(2024-09-20) He's Just Happy To Be Here

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Thaniel arrives for a visit to Fallon House, thanks to the assistance of Merelda, to pass along some of the sacred texts -- that is, fairy tales of Gilneas -- unknown to the Bookworm Isla. This is a Special Occasion that warrants the Tiny Cakes and Company! 8700~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

A stagecoach travels along the road. As it gets closer to its destination, the sound of wheels on dirt changes to wheels on gravel.

A black-furred worgen in a plaid flannel shirt half-tucked into loose gray pants has curled up on a bench sized to fit two people. He is taking a nap, or perhaps Thaniel is awake and just thinking about something with his eyes shut, which is equally likely.

Across from him is, to all appearances, a human woman with unruly red hair, wearing a finely tailored dress of forest green. She taps the side of the stagecoach in clear impatience to get to their destination.

Awaiting them at said destination of a large, beautiful and gothic mansion of a house is a brown haired teenage girl, dressed in a weather appropriate long soft orange sturdy netherweave dress, her hair done up with clips that match and keep the wind from being entirely in her face, practically hopping from foot to foot as if she's standing on hot coals and not well managed gravel driveway, watching eagerly for an expected visit.

As soon as the stagecoach comes even remotely into view, Isla calls out, "They're here! Hi, Thaniel!" and begins waving excitedly, despite the fact that neither occupant can likely see her yet. She does not have Avrenne's gift for vocal projection, and the brisk autumn wind picks up her voice and tosses it carelessly around.

The door opens behind her and Mr. Vane, the vaguely terrifying-looking butler, steps out smoothly. Two grooms have already materialized in the drive to handle the coach and horses.

"Thaniel, we're here," Merelda says, reaching one hand over to touch him lightly, in case he's asleep.

Thaniel stirs slowly, blinking at Merelda. "Hm…?" He gathers up his things, a satchel and a worn leather suitcase that might contain a book, and waits until the coach has come to a stop before peeking outside.

This is how he is then greeted by a face — at least a familiar face — peeking inside back at him. Isla has her nose near the glass, and when Thaniel appears, she presses forward into it in surprise with a splat and "Oh — ! Hi!" Her breath fogs up the glass around her face.

"Minee harses, Mizzayla," says Thredd laconically.

Merelda leans back, startled, but then says, "Your friend from the wedding, I assume?"

Isla nods avidly. She's minee harses! She's also probably trying to mind the horses, but at the moment the excitement of the arrival has overridden much of her attempts at propriety.

Thaniel nods, giving Isla a little wave with his clawed hand. "Mmhm. That's Isla Lenaire." He is entirely un-selfconscious about his worgen form.

Isla is staring, all jubilant wide eyes sparkling, as she mimics back a clawed hand greeting wave. She then remembers at least some partial sense of manners, stepping back to wait for them to get out of the coach, her hands clasped to her chest like it might burst.

Thaniel steps out of the coach and holds the door for Merelda. "Hi," he says to Isla.

Merelda steps down and nods a greeting to the teenaged girl. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lenaire. I am Merelda Veyne."

Rather than properly introduce herself or curtsey, Isla leans forward, setting herself slightly off balance, as she near-shouts like a game contestant eagerly hitting her buzzer and saying the answer before some opponent can, "Of House Veyne, noble house on the Gilnean coast, younger sister of Wallas, and cousins to the Lordaeron House Tyrrell, and architect specializing in buildings, and assisted in the design of the Gilnean wall!" She hops triumphantly.

At the doorway to the house, a well groomed and extremely lanky, tall man in his mid-twenties sighs and runs a hand over his eyes as Isla shouts. He's dressed in warm browns that compliments his complexion, his expression forcibly being ordered back from exasperation to mannered, though his eyes are guarded, and he walks towards Isla with long legged strides. "Isla, don't shout at our guests. You'll have to excuse her, Lady Merelda, Isla and I have been learning about Gilneas, and she's over-eager to an inappropriate degree to prove her knowledge," he says, and cuts a Lordaeron bow to both. "I'm Finley Boutille, one of Her Grace, Lady Fallon's wards. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I am not over-eager," Isla rages, closed fists at her side and stomping her foot to emphasize.

Vane continues to stand impassively, politely by the door. He is familiar with this rigamarole. Everyone is familiar with this rigamarole by now.

Thaniel's ears twitch, the only sign of his discomfort with the sudden change in volume. He doesn't startle. He's giving off a calm aura of 'just pleased to be here'. "Hello. I'm Thaniel Clay."

Merelda's eyes widen at the litany, but she merely says, "Very impressive, young lady. Yes, I am, in fact, that Merelda Veyne. Though your information is slightly out of date, as my brother Wallas was killed in the invasion." There's no emotion at this information - possibly she has practiced saying it. Then she turns to Finley. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Boutille."

Isla melts into a puddle of acute teenage embarrassment and horrified sympathetic dismay, both hands pressed against her cheeks hard enough to distort her face. "Ohh, noooo, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry about your brother." She is going to just be absorbed into the earth now, excuse her.

Finley clears his throat, and offers his arm as an escort for Merelda, and an astute observer might note that he has avoided looking fully directly at Thaniel in his worgen form. "Yes, as Isla means, you have our deepest condolences for your loss. Please, let's get you, and Mr. Clay, out of the weather." And you know, out of the driveway.

Merelda reaches politely to take Finley's arm and says, "Thank you for for the condolences, and truly, there's no harm done in the mentioning of it. You were not to have known. Thank you for the welcome."

