(2024-11-19) The Spirit of Cooperation In A Cane and the Hat of Gifts

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Lester Amerith and Ilanya pay a call on the Fallons at home, to offer up some potential pieces in a widely spun game, and to assess the potential for an Alliance of disparate approaches to the law and truth with a common far more dangerous enemy. 4400~ words. Red String Game RP.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

Late November on the Elwynn coast is the time of sullen weather, all crossed arms thick clouds that bar the sun from shining too brightly, and cold, chilly winds that like to rattle a window here and there to keep those staying indoors on their toes. Fallon House looks particularly gloomy against this backdrop, stern stone and stoic facade meeting the gray with its own even harder gray stare. The rain has let up, although only just enough to make the roads passable without being pleasant.

It's a quiet afternoon, in that space between lunch and tea, where some of the occupants of the house are busy, others aren't in the house at all and their horses out of their stables with them, and the Lord and Lady are most likely to be found in the Lord's office. There are still guests within the large house, but no visitors are expected today, not for business or pleasure or both, as it can be with the Fallons.

That is not to say, however, that no visitor will be coming, for some other third reason between business and pleasure.

And on this particular day, a Tuesday the 19th, a visitor does arrive.

A perfectly ordinary carriage pulls up to Fallon House, and from it emerges an ordinarily dressed Count Lester Amerith, wearing his usual grey and black suit, with his black hat and sleek wooden cane that is probably not just a cane. Behind him slips Ilanya, wearing a dark green dress with pink sleeves, embroidered flowers running up the sides. It is her typical maid outfit, simple and demure, and her hair is tucked behind one ear, a flower woven into it. In her hands she carries a small brown pouch. A third steps out of the carriage as well, a hooded man wearing dark brown leather armor, a sheathed sword at his side.

This man retrieves two medium-sized packages from the seat of the carriage, then joins Lester and Ilanya as they approach the door. Ilanya does the knocking, then steps back behind her master to wait.

A ginormous shave-headed man in butler's formal livery answers the door impassively. "Your Excellency," he greets Count Amerith. "And Miss… Ravendusk?"

"Yes," she says almost shyly, her green eyes peering up at him from beneath full lashes. If there is a spark of mischief in them, it is at odds with her appearance. She bows her head and gestures to the man with them. "And we have brought gifts, although these are for the ward, Ralaea."

The hooded man does not receive an introduction. Is he one of the gifts? Surely not.

Vane remains planted in the doorway, now watching the hooded man. "I am afraid I cannot admit this gentleman without a name. I am required to identify all guests." His tone is cordial; his expression doesn't change.

At a gesture from the Count, the Ilanya steps behind the man and lowers his hood, revealing a brown blindfold covering his eyes, and a dusting of powder adding color to his otherwise pallid complexion. She then removes the blindfold, gracing Vane with the blue glow of his eyes. This man is a death knight.

"Jothran Silvertone," he says, bowing his head. His voice is soft and controlled, with no signs of the echo.

"He will remain outside," the Count says, gesturing again. "The newest ward of the House is… acquainted with him, but his presence may not be welcome."

Ilanya slips the hood and blindfold back into place.

Vane inclines his head. "Thank you, sir. Shall I take your parcels, then?"

"They are heavy," Jothran warns, passing them into the other man's care, making sure he has the full weight of them before letting go. The packages are indeed heavy, as if each of them contains a slab of stone. With the changing of hands complete, he steps away, returning to the carriage to wait.

"Thank you," Ilanya says, offering a timid smile. "It would have been difficult for us to transport them. We would have had to leave them outside."

Vane bends to accept the parcels from Jothran. He doesn't seem startled or fumble the weight, but once he straightens with the packages in hand, he does heft one subtly to adjust his grip. "Of course, miss," he says to Ilanya. "Right this way, Your Excellency, Miss Ravendusk."

He moves back through the doorway, leading the duo into the foyer. "Are you here to see Her Grace or his lordship?"

Ilanya follows Count Amerith into the foyer, but it is she who answers the question. "We're here to offer our apologies to Her Grace, but the Vice Admiral requested something from me and I have it here. Could you see, perhaps, if both are available? If not, we shall return at a later time."

A second man in servant's livery — this one apparently a footman — enters the foyer as if in response to a silent summons. This one is also giant, but he is both shorter and broader than the butler, like a clone of Vane who has been subjected to more intense gravity.

