn’t account for this. He glances back at Lathrik.

“’Talyah, let ‘em go,” Lathrik says.

She's still human, for now, but that can change in an instant. Natalyah's eyes are still on Lathrik, and there's something desperately pleading in her expression, wrapped in a precarious, heart-wrenching trust. "I know you care about him. I know you wouldn't want him hurt. So. Promise me — Lathrik, promise me that it isn't like mine, that they aren't going to cage him up, make him feel like he's suffocating under their 'help,' hurting under their care," she begs, and she flinches as if her left side has twinged in pain. "If you tell me that, I'll believe you. I'll trust you." It's a warning as much as a confession.

Reniya glances between Lathrik and Natalyah, seeing his chance and seizing it. “Swallowtail, they’re cracked,” he pleads. “My folks, my sister, all of ‘em. They’re out of their bleedin’ minds, and I can’t go back there for another second.”

Lathrik sighs, running a hand over his face. “Elle, how’s your place? Ye got room?”

“He can share my bed,” Joelle says. He looks to Natalyah. Is that good? Will she move now?

Natalyah sags in some relief, and looks over at Reniya. "Well? You go with Elle, let him make sure you're all right, and you don't have to go to your other family until you want to. Deal?"

Relief washes over Reniya as well, and he nods. “Aye, you’re a blessing from the sea Herself, Swallowtail, thank you,” he says.

“I guess it’ll be one big sleepover,” Hana says. “I’ll keep an eye on him too.”

Lathrik nods his appreciation to Hana.

Natalyah jabs a finger at Reniya, with a stormy warning in her eyes, a reminder that even the Tidemother has two faces — she can still be a storm to drown you. "Make no mistake, Reniya Middle-Name Hartrim. You are going to heal up and get well." This is a threat. She steps out of Joelle's way, moving over back towards not her chair, but to Lathrik.

The moment she is out of the way, Joelle scoops Reniya up in one arm and starts carrying him out the door.

“Oi, Elle? I can walk, there’s no need for — Elle!” Reniya’s protests follow them outside.

“Uh, I should… go make sure nobody makes anything worse,” Hana says. “I’m really glad everyone’s okay. Call me if you need anything!”

Natalyah flinches when Joelle picks Reniya up, and he protests at it, and she looks for a moment like she might intervene again, but Reniya, as she knows, isn't helpless, and he knows Joelle; it isn't the same as it is with her. Even with that knowledge, she moves faster to Lathrik's side as the door shuts, shifting her grip on her canes as she practically throws herself into his arms, partly out of affection, and partly out of a need to be held by him.

Lathrik catches her, breathing out some of his tension with her in his arms. “Now we just have to deal with Peril,” he murmurs.

Natalyah sighs against his neck, molding herself to him like every additional inch of her that touches him relieves something in her. Whatever hurt she carried before seems to have been washed away in other deeper waters of affection. She lifts her head up, moving off her favorite nook, to look up at him through her lashes, chin tucked down. "Are you angry with me?" She asking it, and she's also checking for it, searching his eyes for a hint of anything.

Lathrik’s brows lift in surprise. “Angry with you? For what?” His hands roam her back in a soothing gesture. “Thought you were angry with me.”

Was she? Does Lathrik really want to remind her of it? (Too late, now.) She frowns, then realizes what she'd been upset about, and there's that edge of hurt back in her face, but she shakes her head as if scattering the thought again like a dog shedding water off her fur. "Oh. That. It's not — " She picks at the back of his collar, her cane bumping into him gently with the movement. "Angry at me for not telling you before, about the wolf spirit. I meant to, and I was going to tell you," she says, pleading and defensive at the same time. "I just didn't know how to put it, or when to bring it up."

She lowers her head, slinking down a little, huddling closer. "And I didn't really want to give you another reason to think of me as a monster, when you haven't, when you've been saying that no matter what form I'm in I'm me. I didn't want to give you cause to doubt it. She doesn't take over, not all the time. It's only when our deal is triggered that she can at all, and usually only a second or two."

