(2024-10-23) The Vice Admiral Is Going To Need A Bigger Bulletin Board

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Siamus has learned of the existence of a group of Stormwind guards that have somehow become swept up into the maelstrom of mystery surrounding Count Amerith, and pays a call on the paladin at the center of one of the hurricanes for clarification. He learns that not only is his world more connected with theirs than he knew, but that the waters of the mysteries goes much, much deeper than he might have suspected. Natalyah continues to believe that the best course is open sharing among colleagues, and Lathrik embraces his fate as a jellyfish (but he draws the line at sparkling like some other world vampires). 26k~ words. Personal Plot RP that summarizes much of what's been happening.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: Apex Investigations

Arc: The Red String Game

+ Show additional content warnings

mentions of anti-worgen sentiment/negative self-view, alcohol

The former gremlin house of Old Town has put on a Hallow's End costume for the season, masquerading as an exaggeration of its former true gremlin self: fibrous strands of "cobwebs" stretch across the front facing windows that have been cleverly decorated from within with lines of paint to look broken; two bales of hay have been stacked to each side of the front lawn and strewn as if attacked by something vicious, with some sort of red paint splashed luridly over them; while dangling paper black bats and paper Duskwood arachnoids sway from their pinned places under the roof in the chilly autumn wind; and paint decorated gourds and pumpkins stand guard outside the house by the flower boxes with their dormant flowers. The decorations on the pumpkins might be unusual to a casual observer, not understanding that two that seem to be of some sort of strange shingled stick house are actually the casings of the Bagworm Moth, a most horrifying image for some people. The rest are all butterflies of some variety, all of them extremely poisonous.

Over the doorway lurks a hanging ghost of rope and tattered cloth, the ends shredded as if by large claws (because it was; Natalyah had a lot of fun and understood on a deeper level why cats scratch at furniture after the experience).

In the bright afternoon daylight of the mid-October day, the decorations are merely silly, a bit of fun of celebration of the holiday, nothing genuinely creepy about any of it.

It's in this place that the worgen lepidopterist goes about her merry business of keeping house for the paladin guard Lathrik, starting up the parts of dinner that will take time to cook, a small pot of apple cider heating up on the little hot plate usually used for coffee wafting through the air, singing to herself a spooky sort of Hallow's End song that can be heard just outside the house. She's dressed in a thematic ballroom sleek gown of deep black velvet with long sleeves, swoops of bright reddish orange cutting across at the arms and continuing over the middle of the dress, spots of white at the hem, a slit cut to just above her right knee showing a peep of an interior of marbleized red, brown, black, and white, of the great Red Admiral Butterfly. She wears a white handkerchief to hold back the dark silk of her hair, another choice from her trousseau embroidered in black silk thread [I Can Embroider The Word Butts And You Can't Stop Me].

Lathrik arrives at home precisely on time, which is unusual. He's often late. The paladin is covered from his hair to the soles of his boots in sparkles; the only thing not sparkling is his attitude as he trudges past the decorations, eyeing the Bagworm Moth pumpkins with a grimace.

Letting himself inside, he begins his usual routine, dumping his sword on the shelf by the door — which dislodges a flood of sparkles all over the shelf — and propping his shield at its base. The moment he starts to remove his armor and notices the sparkles being unleashed upon his floor, he steps back outside to finish the job.

Natalyah halts in her singing, and her cooking, when she hears the door opening, pushing over on her canes towards Lathrik for an enthusiastic greeting, pulling up on a halt of surprise when she sees her paladin in shining armor is a lot more literally that today, and bursting into a peal of wicked laughter as she follows him out towards the door, now unfortunately blocking his easy ability to set that armor into the house.

"Lathrik," she says, half his name, half a laugh. "What is this? Why are you sparkling?" She doesn't seem to be deterred by the sparkles, as she leans in to kiss him, trusting in the fact that he's brought it home that it probably isn't dangerous.

"Ask the Jewelers Guild about their bleedin' clever ideas," Lathrik grumbles, making sure what she kisses is his lips and nothing else. "Try not to ingest the stuff, I've already done that, and it's not pleasant." He dumps a fistful of sparkles out of his boots. On closer inspection, he is a little red around the eyes, from sneezing, probably.

Natalyah makes a sympathetic sound, which is marred by the fact that she's still giggling impishly in between, as she reaches up a hand to firmly and willingly wipe her thumb over one of his eyes to make sure it's clear of the sparkles, her cane dangling by the leather strap around her wrist. "Oh, honey," she says. "Should I spray you down with the hose, or get a rag towel to wipe you off?"

"Hose," Lathrik insists. "A towel will just wipe them back on. I want them obliterated." He is very serious.

Natalyah affects something like a serious frown, but it's ruined utterly because she bursts into another wild cackle before pressing another quick kiss to his lips. She moves around him, her head bumping into the ghost, as she goes to get the hose on the side of the house, currently set up in a makeshift little outdoor shower. "Here, come stand by the hay bale, we can spray you down over it, and light the straw on fire in a big revenge bonfire when we're done with it for decoration," she calls back as she pulls the hose along with her. "No sparkle shall be suffered to live, and you will be avenged! Muahaha!" The theatrical tone sounds not unlike the Headless Horseman's overdramatic speeches and evil laugh.

"We can't light a bonfire here, it's against city regulations," Lathrik says, but he obediently moves to the hay. "It's bad enough we have that problem in Elwynn every year…"

"Fine, fine, we can throw it in batches into the fireplace for kindling, and you can pretend they're very light and fluffy mana potions," she relents with an actual frowny pout. Awww, no bonfire. She turns on the hose to spray him down, holding her thumb slightly over the edge to create a bit of force without it becoming painful, just enough to actually have power to blast the sparklies off, starting at the top of his head and moving down, as she balances carefully on one cane.

Lathrik dunks his head into the stream of water, tousling his hair with a hand to get all the sparkles out. Beneath his armor he wears his usual white shirt and brown pants, and they, too, have faced an invasion of sparkles.

"We're going to be findin' these bleedin' sparkles for weeks after," he complains, pulling his shirt away from him as it sticks under the force of the water. The shirt, unfortunately, has started to gain a level of transparency that white shirts are notorious for.

Natalyah is watching this happen, respectfully. "Mmhmm," she says in that way people do when they're just sort of making noise at someone, and only half listening. Okay, she might not be watching all that respectfully. We might be bordering on openly lecherous. She's just started to help spray down his pants, a lustful dreamy expression on her face when something does manage to ping through the horny. "Oh, shit, Lathrik, your shirt —" The lustful dreaminess now is at war with chagrined dismay, each side competing for space on her face.

Lathrik casts a glance down at it, and nods. "Aye, well, hurry up then, and we'll go inside." He folds his arms across his chest just in case.

"I should have gotten the towel first," Natalyah says with a scowl. "I wasn't thinking about it, just thinking about the sparklies. I'm sorry." She seems genuinely penitent, most of the mirth fading from her face, and she moves a finger up and around in a turn around gesture, as she holds out the hose to him. "Just keep your back to the street, and I'll go get one while you spray your pants off."

"Oi, ye know what it'll look like, hosin' my pants down with my back to the street?" Lathrik objects, collecting the hose from her anyway. "Bleedin' weird, is what."

Natalyah's cackle from within the house is audible well into the place. "If anyone asks, just tell them it's your birthday and you're both a very, very lucky man and a considerate gentleman bathing ahead of time!" she calls back with another peal of wicked laughter.

She re-emerges from the house with, as advertised, a rag-towel, rather than one of their proper bathing towels, her eyes still dancing with mirth, as she makes her way back to him. "Here," she says, tossing the towel over to him. "Now we can look very normal with me hosing you off onto our straw and people can draw their own conclusions as to why."

Lathrik catches and tucks the rag-towel into his shirt, letting it hang down over the front of him like some sort of mini-apron. There, that'll fix it. "I'll have to change once we're done," he says reluctantly, handing her back the hose. "Clothes'll need to dry." For Lathrik, that means wearing his tight-fitting, all black Heist clothes.

Natalyah's smile at him is decidedly impish, as she takes the hose, and rapidly sprays down his pants, the pressure of her thumb giving it a harder spray for his legs. "Speaking of birthdays, you could always wear your birthday suit, while these dry," she suggests.

"I could," Lathrik says, scrubbing his pantlegs to help the sparkles disappear, "but I won't. Still daylight, ye see, an' the only exception I'm willin' to make on that involves the bedroom."

After a moment's observation, he gives her a nod. "We've got the bulk of it. It'll do."

Natalyah pouts, and looks up at the still lit sky, shaking her hose holding hand up at it. "Thwarted by the fact that I can't control the sun, and that I foolishly had you put up a door to the bedroom and the living room so I can't even argue that it's all the one bedroom," she says, before pushing over to turn the hose off, and admire her handiwork. "I have something hot for you to drink at least, and the fire is going. And if you catch a cold from all this, we can see how well my [Abolish Disease] is coming along. I haven't exploded anything I've tried it on in weeks." She's probably just teasing him. Right, Natalyah? You're just teasing him?

She moves along back to go inside the house.

Lathrik follows after her, drying what he can with the rag-towel as he goes.

Some Time Later

Ralaea Westwind glowers at the paper in her hand. She had arrived to Stormwind via gryphon, and wandered for nearly an hour, searching every building in the Trade District for the address written there. It’s possible that she doesn’t understand the address system of Stormwind. Or that she can’t read the words “Old Town,” written in Harvey’s fancy scrawl. Whatever it is, she finds herself sitting on the edge of a bridge between the Trade District and Old Town, preparing to throw the letter into the canals.

“Is something the matter, child?” asks a voice from behind her, as a shadow falls over the page.

Ralaea looks up into a pair of hazel eyes, then down as she realizes this is a man in a full suit of black, with an orange vest, white shirt, and pumpkin cane. He looks a little too well-dressed to just be walking around the canals, but here he is, and Ralaea is not about to let the opportunity pass.

“Can you read this and tell me where it is?” she asks, holding the letter out to him.

The man takes the letter and straightens, reading it over while stroking his black mustache thoughtfully. “This is in Old Town,” he says. “I can guide you to the street, if you desire. The house stands at the very end. You should find it from there.”

“You’ve seen it?” Ralaea asks, getting to her feet and brushing herself off.

“I have had occasion to visit it before,” he replies, offering her his arm.

Ralaea stares at him. “I’m… supposed to take that, right? I’m not a noble or anything.”

“A lady does not need to be a noble to be treated as one,” he says, a smile curving the corners of his lips.

Ralaea mutters something about ‘wards’ and ‘manners,’ but takes his offered arm, walking with him into Old Town.

“Have you met Harvey, then?” she asks as they walk. “That’s who wrote the letter. Harvey.”

“If it is Mr. Morningdew you are inquiring about, I have indeed met him,” the man says, glancing down at her. “I was sorry to hear he was put to trial. Such a miserable business.”

Ralaea eyes him. “You think so?”

“Why shouldn’t I think so?”

“Because most people hate death knights.”

The man pauses, reaching a street filled with older houses; a quiet, peaceful neighborhood, owing perhaps in part, to the paladin who lives at the end. “I find them fascinating, myself,” he says.

“Huh.” Ralaea considers that, eyeing the man with a closer eye. “Why did we stop?”

“Because this, my dear, is your street,” the man says, releasing her from his arm and bowing over her hand.

“Oh.” Ralaea looks down towards the end of the street, where that squat little gremlin house is all dressed up for Hallow’s End. “Well, thanks.” She takes the letter back from him, and proceeds towards the house, checking all the addresses along the way, just to be sure.

The man, otherwise known by the name Count Amerith, watches her go with interest, before heading back towards the canals.

A second gentleman is approaching Ralaea’s destination; this one is coming from the north, the direction of Stormwind Keep, rather than the Trade District.

Siamus Fallon wears a dark blue woolen overcoat unbuttoned over a suit in a similar shade of blue and a tweedy gray waistcoat with a silver watch chain. His blue and silver tie is — you guessed it — jauntily askew, and his dark hair is a windswept tumble. He has the look of a slightly raffish aristocratic businessman. Because he is one. Among other things.

In one hand, he is carrying an unfolded sheaf of papers with a broken blue-and-gold seal at the top of the outermost page. He frowns at the papers intently as he walks, his other hand in his coat pocket, his brows severe. He does not appear to be aware of his surroundings, but he moves by some unerring, automatic navigational system, even at one point sidestepping a pair of amorous drunks who stumble together out of the Pig & Whistle without ever seeming to notice them.

At the nondescript dead-end street he takes the corner sharply, still on that absent autopilot, and moves toward the house at the end of the row. As he approaches, he glances up from his papers at last to survey his goal.

Tides ha’mercy, it’s a bloody shrine to Hallow’s End. He surveys the fake cobwebs, the fake bats, the strewn hay and fake blood with sardonic distaste, and the painted pumpkins and… butterflies? with perplexity. And then he surveys his daughter ward, who has arrived at the doorstep just ahead of him.

He contemplates her like she might be some especially baffling species of Hallow’s End decoration — your daughter is wandering unsupervised around Old Town, spoooooooky! — and then calls, “Ralaea?”

The call comes just as she is about to knock, and Ralaea jumps and spins, looking oddly guilty, as if she is somewhere she shouldn't be. "Fallon," she says, her cheeks a little red. "You didn't see —" She peers around him. Nope, the Count is gone. She adjusts to defensiveness in the lack of incriminating evidence. "What are you doing here?"

He halts and raises his eyebrows. "Come to see Dinnsfield on a matter." He peers up at the ghost above the doorway. "This is… Dinnsfield's house, aye?" The ghost does not really seem like a Dinnsfield thing. None of it, to be honest, seems like a Dinnsfield Thing.

It seems to occur to him for the first time that Reniya is not the most reliable witness, and so perhaps….

"And so what are you doing?" he asks her, setting doubts temporarily aside; perhaps Rae's presence is supporting evidence. "Come to visit the man?"

Ralaea wrinkles her nose. "Why would I come to see him?" she asks. "Harvey sent me a letter with this address."

Siamus' brows tick higher. "Morningdew? I couldn't tell ye why he'd give ye the address, but I was told it was Dinnsfield's, aye." He lowers the papers in his hand, which he has been holding at Reading Level this entire time as though he might just go back to them at any moment. "If ye didn't know whose address it was, what was your plan for when ye got here?"

He might know the answer to this already.

"Knock and ask where he is?" Ralaea says. Probably less asking than demanding, but okay.

Siamus regards Rae steadily for a moment. It is possible he suspects there will be less asking than demanding.

He folds the papers back up decisively and tucks them into his coat pocket. "Will ye let me knock?" he asks. "And speak to the man when he answers?"

Ralaea shrugs and steps aside. "As long as you find out for me," she says.

He nods at her seriously. "I'll find out for ye. I promise, aye? And if I don't, well, you're right here wi'me to follow up."

He steps up to the door — ducking to one side with a faint grimace of irritation, because of the ghost — and knocks politely, then steps back and clasps his hands behind his back.