"I shall see whether they are at home to callers," Vane tells Ilanya. "Should these be delivered directly to Miss Westwind?"

"If you please," Ilanya says. "You can leave them somewhere for her if the stairs will be too much trouble."

"Thank you, miss," Vane says, and crosses to hand the parcels to Burren. The burly footman hefts one in each arm like overfull grocery bags and heads for the stairs. He takes the right-hand branch of the staircase; Vane heads up the left, to see whether the Lord and Lady Fallon are At Home to Callers.

It isn't all that long of a wait, not because the Lord and Lady Fallon were expecting a caller, but they do have guests in the house, and so certain protocols of dress have been maintained accordingly. It might not be exactly the dress that Avrenne would have chosen to wear to see Count Amerith, but it will do. It's one of her more formal house dresses, a dark maroon near warm toned brown, covered in a fine lace of dark gold that depicts various geometric shapes, tied with a gold satin ribbon under her bust that gives the shape of the dress, one that comes primarily from her Delicate State currently in the Alarmingly Large state. Her hair is up in a pleasing coil of a chignon, and she wears earrings of gold discs with some sort of floral impression on them. Her cosmetics are well done, letting her seem rested and alert, darkened lashes and perhaps that is some rogue that has her lips that color.

She doesn't wear a mask of any physical material, but she does wear one — the cold, composed, logical Duchess. It's almost absurd to think of her as a woman who could be shocked into labor, as if she wouldn't just stare down a shock and ask it how dare it disturb her, but there is enough of her state of pregnancy, the delicate way she moves on her husband's arm, the slow way she takes the stairs, that forces an admittance that she is still, after all, mortal, and adrenaline can force even an ironwilled lady into labor against her wishes.

Her dark eyes land on the Count, flicking only once briefly to Ilanya to note where she stands, and then hold on Lester, steady and watchful, judgment of his intentions here awaiting further information.

Siamus is dressed in a suit — dark blue, an ash-grey waistcoat, silver watch-chain, dark blue cravat — and he does not appear as immaculately composed as his wife, but then he never does, and most of the time that's deliberate. His cravat is jauntily askew, his hair tousled as though he's been raking his fingers through it absently — which he most likely has, since Vane just fetched him from his office.

He escorts the Duchess at a careful, stately pace, and makes an inscrutable, black-eyed study of the pair waiting in the foyer as he descends the stairs.

As Lester removes his hat and begins a dramatic bow, Ilanya dips into a curtsy and holds. Nothing flies out of Lester's hat at this juncture.

"Your Grace, Vice Admiral," Lester says. "It heartens me to see you both well."

"Count Amerith," Avrenne greets, as cool as ever, but she curtsies in response to his bow, an arch to her brows. "What an unexpected delight to be able to please a visitor so easily by nothing more than an appearance. We shall then take heart in turn in the sight of your own seemingly good health, in the spirit of fellowship."

Siamus smiles that sardonic half-curve and inclines his head courteously. "Amerith. Looking well yourself." His gaze moves to Ilanya and stays steadily on her for several long seconds. "Miss Ravendusk," he acknowledges.

Ilanya only straightens once spoken to, her green eyes focusing on Siamus the instant she does. She offers a demure smile, but remains silent.

Lester passes his hat back to Ilanya to hold. "It has come to my attention that the two of you suffered an unexpected fright, brought upon by one of my employees," he says. "I have come to offer my most sincere apologies for the business. We are, you see, giving him a safer conduit for such emotions by educating him in the art of the theater, but it seems our overtures came too late to prevent this particular outburst."

Siamus arches a brow. He looks from Lester to Ilanya again and back. "One of your employees. D'ye mean Elle Ebek?"

Though the nickname does give Lester a moment's pause, the slightest twitch of a raised eyebrow, he inclines his head. "The very same," he acknowledges.

"Ah," says Siamus. "I'd heard he's in your… theatrical production. I didn't realize that he's… an employee." He pauses. "Good lad," he says. "Bad judgment."

"And so you are here to apologize then for the actor, whose dramatics have been notable enough in the past to draw your attention and your employment, and whose behavior you seek to solve by offering him an outlet of prop doors to burst through on the stage? It's not the actor who has given concern for his judgement, it is the guard of the Kingdom of Stormwind, and that is a different matter being addressed in due course. I suppose we will have to see the play, and judge for ourselves how well he performs within this… safer conduit," Avrenne says. "I do prefer my frights to be expected, to better enjoy them for what they are rather than suffer from them."