Thaniel holds on to the handle of his suitcase with both clawed hands and nods. He is going to follow Finley now.

Finley guides the trio back towards the house, giving Vane a look of fellow butler feeling, and likely apology for Isla, as they enter the house.

Isla drifts forlornly after them like a ghost, morose and deflated, her arms swaying with her walk like she could just be swept up by the wind and carried off, never to be seen again.

Within the house, standing before her portrait, is the Lady of the House, Her Grace, Avrenne Esprit Fallon, dressed in a stunning gown of deep purple netherweave satin and deep navy blue and silver sparkling embroidery thread, her pregnancy not all hidden by the tight, perfectly tailored to her fit — she looks even more along than she really is, more like eight months through rather than five or so that she is. Her hands are clasped in front of her, left over right, her wedding ring on display, and a gold case resting on a gold chain around her neck, and her hair pinned up in a cultured chignon. Cosmetics skillfully applied make her seem well rested.

"Lady Merelda, Mr. Clay," Avrenne greets them, coolly composed, and polite. "It's a delight to see you again, and I trust that the journey went well. Welcome to Fallon House. Please, do make yourself at home for your visit."

"Lady Fallon, thank you for your welcome," Merelda says with a smile and a polite lowering of her head. "The journey was peaceful enough."

"Hello, Lady Fallon," Thaniel says politely. "Thank you for the book." Look, he did manners. "Do you think I look scary?" he asks. Just putting it right out there. "I don't want to scare anyone, so I could be short me if that's better."

Finley is careful not to tense, but there is some answer in the fact that he seems to be very deliberately controlling the reaction, forcing himself to keep his body language loose, and also not looking directly at Thaniel.

Avrenne's composure is flawless, her sense of normalcy enforced by what seems genuine calm, as if worgens in their bestial form show up at her door every day. "I think that your, as you call it, 'short you,' is familiar and there is often a greater ease and comfort in familiarity," she says diplomatically. "Everyone here is aware of your dual nature, and that you are in control of it, so if you find yourself comfortable in your other form, you are welcome to take it knowing that it is only by choice not by requirement. But you may find it easier through the house, especially as most of our furniture may be less easily accommodating to your… 'taller you?'" The guess of the other forms name seems to be simply based on inverting the other designator, as would be logical.

"Okay." Thaniel exhales slowly and effortlessly releases the worgen form, losing a significant amount of height - he is now only five feet and five inches tall. "I'll be short me." The change is obvious from his voice and the presence of human vocal cords, even if one isn't looking at him.

Merelda glances over at Thaniel and nods, unconcerned with whatever form he takes. He's still packmate-shaped.

Avrenne's expression doesn't alter, but Finley finally looks over at Thaniel, the blandness of a butler stronger than the mild mannered gentleman for a moment, before he puts it back on.

"As you like," Avrenne says graciously. "Isla, Finley, will you help show our guests to the library? There are refreshments already prepared, tea and cakes."

Isla's time as the world's saddest ghost comes to an abrupt and sudden end as she gasps, lurching forward. "Oh! There are cakes? The little cakes? Like the ones we saw in the window? Oh, you did say we could have them on a special occasion!" Tell her pretty please it's the cute little cakes.

Avrenne nods slightly in confirmation. It is indeed the special pretty little cakes.

Isla squeals, and her voice goes breathless and emphatic, like Sintha. "You have to see them, they're the dearest and cutest little things, you can eat them with your hands because they're little tiny bites." She goes to grab Thaniel's arm in an arm link, forgetting all manners of a lady's escort.

"Oh." Thaniel smiles dreamily. "Is it a special occasion? You said they were for a special occasion."

"It is," Isla tells Thaniel confidently, half-dragging him along towards the library. "You're my first Visitor." This is related with all the heart-felt emphasis of someone declaring that Thaniel is a visiting King of monumental importance. And then she awkwardly tacks on, "Sss," to make it plural. Kings. She meant plural. She winces at the lapse. Sorry, Merelda.

Merelda does not look offended, only a little amused. One might surmise that she's used to handling excitable teenagers.

"That's nice. Your house is very big." Thaniel looks around as they walk.

"It's enormous," Isla corrects slash agrees, opening the door to the library and scuttling them both inside. "There's ever so many rooms, and almost as many people in them, especially if you count one that's surely haunted, and I don't see why some of the others couldn't be haunted as well." If the Fallons won't provide more people in the rooms, imagination bought guests are apparently fine for Isla.

Finley escorts Merelda along behind Isla and Thaniel, unable to stop the roll of his eyes. "Pay her no mind," he says directly to Merelda, that slightly Lordaeron accent still crisping the edges of his words. "Isla's one of those possessing of such an overactive imagination that she sees stories and unrealistic explanations for even the most mundane of things."

"I know what I saw, Lee!" Isla shouts back, but her ire is overwhelmed by the setting out of tea and cake, as she makes an excited eeeeee.

Within the library across from the hearth, not yet lit against the coming chill of autumn, is a splendid array of a tea party, suitable more for children young adults than older ones, consisting of a large, sturdy ceramic pot of fragrant sweet and spicy orange, cinnamon, and anise herbal tea, paired with elegant ceramic mugs painted with delicate stripes of bold colors and wistful specks of glinting gold.

The tea is centered near a collection of delightful tiny cakes: orange and white colored carrot-pineapple mini Bundt cakes with buttermilk-vanilla frosting in a swirl; excruciatingly tiny individual mini cranberry-cheesecakes with gingersnap crusts and sweet and bitter candied orange peel atop; two-bite-size triple chocolate buttermilk pound cakes, with fudge and orange flavored chocolate drizzle; and mini grapefruit upside-side cakes, with the bright grapefruit slices sitting delicately over the buttery yellow cake.