He holds her closer, protectively, as if he can shield her from something, even if it is internal. “I’m not angry, I’m concerned. But as long as she doesn’t hurt you, I’ll come to terms with it. If she ever does, that’s when I will be angry, but not with you. You’ll tell me, I hope?”

Natalyah relaxes more against him, sliding herself into place. "That's our deal. I'll tell you. I won't forget to grab your hand before I go over anything. But I don't think she can hurt me." She nuzzles into the place where his collar ends, and his skin begins. "She came out when I was suffering, in the ritual. I was stuck in an endless loop of my worst moments that I ever felt helpless and frightened, just over and over until I thought I would go insane with it, and she freed me. But I don't know if I did it right. When I came out of the ritual, it didn't take me long to figure out that the other worgen did something else. I don't think I'm supposed to have her the way I do, or at least, that's not what they did. And I don't know how to undo it. I don't think I can undo it. I don't know what it makes me that I'm like this, but it works."

“If she saves you from harm, protects you, then she is an ally,” Lathrik murmurs. “And so long as she stays that way, I’m grateful. As long as you don’t regret the deal you made. If you do, I will devote myself to finding you a way out, the way you are doing for me.”

Her arms tighten around him, and she gives a pleased wiggle that shimmies her hips against his, presses her chest more firmly into his. There is no mistaking the intimacy of familiarity, an eagerness that suggests she is both remembering and appreciating how he feels without any of his clothes on.

Careful there, Talyah. His brother is within just a few feet. Hopefully still sleeping so he doesn't combust from embarrassment.

There's a warmth to her, as she smiles. "Of course you would. That's because you're my — " An awkward pause. "Lathrik." He's her Lathrik, or is she just saying his name? Unclear. She pulls back again to look at him, a conflicting blend of hope and hurt chasing each other across her features. "You wouldn't really do it, would you? I know you take your job seriously, and I really like that about you, but Ren was wrong, wasn't he? You wouldn't actually pretend that I didn't exist and flirt with a girl to get information, and get all the way to the point of leaving with her until someone like Elle had to step in and punch you in the face to have you admit that you weren't supposed to leave with someone, and not even once mention me, right? You wouldn't have done that. I'm your — " That same awkward pause, and she picks at his collar with more agitation. "What am I exactly to you, that you'll actually claim when you're out there?"

It might occur to him, or not, based on what he knows about her and the nobility, that there is a very good chance that Natalyah might have only at best an outsider's understanding of Dating, as the general population does it, and never likely expected to do it herself; her kind goes through the stages of unmarried, betrothed, married. 'Girlfriend' isn't one of those titles.

Lathrik closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of her. It takes him a moment to catch up to the sudden turn of the conversation.

“This is about their work at the bar?” he asks. “Ren was acting on his own, trying to further the mission, while keeping our personal lives personal. I wouldn’t have done it that way, now that I’m with you, but they do not necessarily know that. He was playing the part. Do you want it to be known by the Count, that we’re a couple? My concern is it may draw his attention to you, I’ve otherwise no issue with having it known. Ren left the decision to us, in not mentioning you by name.”

There's no actual dare in his words, but she acts like there is. "I am not more scared of Count Amerith than I love you," she tells him, bold as ever. "If it was up to me, I'd be shouting it from the top of the Cathedral after they ring the bells. I'd have Peril put in a special announcement in the Azerothian Interest after the message about sponsors. I'd send out personalized cards to every person I know.

“The only reasons I'm not doing those are that climbing up the Cathedral like that sounds like a cat stuck in a tree situation waiting to happen, and the others cost money that I'd rather spend on getting clothing that aren’t just dresses so I can do more out there with you. So, I'll settle for just telling people when I see them, like I did with Birdie. Society probably already knows something of you and I. He'll have told Scilla, of course, because Birdie tells Scilla everything, who might then have told her friend Duchess Esprit, who might have told any number of people." Definitely not, as Avrenne does not gossip like that, but Natalyah couldn't know that. "I don't want to be a secret, or something that you hide."