From within the house, Natalyah pauses in the middle of a story of relating how she had been going around for free candy and ended up with the world's silliest tiniest pouch anyone has ever made for carrying things and hypothesizing what teeny tiny things a person could keep in them (a single piece of candy, a lucky rock, a possible emergency murder rock, a used bullet for telling stories about that time a person caught a bullet between their teeth —). "I'll get it," she tells Lathrik, as she pushes her way towards the door, the closer of the two with her at the kitchen counter in between dinner prep steps.

So it is that the person who opens the door is not either Harvey or Lathrik, but the worgen lepidopterist dressed for a ball, with a handkerchief with silly embroidery on it over her dark hair. The way she opens the door shows a distinct lack of wariness, as she opens and lets go of the door to swing wider. It takes her just a second to go from I don't know who is at the door to hold on, I do know who is at the door, but why is he at the door as she blinks, head jerking back as if a bee had just flown in front of her face.

"Siamus? Fallon?" They arrive as two separate questions, possibly because of the beard.

"Who are you?" Ralaea asks from around Siamus.

Oh, shit.

Siamus stares at the young lady. This happens to him sometimes. Give him a — he blinks and tilts his head, as some of the weirder Hallow's End decorations suddenly click into context. "The — butterfly author? Tides below, lass, where've ye —" He is taking in her appearance, head to toe, with some astonishment, and is briefly arrested in this perusal. "… butts?"

Ralaea frowns. "What butts?" she asks, attempting to get a better look.

"I —" Siamus gestures a little helplessly at Natalyah's headscarf. "Embroidered."

Natalyah goes from being startled to very pleased at being recognized as the butterfly author to going cross eyed as she looks up as if she can see the writing on her handkerchief from inside her own skull. When she realizes which one she has on, or remembers, she lets out a wild, unfettered cackle, completely free from embarrassment.

"It's an old joke. A rebellion against being forced to embroider for a trousseau with an old maid supervisor who refused to wear glasses and didn't think to be careful to check my work or set specific limitations on what I could embroider," she explains with a wicked, impish smile like she knows a secret and is sharing it with them. Malicious compliance at its best. She frees up a hand from a cane, letting it dangle from her wrist as she holds out her hand to Ralaea slightly around Siamus. "I'm Natalyah Kensington-Whit, formerly of the Elwynn Kensington-Whits before they disowned me, published lepidopterist, and the cursed worgen Lathrik is courting." Well, that's a hell of an introduction. "You are?"

Ralaea has a lot to say to all of that. Just. So much. She stares at Natalyah's hand, and finally takes it. "So that paladin finally did find someone to put his hands all over."

Natalyah bursts out into an absolutely delighted wicked laughter at Ralaea's comment of him finding someone to put his hands all over, looking over her shoulder at, presumably, Lathrik just off screen as far as Siamus and Ralaea are concerned.

Siamus is meanwhile definitely processing all of the information they were just given as fast as he can process, which is pretty fast but also it was a lot of information. "Natalyah," he says sagely, like he totally remembered that. And then he realizes he does totally remember, sort of, because… "Hartrim mentioned ye, aye. I didn't — make the connection. He didn't say Kensington-Whit." Which is obviously the only reason Siamus didn't make the connection.

And then he turns and stares down at Ralaea.

"I beg your pardon," he says, to either her or Natalyah or both. No, definitely to Natalyah, as he looks up at her again. "This is my… ward. Ralaea Westwind."

At Siamus' introduction, she is all twinkling velvet eyes with amusement and mischief. "Of course you're Ralaea. I told Harvey I would like you," she says, dropping this information as easily as all the rest. "You'd better come in, then." The tone hits that spot of nearly an order not really a suggestion, as she pushes back away to let them into the house.

It's a small place. Directly to the left of the door is a series of shelves where a set of armor, shield, and sword have been placed. They haven't been cleaned just yet, and so they sparkle with an alarming amount of Stardust No. 2 glitter. Along that wall is a small kitchen of limited counter space — where a cutting board and two steel bowls filled with cut vegetables and meat have been set for later — and cupboards with a small hotplate sort of stove. At the end side is what looks to be a sophisticated electric powered cooler, made by a very inventive engineer. On one of the shelves over the kitchen sink is a white paper boat, for some reason.

In the middle of the room is a fairly nice light brown wooden table, currently set for two with a candle in the middle, but with a line in the middle that suggests it can be expanded to fit more, and the stacked matching chairs next to the wall confirms it goes up to six total. Across the way to the other side of the room is a worn blue couch that has seen a recent restuffing upholstery enough to hold a good shape, even if the fabric is old, with a simple coffee table that clearly doesn't believe in coasters in front of it.

There's a fire going in the fireplace, where a pot of what smells like rice is cooking, along with pinned up clothes still dripping above it, and a bin with a paper on it that says, MANA POTIONS DO NOT GO IN THE FIREPLACE. To the right of the door is another room, a bedroom, with a door left half-open, little visible in it.

The room has been painted a warm, creamy shade of light brown, and there are dozens of little hanging strings of various, and accurately detailed, butterflies in the corners and alongside the doorway to the bedroom. Autumn flowers and sprigs of tree branches are dotted on surfaces in what might be repurposed glass mana pots. There isn't any Hallow's End in here, aside from a cheery looking pumpkin half-painted with a butterfly on it waiting for Natalyah to finish it, lurking in a corner on a rickety stool that looks like Natalyah and Lathrik are not the first ones, or maybe even the second ones, to own it.

Overall it speaks of a place that might have started out bare and depressing, and has been shoved upwards into as much beauty, love, and care that it possibly could hold through sheer force of will.

Siamus steps in courteously, ducking a little to avoid the ghost as he does, and takes the place in cursorily. His gaze lingers on the MANA POTIONS DO NOT GO IN THE FIREPLACE sign and then flicks back to Natalyah's kerchief. Sometimes People Just Say Write Things, as Siamus knows perfectly well, and he does not ask.

The sparkling sword gets a slightly longer look.

Lathrik is sitting on the couch, one one foot up on the coffee table, eyeing them as they enter, and while he wears his usual lazy smile, there is something more intense behind his light brown eyes. Especially as Ralaea enters. He might have a thing or two to say about that, but is refraining, thanks to Siamus's presence. He's dressed in a tight, all black outfit of cloth and leather, and one might, for good reason, mistake him for someone of shadier character.

"Vice Admiral. Westwind. To what do we owe this visit?" Lathrik asks. "I expect it's not a pleasure call?"

"Where's Harvey?" Ralaea demands, following Siamus inside. She waited for Siamus to handle it… a little.

"On the outskirts of Elwynn forest with your brother, hiding from the world dramatically so that he can brood and pretend he's an irredeemable evil creature undeserving of your love and affection. I can show you where," Natalyah answers. "He has a very — " She halts abruptly, sniffing loudly and obviously, then takes several smaller sniffs, before she pushes past Siamus and right up to Ralaea to try to sniff at her arm and hand. "Why do you smell like Count Amerith?" she demands.

Siamus was about to cut Natalyah off sharply, but now he turns that same Sharply on Rae.

"Ye what? Ralaea? Amerith?" His expression is a thing Rae has probably never seen directed at her before, a dire, black-eyed warning. Think carefully, young lady, or someone might be grounded.

Ralaea shrugs. "There was a guy who brought me here, but I didn't get his name. Why?"

"Ye meet 'im along the canals?" Lathrik asks, his expression unchanging.

Ralaea frowns. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"An unlucky coincidence, then," Lathrik says. "That's his normal route, this time of day."

Natalyah makes a low sound of a growl in her throat, as a war of irritation and exasperation plays out over her face. "He brought you here? Why? Did he tell you that Harvey was here? Did Harvey not write to you still, because I swear if that man has backed out of our deal — " she threatens with an annoyed huff that also, blessedly, stops her barrage of questions long enough for someone to start answering them.

Siamus has stepped back to glance over his shoulder warily toward a window, but now he straightens back to the discussion. "If we can just —" He pauses and looks to Lathrik. "'Not a pleasure call?' I gather Hartrim didn't tell ye, then, to expect me?" His tone is… dryly unsurprised.

Lathrik sighs, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. "He did not," he replies. "An act of revenge, I suspect. And you —" he points to Ralaea. "If you didn't come together, what brought ye?"

"This," Ralaea says, presenting the letter from Harvey with only the address written in overly fancy handwriting. "I couldn't read the stupid writing on it, so I asked… That man, I guess. The Count or whatever."

Lathrik gets to his feet and snatches the letter from her, reading it over with a scowl. "That bleedin' dog…" he mutters.

Siamus clasps his hands behind his back again. Go on, kids, he'll wait.

He slides another look at Natalyah.

Natalyah pushes over to look at the letter as well. "Ugh," she scoffs, equally conflicting parts of annoyance and resignation. "No, no, that's on me. I set the bar too low. Slippery man. I'll remember this for next time." It sounds a bit like a threat. Probably because it is. She tosses her head, and thoughts of Harvey along with it, turning her attention instead to Siamus. "If it's not a pleasure call, then is this something about Ren and Tabiana's baby and her House becoming a retainer for yours?"

"How do you know about that?" Ralaea asks suspiciously, looking at Lathrik in particular.

"Oh, so he did tell ye something," Siamus says. Maybe a touch sardonically. He shakes his head. "But no, no. This is to do with Amerith, in fact. And the 2nd of October. I'm looking at… pieces of a picture, and I can't see the whole thing yet, and I'm hoping we can help each other out."

He pauses and looks from person to person in the room. "And I apologize for coming in on ye unexpected, but as I say, I'd been under the impression I was expected. I'm sorry to intrude on your dinner." (With a chaos gremlin in tow.) He surveys Lathrik. "Ye look well, Dinnsfield. I've not seen ye since the Hillsbrad business. And a welcome surprise, by the way, to see Miss… Kensington-Whit again." He tilts his head in acknowledgement at Natalyah, the slight, gleam-eyed, sardonic smile in place. "Can ye spare the time now?"

"We know about all that because Ren and Tabiana are our pa — friends," Natalyah answers Ralaea. She's frowning, and blows a breath up along her face as if she might blow her bangs off her forehead — a useless thing because her hair is tied back — and waves a hand impatiently at the table. "Lathrik, get up and help me turn the table into one big enough for all this. I have a feeling we're all going to want to sit down, and probably get whiskey involved."

Lathrik hands the letter back to Ralaea and eyes Natalyah. "Sure ye want me gettin' whiskey involved?" he asks, a hint of mischief in his smile, even as he moves to prepare the table.

Siamus looks like he definitely wants whiskey involved, regardless of anyone else's view on the subject. "Can Ralaea and I help the pair of ye with any of it?" He's already shrugging out of his coat. That's right, Rae, you are Helping now.

Natalyah bristles, and by that I mean literally, because between one blink and the next she's a large, sleek black worgen with her fur standing just a little on edge. "No, we don't need any help. I can do it just fine," she says, all defensive, as she moves to the table on all threes, where she starts lifting the entire table up off the ground with one hand. Ah, yes, the touchy about help butterfly author. Right.

Ralaea pales and reaches for her swords at the sudden transformation, stumbling back a few steps for combat space. This might be her first time seeing a worgen ally.

Lathrik's gaze sharpens at the movement, the Light already gathering around him. "Oi. Settle down, lass," he says in a warning tone. "Let go of the swords."

Natalyah flinches, and hunches in a curl of shame. There's a shimmer over her skin, and there's the human girl again, sweating visibly as she catches her balance on the table.

Siamus holds an arm out in front of Rae cautiously to forestall her. "Ralaea," he says sharply, his gaze steady on Natalyah.

To Natalyah he says, "I beg your pardon, I didn't mean offense. As we're interrupting your evening, I didn't think Ralaea and I ought to stand here and watch the pair of ye rearrange on our behalf if we could pitch in."

He lays his coat down carefully on the nearest non-sparkly surface: Look, totally casual, guest just settling in.

Ralaea relaxes as the worgen form disappears, taking a steadying breath and releasing her grip on her weapons. She still looks a bit pale.

Natalyah has a shake to her hands gripping the edge of the table, and she isn't looking at anyone, her cheeks flushed hotly with embarrassment, her head bowed so low that her hair falls a little to each side of her neck, exposing a vulnerable curve. "I said I was a worgen," she says defensively, but there's so much shame in the words that they come out tight. "Just because I look human like this right now doesn't mean that I am. And I'm not helpless or unable to do a simple task like extending a table." Although now she might be, because she isn't shifting back to a worgen, and as a human, she really can't actually help move the table; she can't hold onto a side and pull it out and also walk.

"I didn't say ye were helpless, Miss Kensington-Whit," Siamus says, using his best soothing-skittish-horses-and-sometimes-Ralaea voice. "I'd have offered a hand to anyone, including Dinnsfield himself. But again, I'll beg your pardon for any implication that offended."

To Rae, he says over his shoulder, "Ralaea, Miss Kensington-Whit did mention she's a worgen, aye. I know ye were startled, lass, but there's no danger. I've a… good friend, Lord Graves, who's a pack leader out of Gilneas — ye may have seen him at the house in recent weeks."

He gives Lathrik a look that is a sort of silent plea for that whiskey, now, man.

"It's one thing to hear it, but to see one just… appear… I haven't… seen one since Northrend, and they were all trying to… They turned Ben into one for a few moments, and…" Ralaea is now pressed back against the shelf with the sparkle sword.

"'Talyah," Lathrik says gently, "Would ye mind gettin' the whiskey out?"

Siamus, having decided that the Lathrik/Natalyah side of things is being handled by them, turns to face Rae now, to step toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. There, there, lad.

Natalyah, being asked and not told, huffs a breath out, and gets her canes back under her, unknowingly embracing the plot of removing her from the table, and perhaps allowing the space for Lathrik to ask for help directly from Siamus where she would not even if that means possibly hurting herself trying to open the table up as a human. Go, Lathrik, go. You can do it!

"It's not like I don't know how terrifying a worgen is," Natalyah says lemon sour tartly as she pushes her way over to the cupboard. "It's not like I got some sort of ladylike nibble on a finger, and oops, worgen cursed. I got this way because I was nearly mauled to death by a pack, ripped to shreds, and left bleeding on the ground where they left me after they killed my — " She halts that sentence on a sudden stop, and a shudder of emotion, as she opens the cupboard, taking out a large, nearly full bottle of Badlands Bourbon whiskey, hitting it down on the counter with unnecessary force. "I know what kind of monster I look like," she tells the whiskey.

"I'm not scared," Ralaea says defensively. "It was just sudden, and my instincts kicked in. The worgen I encountered started as humans too, most of them. They weren't feral. It just reminded me, that's all. Sorry you got mauled." She probably really is sorry about the mauling, but the defensive tone persists even for that, her own embarrassment at the root of it. She was definitely scared.

Lathrik, meanwhile, does turn to Siamus. "While she's gettin' the drinks, would ye help me get this table set up? Just needs a pull from the other side, I can handle the rest."