Fresh orange aster and orange freesia decorate several of the library surfaces, cheerful and with only the soft faint floral scent of the freesia filling the air.

Thaniel plops down in a chair immediately. It is the wrong chair, it is not a chair close to the cake. He opens his suitcase, which he has stubbornly been holding on to this whole time, and takes out two books.

One of them is a thick book - a book of Gilnean fairy tales, simply titled Fables. It is old, and gives the impression that the binding could fall apart if one weren't gentle enough with it. Thaniel sets this one on the side table next to his chair and takes out a second book. This one is a floriography dictionary, courtesy of Avrenne, and he immediately begins looking up the meaning of the flowers right then and there.

Merelda laughs lightly at Finley's words and says, "I would not dream of judging a young woman who sees something magical around every corner. Sometimes there is not enough magic in the world, and we must make our own." She pauses inside the library, taking a deep sniff of the floral air and admiring the books as well as the spread of treats.

Meanwhile, Avrenne takes the stairs elegantly, traversing the second floor with purpose, knocking first on Otto's door to let him know that the guests have arrived, and that he is welcome to go see them when he is ready, and then crossing to the other side of the house to do a similar sort of invitation to Ralaea. This knock is much firmer, and the phrasing of this particular invitation is different, where it sounds less like an open possibility and more a not-to-be-ignored suggestion. Ralaea Marie Westwind Fallon, it is important to greet these guests, and to socialize among them for some time. There is cake in it for you.

Otto drifts out of his room as Avrenne speaks with Ralaea, and makes his way to outside the door to the library, standing there, leaning back against the wall to the left of the door against his hands set behind his back, perhaps listening or perhaps daydreaming or some other third option? It's difficult to tell. He's just smiling slightly, dressed in a simple white long sleeved shirt and comfortable black mageweave pants, his strawberry blond hair a poof around his round face and his feet bare of any shoes, only little white socks.

Ralaea reluctantly emerges from her own room, wearing a sullen frown that suggests she was just interrupted from some all-consuming brooding episode and did not wish to be. She does, however, head to the library, dressed in her usual all black, long-sleeved shirt and pants, absent her sword belt. She, too, pauses in the doorway, arms crossed, assessing the situation.

She does not know these people.

Otto reaches out a hand to Ralaea. Rae, familiar person, hold hand?

"Friendship, trust, innocence," Thaniel reads out loud. He closes the floriography dictionary and carefully puts it back in his suitcase, which he shuts. He stands, tucking the book of fairy tales under his arm, and finally approaches Isla and the tiny cakes.

It's a quick trip to approach Isla, as she has moved in too close to Thaniel, hovering behind his chair, trying to get a peek at what he was reading from. She does not seem prepared for Thaniel to have stood up and started moving.

Thaniel offers Fables out to Isla with both hands. "The book I wrote about. Here. Mrs. Marksham does want it back, so please be gentle with it."

Merelda glances up at the doorway and smiles at the newcomer that she can see.

Ralaea takes Otto's hand, but doesn't go anywhere. Now she has one arm trying to be crossed but finding nothing to cross with. It's more of a safety shield arm at this point.

"Hi," she says, the barest hint of manners.

Isla takes Fables with two hands, the passing over of The Sacred Texts, the New Stories Never Before Read, and also, importantly, something Finley hasn't read of Gilneas. Muahahaha. She tucks the book to her chest, peering over her shoulder with conspiratorial glee. "Rae! Look! I have it, I have the Book!" The book!

Finley, in contrast, rises to a stand, redoing the button of his suit jacket by habit. He doesn't wait for Ralaea to do Manners. He knows better. And hey, he knows that hand. "Lady Merelda, may I have the pleasure of introducing Ralaea Westwind, a member of Fallon House, and Otto Renner, another of Her Grace's wards."

Ralaea nods, both at Merelda and at Isla. She does not introduce herself, so it's for the best that Finley did.

Thaniel looks over at the doorway, blinking mildly. "Hi. I'm Thaniel Clay. Are you going to come in the library and eat tiny cakes?"

Otto tells Ralaea softly, his voice a little wisp, "We have to sit down in the library to eat tiny cakes." They move as one. Otto is already blushing in anticipation of meeting new people, but he waits for Ralaea to move their beached vessel through the door.

Isla scurries forward, bobbing and weaving around the furniture — unsuccessfully, she hits the back of Finley's chair as she goes with an oof, sorry, sorry — coming up closer to Ralaea. "Oh, come in! I'm going to read some of these out loud, so you can follow along, and there's so many cakes, come look!"

"A pleasure to meet you both, Mr. Renner and Miss Westwind," Merelda nods.

Oh no, Otto is relying on her. Ralaea reluctantly starts them into the room towards the table with the cakes.

Thaniel looks down at Otto's feet. "I should take my shoes off too," he says, and starts doing that right then and there in the middle of the library.

"You should be careful where you take your shoes off at," Ralaea informs Thaniel, choosing the Correct Seat. "Someone might steal them and put them somewhere unpleasant."

Merelda primly goes to sit in her own chair, and watches the youngsters with amusement.

Finley sighs and sits once more, in his chair. "Your shoes are safe within the library, and the house, as there is no one here in the house who would interfere with or remove anyone's footwear," he says. "Ralaea is speaking in general terms."