“If that’s what you’d like, it won’t be a secret,” Lathrik says. “The only reason I would ever hide it is for your sake. Under… ordinary circumstances, you’re a woman that someone like me could only dream of serving, let alone courting. Touching. Your Society can be rough, and I’d not see ye hurt.” He pauses, opening his eyes to make firm contact with hers. “But. I do trust you, Natalyah, and whatever happens I’ll be here to help you handle it as needed.”

She searches his eyes again, looking for something, and there's a soft yearning forward. "Under ordinary circumstances, if I'd met you, I'd do the same thing I have done for someone like you. You deserve to be with me, and I deserve to be with you. Society can do and say what they like about me. I've never cared. Believe me, I know I've enjoyed the privileges of my station in the past, and I haven't always agreed to pay the price for that privilege except in some acceptance that I later rejected anyway to do what I wanted. I would have never chosen Society over you, no matter what my rank or curse or status was, and I never will."

Lathrik leans into her, pressing his forehead to hers. “Aye,” he whispers, one hand settling on the side of her neck. “I’d have found a way to you. Damn them all.” His breath is a hot burst on her face, and he closes his eyes again.

She melts a little to that side with a low moaning sigh into his hold, and closes the distance between them in a searing kiss as if there is simply no way to continue without a taste of him, an electric charge with the need to feel him against her, to touch her as she touches him, an expression of her love and desire for him.

Which, of course, virtually guarantees that this is the moment that Peril wakes up.

Whether or not he actually wakes is up for debate, but what Peril does do is somehow lose his spot on the couch. The resulting thump causes Lathrik to stiffen, and not in the desired way, as his head snaps towards the direction of the noise, only to discover his brother is now asleep on the floor, his hat awkwardly devouring half his face.

“Light, Peril,” Lathrik mutters with a sigh.

Natalyah might only not jolt into her worgen form because Lathrik has her in his hold, but she does startle badly enough to yelp, and cling to Lathrik more, some automatic seeking of safety that he now represents. Her expression as she eyes Peril on the floor is one of nearly entirely concern, and a small amount of chagrin — but no embarrassment. "Is he all right? Should we get him back to his home and his own bed or whatever he sleeps in?" Would it surprise her to find out he sleeps in some sort of sleeping bag cocoon or hammock? Maybe not. Peril likes to live dangerously. And he just rolled off a couch.

“I’d like to keep him here, if it’s alright,” Lathrik says. “Least ‘til I know he can leave on his own. He lives alone, and I need to know he’ll not go right back out and do something foolish.”

"Of course it's alright." Natalyah leans her head against Lathrik's shoulder, her face turned to Peril. "I just don't want him uncomfortable, or getting hurt rolling off unfamiliar places. I could get the pillows and blankets, put them under and around him. Do you know how he usually sleeps?"

“Wildly,” Lathrik mutters. “We’ll do what we can, but it’ll be hard to contain him.”

Natalyah laughs, a delighted sort of cackle that she doesn't do a good job of containing the volume level of. "That's always true of Peril. It's just one of the many reasons I like him."

There is fondness in Lathrik’s eyes as he kisses the top of her head. “I’ll get a mana potion in him too. Might help. Worst it’ll do is pay us another visit. That’s what happened when I took potions that were too strong.”

She pets along his back, a warm, slow soothing, and presses a kiss to his shoulder before she sets first one cane down and then the other to get her balance once more. "That's horrible, for both of you, past and possibly present. He could probably use some coffee as well, and water. I don't know if warlocks get fel hangovers, but it seems like the sort of thing that he'd have if they can." With that, she turns to make her way to gather up pillows and blankets to make Peril his cozy caterpillar cocoon to contain up to perhaps 40% of his wildness.

Lathrik heads over to the couch, hoisting Peril back up onto it and snagging a mana potion from the coffee table. “Oi, Peril,” he says, nudging him. “Work with me a minute, aye? Then ye can go back to sleep.”

Peril mumbles a complaint, but opens his eyes a little.

Uncorking the mana potion with his teeth, Lathrik props him up and raises the vial to Peril’s lips. “Swallow, now, alright? These are too expensive to go wearin’ for fashion.”