"Aye, glad to." Siamus nods affably, stepping away from Ralaea. He sheds his suit coat as well, laying it atop his overcoat, and moves to the table to assist.

Natalyah turns her head over her shoulder to give Lathrik a hurt look as he asks Siamus for help, one that doesn't last because it dips down into an angry sort of shame as she turns back to the whiskey. She's panting slightly, as she reaches up and rips her [I Can Embroider The Word Butts And You Can't Stop Me] handkerchief off her hair, using it to wipe her sweating face off aggressively, before tossing into the sink.

"It's not like you're the first person to instinctively react like that," Natalyah says, and then adds, "At least you didn't keep going after you realized, really realized what I am, unlike some people. I'm faster than I look, but there's nowhere to run to in here."

"Your paladin would've stopped it anyway," Ralaea says with a shrug. "He's pretty good, or they wouldn't've chosen him to babysit Harvey."

Natalyah takes out four glasses for the whiskey, each one hitting the counter with a thunk, but her face has grown a little ashen, as perhaps she considers exactly what would have happened if Lathrik had tried to stop Ralaea, with her two swords, while in his barely knife-resistant armor and no weapon but a sometimes fritzy use of the Light.

"So, Count Amerith," Lathrik says, a little louder than necessary, sliding the table leaves into place. Table is set up! Whew. "What'd Ren tell ye?"

"That the man's taken a peculiar interest, and it's not clear why but ye suspect it may be unwholesome. Said he had a lass doing surveillance on ye." Siamus has stepped away from the table and is casually rolling his sleeves. Everyone here is very comfortable.

"Ilanya Ravendusk, she calls herself," Natalyah says immediately. "She was following Lathrik around in bars for a while. She told me herself that her employer was interested in Lathrik, and it's more than just that. He follows around another friend of ours, Hana, while she does harp busking. And he hired on a death knight guard that knew Harvey and Tabiana before that was keeping tabs on Harvey in Northrend to knowing exactly when Harvey would arrive, after the Count's been keeping the armor of another one. It's not just Lathrik he's watching, but it all keeps coming around back to us somehow. He's just…everywhere. Even you two, now."

"What death knight?" Ralaea demands. "One that knows Harvey and Tabiana?"

Siamus watches Natalyah's back intently as she speaks, a deepening frown-line settling into his brow. He glances at Rae at her question, and then crosses the room to his shed garments again to search in the pockets of his overcoat.

He produces a pencil and a small notebook, and opens the notebook to flip past several pages covered in dense, spiky handwriting. Without further invitation, absent-mindedly lost in the notebook, he returns to the table and sits down to begin writing.

"Jothran," Natalyah answers as she picks up two of the glasses with her fingers and moves the single two steps, awkwardly, with her canes, setting them on the table. "And Harvey said the other one was Kaela's Mondragon's armor." She drops this information like it's just the soup of the day, rather than any possible bombshell.

Siamus jerks his head up sharply to look not at Natalyah but Rae.

Ralaea sits as well, sinking right down onto the floor where she stands. "Oh…" she says. "I know we… let him go. Harvey said he didn't… commit any crimes, but… this Count guy has her armor?"

Natalyah shrugs, as she returns to the counter to repeat the movement of putting another two glasses on the table. "That's the most likely conclusion at least. The Count told us he hired Jothran because he came back after Kaela's defeat all sad puppy," she says. "Not that you can believe a word that man says is anywhere near the whole truth."

Siamus rises to his feet to gaze down at Rae with concern. "Ralaea," he asks gently. "Will ye come and sit? We're here to try to sort some of this out."

Lathrik busies himself with distributing the rest of the chairs.

"How do you even know he has her armor?" Ralaea demands, some part of her switching into angry denial. "Did he wear it here to show off? I don't think it'd fit him."

Belatedly, she realizes she has been addressed, and she sulks her way into a free chair. Fine. She's sitting like a proper ward.

Natalyah starts to answer, as she picks up the whiskey bottle, and at last, finally, some sense of caution must exert itself, because she pauses. It's, unfortunately, an obvious pause of someone who has up until this point been at the ready with her answers, freely speaking what is clearly a pretty full truth.

"No, he didn't wear it," she answers after that pause, keeping her face pointed away from the others while she deals with the whiskey bottle. "And you're right, as a matter of fact, we don't know it's hers. Harvey just assumed it would be, because of Jothran. For all we know, the Count just had it made to spook people. He does things like that, everyone knows his reputation." Everyone noble from Stormwind, at least. Commoners of Lordaeron, probably not so much.

"Anyway, the problem with the Count is that every time anyone seems to try to look into him at all, in normal, legal ways, he just slips away from it. People were still talking about it even when I was a child the scandal of how he just happened to take a trip down to Booty Bay at the exact time when the orcs destroyed Stormwind, which killed his wife and his parents, so that he inherited his father's seat, and got out of the political marriage. No one ever proved anything about him. Everything just slides off him." She punctuates this with bringing the whiskey bottle to the table, setting it down. There. Drinks for all.

Siamus sits again, adjusts a rolled sleeve, and contemplates his notebook. "Aye. He's… off, and after Hartrim mentioned the surveillance and I pressed him on the subject, a number of other correspondences cropped up. I'm not sure how they all fit together, but I'm sure they do."

He flips back a couple of pages in his notes. "So far as I'm aware — or have been — my only connection with Amerith is that we're on the House together. I am assured" — he says dryly — "that I'm a sort he finds singularly uninteresting. But then I find things all seem to converge back on October 2nd of last year, which is when I came home from Northrend to introduce the death knight citizenship legislation, Morningdew's murders occurred — and of course I got embroiled there in arranging his defense — and a lady passing herself off — I assume — as a noblewoman, closely connected with Amerith, was assassinated." He glances up from his notes. "And Dinnsfield o'course became involved not long thereafter by way of the Morningdew business. And now I hear Amerith has some ongoing interest in Dinnsfield for reasons unknown, and that he's still tied to the Mondragon business — which we have reason to believe he was last year, as well, and of course the Mondragon business was part and parcel wi'the Morningdew business, and all of it related to Ralaea, who is my ward — and I'd very much like to know what the hell the man is after and what he's playing at. And if ye can help me sort that out… well, I'm happy to help ye sort your side of the thing out regardless, if need be, but I'd be obliged if we could untangle the whole business, aye?"

He did not get out the red yarn so anyone who found that hard to follow may be forgiven.

Lathrik slides into a chair across from him with an easy, loose posture, despite his serious expression. "Are ye aware the Count had an attempt on his life recently? Two months ago, in fact, on the 9th? The Guard got called in that night. That's how we know about the armor, and the death knight. Tabiana was there, investigating. It seems he is… involved with one of the witnesses in Morningdew's case, one Almeiria Fey. Given your involvement in the trial, I trust you remember her?"

"The assassination attempt wasn't for him, by the way, or at least not trying at him because he's on the House of Nobles or something, and just disgruntled about candy tariffs or whatever. The Count told us when he came to see us, exactly on the day, practically mere minutes after, Harvey arrived here when even we didn't know Harvey was coming that day, he didn't tell us ahead of time, that the assassin was there to kill him because he's been sheltering Almeiria," Natalyah adds helpfully, as she opens up the whiskey bottle, and pours Siamus the first drink, some long ago ingrained sense of hostess duty asserting itself.

Siamus's jaw tightens and he flips a page and begins writing furiously again. "I did not know any of — thank you, Miss Kensington-Whit — that, and moreover I know Miss Fey even more recently than the trial, as she joined an operation of mine in Northrend and is currently serving on Cobalt Company squad dispatched to Tol Barad at my behest." He reaches for the whiskey glass with his left hand, still writing with his right; he seems to be narrating to himself as much as addressing the others, noting aloud the dots he means to align for connection.

"I don't drink," Ralaea announces, seeing Natalyah pouring the whiskey. "The last time I did was at Colson and Mordecai's wedding, and it was on accident, and some shadow priestess put a collar on me."

"Aye," Lathrik says, with a touch of dry humor. "Almeiria did that, according to Tabiana and Harvey."

Siamus looks up. "Tides a'mighty," he swears.

Natalyah's defensive automatic growl at the mention of someone putting a collar on someone is oddly deep coming from a human throat. "Sinners and martyrs," she mutters as she pours Lathrik the next drink. "I'll get you something else. I have some apple cider, if you'd like it. It's just spiced apple juice, no alcohol."

"Yeah. That'd be good, thanks," Ralaea says, sending a suspicious look in Lathrik's direction. How does he know more about this than she does?

Natalyah glances at Ralaea's face. "Harvey told us a lot," she answers the look. "And I'm the sort to ask a lot of questions when I want to know things. We knew Tabiana didn't trust her for some reason, so I asked him why she wouldn't, and he told us about the collar. I asked him if he trusts her, because he thinks she might have more answers about that assassin that we would want to know, and he said he was aware his judgment could be questioned because of how he died, but while he doesn't trust her, he thinks that with the proper 'encouragement,' as he put it, she can be convinced to help put some more of this into context." She gets up, picks up Ralaea's glass, and makes her way back over to the kitchen counter, reaching into a cupboard to take down a large jug of apple cider. She fills Ralaea's glass. Bringing it back is an awkward difficulty for her, as anyone can see, but she does not look like she would welcome any help.

She sets the glass down in front of Ralaea. "Personally, I think she sounds crazy and dangerous, but that's where we've come to of having to do crazy and dangerous because somehow it seems like the Count has already set up the whole board of this so far back that now we're stuck playing his game the way he probably wants, which, honestly, I resent," she says resentfully. "Although I don't think he was expecting me, at least not at first, so at least I can be cheered by that thought before he decides sending murderous Twilight's Hammer assassins after us to see what we do is the next interesting thing."

Siamus lays his pencil down and picks up his glass. He tips his chair back on its rear legs and gazes straight in front of himself, frowning. “I agree that he’s been playing a very long game, and it’s hard for me to see the strategy when I’m just getting a look at it now. My feeling is that Mondragon was the first piece on the board, and if I’d looked at all of this last year, I’d have suspected it was her game. But since Amerith’s kept playing, and new pieces keep being introduced, it may be that it was his all along. Which makes sorting out his initial interest in Mondragon critical. Possible it was her game and he's just kept playing because he likes a game.

“We know Mondragon had an accomplice or accomplices in Stormwind, and it seems likely that Amerith was one of them — the matter of the cannon at Voldrune.” (Some of this may still be meaningless to people in the room, but Siamus is thinking aloud.) “I’ve a source who believes it’s possible he was an unwilling abettor; the day Morningdew was attacked, Amerith himself turned up to the Cathedral for healing, wounded and poisoned. Now, that could have been meant to deflect suspicion. But if there’s been a recent attempt on his life, and without Mondragon in play any longer…." He rubs the backs of his fingers idly against his jaw, still staring at some imaginary whiteboard.

“The source also believes that it’s possible this ‘Lady Ravendusk’ was a plant — by Mondragon? — meant to keep a leash on Amerith, and had outlived her usefulness. If I had more information on Ravendusk — the bloody woman was in my house twice.”

He has a sip of his drink and then tips the glass back and forth meditatively.

“I could approach the man directly, which would be my ordinary inclination — even if he won’t tell me anything, it would tell him there’s high-level interest. Of course, if he saw me on my way here tonight, he may already know that, and being Amerith, he may not give a damn. Or it may just amuse him. I could have my wife approach him directly; he’s got some sort of… fascination? with her, and she’s been able to manage him in the past. I generally send her to deal with him, as I find him utterly mad, and when it comes to House business I’ve most often got my hands full enough wi’ bloody Lescovar and his cronies and no patience for games. I could — I should, at this point, considering what I know of her involvement now — approach Miss Fey myself as I’ve twice involved the woman in military operations and that’s a security issue.”

He focuses on Rae and his black gaze is grim. “And it seems she’s been a security issue for Ralaea, which I won’t have.”

He sets his chair down flat, puts his glass back on the table and reaches for his notebook, then looks up again abruptly as something strikes him. “‘Twilight’s Hammer assassins?’ Ye don’t mean seriously that the Twilight’s Hammer is involved as well? What makes ye think it?” He looks from Natalyah to Lathrik. “I realize I’m dealing with a guard and a worgen, so I’ll beg your pardon for the presumption, but — is there reason to think ye might need additional security? And how long, precisely, has his agent been surveilling you, Dinnsfield? Hartrim wasn’t sure. Or just wasn’t clear. It’s hard to tell the difference, with him.”

"Oi, one bleedin' question at a time," Lathrik mutters. "First, Ilanya. She's been tailin' me since at least the start of the year. I say at least because it will have taken me some time to note the consistency of it. She wasn't going out of her way to stand out, but she wasn't hiding either, and believe me, that lass knows how to hide. That puts us several months after Lady Ravendusk's death, after she was absorbed into the Count's household along with Ravendusk's other maids. D'you happen to recall, during either of the two times Lady Ravendusk was present in your house, a little blonde lass, acting in a maid's capacity?"

Siamus drags a hand through his hair. "Little blonde lass… I can't say I do, no. I remember the lady herself because of the mask — there are too many people at these things generally for one or two to stand out. It was… a charity gala before the election last year, and my wedding to Her Grace. Would've been damned odd for anyone to bring a servant to either. I can ask one of my men, though. And that would be this Ilanya?"

"Yes, assuming that she was blonde at the time, and that she was even pretending to be a 'maid' and not someone else. She's one of those types of people. The person that she was when she was with me wasn't at all the person she presented herself to be to Peril, and the way she talked about Lathrik and Hana was someone who was able to pick up on a pattern from the outside of a situation and draw the right conclusion. It's not like it's all that hard to flatter a man into taking you as a plus one to a gala or a wedding," Natalyah points out, literally, pointing a finger over at Lathrik in emphasis. "You saw what she was doing with Ren, flirting with him and playing a game to get information out of him when she knew he was drunk, and she wasn't. She cheats at her games because she plays to win."

"I can ask one of my men and see whether he noticed anyone unusual in Lady Ravendusk's orbit. He… observes things for us, at events. But there's every chance he wouldn't have caught her either. Both affairs were crowded ones." Siamus picks up his pencil and taps the non-point end of it in a restless staccato against his notebook on the table. "Peril is the tabloid man; Hartrim mentioned him also. He didn't mention a Hana. Ye said Hana's a busker? Have they been involved in any direct way with Amerith, or have they only caught his interest because of their association with — the Twilight's Hammer?

"Sorry, that is — not that the pair of them associate wi'the Twilight's Hammer. Just to return to the earlier… ye think genuinely that the Twilight's Hammer is involved?"

"The man who attempted the assassination of the Count used powerful Void magic," Lathrik explains. "Strong enough to get around the death knight without any real fight, and if you have ever seen a death knight in action, you know that is no easy feat. It was also… suggested that this was not the first time they had seen the man. There is a strong possibility that the assassin was a high ranking cultist, but we have no direct proof. The Count's interest in Peril and Hana is incidental. He likes their work."