Otto on the other hand looks down at his feet with his mouth forming a little o, as he sits next to Ralaea. Oh, no, he's one of those there in the house, and he removed someone's footwear. "Do I have to stop removing my footwear?"

"No," Finley corrects, quickly. "You can remove and interfere with your own, just not anyone else's, Otto."

Isla sits with a happy plop in the chair next to Finley. "Don't worry, Thaniel. Avrenne said you can make yourself at home! What do you usually do at home?"

Thaniel leaves his shoes near a bookcase, keeping his socks (brown) on. "It's okay if someone steals them," he says politely. "I don't like wearing them." He sits down on the other couch. "I don't have a home," he says to Isla. "May I have more than one of the cakes, please?"

"You have a pack, Thaniel," Merelda says, as if this is a correction. "So you have any number of homes, should you need one."

Isla gasps, the book left in her lap as she reaches both hands up to her face. "Oh, no, I didn't realize — I thought with the kaldorei, you don't — " She flails with embarrassment. Oh no, housing. Home not having or many having?? Does cake solve this? She doesn't know.

"Do you have more than one cake at home?" Otto asks in a wispy voice, peeking at Thaniel from Ralaea's shoulder. "Or one cake per home?"

Thaniel nods to Merelda. "The pack is my family, even if we live in different places now," he says. "But I usually sleep in the big tree that they grew for us in Darnassus, which is an even bigger tree. They call it the Howling Oak but it doesn't howl. They don't have any cake there."

Coming down the side corridor toward the foyer from the back of the house are Shine and Miss Curran.

Miss Curran is hugging a stack of accounting ledgers against herself like a schoolgirl with her books; she is dressed today in a high-waisted tweed skirt and matching tweed waistcoat over a high-necked white blouse. Her tortoiseshell spectacles hang around her neck on a gold chain.

Shine is dressed casually, walking with his hands in his pockets and listening intently to something Miss Curran is explaining to him low-voiced. As they reach the end of the hall he lifts his head and listens.

"The Gilnean guests," says Miss Curran quietly. "Lady Merelda Veyne and Mr. Thaniel Clay."

Shine glances down at her and tilts his head inquiringly.

"I'm staff," Miss Curran tells him mildly.

"Fallon wouldn't say so. And there are tiny cakes," Shine says, quite seriously. "Cook was at work last night and all morning, and ye know how she is if anything goes uneaten."

"Well," says Miss Curran, unsmiling. "If there are tiny cakes…."

Shine does smile. He offers her his arm, and they move to the library door to survey the gathering.

Finley notices first, raising a hand in greeting, a rueful smile on his face. Hey, guys. Welcome to the chaos. It's going like you'd expect, probably.

"Then do you not have any cake homes?" Otto asks Thaniel softly, his voice quiet, good for a library. "Which home are you following to be right now?"

Isla leans forward awkwardly over the book, gathering up a plate to shove it into Thaniel's hands. The book slides to one side, caught between Isla and the chair. "Here, you can follow my being at home," she offers. "I would have one of each cake and then maybe a second cake of the best one, unless that's all of them, and then I would have two more until I could tell that someone else didn't like them, and then I'd have all of the rest." Her eyes sparkle with intent.

"I'm trying to follow this home," Thaniel answers. "Thank you," he says to Isla, and puts one of each cake on his plate. He looks up again at the door to the library. "Hello, I'm Thaniel Clay. Are you going to come eat tiny cakes with us?"

"Hello, Thaniel. I'm Miss Curran, and I do believe I am." Miss Curran slips Shine's arm and comes into the room to set her ledgers on the liquor sideboard, then moves over to the seating area and the tea. She arranges herself primly, smoothing her skirts, and smiles at Merelda. "Lady Merelda? Miss Curran, Lord Fallon's assistant."

Shine ambles into the room behind her. "Shine," he says, and inclines his head courteously to Merelda. "Friend of the family. Pleasure to meet you both."

"Isla," says Miss Curran, "which is your least favorite cake?"

Isla looks over the spread with a gasp — cake! — and grabs a plate to stack one of each cake onto it, the tiny stacked cake falling over into the cheesecake from over haste. "I don't know yet," she answers.

Merelda nods a greeting to Miss Curran and Mr. Shine. "Yes, I'm Merelda - I'm here accompanying Thaniel. Pleasure to meet you."

"You must tell me quickly," says Miss Curran to Isla, "or I might eat all of the best ones before you've decided." Her manner is so coolly somber it seems impossible that she could be teasing. This is a lady who has never teased anyone in her life.

Shine rolls his eye at Isla over Miss Curran's head and grins at her.

"Is your first name Miss?" Thaniel asks. It seems to be a perfectly serious question.

"My first name is Annai," says Miss Curran. "A - n - n - a - i." (It is pronounced "Annie.") It is eminently likely that some people in this room are learning that fact for the first time. She leans forward to reach delicately for a tiny cranberry cheesecake.

Merelda is definitely learning this for the first time. She observes, "An interesting spelling."

Miss Curran smiles at her. "It's Tirasian."

"That's pretty," Thaniel says. "Is it a secret?"

"No," says Miss Curran. "Everyone just usually calls me Miss Curran. Except Lord Fallon, sometimes. How do you like Stormwind?"

Isla can't speak because her mouth is full of cake; she has rapidly taken a bite of every single one all at once. How this will help her identify which one she doesn't like is unclear, and this fact has likely only occurred to her now, too far in to turn back.

"Don't over stuff your mouth with company, Isla," Finley says in a low tone, stretching forward to pour a mug of tea for her, and holding it to her in anticipation that she's probably going to need it.