A little at a time, most of the mana potion successfully makes it into Peril’s mouth and not down the front of him, to Lathrik’s relief. Satisfied, he rises to see to the coffee.

“I wrote Harvey while I was out,” he says. “We’ll see if he shows.”

Natalyah emerges back into the living room in her worgen form, blankets wrapped around her shoulders so both her hands stay free to help her move around, and two pillows held in her mouth carefully on one end to minimize drool for Peril. It's possibly unintentionally cute.

She makes it over to Peril, removing the pillows from her mouth and lifting the man effortlessly to set one under him, adjusting his hat back over his eyes like a sleeping mask. The blanket gets tucked around him like a cocoon, and the other pillow shoved under his hip, hopefully locking him into place better to prevent another roll off the couch. "There. Just like a bagworm moth," Natalyah tells him quietly, with satisfaction. "Don't worry, you're a male, so you'll get your wings back when you come out of it." (You have subscribed to her friendship for butterfly and moth facts, Peril.)

Once Peril is set, she shifts back to her human form, and uses her canes to move across the room to Lathrik. "Are you going to ask him for help with the Count?"

Lathrik smiles at her as she sets Peril up with pillows and blankets, sobering again at mention of the Count. “Aye, that’s the plan. If he’s willing.” He stares down into the pot of water.

"What can he do, do you think? You mentioned he was a paladin and noble of Lordaeron. I don't recognize 'Morningdew,' but I didn't pay a lot of attention to the Lordaeron Society. I wasn't circulating in it at all. I wasn't really circulating in Stormwind Society," she admits without any trace of contrition or longing.

“If we get him involved, we have… insurance,” Lathrik says. “Mostly I need him to see if he can identify the Count’s pet death knight, but barring that, if Count Amerith goes after him, for any reason, there’s a chain of connections we can pull on. His girl’s in close with the Fallons. She’ll try to protect him, and they will try to protect her. I’d like to resolve this without going that far, but think of it as an emergency measure.”

Natalyah's brows raise. "The Fallons. I still can't believe that Siamus is on the House of Nobles, and married. He was always such fun to flirt with, if irritatingly chivalrous and annoyingly handsome. An eternal bachelor married to the sea is what I would have put money on. His wife is terrifying, and not at all how I pictured from how Scilla and Lucy used to talk about her. You should have seen her in Darnassus. She hadn't ever even met me, and she recognized my name from someone else speaking it, and suddenly I was pinned, and agreeing to go to Scilla's wedding before I could figure out a single way out." She considers what she's said as the words leave her mouth. "Which is exactly the sort of person I would rather deal with the Count. I like that plan."

“Aye, the Lady Fallon is not one to make an enemy of, from what I hear. I’ve met Lord Fallon a couple times myself, but I’ve no favors to call with the man, so we’ve to go at it the sneaky way,” Lathrik says. “Hate to do it, but I’ve something to protect.” He gives her a soft gaze, before the coffee tears his attention away. “Just hope it doesn’t backfire somehow.”

Natalyah moves in closer until she can rest her head on his left shoulder, pouting. "I do know people in that world. I just don't know how I would even talk to them about it all, and I don't have any favors to call in. I wouldn't want to lie, and I haven't been around any of them in like nine years. Coming back and immediately asking for a favor when I won't explain why or how or anything seems like a terrible sort of thing to do that might burn every bridge all at once, and I hate even the thought of it. If Lucy was still alive — " She starts, and there's a deep shudder of feeling that she bites down on, pressing closer to Lathrik. Nope, still doesn't want to talk about that.

Lathrik slips an arm around her, holding her close. Surely he can pour the coffee into a mug one-handed and distracted. Actually, he can. The coffee goes precisely where he wants it to, and nowhere else, and he sets the leftovers back on the stove. “If ye want to know them again — better — I can help you think on how to do it,” he offers.