Siamus has stopped tapping his pencil and raised his eyebrows. "I have seen death knights in action; I've brought them into actions with me in Northrend. And ye say this man —" He frowns, picks up his notebook, and writes again. "But he was the assassin, and not an associate of Amerith's?"

Natalyah's takes a drink of her whiskey. "He was the assassin, yes. Which makes that the second assassination attempt on him that might be related to all this, one way or another. Oh, there was also the 'crazy redhead' who nearly killed Peril with a rock elemental once who also burned down the Count's Stormwind home. Although, I don't know if that's related at all or just a wild coincidence brought on by the Count bringing fire starting redheads into his home for a laugh. When a man does so much chaotically and on a whim, it makes it so much harder to pin down what's really serious, or to catch him at mischief or malice. Some butterflies do something exactly that: a deliberate, chaotic, floaty type of flight, so that predators don't know where they'll land."

"That'd be Alysson. The crazy redhead. I'd like to say he's harmless, but he's… not, exactly," Lathrik says.

"Alysson Mondragon," Ralaea corrects, because there can only be one crazy redhead guy named Alysson. "And no, I don't know how he's related to… that family. But he's in Cobalt, so I can't really do anything about him. Wait, he burned a house down?"

"Mondragon," Lathrik repeats, frowning. "I was not aware of that particular detail…"

"Mondragon." Siamus casts a significant look at Lathrik and makes another note. "He's in Cobalt? And burned —" He points his pencil at Ralaea, and then sits abruptly upright. "Wait. Wait. Him I do remember. A daft redheaded lad with Cobalt? He had to be… escorted out of the charity gala. The staff kept finding him in bathtubs."

He looks inquiringly at Rae: Does that sound like the right guy?

Ralaea wrinkles her nose. "Why bathtubs?" she asks. "But I don't know anyone else that weird, so."

"Aye, it sounds like 'im," Lathrik says. "Ren likes to mess with the lad, too."

Natalyah bursts out into a wild, unfettered laugh at the description of Alysson as a Charity Gala hazard. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that. Bathtubs, plural. And you have so many bathrooms," she tells Siamus. He knows this (probably).

Siamus nods very gravely at Natalyah, but his dark gaze is gleaming with laughter. "And I couldn't tell ye why bathtubs, Ralaea. Perhaps he was hoping to find a spare sapphire."

He glances down at his notes again. "So Peril Farrens, Hana, the Mondragon lad; that's three new pieces in play. New to me, that is. Interest in the first two likely incidental" — he amends a note absently — "but they are more links he has in common with ye. If I'm to speak wi' Cobalt and Miss Fey, I can look into the Mondragon as well. His relation. It's possible he could have been Kaela Mondragon's agent in —" Siamus frowns and then shakes his head, dismissing that possibility. No. No, Alysson was definitely not a cunning death knight mastermind's operative. "And Amerith told ye himself of this Twilight assassin — the void magic and all — during the Guard's investigation of the incident? Ye have reason to believe him?"

"The death knight showed no signs of any physical altercation," Lathrik says without pause. "It was some sort of… mind attack. And there was one casualty that night. One of the Count's maids. She looked as though some sort of… sickness had taken her. A Devouring Plague, if ye will. It was magic that leeched her vitality, and I suspect she ran afoul of the assassin."

A small shimmer of Light has started to grow around the paladin, and his eyes are more intense than usual.

Natalyah, for some reason, crosses her arms over her chest, and sits back in her chair, with a look at Lathrik that is now all too familiar to him. It's the same look she always gives him when he's keeping bits and pieces back to himself to people who are obviously ready to help with a situation. She will be talking to you later, Lathrik (this is a threat). From the outside it mostly looks like there's a war of exasperation and annoyance on her face, which could easily be only because the Count evokes both those things.

The moment he starts to glow, however, she uncrosses her arms to lean forward and put her hand over his, petting him with a firm touch, her expression now turned to unguarded sympathy.

"And obviously you know that Almeiria is a shadow priestess, and between all that and her involvement with Harvey and Ralaea as well as the Count, that's why she's been our next stop in all this. Whatever she knows, it has to be some of the big missing pieces," Natalyah says to Siamus. "All we know so far is that while we were trying to find out why the Count was interested in Lathrik, we accidentally made ourselves seem even more interesting. Now, even if we were to try to play dead, so to speak, he'd probably just poke us to see if we'll start doing interesting things again. And if not him, Ilanya might just for the mischief of it. The worst of it though is that he hasn't actually done anything yet, to us anyway. It's just with his reputation and everything about him, it's like watching a tiger in the grass that you know has spotted you and you're left wondering how you're going to get out if since you can't make him unsee you."

Siamus nods grimly at Natalyah. "Well, we'll see if we can't get to the back of whatever's going on. And I can hardly blame ye for trying to find out why the man's interested in Dinnsfield; I'd bloody well like to know that myself. It can't purely be his association with Morningdew, as that's largely concluded. Isn't it? How often d'ye still associate with him?" Siamus turns a searching look on Lathrik. "Ye say he's been here and ye've had contact, but is there some reason Amerith might think ye had particular access if it's Morningdew that's his central interest? How much contact has Amerith himself had with Morningdew?"

He is ignoring the shimmer of Light. Keep it to yourself, pal.

"Before we go further, if ye don't mind," Lathrik says, leaning back in his seat, "is your interest purely as a concerned House member? I understand the connection with your Westwind is troubling, and, for military reasons, the Twilight's Hammer, but anything beyond that? This is a delicate situation, and one that involves the lives and livelihoods of a number of people, and before I continue answering questions, I need t'know you're not purely here for your own benefit. Are ye here to help us or yourself?"

Siamus lays his pencil down on the table and regards Lathrik levelly. "Sorry, in what way would this be of personal benefit to me? I don't believe I gain anything from calling Amerith out; it sounds more likely to be a colossal pain in my arse, considering the man and my own present reputation in the House. But I came to be embroiled in all of this last year entirely accidentally by way of some legislation I'd staked my very new, very fragile political career on, which necessitated my stepping in to clean up after Morningdew."

He pauses, considers. "Well, no, I don't suppose it necessitated it. But if ye know anything about me from the last decade beyond our acquaintance, ye know that I'm a man who doesn't set down either principles or loyalties without a hell of a row. So I stepped in for Morningdew, and took Ralaea's security in hand, and spent three and a half months grounded from the bloody war in Northrend to try to put it all to bed.

"And now Hartrim comes to me on an entirely unrelated business, and suddenly I learn it may not all be to bed after all, and I'd very much like to know what the hell is going on and why it's going on when there are people involved that I consider myself responsible for. Including — to be perfectly frank and whether ye like it or no — yourself, to an extent, Dinnsfield. Ye did a hell of a job wi' Morningdew last year, and I'd hate to think we'd dragged ye out of Hillsbrad only to feed ye to Amerith's whims." He smiles thinly.

"As Miss Kensington-Whit noted, there've been black rumors around the man as long as he's held his title — longer — and if this points to either danger to innocent people or some kind of corruption in the House, danger to the Kingdom, then I bloody well want to know it. I'm connected at the edge of this by a dozen threads, purely by chance, but it makes me better-placed than most outside authorities ye might appeal to. If there's a way that I profit in it beyond setting my mind at ease that people aren't being dragged into some twisted game involving… death knights, cultists, assassinations, whatever, then I don't see it. I am well aware it involves the lives and livelihoods of people: that is my chief concern, and if ye don't believe that then it's only because ye don't know me well. I welcome ye to ask Miss Lynds, if ye like, about my scruples.

"If it makes me a nuisance to ye, then I'll excuse myself and be gone, but nor will I set it down — I warn ye I am a bloody bulldog — in which case we're only like to be in one another's way, and I'd rather work with ye, as it's concern that brought me here." He sits back and spreads a hand in an amiable shrug. "And I expect I have more resources to hand than the lot of ye do, and I'm willing to expend them."

His tone is not hostile, his manner not confrontational; he speaks throughout in the same mild way he'd rattled off a random assortment of Notebook Facts earlier. Those were the Notebook Facts; these are the Siamus Facts.

Natalyah makes a gesture at Siamus, while looking at Lathrik emphatically, a sort of see? of support, before she blows out a heavy breath, addressing Siamus. There's nothing sharp in her voice now, and she has the mixed expression of someone exasperated by someone they love, unable to even condemn them for the exasperating thing because the reason behind it is part of something she loves him for.

"He doesn't mean any offense by it, really, and we all want the same things to make sure that the Count doesn't cause harm to anyone. Lathrik's cagey in general, with everyone, including people he's known practically all his life, and used to depending on no one but himself, and that's because he has had to rely only on himself most of his life, growing up without either parent since he was four-years-old. And he's protective of people, that's literally what his job is about and what he believes in truly and deeply. He's aware that we're extremely small fish in a big political pond, so some of the time the only way he thinks he can protect people is to keep things back, because he fears them getting caught in trouble because they were trying to help him. And sometimes it's even difficult for him to believe that someone would want to help him at all," she says in defense of Lathrik, holding onto his hand in a visible sign of support.

She points a finger at Lathrik as she addresses him, in defense of Siamus, her eyes imploring and scolding at the same time, "But as I keep trying to tell him, people can't help, or even offer to help, if they don't know what to do, or that someone needs to know something they know. Everyone has been not telling each other things, and the only person who's getting any benefit out of it is the Count. Sometimes you just have to trust a person, especially when everything they're doing and saying suggests that they can be trusted, like Siam — ehhh Lord Fallon." Right, right, titles, something something. "Withholding valuable data from fellow researchers only prevents overall scientific progress."

Siamus sits forward, his expression intent and sympathetic. "I haven't taken offense. And I understand the impulse, aye? It's a commendable one. For my own part, I went into the navy at age eight, and to war at age nine. I have been fighting in defense of my kingdom, the Alliance, the people as long as I can remember. It's how I was raised. And if ye will let me lend a hand here, I think ye will find we've more in common than not."

Apart from, you know, all the money and stuff.

"Apart from, you know, all the money and stuff," Natalyah points out.

Siamus nods in concession to Natalyah, smiling faintly sardonically. "Aye. Apart from."

Lathrik gazes between the two for a long moment. "Aye, well, I have a condition, then," he says. "Some of what I'm 'bout to say is very… private knowledge, and while I will make concessions to the Vice Admiral based on his reputation, the lass here —" he looks pointedly at Ralaea, "strikes me as impulsive. And Morningdew… the man tries, but he's no good at secrets himself. I'd have the information kept in a tighter circle."

Ralaea scowls at Lathrik, but she doesn't argue. She can't, really. "Fine, I'll go sit outside," she says, "but then somebody had better take me to Harvey."

"I will," Natalyah promises Ralaea. "And don't feel too badly. I'm not the best with secrets unless I really have to keep them, either. I hate it, in general. And I can tell you all about how Harvey is doing, since he used his chance to speak for himself, and he can learn just what it gets him to send you to me as someone who doesn't believe in withholding information for no good reason. I've been working with him on doing bounties for money in Darkshire. He's a friend."

Siamus nods. "Be careful, Ralaea," he advises. "Stay nearby, aye?"

Yes, she is a 24-year-old woman armed with swords. But also she is Ralaea.

(Watch out for fences.)

"And don't talk to any more Counts if ye can help it," Lathrik says.

Ralaea rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. "Natalyah, right?" she says. "I'm holding you to that."

Taking the glass of cider with her, Ralaea steps outside.

Lathrik leans forward again after she's gone. "Now. This isn't public knowledge, and it isn't to become public knowledge, ye understand? At least part of the reason for the Count's interest in me stems from Peril Farrens. He's… my brother, and his paper, the Azerothian Interest, is sponsored by Count Amerith. We found out only recently ourselves, since Peril saw fit to keep quiet on it."

Siamus regards Lathrik very mildly, very pleasantly, very unblinkingly. It goes on just long enough to get kind of awkward.

"Well," he says at last, and picks up his pencil again. "That's… nothing I expected."

He begins to make some notes.

"The only person he told was me, and I've been sworn to secrecy, but then the Count announced while he was here that his initial interest was in Lathrik because he was looking into the family of one of his employees, and obviously, I knew what that meant, even if no one else did, which sort of…made it a lot harder to not explain why I knew," Natalyah explains, wincing in the memory of it as much as a storm of anger at the Count gathers in her eyes.

Siamus glances up from his notes. "And d'ye believe that? That his initial interest in Dinnsfield was purely because of… Mr. Farrens? Not connected to the rest?"

"It makes sense for the timing, in at least something vaguely objective a metric to judge the Count's erratic actions on," Natalyah says with a scowl, aimed at Lester rather than anyone in the room. "Peril thinks that the Count followed the money to how he and Lathrik bought this house, with the funds coming in from the Azerothian Interest, of wondering why Peril would buy a house he isn't living in, for what would have looked like a 'random Stormwind guard.' That's the sort of thing anyone would get interested in if they were also a horrible snoop watching their employees spending their money. The reason why the Count's attention stayed, for that, when he was here all he said was that Lathrik was a man 'surrounded by rumor and mystery.' Which isn't entirely untrue. Once Lathrik was chosen for Harvey's guard, it likely sealed his fate for being interwoven into the rest. Just like how it ever happened that Ralaea ended up as your ward to involve you. I ended up in all this because I got involved with Lathrik, and I pull on things when I see something happening."

Siamus nods firmly at Natalyah. Eyyyy girl, that's how it done.

He frowns at his notes. "And I have to wonder why Amerith was looking into Farrens' spending in the first place. It's none of my damned business what my employees spend their wages on, unless there's reason to believe it's… criminal activity of some sort. But just to trace the man's spending… that's beyond the scope."

Yes, Siamus now also disapproves of Count Amerith for his shortcomings in re: employment law.

"Knowing Peril, they have no official contract," Lathrik says. "My brother is… incautious that way."

You can practically hear Siamus's facial expression. It is not a good sound. No contract. He is in physical pain.

"Really?" Natalyah seems struck by it, frowning as she drinks her whiskey, before shaking her head, her hair floating lightly along a little with the force. "I don't know that they don't, or maybe Peril learned the hard way not to do that from the experience. He had his employee Milo write up an entire contract for me to tell him things for the paper as a worgen in exchange for being able to get some of the profits of it, and he made certain on his own that it contained an entire condition to protect me that I couldn't tell him anything that could cause me any emotional distress. If he agreed to something without a contract with the Count, then it was probably out of desperation, and he's trying to do better to not repeat the mistake or let someone else do it."

Siamus sets his notebook on the table again and slides it forward a little so that he can rest his elbows on the table, leaning in. Now that it is more openly visible to the other two, it is clear that the spiky writing that covers the pages densely is… not writing. Not letters, anyway. It might be… math of some kind?

"If they haven't got a contract," Siamus observes, "then how is your brother still attached to Amerith? What's Amerith got over him besides the money? And if they have got a contract, I confess I'd be deeply curious to know the terms of it, but that may take us afield of the main business, I don't know." He pauses. "I'd have a better idea if I knew what the bloody main business was."