He isn't wrong.

Otto can't get a cake plate easily because he's still attached to Ralaea, holding her hand. He looks over curiously at Thaniel and Miss Curran. He definitely thought her first name was Miss. It's what he usually calls her.

Thaniel starts with a tiny bundt cake. "Do you mean the city or the kingdom?"

"Either one," says Miss Curran. "Whichever you've seen more of. You came through Elwynn Forest, didn't you?"

Thaniel nods. "I like the parts of the kingdom that are outside the city," he says. "The forest is healthy."

Miss Curran nods to him. "I agree."
Ralaea, meanwhile, is working out how to solve the tiny cakes problem for Otto. "Do you know about ogres?" she asks. "How they sometimes have two heads and one body, but they each only have one arm and leg? Well, what if I use my one arm to hold a plate, then you can use yours to pick out the cakes you want. Like an ogre."

Otto nods to Ralaea with a soft smile. "Okay." He looks down at their legs. "Do I use my foot to hold your plate and you use your foot to get the cakes?"

"Maybe we leave the feet off the table for this one," Ralaea says. "I'm not here for cakes anyway."

"I have both hands free," Shine observes from where he's standing. "If either of ye wants me to get ye something."

Otto nods in understanding (?) and reaches out his other available hand to Shine to hold. They can keep up this ogre chain, and then Otto has another Safe Person Hand and cake. It's win win.

Isla coughs and gulps at her tea, trying to get the cakes down. "I-I have an order now," she gasps out to Miss Curran. "I think that I like the chocolate cheesecake one least." That is not one of the options, unless you take a bite of all of them at once, and she looks down at her plate. "Oh no, wait, which was the wrong one? The chocolate or the cheesecake? Was it just the blend?" Sounds like a job for another bite taste test. "Do you already have a favorite?" She asks of Miss Curran worriedly, covering her mouth with her hand to speak around the chocolate cake.

Thaniel nibbles at his cake, taking itty bitty tiny bites. "This is nice."

"I have only had the cranberry cheesecake," Miss Curran tells Isla. "I like it very well, so you'd better taste that one and decide what you think."

Shine, somewhat bemusedly, takes Otto's hand. This was not the plan, buddy, but okay.

Ralaea deadpans Shine and takes a plate. "You're on cake duty," she says. "Which ones do you want, Otto?"

Otto seems happy about it at least. "This is nice," he agrees with Thaniel.

Isla immediately takes a bite of the cheesecake — while still chewing the chocolate cake, and realizes her mistake too late. Oh no. She did it, she combined them both again. She regrets her decision.

Finley isn't laughing. He's, uh, clearing his throat. And going for some tea, yes, that. The cough you hear is nothing. Do not perceive.

Otto can't point at the cakes. This is a problem. He now has to identify the cakes. "The right round one," he says. Otto. They're all round.

Ralaea's lips twitch, the beginning of a smile. "You heard him, the round one," she instructs.

Shine nods and reaches out. After a moment's consideration, he selects one of the little grapefruit upside-down cakes and sets it on the plate. He gives Rae an arched-brow look.

Otto nods. Correct. This is the Right Round Shape. The others are Precarious Round. Strange Round. Not Solid Round. Incorrect rounds. He also cannot eat it like this. ohno.

Isla, with the same energy of someone panicking about which of two wires to cut for a bomb, says, "The cheesecake!" Oh, no, that was very loud. She flushes and mumbles to her plate, "The cheesecake is my least favorite."

Miss Curran nods placidly. "Excellent. I am going to eat a great many cheesecakes, then. I entrust the rest to you." She says this with the same seriousness she might use to deliver a quarterly profit/loss report.

Shine says to Otto, "I'm going to let go of your hand now, since you have your cake. So you can eat it, and I can get myself some tea. Aye?"

"Okay," Otto says. This is a fair exchange. He releases Shine's hand to take his cake, and eat it, too. Well. To take a little itty bitty bite, first. This is the test bite. He looks to Ralaea. "Are you here to be dry?" If not cake, this is another valid reason to be in the library, as Otto knows.

"I'm not here to be wet," Ralaea says. This is an appropriate answer, surely. It is a library.

Shine helps himself to a tiny cheesecake and holds Miss Curran's gaze steadily as he puts the entire thing in his mouth.

Merelda does not eat any cake, but she does watch the proceedings with a faint, amused smile.

Thaniel tries a grapefruit upside-down cake next, because Otto wanted that one. "This is nice too," he says after tasting it.

Isla avoids setting her plate down or holding it in her lap, because that would mean putting it near the storybook. As if reminded of the storybook, Isla leans forward.

Finley avoids the tiny cheesecake like a dragon has laid claim to it as her hoard, and instead plucks up one of the tiered cakes, about to put some in his mouth when Isla's excitement builds and she sweeps out a hand — aimed right into her mug of tea set on the side table. Finley's reflexes kick in, and he grabs the mug, lifting it up in time for Isla's hand to pass harmlessly under it. "Light's sake, Isla, I'm not here to get wet either," he grumbles.

Isla gives him an incredulous look. "Don't say weird things, Lee," she chastises, before turning her attention eagerly back to Thaniel. "You said you read the stories, didn't you? Did you have a favorite one? Is it the best one, or just your favorite, because sometimes those are two different things, I know."

Thaniel blinks down at his cake. "I didn't know I had to choose a favorite," he says. "And I don't know which is the best one either. What makes a story the best one? Isn't that subjective?"