The closeness helps, and she relaxes into the hold. "I really should talk with Scilla, and Birdie. They were always nice. Scilla always asks what my butterfly dresses are, and Birdie always guesses right. And I should speak with Sintha again. She and Lucy were such good friends." She sighs heavily, chagrin a storm on her expression. "And I probably owe Sintha's friend Lord Arric an apology. I wasn't exactly good company at the wedding when he tried to speak with me." She looks over at Lathrik, serious and daring both. "I just want it clear that I'm not trying to go back to Society or anything. I was a reluctant participant at best before, and part of that was that it seemed inevitable and inescapable. I'm happier like this than I ever was then."

“Aye, and now your choices are yours,” Lathrik says firmly. “Ye can know whoever you want to know, because you want to. I’ve no business knowin’ any of that lot, but I’ll be wherever you’d like me.”

The expression on her face is impish and heated, an electric storm of desire, as she arches her neck to set her lips against his jawline, her tongue darting out for a playful touch. "Really? Anywhere I'd like you to be?" It's not a real question so much as half a suggestion already.

He turns to face her more fully, pressing her against him. “Anywhere,” he murmurs, a slight smile curving his lips.

It's obvious that she is happy, and it's that uncomplicated joy, the war of her expressions halted for a moment of united peace under the Lathrik Feelings Banner. And then it dims a little, as she glances between Peril, the bedroom, and Lathrik's armor and sword by the door. "How long before you have to report to Pennings, and how long before you'll be back home?"

Lathrik’s expression goes blank as he processes her words. “Pennings?” he asks. He follows her eyes to his armor, and it seems to click. “Ah. That's tomorrow.”

Natalyah's smile brightens and her eyes darken, as she pushes a hand at his chest, her cane bumping into him with the movement. The push is accompanied by her draping herself over him even more, inviting him to pull her closer against him. "Really? You have today off. Lathrik, you should have said something," she scolds, but it's half-hearted at best. The other half of the heart is excited and not disguising it. "I have you the whole day."

Well, what's left of it. The mid-morning is starting to yield to the afternoon, and first there's Peril. She looks back over at the sleeping reporter. "How long is he likely to sleep?"

“Long enough,” he says, leaning down to steal a taste of her lips. Is that an accurate guess? Probably not, but his mind is occupied by her, and nothing else.

She said she would trust him on the matters of things he knows about his pack, and she does. The way she meets his kiss makes it clear that he can't steal what he already owns. This is the way she kisses him when there is no need to hold back; it's like being caressed lovingly by a violent storm, charged lightning strikes of her lips and hands against places she knows he wants to be touched, kissing and touching him with a devouring desperation like she cannot get enough of him. She breaks it long enough to order him to the bedroom ahead of her, knowing that this order he will follow.

She takes an extra moment to rip a paper from the back of her notebook, write on it COFFEE FOR PERIL, fold it and set it by the coffee mug with a plate on top of it to hold in the heat for as long as possible. She pats it once, and follows Lathrik into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, so she can better tell Lathrik exactly where she wants him to be.

Time Passes

Natalyah might be a content, naked sprawled lump under the sheet, openly admiring Lathrik as she continues to pet along his arm of shoulder to neck to jaw and back down to his hand, but she is also listening carefully to the other room. She heard Peril hit the floor once again at some point (although she was busy at the time), but he hasn't made sounds like a man getting up and walking around, so he's been allowed to roll around the living room area in blanket wrapped chaos.

Lathrik is lying on his back, mostly under the sheets himself, his eyes half-closed like he could fall asleep at any point now that the stress of the morning has faded. He keeps one arm wrapped around Natalyah, unwilling to be without her in his vulnerable, clothes-less state.

From the other room comes a loud thunk, a sound you might get when a person collides with a table, followed by a groan. Peril is probably awake.

Natalyah's head twitches, and she groans in answer, pushing up onto her forearm to press a kiss to a single, firm kiss to Lathrik's lips before she says, "Peril is probably awake."

Lathrik’s eyes open more fully, and he scans the room for his clothes. Natalyah can see him naked, but no one else.

“Aye, alright. I’ll see to him,” he says, sitting up.

