(2024-10-28) An Unlikely Friendship

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	Siamus Fallon goes to see a man about a house. Peril Farrens makes an extremely unexpected friend.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

It is an amber autumn afternoon in late October when Vice Admiral Siamus Fallon approaches the unassuming office of the Azerothian Interest in Stormwind's Mage Quarter. He is dressed once again in the sort of gentlemanly fashion that suggests he has just come from a House of Nobles session: beneath his dark blue overcoat, he wears a dark blue suit with an ash-gray waistcoat and silver watch chain. His cravat is midnight blue. (They're Fallon colors, for anyone keeping score at home.) He also has a leather portfolio folder under one arm.

He knocks briskly at the office door and then steps back, contemplating the neighborhood around him blandly.

The man who answers the door is a wiry fellow with dusty brown hair and a nervous smile. He stares at Siamus just long enough to make it awkward, then seems to remember himself. "A-Azerothian Interest, the Greatest News in Azeroth and Beyond, how can we help you?" The statement is followed by clear relief. Nailed it.

The initial stare goes on just long enough that Siamus' own expression of bland courtesy changes, takes on a slightly wicked glint; it is possible that the man simply cannot be stared awkwardly at for a certain length of time without making it more awkward by flirting.

But no: Milo finds speech just in time to avoid being hit on by the Vice Admiral, and Siamus returns to Business Cordial. "Vice Admiral Siamus Fallon. I'm here to see Mr. Farrens, if he's about."

"Oh, um…" Milo glances behind him, as if to ask the person there if they are, in fact, there.

"The Baron? He's expected," comes another voice from inside, and Milo scurries out of the way.

The building is on the small side, a single room with a staircase leading to another, smaller room, similar to a loft in size. To the right of the door is a couch and coffee table, with a bookshelf along the wall and a fireplace deeper in, while straight ahead there are two tables, one in front of the other, set up as desks.

Peril Farrens, wearing his usual hat and vest, is standing near the back desk, preparing to step around it and greet his guest.

Siamus steps in past Milo and inclines his head courteously to Peril. "Mr. Farrens. And if it must be titles, it's 'Vice Admiral'; I prefer the one I've earned. But in fact you're welcome to call me Fallon. Your brother's a friend of mine."

"A friend? How did he manage that?" Peril gives Milo a stern look, and the other man skitters outside, closing the door behind him.

A green ball of felfire watches them from the top of the stairs. The imp is quiet… for now.

Siamus laughs good-naturedly. "Aye, bit wary, isn't he? But a good man. I'm an old friend of Miss Kensington-Whit's, as it happens." He glances up the staircase. "Ye have a warlock about? Or are one yourself?"

Peril follows his gaze. "Uh… yeah. That's mine. They didn't tell you that part? I could make him go away."

Siamus looks back to Peril and raises his eyebrows. "I don't mind him, no. I've a warlock in my employ. If it were a more confidential matter, perhaps I'd ask it. But I expect we're fair straightforward today."

"You want to buy a house." Peril steals the chair from the second desk, presumably Milo's, and turns it to face his own, offering a seat to Siamus before sitting himself. "I have heard that you're a good person, of course, and I know Lathrik wouldn't have told you as much as he has if that were not the case, but I, being the illustrious reporter that I am, would like to hear it from you directly, if you don't mind. What is your purpose in doing this?"

Siamus nods his thanks for the chair and sits. "Oh, ye've heard that I'm a good person? That was generous of someone." He flashes a smile and settles back comfortably, tucking his portfolio into the chair beside him. "And I'd expect no less from an investigative journalist. Which, by the way, I also mean to speak with ye about.

"But as to the first matter: I'd like to buy the house where your brother and Miss Kensington-Whit currently reside. It's my understanding the pair of them want to purchase the townhouse formerly belonging to Lady Lucille Moore, but find themselves in financial straits. As it happens, in the aftermath of the dragon business, I'm looking to invest in some real estate in the city for redevelopment. It seemed like an ideal solution all around. I don't know whether your brother gave ye my writ, but I'm willing to pay ye two-thirds over your original purchase price."