He picks his pencil up to staccato-tap the table again absently. "Don't do anything without a bloody contract. Ever. Ask Hartrim. How long's Farrens been in Amerith's pay? D'ye know?" He pauses. "I'm… afraid I don't read the Interest, myself. There's no crossword." He is absolutely deadpan.

"A crossword! We should put in a crossword," Natalyah says, leaning forward, a bright, eager look in her eyes. "After the next issue with the potential renaming options for the Eye of Killrogg. It could be on things you find in — " She stops her roll of pure enthusiasm for something ridiculous, visibly pulling herself back, with disappointment. Right, no, wrong crowd for this. "Anyway, the first issue was on April 1st, Year 26. I wasn't here for that, I was a mindless ravening monster chewing on Light know's what behind the Gilnean wall. I've read them all while I practiced looking through Lathrik's eyes," she says, continuing on as if this is just another normal sentence that makes sense.

"And the money is a very strong hold, especially because writing for a living is also Peril's dream. He keeps the Count amused with the paper, and gets to do what he loves, after so long not being able to get published at all. The Count isn't holding anything over Peril deliberately, at least not right now. He said so to Ilanya that even knowing that Peril would never betray Lathrik, and therefore would help against the Count if it came to it, that he doesn't care because watching Peril do things is interesting, and watching him act on his own was always the Count's intention," Natalyah concludes. She really is a very lay cards on a table of scientific cooperation kind of gal.

"Aye, it's the money," Lathrik agrees. "I have a… medical condition, let's say, that's rather expensive, not to mention the house payments."

Siamus sits back and folds his arms. He looks between the two. He may be trying to figure out how to phrase something Indelicate.

Natalyah, as usual with the prickly worgen, misinterprets this entirely, as she jerks back like she's been stung by something. "It's not as though we haven't been trying," she says defensively, as if Siamus has implied in any way a disapproval that they just haven't been lifting themselves up by their bootstraps hard enough. (He has not.) "Lathrik's been working double shifts, and night shifts and dangerous jobs for hazard pay, and I've been working bounties and hunting for food. But his medical condition and the house are just a part of it, because I came with a dozen costs and nothing with me but what clothes my parents hadn't sold off, another homeless worgen refugee with nowhere to go and no money for anything." This might explain what she's doing in a ballgown instead of normal clothes.

"Lathrik went through all his savings fixing the house up nicely so I could be comfortable, and Ren spent some of his on making sure we had enough real groceries so I wouldn't go hungry, Elle spent his building us that cooler, and Tabiana spent some of hers on getting us this table. I made everyone's life more complicated, and more money desperate, and now I'm doing what I can to try to make it better. I didn't mean for Lathrik and Peril to end up even more dependent on the Count." The shame makes her sharp, but the curve of the way she sits makes her seem like if she could dig a hole then and there she'd do it and go live in it forever.

"That is not," says Siamus, slowly and quietly, "what I intended to imply. I was going to observe that I have — as I am well aware, and as we have established — an inordinate income, and I would be more than glad to contribute. I was only thinking how to offer, or what manner of arrangement to make, so that ye wouldn't take offense." He smiles gravely at Natalyah. "But alas. I have been told I've got a knack for offending."

Lathrik looks a bit reluctant, but he bows his head. "I have a certain amount of pride around the whole… money business," he says. "But seeing as I am the biggest financial burden on my family and loved ones, if there's a way for me to take ye up on that, I'll do it. We can discuss, if ye like, what I am and am not willing to do in more detail, make a proper contract of it. I've been… relying on people for most of my life. At least let me earn it somehow."

"I would be very glad," Siamus tells him, "to contract an arrangement with ye that is to everyone's benefit."

Listen, even just letting the man write a contract would be worth it to him, tbh. He will pay you to let him write a contract that says he will pay you. Good times had by all.

Natalyah, who might not be willing to take money for herself, and looks very much like she was about to leap to say something, instead about faces and marches down the other street, stomping all the way. Metaphorically. She can't actually do that with one leg. "If Lathrik has to do something for it, then I will, too. I can do things. I've been able to heal people with the Light, and I can look through people's eyes for as long as I can stay awake. I've helped with things like a murder investigation because I have a really good sense of smells and organizing it all out," she says defiantly, as if daring someone to say she can't do things. She can Do Things. "And obviously I know butterflies and moths, but that's never been where money is."

Siamus considers Natalyah. "How likely is it, d'ye suppose," he asks mildly, "that a… lepidopterist? It's lepidopterist, aye? might discover an entirely new species of moth?"

"Oh, don't start up with moths. Lathrik still hasn't fully recovered since I told him about the Bagworm Moth, or that they're sort of a general horror show where most of them emerge out of chrysalis without mouths because their sole purpose at that stage is to quickly mate and then just die," she says, as if this is not a reminder in and of itself. Sorry, Lathrik.

"Butterflies were my main expertise because they're objectively better," she says subjectively. And then a lot of the fight goes out of her, as she reaches for her whiskey glass, and grief and regret vie for territory on her face. "As for how likely it would be for this lepidopterist to discover an entirely new species of butterfly, the answer is 100%. Technically it's already been discovered, that is, but the person who did so never published it, she just documented it for me, and left it for me, to go and discover." Uh oh. Those are tears forming in her eyes, and her lips are trembling as she speaks. She's holding her whiskey glass like she's trying to squeeze the whiskey out of it.

"You probably know of Lucy. Lucy Moore, Priscilla Moor — or Aspenwood, whatever, her sister, your wife's friend. Lucy was a childhood friend of mine," she continues, and there's a shudder to her, and a glimpse of black shadow around her hands, "and while I was on the other side of the wall, she went to Outland, and she found at least one butterfly that as far I can tell, no one has ever documented, not even the draenei." There's another bad wobble, and she sniffles loudly as she tries to focus on something else, leaning towards Lathrik as if she can somehow get to her Safety Spot without either of them getting up.

"It's not that strange. As a matter of fact, we find new species from time to time here in the EK, especially after there have been big shifts of environments. Outland probably had hundreds of species that arose out of necessity breeding that ultimately diverged into a new variety of a species or adaptations that came from external sources like the fel or proximity to the Twisting Nether. But that would be an entire Expedition, and I could be gone for a minimum of months and as long as years, and that would be assuming I could find an assistant. I can't do field work on my own. Someone has to be my eyes, because my body doesn't work."

Siamus considers her levelly and does the pencil-tapping again.

Eventually he nods. "I'd be willing at some point after the new year to finance an expedition for ye to Outland to collect Lady Lucy's butterfly, and to recruit and hire necessary field assistants. More to my own purpose, however: If ye happen at any point, whether next month or next year or a decade from now, to discover a new species of Eastern Kingdoms moth, and ye name it for my sister, Lady Sintha, I will pay a bounty of fifty thousand gold." He pauses and then smiles that slight, sardonic tilt again. "The more horrifying its habits the better.

"As that's a purely speculative prospect, however, we'll meanwhile have to find a steadier source of income. Do you teach? Lecture?"

(She definitely seems capable of lecturing.)

Nataylyah blinks at Siamus at the number like, maybe she accidentally misheard a zero in or two in there. She may also be considering the ramifications of having Sintha mad at her for naming a horrifying moth after Sintha, and then maybe considering if there are enough zeroes in there to risk it.

At the question of teaching or lecturing, Natalyah's expression goes sour, and she tosses back the rest of the whiskey like it owes her money. "I used to lecture, but it was always an entire trial. Getting the job was difficult because the Lepidopterist Society is made up of about 99% men, and they all go around making chums of the people setting up the lectures so the jobs are really already pre-arranged within the society. I used to be able to get some that were meant for exhibitions on the noble Social circuit in Stormwind, but even those were a nightmare. I once was twenty minutes late to my own lecture because I was barred at the door since I didn't have a ticket, and they wouldn't believe me that I was 'Nat K.W.' until finally one of the organizers came out and knew me. That was the last one I did before I decided to go to Gilneas.

"And now? I've been gone for almost ten years, my dues for the Lepidopterist Society are fully lapsed obviously, I don't have the income to start it up again, and now that I've been disowned they have the ability to shut me out of it entirely. The income those bring in are pittance, and plenty of them unpaid for even a keynote speaker. Lepidoptery is something you do because you already have money, not because you need it. That's why I've had to find other things to do, because the skills I had before are completely useless," she says, reaching for the whiskey bottle to fill 'er up again. "And I'm a worgen. The amount of people who will want to go listen to a lecture about butterflies while being trapped in an auditorium, knowing there's a monster up on stage wouldn't even fill a whole row. Or if it did, for all the wrong reasons, of people coming to see if they could provoke the freakshow." Ooooh, someone's very salty.

Siamus inclines his head. "As it happens, I am a strong proponent of the sciences and scientific education. Her Grace, my wife, is likewise. I am in fact a strong proponent of ladies in the sciences" — it keeps them out of wars, the poor dears — "as my sister is an engineer and my wife a most capable mathematician. I'm certain Her Grace would be delighted to sponsor — or to have any of her friends sponsor — a scientific lecture series, and I would be pleased to invite friends of my own such as Lord Graves. The dues to the Lepidopterist Society are easily managed."

He turns to Lathrik. "Dinnsfield: were ye provided with any manner of CIP — that is, Combat-Related Injury Pay — in the wake of the Hillsbrad incident?"

Lathrik shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "There was… talk of it, but I declined it," he says. "Pennings, at least, kept me on the payroll for the days I was off due to injury, and forced backpay into my wages for the time I was missing."

Natalyah isn't given a chance to refuse allowing anyone to pay her membership dues because she is distracted by something shiny, and by this we mean the occasionally glowing paladin she's in love with. The storm of outrage suddenly mists into sympathy, as she gazes over at Lathrik, leaning over in her chair trying to be closer to him.

Natalyah sighs heavily, directing a look over to Siamus. "He doesn't think he deserves it," she explains. "He wasn't able to protect everyone, even though everything I've heard about it so far makes it seem like no one could have possibly done any better, and apparently this is some sort of paladin thing about guilt and self-denial of good things after. Harvey's just as bad." It's an even split between scolding and affectionate acceptance. Sometimes the paladin is just going to Do Guilt About It. Doesn't mean she isn't going to make him have good things anyway, whatever he feels like he deserves it or not. (This is a threat.)

Siamus regards Lathrik steadily. "I understand that the atrocities we saw there — let alone the hell ye witnessed on your own before that — are enough to put a lifetime's grief and guilt on a man. But CIP isn't an award for heroism, if that's what ye think ye don't deserve — although frankly I'd argue that point. CIP is exactly what it says on the tin: Combat-Related Injury Pay. You were injured, Dinnsfield, and you were quite literally owed that pay. It is unquestionably a noble impulse that led ye to decline it, but it's also one that shouldn't have been permitted, especially in view of a preexisting medical condition. CIP is or ought to be an indifferent policy, a strict liability on the military's part; it's not a merit award, it is money you are owed by regulation for a thing that happened.

"But turning away from that, I have two proposals to make ye. First, I confess I would hire a man of your skills and dedication away in a heartbeat, but I understand your devotion to the Guard and frankly think they could use another dozen like ye, so I won't do that. Miss Kensington-Whit mentioned helping with a murder investigation, looking through people's eyes and so on. You, obviously, have a history in law enforcement and investigation. Have ye considered establishing yourselves on the side as private investigators? I keep two investigators at home, and nonetheless due to workload practicalities have three or four times in the last year required recourse to outside investigators — twice on behalf of the Admiralty, no less — and been obliged to hire a mercenary team.

"Don't mistake me, the mercenaries did a commendable job, but if there were a dedicated agency here in the city backed by the experience and ethics of a veteran Stormwind Guard, I — and others, I've no doubt — would be interested. We'd have to work out a contract, naturally, to keep ye out of conflict of interest with your primary work with the Guard, but none of the matters I regularly need investigated are criminal acts, and it seems to me that between Miss Kensington-Whit and some of your friends, ye have the makings of a team already.

"And barring that — or in addition to that, none of these proposals are exclusive — House Fallon is in the process of purchasing some property at the edge of the Cathedral District, and I'm interested in property investment elsewhere. Real estate in the city is at a premium now, as ye know, and values are rising. Old Town was one of the neighborhoods least affected by the dragon attack. I note there is potential in this entire block for residential development. I would gladly take title to this house off your hands for cash while I negotiate for the others, and install ye as permanent tenant and caretaker until such future time as ye find a place ye'd rather live.

"So there are I think a number of viable — and, I assure ye, entirely non-charitable on my part — financial resources available to the pair of ye. We can review them or other possibilities ye might have in mind in more depth later, and negotiate full contracts as to same. But meanwhile, to return to the central matter of —"

He pauses, lifts his pencil to point it at Natalyah.

"And tell Farrens I'll pay for him to put a crossword in the Interest."

Lathrik considers in silence, sending a glance to Natalyah at the mention of other housing. Finally, he says, "I won't dispute our ability to perform investigations, but establishing and advertising those capabilities is something I cannot do, for a number of reasons. You are welcome to hire me privately, but to become known as 'an investigator' is something that compromises my position." His position… as a guard? He doesn't say. "I'll let Natalyah address the housing situation."

Natalyah's has been something like watching a person working on their theatrical expressions while someone holds up a flashcard with the emotion written on it, while also not entirely letting go of the emotion that preceded it. It's only the rapid responsiveness and the fact that there are not, actually, flashcards that suggest that she's simply one of those people that doesn't guard her expressions and has little, if any, guile except by effort that she expends rarely. By the time Lathrik says he'll allow her to address the housing situation, she's such a storm of things that her thoughts are unclear based on her face, except she probably has a lot of them.

One of them is the way she turns a fierce look at Lathrik. "Really? You'll let me?" But she can't stay too long in this because as she tosses her hair off her shoulder, she says, with grief pulling out the real estate for the fierceness, "We've been trying to buy Lucy's old house. I don't know how well you know it. As a matter of fact, Scilla and Birdie have agreed to wait until we can really purchase it, but we've been making almost no headway on anything. So, if you did want to buy this street because you're doing that, then maybe that works out, because it's not like we could really stop you anyway." This author would like to point out that also, it's not like she's trying very hard to do that, or even at all. A man might suspect she's even using this as an excuse to not fight against something she actually does want.

"As for an investigator, Lathrik can't, but Peril could. He does investigative journalism already. I know that the Azerothian Interest is all a bit of silliness, it's meant to be absurdist and humorist, but if you look closely you can see how much he really does, like how much he knew about one of those Cultists or whatever from all that business with Harvey. The man was already dead, and Peril went and found out about all his old habits of where he fed stray cats and that he was frightened of dogs," she points out.