"I'll be there, too." Natalyah lets him disentangle himself from her with an idle appreciatory swiping touch along his back, mm, purdy, although she's also looking for her dress — it's a pile of fabric at the end of the bed where she left it, and she rolls over on her belly to stretch out a hand to snag it and pull it up over the side. She's listening for sounds of Peril in the other room as she does, in case he sounds like he's thinking about making a run for it.

The only sound from the other room is a slow scraping of wood against the floor, for some reason. Lathrik dresses quickly, and slips out to investigate. Peril has managed to trap himself beneath the coffee table, half entangled in blankets. He looks guilty as Lathrik’s feet come into view.

“I-I wanted to help,” Peril says, squirming in a futile attempt to escape. “I only wanted to help, I didn’t mean for anyone to…”

Lathrik sighs and lifts the coffee table off of Peril, staring down at him. The reporter cowers within his bundle of blankets.

Natalyah is much slower behind Lathrik. She's wearing her dress, but no shoe, and her hair is a wild floof around her. At the cowering, she carefully sinks down to sit next to him, scooping him up into a hug.

"You did help," she tells him. "You helped keep me calm and you brought Lathrik back to me. And you did that because you were here, working with us. The only mistake you made was thinking you could do better if you were alone. You aren't better when you're by yourself. None of us are. We belong together, working together and relying on each other more, even when it's hard.”

“The souls — I felt so… helpless,” Peril says, clinging to her. “I thought, if I only had more. More power.”

“You’re looking in the wrong damn place, Peril,” Lathrik says, joining them on the floor. His words are stern, but he wraps his arms around both of them, one hand placing Peril’s hat back on his head. “What good does power do if you’re killed reaching for it? If Ren hadn’t been there…”

“I know…” Peril whispers. “I know, I’m sorry…”

"I forgive you," Natalyah whispers furiously back. "I know you blame yourself, that you think that if you had just had more then when the plan went wrong, you could have saved it, but that's hindsight, Peril. And you can't ever blame yourself for hindsight. You didn't do anything wrong by having only one soul shard, and you did everything right with it. It wasn't all on you, and more power every time will never be the right answer. You didn't fail anyone. We're all okay, and we found you. Not a single one of us blames you. No one hates you.”

Peril ducks his head, hiding his expression behind his hat. “It might be a bit extreme to say no one hates me, there’s an entire newspaper I drove out of business, not to mention the people who don’t understand my work, and I can’t even begin to guess what Milo thinks of me, but you… probably meant the heist group, didn’t you?” Peril clears his throat. “I, uh. Thank you, Natalyah. I think I speak for Lathrik and myself both when I say that our lives are better for your presence.”

Natalyah sniffles, holding onto Peril tightly for another moment, before she tosses her head, her hair moving in a chaotic swirl over her shoulders. She pats a hand lightly over Peril's hat and then reaches for Lathrik, to help her stand back up.

"Well, they've certainly become more immediately risky, which for you two might be the same thing," she says tartly. But the soft pleading way she looks at Lathrik suggests she hopes that it's true.

“Speaking of risky,” Peril says, fingering his hat, a wild grin on his face.

Lathrik turns his attention to Natalyah, helping her to a stand. “Ye had an idea,” he concludes. He does not sound particularly excited.

“I have soul shards,” Peril says. “And I didn’t know him well, but I do have a memory or two of him, so I was thinking maybe we could try… There are three of us.”

“Try…” Lathrik stares at him. Now Peril has his attention. “Ye don’t mean… Our father? You mean to try to summon him?”

Peril nods, and looks to Natalyah for backup.

Natalyah lingers for a moment in Lathrik's hands before she gets her canes under her. "You can't summon the dead," she says, the excitement a little at odds with her words, but she's looking eagerly between the two men. "Even if he doesn't answer, if Peril can get even just a soul lock on him, that means he's still alive. It would tell you something immediately. And if he does answer a random summons from a warlock out of nowhere, you'll know he's definitely your father. Let's do it."

Another person might consider the risks of summoning a man who might be in full armor and ready to attack, but Natalyah is not a woman of combat experience or preparation.

“Oi, are you serious? If he lives, the man could probably cleave us all in two,” Lathrik says. “I’m not dressed for this, I…” Despite his complaints, there is a spark of excitement in his own expression.