"Mm-hm," Peril says, writing a number down. "That does make sense for someone expecting to profit off of this. You see, my original purchase price was actually rather low. The house was a wreck when I bought it, but it was better than the street. There also wasn't a lack of housing at the time thanks to, as you said, the dragon business. It has since been fixed up considerably, and now there is significant demand, especially for lower priced housing options, so I would like to know what your intentions are in that regard. You plan to redevelop, but for who? I want to make clear this is not a rejection of your proposal, just a discussion."

Siamus's expression takes on an avid gleam, his smile broadening. Oh boy, a discussion. He loves those. "Ah. I suppose your brother wasn't aware of the undervalue of your original purchase price; if he was aware, he didn't mention it to me as a factor. I'm happy to take that under consideration, naturally. I did see cosmetic updates to the interior of the place — which as ye know don't factor in — but in my review of the title and original purchase documents, I'd be glad to see any further documentation ye may have as to structural or capital improvements, and discuss adjustments accordingly.

"As to my intentions — for the street, ye understand, and not just the house, as I'm in the process of purchasing the block entire — I mean to redevelop it chiefly for multifamily occupancy, to make more efficient housing use of the extant property footprints. That is, I mean to make available housing for as many people as possible. It's also my intention to have one side of the street rezoned for mixed use, so that the ground floors of the buildings on that side can be occupied by small businesses, both to cater to the residents of the neighborhood and, potentially, for lease by the residents for their own businesses. As ye know, many of the city's shopkeepers and professional firms were just as displaced by the dragon; I'd like to see the new developments benefit those enterprises and offer an enclave for some economic rehabilitation."

He spreads his hands. "As to what ye say regarding profit — I do expect I'll turn a profit in the venture, eventually, of course. I'm a businessman, and that will always be the final aim. As a businessman, it's also a long-term aim. I'm not looking to flip properties, and I neither expect nor intend to turn a profit for some years yet; even if I did, it would only be plowed back into economic reinvestment in the kingdom. House Fallon's hope, in fact, is to use the development of the street not just to the benefit of the eventual residents, but to the people we would employ for that development: the contractors, masons, carpenters, and so on."

He smiles. "And, naturally, the particular sale of this particular property would be of direct benefit to your brother and Miss Kensington-Whit in procuring the house they presently desire. As I told Dinnsfield and Miss Kensington-Whit, rather than financing this purchase, I'm happy to pay in a cash lump sum, so that they can purchase the late Lady Lucille's townhouse outright."

Peril nods, satisfied, and stands up, moving to a filing cabinet in the back corner of the room next to a squat little cooler. He unlocks one of the drawers and begins rifling through it. “My younger brother is intelligent, when it comes to certain things,” he says. “Business and money are not among them. He has an infuriating habit of undervaluing his own work and worth, but that’s why I’m here to look out for him where I can.”

When he returns to the desk, he carries a folder, which he slides over to Siamus for review. “I had the floors replaced before he moved in, and the house has since had the windows and roof replaced as well. Even with that, it’s still not a particularly valuable building, as it is only two rooms and lacks basic plumbing. I expect you could demolish it and build something far better there.”

Peril returns Siamus’s smile. “For what it’s worth, I approve of your plans for economic regrowth,” he says. “And I would like to thank you for providing Natalyah with a way to afford the house she actually wants — don’t tell her I said that. You do seem like a good person, but as a journalist dedicated to the truth, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

Siamus leans forward to lift the folder from the desk. "As a man over-prone to telling the truth, I respect that, Mr. Farrens."

He settles back again and flips open the folder for perusal. His gaze on the documents within, he adds, "And I confess I had noticed the deprecating tendency in your brother. Unfortunate, as he's a man of admirable character and integrity himself. I'm happy to offer him and Miss Kensington-Whit what help I can." At that, his gaze does flick up to Peril's, and his smile takes on a wryly conspiratorial tilt. "Don't tell her I said that, either."

“Secret’s safe,” Peril says, fingering the rim of his hat.

The imp chooses this moment to let out an unsettling cackle, bouncing around the top of the stairs in a mad dance.

Siamus glances up at the sound. "I find the hound ones more agreeable," he observes. "Too many teeth and spines, but at least they're quiet." He returns his attention to the papers in the folder. After a moment, he nods absently and turns a page. "Ye've been a warlock long?" He doesn't look up this time.