There is a flicker in Ilanya's expression, a sharpening of her gaze, but the Count continues unphased.

"The actor and the guard are the same man, Your Grace, and what I am offering is a tool for him to wield on behalf of the Kingdom. Emotions suppressed are akin to a bomb, set to burst at any sudden spark, but control and channel them and they become as a sword, able to be used and directed at will. In mastering the stage, Mister Ebek will gain a firmer hand on his judgement and reason, and become better able to call on them the next time his emotions threaten to overwhelm. This, I believe, will be to the benefit of the Kingdom."

Lester observes them, his hazel eyes strangely absent of emotion for one who can speak of it at length. "Naturally, what has happened has already passed; I am most grateful to see you and your children unharmed."

Siamus is watching Lester quizzically, his smile taking on a slightly skeptical tilt. "We're blessed, aye, that Her Grace and the children are thankfully well. And I'm obliged to ye for your concern. We agree, at least, that Guardsman Ebek will require better control of his emotions and a firmer hand on his judgment." He flicks a glance from Lester to Ilanya and back again. "An… unusual method, I should think. But then, I can't say I know much of the theater."

"I will not claim any expertise in theater, though I have had the privilege of knowing actors, and in more than one capacity. I would not describe the majority as possessing the traits of the ideal guard, but I am willing to be impressed by a new method when it shows results, as much as I would be impressed to see someone turn a bomb into a sword, given the different materials and ratios needed by one versus the other," Avrenne remarks in that controlled way of hers, no emotions in sight. "Mr. Ebek must be considered lucky to have a patron taking such a close, personal interest in his career."

"I do encourage you and your family to attend the play. You would be most welcome," Lester says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "That is, of course, not the only reason we have come." He gestures Ilanya forward.

She approaches Siamus directly, presenting him with the small brown pouch.

"You made a request for this, I believe," Lester continues. "Have a care if you reach inside; it contains the murder weapon. Wrapped, of course, but one can never be too careful. I have been encouraged to inform you not to touch the handle directly, lest it obscure any evidence that may be found. The wrapping should suffice, to hold it."

Siamus reaches out to take the pouch slowly, his gaze fixed steadily on Ilanya again. "I'm obliged to know it. It would be a simpler matter, naturally, to establish to admissible standard that evidence hadn't been obscured or tampered with had the weapon been left in the custody of the guards who had it. But I appreciate the return of it, at least. I'll be sure it's handled wi' care from here."

"I would have been happy to leave it in the custody of the guards who had it, Vice Admiral, had those guards not disappeared without taking it back," Ilanya says. Her demeanor is calm, but there is the tiniest bite of frost to her words.

"Ilanya," Lester says, his tone mild. It's all he needs to say.

Ilanya curtsies again, and returns to her place behind the Count.

Siamus' eyebrow goes up s l o w l y this time, and he rakes her with an up-and-down look before focusing his attention back on Lester.

It's both the words and the frost that gets the Duchess' icy attention. "Do correct me if I'm wrong," she says, in a tone that implies she is very sure she is not wrong, "but I was under the impression that beyond a clear communication through a gnomish box of summoning guards out of a volatile situation, that there were guards who arrived on the scene with Miss Ravendusk, who were perfectly capable of handling a possible murder weapon from the start, and therefore should have had no need to take it back from a civilian. Surely, you can see how we have been wondering why it was not left for them to do so."

Avrenne's words are an icy chasm, her gaze flicking to Ilanya and then Lester. "I do understand that the desire to be helpful can overwhelm a person to take action in a crisis, but one must be willing to take responsibility later for one's actions done in haste when they might interfere with such matters of justice."

"Quite right, Your Grace. We did, in the spirit of cooperation, send a poison analysis to Mister Dinnsfield's commanding officer, J.C. Pennings, along with a formulated antidote, and I expect once they see the dagger in question they will be able to confirm our results. If you would like a copy of our findings, one can be provided," Lester says. "I have certain connections who are well-versed in the field. The weapon has remained largely untampered with in the meantime, though I fear you can only rely on my word."

Ilanya remains silent, a pleasant smile plastered on her face.