Peril bursts free of the blankets and gets to his feet, scurrying to the table to retrieve his grimoire and a soul shard. “That’s not a no,” he says eagerly. “Usually, if he’s going to refuse, he says no immediately.”

“At least let me get my sword…” Lathrik sighs, heading to the shelf by the door.

Natalyah watches Lathrik with a wicked smile. "There's no timer ticking. You can get your armor on." She turns and jabs a finger at Peril, and points to the coffee on the counter. "And you can have some coffee first while he gets it on."

She looks down at herself, and then pushes off towards the bedroom, as if more aware that she could be meeting their father looking like she does. "I'm going to brush my hair.”

Peril’s eyes light up at the mention of coffee. “Coffee? For me?”

Lathrik gestures towards the counter, before setting up his gear. “I’ll have ye both know, this is crazy,” he says, as if infiltrating a Count’s manor during an assassination attempt, and then interfering in said attempt is not.

Peril claims his coffee, taking one energizing sip at a time as he waits for his brother to get properly dressed. Mercifully, this keeps him from opening his mouth.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Mr. Schultz when I said I could study butterflies by observing through shadow: if it's crazy and it works, then it isn't crazy," Natalyah says from the bedroom. When she re-emerges, her hair has been brushed to a silken sheen, and her dress pulled and pressed into place, the delicate light brown shoe tied with its ribbon on her foot. There's a fresh scent of her expensive perfume that follows her, sweet and sensual jasmine with that kiss of vanilla and undertone of earthy labdanum. She breezes by Lathrik, darting in to kiss his cheek. "And a good scientist never ignores a possibility for fresh data.”

“Gulf Fritillary,” Peril says out of nowhere. It’s possible this is his first time seeing the dress in its entirety.

Lathrik eyes the two of them, strapping on the last of his gear after the brief Natalyah distraction. Butterflies again.

She does the little pleased sway at the identification, grinning at Peril. "Correct, as always. The Passion Butterfly. It seemed appropriate," she says, turning that smile onto Lathrik, as she moves into what might be an approximation of place for the summoning.

Peril finishes his coffee and returns to the table for his supplies, while Lathrik joins Natalyah in finding an appropriate place to stand.

“Can’t believe I’m about to help with a warlock ritual,” he mutters.

“A useful warlock ritual,” Peril insists, book and soul shard in hand. “I’ve done this once before. It’ll work.”

Without leaving time for anyone to change their mind, Peril begins the ritual. “Fray Farrens,” he says confidently, reaching for a soul he encountered long ago.

Lathrik joins him after some hesitation, adding focus to the search. He doesn’t know the man even half as well as Peril, but he knows things about him, and he allows Peril to guide the magic, adding details where he can.

Natalyah knows even less, except by observation of what she knows of Fray Farrens' sons, from their given names to their chosen names, and while she can't fill in any blanks, she offers up that full weight of her personality and considerable willpower in calling for the man.

Fray Farrens, she dares you to accept the summons.

Minutes pass as Peril searches for his intended target, the ritual continuing all the while. Sweat begins to bead on his brow, but Peril takes the brunt of the energy drain and presses on, a stubborn confidence lending to his determination. Then, finally, his reaching fingers grasp something, a responding tug, like a fish on a line. The contact resonates through the three of them, the knowledge of another life on the other side of the spell. It hesitates. Considers. Then reluctantly pulls away.

The ritual fades, leaving Peril breathless, but excited. “He’s alive,” he says, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “I did it. I found him. I really…” He laughs a little, shifting his hat to wipe at his forehead.

Lathrik pulls a chair out from the table and sinks into it. “So he is…” he says. “And Count Amerith probably knows it, too.”

Natalyah scoots her chair out and sits, frowning, as she opens her notebook and pages through it to her notes. "'Highmarsh.' What's out there, and why would your father be there? And why hasn't he tried to find you? Or has he and something else is keeping him away?"