Peril glares at the imp, though it’s a little hard to tell beneath the hat. “A little over two years now,” he replies. “The uh… felhound is a bit beyond my current skill to bind. It would probably eat me. That’s what they do. Those feelers on their heads? They’re for grabbing mages and draining the mana out of them, leaving them nothing but a shriveled husk. A horrifying way to go, really, and it happens fast.”

"Aye, so I'm told," Siamus says equably. The evocative prospect of mages being turned into shriveled husks does not seem to discomfit him overly. Perhaps because he's not a mage. Perhaps because there's a mage or two he wouldn't mind seeing shriveled. Perhaps he's just really not squeamish. "A wise man knows his limits, though. The lass who works for me is careful the same way about what she summons. Mark of a good warlock, I expect. Are ye wi' the WEB?"

“No,” Peril says, his voice taking on a spark of irritation. “And I don’t intend to join. I receive enough righteous judgment from my brother, I have no desire to subject myself to more of it.”

Siamus glances up, blinking, and then laughs — startled, but not unkindly. "Oh, aye, I forgot he's a paladin, isn't he?" He shakes his head wryly. Those guys.

“Yes, he’s a paladin. The Light can corrupt as well, you see, but nobody watches them until they’ve run so far off the track that they start murdering people like the Scarlet Crusade,” Peril says. “But it would upset the Church if we started a Light-user’s Ethics Bureau, which would in turn upset the public faith, so we instead monitor the creepy basement dwellers like everything is their fault.”

Clearly Peril has some Opinions.

Siamus raises his eyebrows. "We're of a mind on that, as it happens. Any species of fanaticism is a trap" — don't ask him about the Tidemother — "and surely the Scarlets have shown us all that anyone may fall prey to evil influence. My ships blockaded New Hearthglen for months and assaulted the Onslaught's stronghold in Icecrown, so I assure ye I'm familiar with how the Light-bound may go astray, and the depths of hypocrisy to which they might sink."

Peril looks a bit surprised. "Well, then I'm glad there's a man of sense on the House of Nobles," he says. "I can and have gone on for hours about it all, but… usually not when there's anyone around to hear it. No one's that interested in my opinion as it happens."

Siamus smiles wryly. "Oh, I'm not asked for mine half so often as I'm happy to give it. I'm told people find it a disagreeable habit of mine, but I expect that's only because they don't care to be disagreed with. How long have ye been a journalist, Mr. Farrens?"

“Only for my entire adult life and then some,” Peril says. “But with the Interest, it’s only been a couple years. Two months, in fact, before I became a warlock. You would not be far off if you determined that the timing was related.”

"In which case I'd be curious to know how it was related, as I'd not have guessed it otherwise." Siamus settles back more comfortably in his seat. He's still holding the open folder of documents; he doesn't seem to have forgotten he's holding it, exactly, so much as he's sort of pressed pause. All of his interest is on Peril.

“Since you’ve been told everything, I assume that means you know that Count Amerith is my financial backer,” Peril says, lacing his hands on the desk. “I had recently been fired from my job at this very address when he found me. Apparently my reports weren’t interesting enough. I was in a state of crisis over it, wondering how I could possibly support my brother without a job, and he lent an ear. The thing he said that stuck with me the most was, ‘the world is going to end eventually, why not have some fun?’ I told him I couldn’t possibly have fun if I had no money, and before I knew it, he’d hired me, bought out the company that fired me, let go all of the employees, demolished their building and rebuilt it. It was… a little scary how thorough he was.

“The world has tried to end a number of times since, but the Count’s words changed my outlook. There were always solutions, I was just too afraid to reach for them. Then, with the initial reception of the Interest being so positive, I found the confidence to take the power I needed to protect what’s important to me. That and, fieldwork is dangerous. The extra help is nice, when it isn’t trying to isolate me or steal my things.” This earns the imp another glare.

Nokuri grins back.