Isla waves a hand emphatically in the air. Since this hand still has half a cheesecake she has decided is her least favorite, what this means is that some cheesecake flings out and into her hair, loose chaos waves spread out behind on the wingback chair.

"Well, it's subjective, but it's also about the audience. You know, the way that some stories, you'll read them and you can just tell that this is a sort of story that is what that genre is for, or that type of story. It fits everything just right. But then," she says, gesturing with the cheesecake to herself and then Thaniel, "there are some stories that you know, you just know, somehow were written just for you. And maybe not only you, but that story is yours all the same. It's speaking to you, not an audience, and it isn't about genre, it's about your whole heart and mind linked into the pages of your story. That's a favorite, even if it isn't the best." She blinks large, round eyes at Thaniel, as if prolonged eye contact will impress upon him her meaning.

Merelda starts to move towards Isla, to pluck the cheesecake out of her hair. Then she stops, and settles back. It's fine. This is not her ward.

"You're an architect, Lady Merelda?" Miss Curran asks mildly.

Shine takes a napkin from the table, no reason, and begins to make an idle, wandering circuit behind the various seated people. As he passes Isla's chair, he reaches with the napkin and, with a pickpocket's (or watchmaker's) deftness, plucks a blob of cheesecake from her hair. Nothing to see here.

Ralaea does observe him, suspiciously, even. He’s probably been on her radar since he became the temporary third head of her ogre construct. She doesn’t comment, though.

"I am," Merelda says with a mild nod to Miss Curran. "I suppose I am a druid-in-training these days as well. I have secured myself a suitable teacher among the kaldorei."

Miss Curran's cheesecake pauses en route to its next bite. She lowers it politely. "A druid? I had heard, yes, that there are human druids among the Gilneans now."

"Indeed," Merelda smiles. "My own wa- former ward, Oslynn, has taken up with the practice as well, though she has a rather different focus than I do. A different teacher as well."

Miss Curran nods thoughtfully and resumes placidly devouring a tiny cheesecake. It should probably not take more than four bites — more than two? — to eat a tiny cheesecake, but Miss Curran primly manages it.

"In any case, you asked about architecture," Merelda says. "I'm working in the Stormwind area, should you know anyone who needs my services. Renovation, rebuilding… and I am learning more of the Stormwind style, though my own tendency is more Gilnean, naturally."

"Has Her Grace spoken with you yet?" Miss Curran asks. She finishes her cheesecake, dabs at her fingertips politely with a napkin, and reaches for another cheesecake. The cheesecakes are beginning to look apprehensive.

"I've spoken in the abstract, with Lord and Lady Fallon," Merelda nods, "but not about any specific project. Is there something I should address with the Lady Fallon?"

"I wouldn't presume to speak for Her Grace," says Miss Curran. "But I believe you should."

Merelda nods. "I shall, then, at the next opportunity. As for my druidic leanings, I suppose I have less to offer of a professional nature as yet, except knowledge of kaldorei history and some small skill at healing."

"A healer," says Miss Curran. "How lovely. I haven't much in the way of healing talent, myself."

"I'm a healer," Thaniel speaks up. He has been staring off into space, perhaps trying to come up with his favorite story from the book, but 'healer' is a word that seems to override that chain of thought. "Is anyone hurt?" He clearly has not been paying attention.

"Everyone's well," says Miss Curran. "You're a druid as well?"

This should be a simple yes or no question, but Thaniel has to think about it. "Almost," he says. "I'm a harvest witch. But I also heal people with the Light. And I can't turn into all the animal shapes. Just short me and tall me."

At the word 'witch,' Shine pauses in his circuit of the seating area. Miss Curran lifts her gaze to his and shakes her head gently. "It means something else in Gilneas, I believe," she tells him, and then smiles at Thaniel. "You heal with the Light? Like… a priest, then? All I can do are animal shapes. Well, shapes."

This, again, is news to like 90% of the people in the room.

Shine, meanwhile, is regarding Thaniel inscrutably. Naturally a Light-priest would also be a witch.

"Oh, are you a druid as well?" Merelda looks at Miss Curran with interest. "I didn't realize there was an existing human tradition. Are you in contact with the kaldorei? If not, I'd be happy to introduce you to Caspis and Imrolane."

"I'm just an acolyte," Thaniel says. "I don't think I'm entirely one thing or the other, though."

"It's a similar tradition, but not the same. I'm a Thornspeaker. And no, I'm not acquainted with kaldorei." Miss Curran selects a third cheesecake. Miss Curran does not seem like a lady who can really put away the cheesecakes, so she is just full of surprises today.

"That sounds pretty," Thaniel says. Did he hear the same word as everybody else?

"It sounds mystical and mysterious," Isla gushes, her eyes alight with an inner fire ready to consume this new knowledge. "Does it let you speak to plants, to thorns? Can you control them, like oh — like vines, like a mystical tower all caught in them, can you make people sleep for 100 years?" Her hands twist up in the air around each other. Luckily, this time, both hands are dessert free. She may be getting slightly off track from the concept of druidism, but this doesn't matter; regardless of Miss Curran's answers, that is what she can do in the fanfiction.

Finley keeps hold of his and Isla's tea, watching Miss Curran with a now slightly too intent guarded look.

Otto has finished his first Right Round cake. Rather than select another little cake, he seems content to be resting on the couch, part of his two person ogre system, listening.

"I cannot make people sleep for any length of time," Miss Curran says placidly. "That's witchcraft. I can make animals sleep. I can… do things with plants. I have never tried to catch a mystical tower in them."