She flips a page over, and then looks up at the men. "Wait, Tabiana said that the guard confirmed that the Shadow Man assassin was Twilight's Hammer. And he said something odd, when he hesitated attacking Lathrik. He said, 'hers.' I thought maybe at first he meant me, but it didn't make sense why he'd stop then, and not before when he saw me there. I think he stopped with your mark. What if it's connected? Your father alive, out there somewhere for some reason, and Count Amerith's Almeiria being attacked now as the Count digs into your history?”

“We’re missing vital pieces,” Lathrik says, placing a hand where the rune is on his chest. “But you’re right about the Shadow Man, I think. He was going to do something to me, but when he tried, I felt something…stinging, and then he backed off. If he’s in the same cult as our mother, it could be he recognized her work.”

“It wouldn’t be hard for our father to find us,” Peril says, frowning. “Right? I’ve got Azerothian Interest, and my name’s on it. And if he’s been alive this whole time…”

“Aye, we’ve more questions now than before,” Lathrik says. “I hope all this doesn’t mean the Shadow Man comes after us, next.”

There's a low, defensive growl from Natalyah, and she reaches out a hand to put over Lathrik's. "If he does, it won't be easy for him. You didn't look like you, and he might have seen me, but that doesn't mean he knows who I am. We have time to get the upper hand before he does. One way or another though, we need to talk to Almeiria Fey about her Shadow Man, and we need to find out what's in Highmarsh, especially if it's something with Twilight’s Hammer.”

“I’d like to pay a visit to this ‘Highmarsh’ personally, but I’ll need to find a way to clear it with Pennings,” Lathrik says, frowning in thought. “In the meantime, we can look into Almeiria Fey, but not until Harvey agrees to help.”

“The… the death knight?” Peril asks, eyes widening. “You’re calling the death knight back?”

“For the last time, he won’t hurt ye, Peril,” Lathrik says, entwining his fingers with Natalyah’s.

Natalyah seems unconcerned by the prospect of a death knight. It might be because she's never been close to one; it might be because worgen were brought back into the world specifically because they are undead fighting machines. Either one.

"It's near the Arathi Highlands. There's Horde activity up there now, isn't there? You could suggest a reconnaissance team based off a source that says it might be connected with the assassination attempt. And if you had Tabiana and Ren with you, you could prove Tabiana’s loyalties, and you wouldn't be alone out there," Natalyah says.

“It’ll be hard enough convincing her to send me out there,” Lathrik says, shaking his head. “The others are out of the question. If I go, it’ll be alone. We are, after all, the Stormwind guard. She’d sooner station guards around the Count’s manor, than send us haring off somewhere looking for answers in force, especially somewhere so far away.”

Natalyah's hand tightens on his. "If you go, then I'm coming with you.”

“Aye, I’d have ye with me,” Lathrik tells her. “It’s a fair distance away. I wouldn’t make it back in time if something were to happen in my absence.”

“I suppose I’ll be staying here,” Peril says, sulking a little.

Natalyah gives Lathrik a melting sweet look, pulling their hands closer to set against Lathrik's heart. Right answer.

She looks over at Peril, and there's a canine tilt to her head. "Why? If it isn't an official mission of the guard, he's your father, too. You're the one who knows the most about him. And if there's anything that the people of Stormwind should know about what's going on, a first hand reporter could be invaluable.”

Despite some obvious reluctance, Lathrik nods. “It’s your right, as much as mine,” he says. “And we’re not goin’ out to seek conflict, only answers. With luck, we’ll find the man, and he’ll still have a proper head on his shoulders.”

“Really?” Peril asks, surprised. “I mean — of course it’s my right. We haven’t gone on an adventure together in a long time, is all, and I thought you might tell me to stay where it’s safe. Which, might I add, Stormwind isn’t. I face danger on the streets all the time, which is just the way I like it. After all, I’m Peril Farrens, and danger is my —”

“First name, aye,” Lathrik finishes. “Only, keep that to yourself while we’re out on the road. I’d like to feel the man out before we go identifying ourselves.”

"Lathrik knows what he's doing, being cautious," Natalyah says with a confidence born of observation. "We'll be all right, and we'll find answers."

With that kind of assertion, there's no way anything could go wrong.