Siamus listens with intent, black-eyed focus. At the end, he nods slowly. "I will tell ye I'm in agreement wi' some of that. The world will end, in the personal sense even if not the greater. Though I suppose a greater end is also inevitable someday. There's a next storm always on the horizon and it's always a contest of will and of daring, whether ye stand through it or no. No one stands forever, so do as ye can to defy it — or laugh in the face of it — until the end.

"And I believe in protecting my own.

"While I can… appreciate Amerith's gesture on your behalf, I'm of two minds about it. The first is that I'm glad ye had someone at your back who set ye on a course ye've found to your benefit. The second is that… I don't know that I approve the man's methods in setting ye up on your own. He could have secured ye properly and to your profit without making it at the greater cost. It's not a net benefit, to my mind." He smiles at a slant. "Amerith's a bit of a madcap, and I'm not sure it doesn't amuse him as much to see a harm done as a help, and better if both. But I can't tell ye I read the man's mind." He shrugs.

"As to writing reports interesting enough or no, I will say that strikes me as the fault of an editor rather than the journalist, and I do agree that a man who'd fire ye for his own failings was the one not fit for his job. We've all seen that left to your own editorial devices, ye can certainly write… interesting pieces." He arches a brow. "I took particular note of your investigative work regarding Penrod Hockery, but I best enjoyed, I think, your guide to becoming a noble."

(Yes, someone did his back-issues research before coming here today.)

Peril nods along in agreement. “Count Amerith’s attention is something of a mixed bag,” he says. “He helped me, while mercilessly destroying something else down to its very foundation. That’s why I worry… if he doesn’t like Lathrik, what might he do? Thankfully, I don’t think that will be a…”

It just now seems to register to Peril that his paper was complimented by someone unexpected. “Oh,” he says. “You… read my work?”

"Aye," Siamus says. "Not in my usual vein, but I expect my usual vein wouldn't be terribly interesting to most. The Interest makes for an engaging change."

“What do you often read, then?” Peril asks. “Economic reports? Something to do with ships? My early work wasn’t quite so… engaging as you put it. Research papers on birds and fish, mostly. I did, of course, enjoy Nat K.W.’s work, she is a gem in her field, and I was delighted to meet Natalyah in person and discover that she…” Peril’s cheeks turn pink, and he fingers the rim of his hat, pulling it down a little further so that the shadow covers more of his face. “That she… Uh. With… with my brother…”

Siamus waits a courteous moment, probably to see whether Peril wants to fill in that sentence more completely and not because Peril's flusteration is entertaining. After a moment to let things become awkward, however, he says genially and as though there were no awkwardness, "Ah, ye've sized me up, then. Aye, the financial papers and shipping reports, in the main. And Miss Kensington-Whit is delightful in person, I agree. A fine and incisive mind. Ye were a man of science yourself, then? A biologist? I've a friend with a tremendous interest in birds — though perhaps Miss Kensington-Whit's introduced ye already — and I confess I'd be curious myself to hear about your work on fish, if ye won't find the interest trite coming from a Kul Tiran." His smile is self-deprecating.

“Actually, I’ve been hearing plenty of reports from all over that many of the fish we’ve come to expect in certain locations have had their habitats interfered with since what people have been calling the Cataclysm,” Peril says. “It’s something I plan to document myself, soon, once I’m not quite so busy here. Some fish have appeared in areas they weren’t expected, while others have disappeared from certain places entirely. The world did see a massive change, so it’s within reason, but no less interesting.”

Siamus has closed the folder. He hasn't done anything as obvious as lean toward Peril as he speaks, but his attention has definitely leaned in; his gaze is alight with interest. "Aye, there's been a tremendous upheaval in the seas — currents, weather patterns, all of it. I'll be re-charting half my courses over the next year or so I expect. But d'ye speak of freshwater fish as well? I'm less knowledgeable of mainland freshwater species, but I'd be curious to know what sorts of disruptions and migrations they've been subject to. I ought to introduce ye to an employee of mine, a Niksi Knockfathom — absolute genius with aquatic engineering, brilliant marine biologist."