Isla almost lurches out of her chair. "There's one in Elwynn! A mage tower! Avrenne's been to it before! Oh, we could see if you could catch a magical tower! We could go now, couldn't we? You said the forest was healthy, you could wrap the whole forest in the tower!" The vibrating excitement of this potential opportunity to see a fairytale come to life has overridden all previous also extreme excitements.

"We're not going out and getting in trouble with the mages in Elwynn, Isla, don't be — " Finley catches himself just in time. Right. Be a gentleman. Don't call Isla stupid. "Over-excitable," he corrects. "And rude to our guests, who have already been traveling, to have them have to go back and forth the whole day, spending their visit in a carriage."

Isla inflates in defense and then deflates as she looks sheepishly over at Thaniel and Merelda. "Oh. No, I wouldn't — of course. Sorry."

"I can also do things with plants," Thaniel says, smiling. "Do you sing to them? I usually sing. But not always."

"I do not," says Miss Curran, and smiles at Thaniel. "I'm not much of a singer. You should speak with Lord Fallon. He sings to the sea."

Shine clears his throat and shakes his head imperceptibly. Miss Curran eats cheesecake and looks undeterred.

"Avrenne sings!" Isla adds, onto another trivia point to share with the class. "She mostly sings at people, but not to have them do things or anything." This is only partially correct, or at least, for what Isla is imagining.

Finley moves his head slightly, like he's considering arguing with it, and deciding he shouldn't.

"We have plants," Otto tells them. "I talk to them. They're pretty."

"Perhaps you can show Thaniel the gardens later, Otto," says Miss Curran.

Thaniel smiles back at Miss Curran. "I would like to see the gardens later, Otto. Is it okay if I talk to your plants too while I'm there?"

Otto nods.

Isla gasps. "Could you capture the house in vines?!" She asks Miss Curran, and possibly Thaniel and the room at large. "Oh, it would be so romantic, just like a story, where Siamus will have to hack his way through the vines to get to the sleeping duchess inside, breaking the spell!" And now we know Chapter 87 in Isla's ongoing work of fiction the Vice Admiral and the Duchess (text revised).

"I think," says Miss Curran pragmatically, "that would annoy the Vice Admiral very much, and I wouldn't like to be fired for wrapping his house in vines."

"It would," Shine agrees. "Very much." He shrugs apologetically at Isla.

Isla deflates, morosely, sinking into the depths of despair over her book of fairytales.

"It's a rather engaging story, though," Merelda offers. "Perhaps not for reality, but for imagining."

"I think we could probably do a lot of things," Thaniel says, picking crumbs off of his lap and eating them. "But just because you can doesn't mean you should. Um, I think my favorite is the one with the swans. Isla."

"Oh!" Isla's mood immediately lifts, because now it is time to find THE SWANS, the favorite of Thaniel, and she wipes her hands on her dr — a napkin. She wipes them on a napkin, like she's supposed to. Don't glare at her, Finley, she remembered in time. She opens the book over her lap, looking for the chapter page.

Now that Isla has been cheered up again, Thaniel looks at Ralaea. "Do you not like tiny cakes?" he asks her.

"I do," Ralaea says, "but today doesn't feel like a tiny cakes day for me."

"Is something the matter?" Merelda asks, turning to Ralaea.

"Well, there's a giant dragon flying around terrorizing the countryside, and apparently, a world ending cult trying to, you know, end the world," Ralaea says. "Just for starters."

"Indeed," agrees Miss Curran. "So we might as well enjoy tiny cakes for as long as we can. If we let dragons and cults drain all the joy from life, what do we bother fighting for? Defy the terrors; have tiny cakes." She leans forward to select another cheesecake, and then lifts it in the air like a toast. "To hell with Deathwing!"

That is enough to prompt Merelda to select a cake, just on principle alone. She takes one of the small grapefruit cakes, and toasts with Miss Curran with a laugh before eating it. Then she turns to Ralaea and says, "I do think it behooves one to learn to live in a reasonable manner amidst chaos, because that seems to be the world we find ourselves in. I cannot change the world, but I can change myself." She can do that literally, also, but she doesn't clarify.

Finley tenses at the mention of Deathwing, and stares sullenly into his tea before he drinks in part of the toast. "To hell with Deathwing," he says feelingly, mostly anger. "He didn't end us there in Stormwind City. Now we get our fu — our tiny cakes, and company." The curse slips only partially out, before he drinks more of his tea to hide the rest of all that. Ugh, feelings are the worst.

Isla has stopped in her jubilant journey through the book, everything about the young animated girl held still, as she stares at nothing. She doesn't reach for a dessert to toast, or a drink, but she looks over at Finley sidewise, and then back to staring through the book in her lap.

Otto meanwhile is thinking about this, trying to find the logic. "Do dragons and cults want the tiny cakes?"

"They want us to be unhappy," Miss Curran says, opting to avoid the whole Death and Apocalypse thing with Otto. "They want to deprive us of the things we love." Like life. "So it is important to love the things and show them they will not. It is powerful to love things, sometimes."

Merelda's gaze shifts to Finley and Isla, who seem the most bothered by the giant dragon flying around and terrorizing the countryside. "In any case, this room is safe. Is there any reason you have to object to tiny cakes today in specific, Miss Westwind?"

"I'm not objecting to them, I'm just not eating them," Ralaea says. Which definitely answers the question.

"The distinction is noted," Merelda says with a raised eyebrow.

Shine definitely does not smile even a little.

Thaniel starts humming to himself, looking at the others. He's just happy to be here.

"Isla," says Miss Curran gently, leaning forward. "Is it illustrated?"