"And you're right," she tells Siamus, and there's an electric sort of air to her now, the soon to come crackle of lightning with a summer storm, "I haven't really thought of it, but what I do is investigate butterflies, which often involves a lot of surveillance and patience, and now I have some things I can do that I couldn't before. Private investigation isn't all that common. It's not as much of a trying to elbow into things as bounties or hunting, or even the Guard when people aren't just looking for help with a crime. It's not likely to be steady work either, but nothing I've been trying to do is."

Siamus weighs Lathrik in his gaze, and then looks between the pair of them in silence. It looks very much like he wants to ask why Lathrik cannot be an investigator.

But he does not. He turns his notebook over, opens to a back page, and begins to write — not in weird spiky math-code but normal handwriting. As he writes, he says, "I am opening negotiations to buy this entire street. I am willing to pay ye one and two-thirds times what your purchase price was on this house to account for the increased property value in the neighborhood in the aftermath of the dragon attack. I will not be negotiated upward from that because I will be paying in a cash lump sum, and the time value of money renders that of substantially more worth than if I were to arrange ordinary financing with ye. Who is the owner of record on the title?" He looks to Lathrik inquiringly.

"That'd be Peril," Lathrik says. "I was… on the street before he guilted me in here."

Siamus nods and drops his gaze to the page again. "Ye do seem to get a long way on guilt. A paladin affliction, I assume? I'm not over-familiar wi' the species, but I'll have to remember it for future dealings." His hand stops moving for a moment and he looks up at Natalyah. "Joking," he says. Don't worry, he's not going to exploit your boyfriend's conscience, ma'am.

To Lathrik he says, "Ye understand it's him I'll be paying, then? So if the money's meant for your household, either he'll have to transfer title to ye before ye sell to me, or he'll have to arrive at an agreement directly with ye to share out the funds."

He tears the sheet out of his notebook and slides it over to Lathrik. In a distinctive, angular calligraphic hand, it says basically what Siamus just did: Heretofore on this 23rd day of October, Year 28, Siamus Fallon agrees to pay to Peril Farrens the sum of his total original purchase price for the property at [address] plus an additional two-thirds that amount, full contract to come, V. Adm. Siamus Fallon.

"I will need to meet the man, of course," he says. "Both to finalize this arrangement and if he's to begin working with Miss Kensington-Whit as an investigator." To Natalyah, he says, "As to it not being steady work, as I expect ye to be able to investigate matters at my behest on an as-needed basis, I will naturally be paying the agency a monthly retainer."

Natalyah almost misses Siamus' joking, because she's busy looking at Lathrik with that odd mix of compassion and aggrieved scolding. How dare you mistreat yourself, Lathrik, and also she understands why you might have felt like you had no choice. As it is, the glance she gives Siamus is a tie between paladins, amirite? and how dare you, sir, and ends up a strange mixture of the both.

She frowns at the offer of a retainer, and narrows her eyes at Siamus. "That sounds like you're just paying us money for no reason at all, and if we did have to then drop everything we're doing when you did decide you need something 'investigated,' it would mean giving up something else for it, and that we couldn't say no. Us starting up an investigative side business is one thing, but at your beck and call is another," she says archly. One might suspect that Natalyah Kensington-Whit does not do so great with taking orders.

And then she wilts, all the earlier excitement of a solution for something that could bring in money vanishing into a bitterness that drags the vitality out of her. "But even with something like a business like that in concept, it'd probably be pointless to have me in it on the front. The list of people who would show up, realize that there was a worgen in there, and turn right back around combined with those who would think it was fine, so long as I didn't shift, which would make me almost useless, would mean that we would probably get no business at all. I could only help on a case-by-case, or I'd drag the whole thing down with me. That's why Harvey and I have Bren with us. He's the one who has to get the bounties, or sometimes we can't get them at all, because they don't want to hire on monsters." The shame curl is back, with an extra bonus heaping of guilt. She also should probably stop calling herself that, but she's in a Mood.

Siamus watches her for a moment, neutral.

"First of all," he says, "I assure ye that a retainer is standard practice; you're welcome to check elsewhere. I do not expect ye to drop everything or be at my beck, only to be reasonably available. If an investigation of mine is urgent, I will make that clear. If it isn't, I will make that clear. I assure ye that a majority of them are non-urgent and potentially even tedious. You're welcome.

"As to the worgen matter — as I referenced earlier but ye may not yourself be aware of in its particulars, the matter that drew me into all of this last year was when I returned home from the war in Northrend to introduce legislation in the House of Nobles to extend Stormwind citizenship to the death knights. The situation as regards worgen is of similar political interest to me — moreso, one might say, as Gilneas is a kingdom that broke with the Alliance and is now being brought back to the fold. Kul Tiras is likewise a kingdom that has broken wi'the Alliance, and it is my greatest personal hope to see it someday returned, and the manner in which we handle this now will set a precedent. Gilnean rights and integration are a thing I feel very strongly about, and that means I feel very strongly about the issue of worgen integration in general, Gilnean or no, because obviously Gilneas will not be fully embraced by the people of the Alliance until the worgen have been.

"One of my very dearest friends, Captain Zath Tyrrell of the 7th Legion, is a non-Gilnean worgen who was turned during the 7th's recent action in Silverpine. Ye will not find a man with more integrity or strength of character, and I will not see him shunned or disrespected. Lukas Rhenardt, Lord Graves, whom I mentioned earlier, is a Gilnean worgen and pack leader. He is a close friend of mine and is working with Her Grace, my wife, to address worgen political and public relations. I have recently taken on a Gilnean worgen officer, Lieutenant Eulysses Reeve, in my own fleet. The reason I am buying this street for redevelopment is that I am working with a Gilnean worgen architect, Lady Merelda Veyne, who is at the moment designing a new city townhouse for my family, and whose work I wish to showcase elsewhere. I am keenly interested, ye understand, in seeing worgen at the forefront of businesses and in the public sphere, because that is how we make strides toward worgen acceptance, and once again my political career is nailed to the issue.

"So I assure ye that I would very much like to hire ye to manage a private investigation agency in the city, to demonstrate not merely a standard degree of business and investigative acumen but also the unique skills that being a worgen can bring to bear, and to add additional worgen representation in local businesses and trades. If ye do not feel equal to the task, however, in the face of public misgiving, I do understand, and would not ask ye to risk your personal comfort."

Of all the things Siamus could have said, an implication that maybe Natalyah couldn't do the thing, that she might not be equal to the task is what lights so obvious a fire in her that if had actually manifested, Siamus would have had his own other instinctual responses, and the way she rises up to a stand, leaning over the table, hands on the edges of them and such a fierceness in her that even without an ounce of fur showing there's an awareness that she isn't exactly human anymore, as she rises to the Dare literally and metaphorically.

"I have fought against what's comfortable, and the way things have been, as soon as I realized that I could for the things I want to do. You don't join a Society dominated by men who think they know everything and show them how they're wrong and prove it, or spend years learning how to use Shadow to see through someone's eyes because you can't do fieldwork for something that needs it, or go into a kingdom walling itself up to study a butterfly everyone else thinks is too elusive to document because you like taking the easy way," she declares, equal parts prideful and defensive. "If you're going to open an investigative agency with a worgen for your political agenda, I am a worgen and not hiding it. I am good at what I do, and I don't shy away from having to learn how to do more or find a solution no one else has before. Science and progress happen because we don't just accept the answer of because it hasn't been done before that means it can't be done."

Wait, is she now trying to argue that Siamus should hire her? From the offer of him starting there? Ah, well. We got here somehow.

Lathrik sits back in his chair in silence, watching Siamus. It's possible he's rooting for him. It's also possible that he's opting not to say anything to make it worse. Good luck, buddy.

Siamus again sits neutrally for a moment, and then nods. Sure, yes, let's pretend that was a job interview. "Well, then," he says. "It seems to me you're the ideal candidate for the role, Miss Kensington-Whit."

He waits to see if that sets off further fireworks. He may be waiting with a little more interest and a little less trepidation than is healthy.

She seems mollified, rather than ruffled, another data point for where she zigs and where she zags. "We'll still have to talk to Peril, when he gets back from wherever he's gone to now. He might have an entire other plan for what he wants to do," she says. "We also need to — " She halts abruptly. "Shit." They need to do what now?

She moves with such sudden speed that someone who wasn't used to how fast a worgen in dark flight can be, and even one who is used to it, might find it alarming. She's at the fireplace hooking a cane on the metal and swinging the crane with the pot hanging over it out of the fire before anyone can do much more than wonder at her sentence with profanity relates to what she's now doing. The rice, having hit the point of no more water through steam and absorption, has only just started to burn, the scent barely perceptible at all in the air, unless one's working with different senses. Right, she was making dinner before All Of This.

Lathrik's gaze follows her to the fireplace, and he relaxes once he gleans the cause of her distress. Oh right, that cooking thing. He returns his attention to Siamus. "Finances aside," he says. "If ye do confront Count Amerith directly, it's possible he'll mention that there were two… other intruders, the same night as the assassination attempt."

"Oh, aye?" Siamus' dark gaze sharpens. "And what d'ye know about them?"

"I know them both personally, and they'd prefer to remain anonymous, if ye catch my meaning," Lathrik says carefully. "One of them was a paladin who saved the Count's life. He has not confirmed the identities of either intruder himself, but naturally he has his suspicions, given the rapid response time of the Stormwind Guard that night."

Siamus leans forward to put his elbows on the table again. He's still regarding Lathrik intently, but the glint in his gaze looks more like… amusement than anything else. "I can see how such a peculiar coincidence might give the man a suspicion. If ye were to hazard a guess, what d'ye think these unidentified perpetrators might have been after, and is it your belief they found it?"

Natalyah moves the rice pot off the crane with a pot holder, and then bursts into a sudden peal of a wild little laugh. "Sorry, it's not the question," she explains. "His middle name is 'Hazard.' So, Lathrik Hazard a guess."

Siamus has straightened to look toward Natalyah, and now he turns to Lathrik again. The amusement in his expression is plain now, if mingled with incredulity. "Your… I beg your pardon — your middle name is Hazard? And ye have a brother named… Peril?"

"And he's in a relationship with me," Natalyah relates cheerfully. "So you can tell he was made for trouble and danger."

Siamus puts his head back and laughs that helpless, warm, surprised-by-delight laugh of his. He falls back in his chair to lay a hand against his chest and laugh until he has to catch his breath, and then he just grins at Lathrik.

Lathrik waits for the other man to be finished before clearing his throat and muttering, "Aye, we've got danger names, runs in the family, apparently. Back to your question. One of the intruders was only there to extract the other, in an effort to keep the first from doing something foolish, which did not, ye understand, entirely succeed. The other found something of note, but your own interests may set ye opposite of ours in the matter of how to handle the information, and we do not, ourselves, have enough of it to argue any particular point."

"It might also occur to mention that the response of the guard that night was extremely quick, much faster than it could have been even if a person who was there rode very quickly back to the city, as if someone who was also here in Stormwind was there at the Count's, or able to see what was going on, and tell the guard here to get help for the Count," Natalyah says. "Which is what did happen. The Count might be a menace, but he's still our menace, a citizen of Stormwind and on the House of Nobles, and there are some people who take their job absolutely seriously and with the fullest integrity, even when the person they're guarding is shifty and possibly dangerous."

Siamus sits forward again — looking unrepentant about the laughter, which to be fair was mostly at Natalyah — and picks up his pencil once more to tap the end of it on the table. He nods thoughtfully. "I have full faith in the integrity of… certain of the Guard, aye. And as a citizen of Stormwind and member of the House of Nobles, I must say I appreciate the work they do, even on behalf of… shifty and potentially dangerous individuals.

"My question to ye, I suppose, Dinnsfield, is that if we both understand that I do possess full faith in the integrity of certain of the Guard, and am no more inclined to obstruct an investigation of theirs than I would expect them to tell me how to conduct a naval campaign, how shall we resolve the question of whether our interests are opposed in the matter and what the outcome of such an opposition might be?" He manages to keep an entirely straight face, not even an eye-gleam, as he adds gravely, "If ye might hazard a guess."

Natalyah doesn't even remotely try to keep a straight face, probably because she isn't really capable of it. She lets out another wicked laugh, as she moves the rice out of the cooking pot and into a bowl, transferring the meat and vegetables she cut earlier into it.

"There is information that could lead a person to hang for desertion," Lathrik says. "Your views on that matter will tell me what I can disclose to you."

Natalyah stops laughing but she also looks genuinely confused, as she sets down the bowl. "Wait, what? Which part could do that?" she asks. She doesn't know military stuff.

Siamus sobers. He sits back and folds his arms across his chest, contemplating Lathrik.

"All right," he says finally. "And I understand your reservations, naturally, as I am also a military man. So let me ask you, Dinnsfield: Setting aside whatever ye believe the letter of the law may read in this case, is it your personal opinion that a hanging for desertion would be the just and proper outcome in the matter?"

Lathrik shrugs, leaning back. "I do not have enough information or context to provide an answer to that," he says. "All I can say is that, for personal reasons, I'd prefer that the hanging not occur."

Natalyah catches on. "Oh, because — " She bites her lip on the next words, considering before she just blurts it out. Instead, she sets her cooking down and balances very carefully against the kitchen counter to free up both hands as she signs to Lathrik in her little made up sign language Count knows. Use against you, blackmail. Timing bad when Count do thing. Siamus could help protect. Trust him.

Interesting. Apparently looking through people's eyes, using the Light, and turning into a giant wolf-beast aren't all the skills the lepidopterist has.

Siamus, who has turned to watch Natalyah blandly, sharpens in that intent way again. He continues to consider her for a narrow moment before turning back to Lathrik. "D'ye need a few moments to consider the lady's advice?" he asks.

"Seeing as the Count has, or has ways of getting more information, perhaps to use as blackmail, 'Talyah thinks I should trust ye," Lathrik says. "So I'll ask ye plain. Do you think I should trust ye with it?"

"Obviously," says Siamus. "I think everyone should trust me with everything. I'm the trustworthiest man I know. Setting aside my implicit bias, however — if you, the current possessor of this information, lack sufficient total information or context to know whether desertion is the just and proper verdict, I can't see how I could possibly be any more certain of that than you are. And while I am a military man and a man for law and order above all, I happen to know ye for the same; I also happen to be a man disinclined to rush to judgment, and ye may take my involvement in the Morningdew case as evidence of that if ye like. A decent respect for law and order means making sure ye have your facts and apply them fairly."

"And we can't be certain that the Count isn't going to just drop the information regardless of context when you do know why at the worst possible moment that he could. He has enough to do harm with it already, and Siamus could at least try to help, if he knew why, when the time comes one way or another," Natalyah says. "Or just send in his wife, the Duchess, like he said. She's terrifying, and does things with words to people, and probably could topple anything the Count did until somehow it turned out The Person was getting a medal instead of a court martial or whatever it is for these things." She catches herself a moment after she's done saying it, and considering what a man might find insulting about his wife. "I don't mean any offense by terrifying. I've just found myself on the receiving end of it and I still don't know how I agreed to come to Scilla's wedding."