Peril nods eagerly. "Freshwater as well. Notably, the appearance of Bristle Whisker Catfish in the Hinterlands. They were simply not there prior to the Cataclysm. Interestingly, the Hinterlands did not see any clear and obvious signs of upheaval, at least none as significant as places such as Westfall or, I'm told, Desolace, so either they were driven from somewhere else, or some favorable condition arose, maybe in the water itself, or their food. We may need to step back even further and examine the Cataclysm's impact on insects. I would, of course, be happy to hear what your employee has to say about it all."

"I'll give ye her information. D'ye have a card yourself I can take with me? I'll get the pair of ye in touch. I forget ye have the freshwater catfish here — at home they're a coastal fish, saltwater. I assume they're related, but I couldn't tell ye certain. Maybe you know it? Fascinating that an inland species would simply… turn up in new waters. I hope ye have a chance to make a proper study of it." As he speaks, Siamus has shifted forward to set the folder back on the edge of the desk, rummaged in his pocket to find notebook and pencil, and opened to a page near the back to scrawl something.

He tears the page out and slides it across the desk toward Peril. In a spiky, calligraphic hand it reads NIKSI KNOCKFATHOM, followed by an address.

Peril reaches into his vest pocket for a business card. It is very much Azerothian Interest themed, and contains his name, the address of this very building, and their catch-phrase, The Greatest News in Azeroth and Beyond. “I’ll consider making a proper journal of what can be found where, seeing as it’s changed now,” he says. “I can send you a copy when it’s finished, if you’re interested. Oh, and, I don’t know if you know anyone this affects, but I’ve been hearing something similar has happened with herbs. Some don’t grow where they used to, but have appeared elsewhere. An elemental shift, maybe? At any rate, it’s irritated some of my ink suppliers.”

Siamus takes the card, gives it a cursory look, and tucks it into his notebook. He sits back and slides notebook and pencil back into his pocket. "Herbs," he repeats thoughtfully. "I don't believe I know anyone affected, but I wonder…." He gazes into space for a moment, then shakes his head briskly as he surfaces from whatever pool of thought he'd fallen into. "I'd be quite interested in your findings, aye."

He pauses, knits his brow. "Where were we — ?" Absently, he picks up the folder from the desk's edge again. "Ah, reading. Aye. The Interest isn't my usual fare. But it's certainly… engaging."

“It… is a different style than your usual, yes,” Peril says, beginning to fidget a little. “And a… different subject matter. Actually, the subject matter varies with the… I suppose I could do an article on the markets, specifically the Light-related symbols which are now seeing less use now that priests and paladins seem to have learned how to bless people with the Light without using their various, uh, tools. The candle market in particular is suddenly quite overstocked…”

Siamus knits his brows. "I wouldn't — I beg your pardon if I seemed to imply it, Farrens, but I'm not suggesting ye should run market reports. That's what I read the financials for. I'm saying that the appeal of the Interest is that it occupies… a category of its own. I wouldn't expect to find my usual fare in it. I wouldn't expect — to be honest, I can't say I'd expect half what ye print. I think I'd be disappointed if I did. What's your —"

His expression slips into abrupt abstraction as he belatedly processes Peril's remarks. "Candles, ye say?"

He shifts to take out his notebook and pencil again and makes a brief, cryptic note before tucking both away again. "What's your readership, I wonder? Not circulation numbers — or not those alone — but…." He waves a hand. "The sorts of people, aye? Your audience? Who d'ye expect reads it, chiefly?"

“My readers? Oh. I get a lot of fan mail from… well, specifically from older women. The uh, bored housewife variety,” Peril says. “Those can get…” He blushes again.

“A-anyway, I do have other, younger fans. There are some young men who read it, though they are harder to find data on. I think a lot of them are as critical of it as Lathrik, and the ones that aren’t would read in secret so they aren’t… teased. But my suppliers are fans — that is, the people I buy paper and ink off of — and we have a healthy base of curious elves. Some gnomes. I’m not sure we’ve managed to reach many dwarves yet, but, work in progress.”

"Bored older housewives," Siamus observes solemnly, "can make for a passionate audience." Please pardon the glint in his eye, Peril, I'm sure there was nothing salacious in his meaning. "I imagine gnomes would be an interested audience. D'ye make a special point of distribution in Tinkertown? Or in the tram stations, perhaps, where people looking for occupation on the ride might pick it up? I don't mean to tell ye your business, mind; I'm only curious. But I should hope ye can find a broader readership than your own suppliers and people who'll only read it in secret. That can't do much for ye, can it?"