Isla's head snaps up from whatever dark thought reverie had gripped her and she blinks big brown eyes at Miss Curran before she squeaks out an oh!, and looks down to the book. "Yes! It's — oh," she says, having now actually attended to the book to turn the pages to where she meant to, a tale of how a curse of seven years on seven brothers is broken.

The illustration shows how old the book is, done in inks that have begun to fade over the years, the artist having captured the scene of the lake as if they had a perfect view of it, and then drew geese by description and possibly ducks as reference. A woman sits by the side of the lake, mostly only the vague vision of a figure in a trailing lace dress, half obscured by reeds.

Isla carefully holds up the book, turning it with exaggerated care so that Miss Curran and the others can see it.

"Oh, how lovely and old-fashioned," says Miss Curran.

Shine, less politic, asks, "Are those… geese?" and squints at the odd creatures.

"It's old-fashioned," Miss Curran reminds him a little primly. Old-fashioned people did not know what birds look like.

"I recall that one," Merelda says, glancing at the book. "A rather harrowing tale for the girl, if I remember."

Isla curves over the top of the book rather than turn it around, her hair falling over one side of her across her shoulder, obscuring that side of the text, as she peers at the illustration upside down. "Old-fashioned…swans?" She guesses, her vantage point of up close and upside down only helping in this identification of Water Fowl The Artist Definitely Knew How To Draw Without A Reference, surely. "Geese cursed swans?" She hazards.

She lifts her head up, hair dragging up along with her, as she looks at Merelda with star shining eyes. "Oh, harrowing? Is it an ever-so-tragic tale? Are there evil swans who capture her?" Her nose wrinkles at a thought. "She isn't just put to sleep in a tower after a point though is she, or enchanted by her shoes to dance all night and sleep all day and we only follow some prince around when she's dancing? I do find those sorts of stories terribly trying to read. I've had to fix ever so many of those." Isla sighs with her full body at just the thought. Work, work, work. The revisionist writer's toil truly never ends.

"No," Thaniel reassures Isla, smiling. "She's the hero. The swans are her brothers."

"Shapeshifters?" Miss Curran asks with interest.

"Shapeshifters in a sense, if it's the tale I recall," Merelda says, nodding to Miss Curran and turning back to Isla. "Not willing shape-shifting, and that is part of the tragedy. The girl suffers to free her brothers of it." Merelda tilts her head. "Perhaps there's a kind of parallel there, to the work to recover the ferals."

Isla tilts her head, too, partly sideways as she looks at the words of the book. "Oh! There's a witch in this one," she says, latching onto a key word as she reads the opening paragraph. "Those sorts of stories are always so fascinating. They always have the most strange sorts of powers, and Avrennnnnher Grace, says that some of them couldn't have been written by anyone who knew a mage at all, because they often make no arcane sense, but that's not really the point of most stories, is it?"

Finley scoffs, and his shoulders hunch in a bristle. "There's not much of a point of them at all, far as I'm concerned," he says sullenly. "What kind of story has a sister suffer to free her brothers of shapeshifting? Shouldn't be that way around at all. The brothers should have protected her from that sort of fate."

Isla falters in her enthusiastic perusal of this witch's introduction in the story, and her smile goes brittle. "That's not — I'm sure that it's a good story of it, that the girl is noble and brave and she doesn't… it's not…" She loses the thread of the words she's looking for, and spins the book around to face her, set over her lap.

"Witches are often quite different from mages," says Miss Curran, and then addresses Finley. "I suppose any sort of story might have a sister save her brother. I hardly see why not. Are sisters not as brave? Do they not love as fiercely? Surely it isn't the brothers' fault that they fell victim to some magic and required rescue, and should their sister not have rescued them? Girls should get to see themselves as heroes of stories as well, just as they may be in life. Lady Sintha has been heroic in the 7th Legion." (Even though her brother was kind of an ass about it.)

Her tone is as mild as ever, but there is a gleam in her gaze. This lady shapeshifts into nightmares, Finley. Test her.

"It's about pack," Thaniel says. "About family. That's why it's my favorite. It's okay if you have a different favorite once you read them all, Isla."

"It's not about bravery or fierceness, or saving," Finley says, and there's a hollow grimness to the set of his mouth, and his eyes as guarded as ever, but though he addresses Miss Curran, it's not necessarily her he's really speaking to. "But a sister shouldn't have to suffer for her brothers' freedom. She shouldn't have to be the one sacrificing and going through harrowing things because of her brothers' failures. What kind of story tells a girl that she should have to be that? She doesn't. If all she does is walk away and save herself, that's all she owes to anyone. That's enough to be heroic."

Isla's bottom lip trembles dangerously. Then she stands up with the book, her smile bright, fragile, and forced. "I'll read just the first one, for now, and save the swans for later. The first one looks short, so it'd be the best one for today, a short story for tiny cakes," she says, speaking too fast and too loudly, as she steps around to the desks nearby, setting the book on the surface, and flipping the pages. "'The Cat and Mouse In Partnership,'" she starts, and then double-takes the words. She clears her throat.

"A cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and has said so much to her about the great love of friendship that he felt for her, that at last the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house together," Isla reads, and her face already shows the twisting thoughts of wondering the backstory of this relationship that has already happened off screen.

Miss Curran and Shine are both looking at Finley. Miss Curran's expression sort of suggests she thinks someone needs an early bedtime without dessert. Shine's is his best Footman Inscrutable.

Thaniel closes his eyes, smiling. It's storytime now. He's just happy to be here, folks.