Siamus smiles warmly at Natalyah. "Not at all. Her Grace is terrifying." He says this the way another man might observe his wife is beautiful.

"Not the sort of Lady I'd prefer to end up on the wrong side of," Lathrik observes. He takes a moment to consider, then starts taking off his shirt.

Siamus sits up. Neat.

Natalyah's mood starts to improve markedly.

"There's context ye need," Lathrik says as he untangles himself from his upper clothing to reveal the slightly glowing purple rune on his chest. "The mark's from my mother. Peril and I were children when Stormwind fell, and we didn't make it to Lordaeron as many others did. Our father, we were told, died sometime prior to the fall of the city, so it was us and our mother, until a small group of orcs found us. In some desperate attempt to save us, our mother reached for the orcs' own magic and slew them with it, but, as ye may know, the Void takes its toll on a person's mind. She gave me this mark, and left us. I'm told she's since joined the Twilight's Hammer.

"My father, as we discovered recently, is not, in fact, dead, but nor has he returned to the service of the Alliance or received any official dismissal from service. The Count located him in an area between Arathi and the Wetlands, and our own attempts to summon him confirmed that he is alive. Any further explanation for his failure to return, I planned to ask the man directly, though I suspect he is pursuing our mother. His name, for the record, is Fray Farrens."

Natalyah is listening to this story that she already knows while she observes Lathrik's bare chest respectfully. Well, not really that respectfully. The combination of the tighter black pants and the no shirt is definitely delaying dinner for at least several minutes is all I'm saying.

Siamus also spends several moments observing Lathrik's bare chest respectfully (not even close), but as the story progresses his attention shifts and his manner turns grave. He folds his arms and cants his head to listen. When Lathrik is finished, he sits for a moment, his brows drawn together, and then nods. "Several things," he says. "First: Your concern is your father's being convicted of desertion, aye? For absenting himself prior to the fall of Stormwind in the First War?"

"Aye," Lathrik says. "I've no proof as of yet that he hasn't proven disloyal to the Kingdom in various ways during his absence, as I have only recently learned the man's alive. It's been a number of years, and he's still thought dead to most."

Natalyah, who would otherwise usually just admire Lathrik continuing to answer questions this way, stops her ogling long enough to remember how difficult this must be for him to make her way over to him, getting deliberately in between Siamus' observation and Lathrik's bared chest, moving her face towards his to nuzzle her cheek against his, a bit more like a wolf than a woman might. "You can put your shirt back on, honey," she tells him, a little gentle rain tone she hasn't used yet that makes her feelings towards the man very obvious.

"I did, actually, have a further question about — " Siamus realizes that his question does not actually require Lathrik to remain shirtless, and he tries not to pout about it. " — We'll come back to that.

"As to the desertion issue: You're correct that we've neither sufficient information nor context. There's decades gone between then and now, and anything might have happened, for good or ill. My understanding — and mind ye I wasn't a mainlander yet so I didn't witness it [also he was six years old, but you know] — is that the fall of Stormwind and subsequent flight north were absolute bloody pandemonium, and it seems doubtful to me that in the wake of the city's collapse there are even clear personnel records from that time. Certainly we can investigate that much, if ye haven't yet done."

Lathrik pulls his shirt back on in extreme haste, and does not respond until he is settled again. "The records are a mess," he agrees at last. "We questioned some veterans on it some time back, and all we heard was that his unit was said to've been wiped out to the man. But given that, no one was able to account for it personally, that every last one of them was fully dead."

Siamus nods thoughtfully, his gaze gone abstract and ruminative now that no one is half-naked to distract him.

Natalyah, because she's in the neighborhood, kisses Lathrik firmly on the cheek once he's settled back into it. "We know that somehow Lathrik's curse and the Count are connected through more than just interest because of what — ugh, 'the Watcher,' saw during the attempt to learn more. Sinners and martyrs, are we really going to keep up the ruse that we don't all know what we're talking about? Because it gets ridiculous after a point," she says as she moves back over to the kitchen counter, taking over the jar of apple cider and pouring it into a pot on the little hot plate.

"It's not just that I can look through someone's eyes. I learned how to read lips, and I can take notes while I do it as well, and I have an entire written account of everything that happened, even more information than just what can be seen, because as you saw, we have a signed language we can use for things like sounds or smells. What's important is that the assassin, when he attacked 'the Paladin' with shadow magic, noticed something about him, like a shadow mark already there. He said, 'hers,' and stopped attacking. Whoever attacked the Count is also connected to Lathrik and Peril's mother enough to recognize her handiwork, which means somehow Almeiria is connected as well, and now the Count has a lot of reasons to see what we do."

Lathrik sighs and slumps over onto the table. He gives up.

It's for the best, Lathrik. Just let it happen.

Siamus shifts in his seat to put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, massaging his temples. "Aye," he says finally. "All right. Give me a minute."

He reaches for the notebook and pencil and begins scrawling in a fast and fluent hand more of the angular math-like stuff. "So it was the pair of ye plus Hartrim — though you were only present as a remote viewer and translator, Miss Kensington-Whit, but ye do consequently have… a complete written record of the events. The mark on Dinnsfield is a… curse, ye say? I'd like to know —" He pauses, pencil poised, to mentally arrange the things he'd like to know.

"First: What manner of curse and what are its effects? I'm assuming from what ye say that it's void-related in some way, but…. Second: Confirming that ye have reason to believe not just that your father but also that your mother is alive, and that she's Twilight's Hammer and known in some way to the assassin. Third: That being the case, d'you believe the attempt on Miss Fey and/or the Count was related explicitly, in fact, to your parents? If so, why? Fourth: What were ye doing in Amerith's house on all this business in the first place? Surely ye don't just wander the noble houses of Stormwind looking for loose information about your family. Or if ye do, I'll just advise ye now that I haven't got any. And fifth: Apart from the fact he's a bloody madman who's been surveilling Dinnsfield, do we have reason to believe — insofar as this business goes, at least — that Amerith is a malfeasor in this business rather than a victim himself?"

Lathrik waits for Natalyah to jump in. He is just a loose jelly on the table, don't mind him.

Natalyah stirs the pot. Literally, as well as metaphysically, in this case the one of apple cider, and then takes it off the burner to pour some into a mug that she holds very carefully as she makes her way to the door. "Ren wasn't there to start. He was across town being Lathrik's alibi and keeping that Ilanya woman busy, looking like Lathrik. Lathrik, meanwhile, looked like someone else when he saved the Count. Another guard and Peril were here with me, so that we could summon Lathrik back if anything went wrong. Oh, Peril's a warlock," she adds. "I'll be right back. Don't say anything for a few moments. It's been a while, and I don't want Ralaea getting too cold out there, and something hot to drink while she waits will help." It's a small kindness, a show of compassion from the worgen, as she opens the door awkwardly to locate Ralaea to deliver the drink.

Siamus raises his eyebrows at that "don't say anything." I beg your pardon, miss? He looks at Lathrik.

Lathrik just stares back at Siamus in defeated jelly manner. He's fine, probably.

Ralaea is pacing around outside, somehow having kept out of any trouble aside from maybe wearing a rut in the pavement.

"We're still talking about things that shouldn't get repeated," Natalyah tells her. She has a very difficult, possibly even painful for her, grip on a mug of hot apple cider. "I figured you might be getting cold. Here."

Siamus leans forward to help himself to the bottle of bourbon again. He gestures with it at Lathrik inquiringly. Might as well drink, buddy.

Lathrik does, in fact, take him up on it, finally pouring himself a glass before handing the bottle back.

Ralaea eyes the drink, then Natalyah. "Thanks," she says. And somehow, miraculously, that is all she says, as she takes it from her.

Natalyah gives Ralaea an impish, wicked smile. "You're welcome." And that, miraculously, is all she says, at least to Ralaea, before she pushes her way back into the house.

“I just didn’t want you to say anything while the door was open, and Ralaea could hear you, after all that with her taking one for the team to avoid spilling information,” Natalyah explains as she comes back in and shuts the door and starts spilling information. “First: No one really knows. That’s part of the problem. We know it connects Lathrik to his mother, and that it drains his mana constantly, and it’s too close to his heart to remove it safely. Second: She’s looked through Lathrik’s eyes at me as recently as last month. We are assuming it was her and that she's alive, so those are assumptions. Third: We don’t think they were connected before. The assassin had no idea Lathrik would be there, and we didn’t know either. Now they know about him, and also me. The assassin looked back at me watching and saw me." So, for those counting at home, those are two very powerful shadow users who have seen Natalyah and know her connected to Lathrik.

"Fourth: We wanted to know what the Count was doing looking so hard at Lathrik for, and hoped we’d find something that would give the information, because asking him directly or trying to make an official inquiry was basically impossible with a man so slippery. We didn't intend any malice, or try to peek into state secrets. At the time, Lathrik and Peril both thought their father was long dead. What we found out was that the Count had already been looking into Peril and Lathrik’s father, who was clearly alive, and had semi-located him, and then, obviously, that the Count's life was in danger. Fifth: The trouble is that we have no idea what exactly the Count wants to have happen in all this. He’s not necessarily the instigator, as a matter of fact a lot of the data suggests he's been caught at least partially as a victim maybe, assuming he didn't specifically invite Almeiria into his home because he knew she had a connection to Twilight's Hammer assassins. We just don’t know what game he’s playing or why. And we really, really don't know what side he wants to win in this, either, of what information he'll give us, or what information he might give to someone else."

Siamus has resumed writing in a swift scrawl, nodding as he goes, his frown deepening. When Natalyah has finished, he writes for another few seconds, then lays his pencil down, sits back, and laces his hands behind his head to glower at the illegible text in front of him. "So there are a great many gaps and assumptions here yet. I'd be inclined to go direct to Amerith, but at this point we're short enough information to be at a tremendous disadvantage; he could throw all manner of red herrings at us, outright fabricate, and we'd have no means of checking him. It's possible he pries information out of us meanwhile that we don't even realize is important, because he's the one looking at the game board and we're holding a handful of pieces on the side. As ye say, we've no idea what he means to do with any of the information or whom he might broker it to. And none of this connects us back to the Mondragon affair."

He looks at Lathrik. "What is your mother's name?"

"Solari Farrens," Lathrik says. "Dunno what she was before that."

"Trying to go direct to someone like the Count and having no idea what it will do is why we didn't before. Really, the original plan was that Ren would play Lathrik to lure Ilanya, Lathrik would get to where we could observe the Count, so that when she came back to report on Lathrik to him, we'd know what was said, and extract Lathrik. Instead, we found out that Jothran, a death knight, was guarding the Count's manor, and then the Shadow Man arrived. And if you want to know how much we can't trust the Count to want that man found, when I told the Count while he was here that we knew that the assassin had a scar over his eye, was part of Twilight's Hammer, and there trying to assassinate Almeiria, the Count said that it was interesting how I knew more than they told the guards investigating. He deliberately withheld the information, and that is a damning factor in knowing just who he's playing for," Natalyah tells the pot of vegetables and meat that she moves to start cooking over the fire. "Harvey and Ralaea are definitely interests of his, and we don't know why any better than before, or what this might have to do with what was started last year on October 2nd."

Siamus puts his elbow on the table and props his head on his hand, his fingers in his hair. He stares at the notebook in front of him, flips back a few pages, then forward a page.

“Right,” he says, and closes his eyes, a line between his brows. “All right. Open questions. One: What were the nature and extent of Amerith’s involvement in the Mondragon business? Two: What are the nature and extent of his continuing interest in Morningdew and Ralaea? Three: What is the precise nature of his interest in Dinnsfield? Three-point-one: How did his interest in Fray and Solari Farrens arise, and was it the cause or an effect of his interest in Dinnsfield? Three-point-two: What is the nature of his interest in Fray and Solari Farrens? Three-point-three: What happened to Fray Farrens in the First War, and is it relevant to any of this current business? Three-point-four: Where is Fray Farrens currently? Three-point-five: Is Solari Farrens in fact alive, and where? Three-point-six: What is the nature of Dinnsfield’s affliction, and can it be undone? Four: What is the nature of the Twilight’s Hammer’s involvement in any of this? Four-point-one: What is the extent of their current interest in Dinnsfield and Miss Kensington-Whit, subsequent to their encounter with the assassin? Five: What is the nature of Miss Fey’s involvement with Amerith? Five-point-one: Why does it appear the Twilight’s Hammer is targeting her? Five-point-two: Why is Amerith withholding information about a Twilight’s Hammer assassin from the Stormwind Guard, beyond the fact that he’s a lunatic? Six: Who the hell was Lady Ravendusk and who was she working for? Seven: What is Alysson Mondragon’s relation to Kaela Mondragon, and how is he involved?”

He opens his eyes again. “Tides below but I wish I had a chart wi’ me right now to map on. Or a pinboard. For keeping track of all.”

He pages back and then forward again in the notebook. “I will begin by talking to Miss Fey and Mr. Mondragon. I will see what additional records, if any, remain of Fray and Solari Farrens from the First War.” He looks up at Lathrik. “If ye can point me at what ye found already, I’d be obliged.” To Natalyah, he says, “And if I could have a copy of the transcript ye made of the events the night of the assassination attempt, I’d appreciate it. Has anyone spoken wi’this… Jothran about what he knows about Amerith’s involvement in it all, and his interest in Morningdew? And am I leaving anything out from our questions?”

"We haven't spoken to Jothran, and you should know that Harvey was going to keep that Jothran was here away from Ralaea, for whatever reason Harvey does anything with keeping things from her," Natalyah says, making her way back to the table to sit down again now that dinner is going again. She drinks the rest of her whiskey and then pours herself another generous amount. You'd think she was a 220lbs muscle monster the way she is putting it away. "And the Count mentioned in his 'poor little lost lamb' story about Jothran that Jothran came to him, which means he definitely knew about him before whatever went down with Kaela. Considering that by all accounts you were the one at the forefront of death knight rights here, there must have been a reason that Jothran thought the Count was the place he should go while feeling like he had no purpose.

"And the Count's latest information on Fray Farrens was that he was in somewhere called Highmarsh, but we don't know if that's still true. That was months ago now. And it isn't really a big question, but whoever Lady Ravendusk was, her 'maid' Ilanya Ravendusk is barely that and is definitely more of the spy slash assassin type, whoever she is or wherever she came from. It sounds ridiculous that she was licking Ren while he looked like Lathrik, but she knew from it that it was Ren, the 'Salt Man,' as she called him. The potion changes a person's appearance and voice, but it doesn't change their scent, or apparently their taste. You couldn't fool a worgen with that kind of potion, and someone who would think to check by licking a person because she's picked up on tiny differences of a body language of a person isn't just good at changing what she's like. Whatever Lady Ravendusk was doing, maybe whatever got her killed, she wasn't just enjoying the amusing gossip at high tea."

Siamus sits back in his seat and folds his arms again. "Highmarsh," he repeats, in an absent tone that suggests he is just marking it down in whatever intricate mental database he is clearly keeping.