"The uh," Peril clears his throat. "Tram operators are a bit cross with me after my article recommending no one ride it. But! Natalyah has put me in contact with a fan who read my article on worgen and made a Back Pack, modeled after the one I wrote about. I've seen the prototype, it's brilliant. If I can bring her into the fold and start selling the product, that should help."

Siamus raises his eyebrows. "That sounds promising," he agrees. "If ye can finance the materials and so on for a gamble on merchandise without a broad audience. I'll observe the tram operators can't stop ye selling your papers in the cities just outside the tram tunnels. Or, if ye'd like, I could have a word. And have ye given thought to a puzzle? Would draw in both gnomes and commuters — and people who'd otherwise only read it in secret, who can say 'Oh, I pick it up for the puzzle,' but ye can be sure they'll page through it when the puzzle's done." He considers for a moment. "Also, ladies like an advice column. The young ones want advice, and the older ones want to read someone else's advice and feel they'd have given better."

He pauses. "Again, only speculating, mind, not telling ye how to do a thing. If the Interest had a broader readership, ye'd have a broader financial independence yourself. Or if ye had an investor besides Amerith." He tilts his head thoughtfully.

"I do, of course, have a desire to hire more employees," Peril says, "and the puzzle sounds like an interesting addition. For the time being, however, I would like to refrain from making any particularly… extraordinary moves that could draw potential hostility from Count Amerith. He knows where my father is, and he probably even has people watching him this moment, and we don't. He could… do something to him."

Siamus goes still. He regards Peril levelly. At length he says, "D'ye suspect in sincerity that he might? Would it outrage him so grievously for ye to make adjustments or additions to your own business? Or is it something else about it he wouldn't like?"

Peril shrugs helplessly. "I heard a story, once. About a family of Alteraci nobles who tried to sell him their daughter to regain some semblance of wealth and influence. He declined, and even took them to court for human trafficking — I looked into that part, there are records of it — but somehow they managed to weasel out of the charges. The next day, they were found murdered in the street, and the daughter signed on with the Count as a maid. The murders were never linked to the Count, of course, but he's quoted as saying, 'they slipped one noose, only to find themselves in another.'

"The point is, I don't know what he might do. I don't even know why, or how he has that information. What I do know, is Fray Farrens is presumed dead, and that the death of a dead man wouldn't make any ripples. If he sees my financial independence as a threat somehow…"

"Sell their —" Siamus stares. "Tides a'mighty, man. That's an ugly story with an ugly end, but I can't say that they didn't deserve what the court should have given them. Assuming the business is true. That's a mad bloody notion for the pack of them to have taken, that doing something so unconscionable could win them…." He sits in grimly astonished silence for a moment, and then shakes his head. "In any event, man — tides a'mighty — ye can't imagine that updating your business plan merits a reaction anything like… slavery might. They don't exist on the same scale of grievance."

He pauses, considers. "And I rather expect…" he says slowly, and then shakes his head to focus on Peril again. "What's the maid's name? D'ye know?"

"Adrien, I believe," Peril says after a moment's thought. "Lady Adrien Velart, of House Velart. It's a fallen House now, since Alterac is no more, and I'm pretty sure she still serves the Count, only… she is not often seen in public."

"Velart," Siamus says thoughtfully. He takes his notebook from his pocket again and makes a brief note before slipping it away. "Naturally I'd never intend to press ye to do anything wi' your own business that ye don't feel at ease about, but I can't imagine even a man wi' notions as wild as Amerith's would resort to cold-blooded murder over… an advice column."

"You're right, of course," Peril says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm probably being paranoid. Or… Perilnoid as it happens. But still, I've messed up enough well-intentioned things in my life that a little extra caution never —" He pauses. "Well, okay, I can't say that it never hurt, but it's uh, at least less likely to?"

Siamus does not respond for a moment; he is gazing fixedly into space, perhaps contemplating some piece of information recently dropped. Perhaps just trying not to react to the word Perilnoid.

He shakes himself out of reverie. "I think," he says seriously, "that if it keeps ye living smaller than ye like, or from a success ye deserve, then it can indeed hurt. It's as I said before: There's always a next storm coming, and it's your own will and daring will bring ye through it. Or as the Count told ye, the world's ending, why not have some fun? Run the thing your way, Farrens — whatever way that is — wi' some of that confidence that led ye to a warlock's power. Just… keep your wits about ye, is all. Be smart and be bold."

He looks down at the folder in his lap. "And the house. That's where we were, aye — the sale. Of the house."

"Well, the last time I tried out willful and daring I ended up breaking a lamp over my brother's head, but I'll — he's fine, by the way. But yes, I will… use somebody's judgement. Probably not mine. Lathrik's, maybe. He's good at that, because, the whole," Peril waves a hand, "paladin situation. Anyway, yes, the house. That folder has all the documentation I have as far as the price I bought it and any renovations made."

"Aye, so — if ye'll give me a moment…." Siamus opens the folder and lays it on the desk, then takes out his notebook again. He pages through the documents in the folder, pausing at several to run his finger down the page and jot numbers in the notebook. "Original purchase price, partial market-value adjustment, plus two-thirds… then 70% for after-renovation value… straight-line depreciation…." He speaks absently, as if to himself, as he makes rapid-fire calculations on the notebook page.

When he's finished, he sits back and reconsiders his math, then turns the notebook page to write a number on its back. He tears the paper off and slides it across the desk toward Peril. "Will that do?"

Peril looks it over, then nods, satisfied. "That looks reasonable, yes," he says.

"Excellent," says Siamus. He takes up the leather portfolio folder he'd tucked beside himself in the chair and flips it open. There's a pen nestled at its spine; he draws this out and then pages through various official-looking documents — presumably from the morning's House session, some of them still wearing official seals — until he arrives at a sheet of blank stationery with the Fallon crest at the top.

"I'm going to write ye a promissory note. When I get home I'll have the full contract drawn up, and my notary will bring it by here for your signature." He's writing intently as he speaks, in his ornate, spiky penmanship. "When it's signed, she'll see to the deed and title business here in the city, and arrange the transfer of cash. My thinking is that your brother will naturally receive most of the funds, per our initial understanding, but as the sale price is higher than anticipated, I'll pay — ten percent? fifteen? directly to you as your portion of it." He glances up. "Will that serve?"

Peril blinks in surprise. "To… to me? I would rather the money go to —" he stops, suddenly, his mouth dropping open in realization. "Vice Admiral, you are a genius!" he cries, half-rising from his seat. "Of course if the money all went to Lathrik he wouldn't spend it on what he really needs. I can think of a number of things he wouldn't buy for himself, but if it's a gift, he couldn't decline it!"

Siamus sits up slightly. He considers Peril. "So… fifteen percent?"

"That will do, and I'll see that it's put to good use." Peril smiles, almost reluctantly settling back into his chair, still bursting with energy from the revelation. "Genius," he whispers.

Siamus nods equably and bends his attention back to his writing. He is not averse to being recognized as a genius.

When he's finished, he takes the sheet of stationery from his portfolio and slides it across the desk to Peril. "Read that over, tell me if it suits. If so, I'll have my assistant here wi' the full contract before sundown."

Peril reads it through with all the eagerness and excitement of a schoolgirl devouring a new fanfic, and nods. "Yes. Good. A pleasure doing business with you, sir," he says, popping back to his feet and offering a hand.

Siamus closes his portfolio and rises to his feet as well, leaning to shake Peril's hand. "And a pleasure making your acquaintance, Mr. Farrens. Thank ye for obliging me with your time."

Peril shakes his hand energetically, probably four or five times more than necessary, still beaming. "Of course, of course, come back any time," he says, finally releasing him.

Siamus smiles back at him and tucks his portfolio beneath his arm once more. "And you'll be welcome to Fallon House yourself. Ye must be in touch if you or Dinnsfield have need of anything, aye?"

"I'll leave that to Lathrik," Peril says. "Paladins tend to be more hands-on." He grins at his own joke.

Siamus does not grin. He arches a brow. "Ah. I see, because of the — aye. Laying on." Paladin jokes. Ha ha.