He focuses on the present again. "To be fair to Lady Ravendusk, there's rarely amusing gossip at high tea." He rubs his jaw. "Ideally I'd like to speak to this Ilanya as well, but it doesn't seem wise at this point, with the lass such an unknown quantity. You would know if she was a worgen, aye?"

Before Natalyah can answer, Siamus goes very still, the weird stillness where all the minor idle gestures, all the absent fidgeting stops. He stares into space with an intensity that suggests he is trying read something written halfway across the city, through the wall.

It lasts perhaps only three heartbeats, and then he shifts forward to the table so abruptly that his chair scrapes unhappily on the floor. He picks up his pencil, says something in a foreign language under his breath, and makes another — very short — cryptic note.

Then he sits back again like none of that had happened. "You'd know if she was a worgen?"

"Instantly and easily. She's definitely not. We had a worgen sniffing around our house not that long ago after I moved in here, but I don't know that it's related to anything with the Count, especially since they never came back. Possibly it was just a worgen who came sniffing around because they caught my scent and wondered what a worgen was doing here. We don't smell the same as humans. This," Natalyah says with a gesture to herself. "Is more what we can turn into. Not what we really are. It'd be like mistaking the smell of an onion for an apple even if you dressed it up to look like one." She tilts her head in a way that makes her look even more lupine. "What was that thought that struck you?"

Siamus holds up a finger at her in a We'll get to that gesture. "Can ye smell a druid or other sort of shapeshifter?"

"No, I don't think so, at least not being able to scent the specific magic," Natalyah says, frowning at her whiskey. "I can sometimes tell what someone does because of what scents they have on them. I can smell things like metal and the metal people use for oiling, or lots of leather, for someone who wears armor even if they aren't wearing it right that second. A druid might smell just like whatever else they do, unless they were regularly shifting into their other shapes and walking around on their hands a lot. Then they might sort of pick up scents that smell like a gardener, you know, someone who handles plants with their hands. The shapes they turn into are like a worgen's human form. They aren't the real thing, so they don't smell like bears or cats all the time, unless they're around those animals a lot as well, in which case they might smell like them, pick those up as well, just like anyone gives some of their associations away by what what's layered in their scent. Like, you have a cologne you wear, but under it you smell like sea salt, and your wife."

Siamus was about to speak again but hesitates at this last. He tilts his head slightly and smiles that cryptic, sardonic smile that is also his Flirt expression, though it seems more like a reflex than anything.

He nods once. "I've a lady in my household — an ordinary-seeming lady, save that she's Kul Tiran. Until the Gilneans came out from behind their wall, some of them now studying wi'the kaldorei druids, no one thought humans could shapeshift — except in Kul Tiras, where we have people called Thornspeakers, who shift as readily and into as many forms as a kaldorei druid. Like my ordinary-seeming lady.

"Amerith keeps a bizarre menagerie, aye? He's forever bringing… lions, and the like, to public events. A lady who licks people to identify them, who might know them by scent or… salt, or what-have-ye even better than by sight, she might not be a lady all of the time." He pauses. "And I'm speaking literally, y'understand, no aspersion on the lady's character."

It seems like it might be okay to question Ilanya Ravendusk's character, but just like the Flirting Smile, the Gentlemanly Disclaimer is a reflex.

"I can at least tell you for mostly certain that the lion isn't Ilanya, and that the lion probably isn't a shifter. For one, Ilanya was across town licking Ren when we saw the lion in the Manor, and two, the lion saw Lathrik as Lathrik there. It could be that if she is a shifter, she just doesn't care about the Count, because she ignored Lathrik, and wandered off rather than going off to tell the Count, and didn't tell the Count after, but in this case, the evidence points mostly to the Count having an actual lion. It doesn't prove anything about what Ilanya is or isn't, but if a person could turn into a lion sometimes and wanted to hide it, having an actual lion around to regularly pet to give a reason for someone to smell like it would be a very clever way to fool someone who could scent it off them," Natalyah points out.

Lathrik recovers from Jelly Mode just enough to start drinking his whiskey.

"I'm not saying she's necessarily the lion. But a man who's notorious for keeping a damned odd assortment of pets could almost certainly pass off… anything as another of 'em. And as ye say, aye, the scent of the rest of the menagerie could offer her a cover." Siamus muses some more. "Have ye noted any… odd creatures, scents, presences about, apart from that worgen? And I do just mean odd, not necessarily animal. I couldn't tell ye what any of Annai's forms might smell like to a worgen, but I can tell ye they're not exactly animal and if ye met one unexpected in an alley one night it might send ye screaming in the other direction."

Natalyah snorts, an unladylike sound. "I do a lot less screaming and running away these days, now that sometimes I look in a mirror and see a monster looking back at me," she says, her expression a war of bravado and that pinching shame that's been streaking through her since Ralaea nearly drew swords on her. But she shakes her head, the lighter strands of her hair floating slightly with the movement.

"Ilanya smelled like flowers, but she was literally tossing them around the place when she got here, and I didn't exactly get up close and personal with either of them. I wouldn't have been able to smell the Count on Ralaea if she hadn't just touched him. If she had walked around for half an hour after, unless I shifted and really went looking for his scent on her, I wouldn't have known. The Count and Ilanya could have weird other creatures they touch, but they either hadn't done so recently, or the thing they were touching doesn't have a strong scent enough for me to parse it in a room filled with dozens of other smells." Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Including the flowers that Ilanya dumped all over our floor, which made picking out nuances that much harder. Like, filling a room deliberately with other people talking." Careful, Natalyah, that is the way of paranoia. Let Roper stand as a warning lesson.

Siamus is not averse to a little healthy paranoia. He narrows his eyes thoughtfully and nods.

"'Talyah," Lathrik says, finally sitting up properly. "Would ye stop referrin' to yourself as a monster? Please?"

Siamus glances at Lathrik with some bemused surprise, then to Natalyah, then back to Lathrik. He tilts his head in a not-quite-nod; good man, Dinnsfield.

And then he picks up his drink in case this is about to be a Whole Thing.

Natalyah flinches, the sting of the guilty, and looks down into her whiskey. It's written clear across her face that she thinks she is one, and for a moment her breathing is unsteady, and a very fine sheen of sweat forms on her brow, before she nods, hanging her head. Then, she pushes up to a stand, goes the step or two over to Lathrik, and leans down to put her face against her Safety Spot at the base of his neck, seeming very much like she'd rather curl up against him, either standing or in his lap. "All right," she agrees, all penitence now, breathing him in. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about you hearing it, just the way it feels right now to me. I won't say it again."

It's something of a Whole Thing, but maybe not the direction Siamus might have suspected.

"I'd rather ye didn't believe it, either," Lathrik says, his gaze softening as he reaches a hand up to stroke her hair.

Siamus sips his drink and turns a page in his notebook again, totally disinterested in the proceedings, just doing Conspiracy Math things, pay him no mind, he's practically not even here.

"Harder to believe it isn't true when you can see it written all over someone's face what they see when they look at you," Natalyah tells Lathrik's neck, and the sour tartness of her voice is more bravado than anything else. But it's very obvious that she's soothed in between the touching and the proximity.

"No one's called ye a monster," Lathrik says. "The lass was reactin' to some trauma from war. It'd have been the same if she'd fought the night elves and was seein' one for the first time outside of battle. Soldiers carry scars, aye? It had nothing to do with how she views you as a person. 'sides, the true monsters often don't appear as such."

Siamus glances up at the talk of wartime trauma and monsters. For a moment it looks like he might speak, but then he just has another sip and looks down at his notes again. Still not here. Furniture.

"I don't usually appear like one either," Natalyah says pointedly. "It's not like I hold it against her, or blame her for thinking it. As a matter of fact, I know what it's like to carry scars from worgen, I have the literal ones all over my — " And she halts mid sentence, breathing carefully, a sudden tensing like lightning striking. A very perceptive person might notice that for a moment, blink and miss it brief, there were scars visible on her left shoulder, deep dragging wounds as if from a bite of a large creature. But then, no, there's nothing but the smooth brown skin she always has, as Natalya nuzzles closer to Lathrik. "It doesn't matter. Anyway. She's probably getting cold and bored out there, and it'll be dark soon. I should go show her where Harvey is."

"Aye," Lathrik says, looking to Siamus again. "If ye've no further questions? I should mention, we know Solari Farrens is alive, because killing her is one of the methods to end my curse."

Siamus raises his eyebrows. "Ah. Well, that's salient, then, aye." He checks his notebook over and then closes it. "I've no further questions. I'm sure I will, but I know how to reach ye. Do you have any for me, either of ye?"

Natalyah breathes in Lathrik again, and then straightens back up. She has the look of someone who just had a brief, sudden cry, even though her eyes are dry, just slightly red around the edges. "No, not a question. I did mean to say though, I forgot about it in all the other things, but I was sorry to hear about your father passing. I know I'm practically a decade late in it, like I am with everything, but I am sorry for your loss."

Siamus's expression freezes. For a moment he just stares at her, his whole manner suddenly stiff and awkward, entirely unlike the smooth, self-assured gentleman he was twenty seconds ago. There is a storm-flicker of something dangerous in his black gaze — and then he blinks and relaxes: deliberately, a skilled reader of body language would recognize.

He inclines his head to Natalyah. "Thank you, Miss Kensington-Whit. I appreciate the kindness. I'm aware my own losses are… trivial, in the face of some, but I'm obliged to ye for remembering."

He rises to his feet, collecting his notebook and pencil in one hand, and offering his other down to Lathrik. "Dinnsfield, I apologize for interrupting ye unannounced; it wasn't my intent. Thank ye for indulging me. And ye will have your brother get in contact with me at his earliest, aye? I'd like to get that all signed and sorted, assuming he's amenable."

Lathrik rises as well, taking his hand firmly. "I'd advise ye to meet the man at his office, or out someplace. If ye invite him to your home, there's no telling what might end up in his Light dam —" Lathrik spares a glance at Natalyah. " — his paper."

Siamus smiles without amusement. "Ah, ye have no idea the sorts of things people will put in print about me. I'm growing accustomed."

Natalyah moves towards the door. "Lathrik, don't let the food burn," she bids him, and there's that accustomed to being obeyed tone to her voice. "And don't drink all the whiskey." She halts in place, turning her head to look over at him as she opens the door. "I'll be coming right back, assuming I haven't joined forces with Ralaea to drag Harvey across the forest to redistribute his brooding habitat on the fringes of society closer to where Fallon land starts." A smart man would bet money on that she does, if it comes to that.

"A very great pleasure to see you again, Miss Kensington-Whit," Siamus tells her. "I'll be sending ye some paperwork as regards various employment matters discussed, if that's acceptable." He angles toward the door himself to collect his suit coat and overcoat again.

Natalyah halts again, the door now swinging open without her holding it. She looks for a moment like she's thinking about curtseying and then discarding it. Instead she waits until Siamus has closed the distance to offer out her right hand to him, her cane dangling by the leather strap at her wrist. Her hand is not the fine, soft skin of a lady's; there's roughening enough to suggest hard work with her hands. "It was good to see you again, and I'll keep an eye out for the paperwork," she says. "Thank you for taking an interest, and being willing to help. All things being equal, I'd rather go on knowing that if we're little fish in the water with the sharks, at least now we have some krakens on our side, too."

Siamus takes her hand to shake it firmly; he laughs again, delighted, at her remark.

Then he glances back at Lathrik and says casually, "Have Hartrim get in touch wi' me, would ye?" He nods courteously, first to Lathrik and then again, more smilingly, to Natalyah, and then he steps outside to where Rae is (hopefully) still waiting on the street.

Lathrik follows him to the door, equally casual, and says, "Oi. If you're meetin' Ren sometime, ask 'im about his Tidesage mother, aye?"

Ralaea raises her eyebrows.

Natalyah doesn't. She's heard this before, as she pushes her way over to Ralaea. "Are you ready for something of a walk? He really is on the outskirts of the forest. It's not a quick jaunt out of the city."

Siamus halts so abruptly that there's a chance Lathrik walks into him. He turns around slowly. "His what, now?"

Natalyah's head turns. "Ren has family here in the city. They're both Kul Tiran. His mother said that she comes from a long line of 'Tidesages.' They came here because Ren's father wanted to help rebuild the city in the name of the Light or whatever. She said it was why she thinks the ocean tried to drown Ren, for whatever reason, and she believes it's because she doesn't do enough worshiping anymore, since her husband doesn't want her on the ships." Natalyah shrugs, but there's something of a scowl on her face, two different senses of an emotion. Some people believe things, and some husbands are Like That. "If you wanted to talk to them yourself, I could give you their address. I introduced Ren's sister, Penny, to Scilla recently." Again, Ren, she is a fight fire with more, worse fire kind of gal.

Siamus's expression is impossible to read — not because he's being Bland this time, but because he appears to be having like six expressions at once.

He clears his throat. "I would," he says with a careful courtesy that is clearly keeping the lid on several other emotions, "very much like that address. And I very much want Hartrim to get in touch. If I do not find him first."

That latter sounds a little ominous. It feels like Siamus may not want to see Ren for the reasons he wanted to see Ren a few minutes ago.

Or, you know, not just for those reasons.

There is a tiny smirk on Lathrik's face as he turns and heads back into the house. "I'll write it out for ye," he says. This was, apparently, the reaction he was angling for. Have fun, Reniya.

"Is this Ren guy in trouble, then?" Ralaea asks.

Natalyah cackles evilly. It's just her usual laugh, but it also fits. "Don't worry," she says to Ralaea as she starts moving along towards the road. "Even if he is, he'll probably enjoy it at least a little. And he brought this one on himself."

Lathrik returns shortly with a slip of paper, and he passes it to Siamus. "Now, the information we exchanged inside is not t'be widely disclosed, I expect ye know as much, but I feel better havin' said it. Ye have my permission to share it with your Lady Wife, so long as she uses her best discretion when it comes to spreadin' the information as well. I do not want to be involved in a big political play if it can be helped."

Siamus accepts the paper distractedly. "I will treat the information wi'the utmost discretion," he says, patting his pocket where the notebook — the notebook plainly encoded in some weird, personal, Math Shorthand — has vanished. "And Her Grace is a vault, I assure ye." He isn't looking at Lathrik, is scanning the paper, and then turns and looks in the direction of the given address as though he can see the place from this distance and despite all of the intervening city.

He tucks the paper into his pocket. "Have a good night, Dinnsfield, Miss Kensington-Whit, and be safe. If ye need anything, send to me straightaway. Ralaea, we will expect ye home at some point tonight, so be aware it will raise alarms if you're very late. Ye be safe as well, lass." He gives her a sternly paternal look. He is an entire decade older than her.

"Tonight," Ralaea says, crossing her arms. "That's anytime before twelve bells, right? I can do that. It's not like Harvey's going to eat me or something." She hands her empty glass to Lathrik. Take it, maid paladin.

Lathrik meets her smug expression with a flat one of his own, but he does collect the glass. "Take care, all of ye," he says, before heading back inside.