Siamus tilts his head to Lester. "A great help, I'm sure, to Officer Pennings and her Guards; I'm sure ye have more advanced analysis at your fingertips than the Guard is ordinarily afforded. Enterprising of a private citizen. But ye do understand, naturally, how when evidence is misappropriated from a crime scene — even with benevolent intent, or an overabundance of enthusiasm to assist — no one anticipates it is to be subjected to private forensic analysis, nor would they have reason to, and the issue of chain of custody remains. Better the weapon remain with proper authorities, and your lass offer your services to those authorities, d'ye see? So there's no doubt or question about handling.

"There's nowt to be done now to repair the evidentiary issue, though naturally I'm personally inclined to take the word of a gentleman, but — " He shrugs gently. "I do congratulate ye once more on your fascinating array of connections, Amerith."

"While we are on the topic of connections, I believe I have further information that may be of use to you," Lester says, flicking a latch near the handle of his cane. The handle slides down to reveal that this cane is hollow. With a tap on the ground, a thinly rolled paper pops up from the cane and Lester slides it the rest of the way out, offering it to Siamus.

"I believe the owner of that dagger is one 'Ridarien Greysparrow,' a worgen from Gilneas. You see, I had been keeping tabs on a goblin, Fikk Rumblespark, and his organization for some time — even before the young lady joined. They were largely harmless, in no small part due to the actions of a certain mage, who claimed nearly all of their assets as his own, but it seems the addition of Rida, as they call her, emboldened them."

The paper offered contains a sketch of Ridarien Greysparrow, as well as a brief history of various crimes committed against the Kingdom of Gilneas dating back even before its fall, as well as her moniker, ironically, 'The Bloodhound.'

"Then I expect we shall need to dishearten them, lest they obtain more assets that further their over-emboldened tab as it stands." Avrenne still has her hand on Siamus in escort, as if they might leave the foyer any moment, but are not yet. In the crook of his arm, not well seen, but easily felt, her finger moves in pressure of taps spelling out Oleander and Freesia.

"How fortunate for us all that you have been taking such an interest, and keeping such tabs open, to know of them now when we have need, to our advantage, but of course, such is the benefit of a man who enjoys his peculiar, mostly harmless interests from time to time, is it not?" There's no accusation or insinuation in Lady Fallon's voice, only a cool observation of the connection, his having exactly what they need just when they need it, her tone matching her eyes of inscrutable neutrality, the mask she wears unwavering. "Combined efforts and shared perspectives do often prove the key to success, and I expect that the enemies of the Alliance will fall before such unification of knowledge and fellowship. It's always good to work with you on our common concerns and goals, and as usual, Lord Amerith, your patriotism and commitment to cooperation in a crisis is most appreciated."

Siamus was briefly distracted by Lester's hollow cane — a gadget! He accepts the paper absently, unrolls it, and his attention sharpens at once. He studies it and glances up, hard-eyed, as Lester speaks. For a moment it seems as if he is going to say something — he takes a breath as if to speak — and then he pauses and drops his gaze to the paper again, his head tilted slightly as he considers it.

He looks up at last and gestures with the paper, his expression grim. "Obliged to ye, Amerith. This will be of good use, aye."

“You are most welcome, and should you desire further use of any member of my staff for this matter, their aid is freely offered,” Lester says. His gaze assesses them both, from their expressions, down to the tiniest shifts in body language. “I understand that Ilanya here has made some… perhaps unwanted overtures towards your friends. It seems I have not kept her properly occupied, and her interest began to wander. As such, beginning on the first day of the new year, I am sending her to assist in the war efforts at Tol Barad. She has a rather strained relationship with orcs, you see, and I believe it is time that the Alliance puts that energy of hers to good use.”

There is a spark of surprise in Ilanya’s eyes that doesn’t reach her expression. Apparently this is news to her as well.

Avrenne's eyes flick to Ilanya and then back to Amerith, that careful composure of hers that she wears around him, giving nothing away. "The Alliance will be most appreciative for her energy, I am sure. As you are undoubtedly aware, every willing soldier at this time is of crucial importance as we rebuild our military to the necessary strength to keep our homes safe." Is there the slightest emphasis on willing, or was she merely pausing briefly and adjusting the cadence of her voice? Difficult to tell.

Siamus's surprise does reach his expression. He looks from Lester to Ilanya and studies her, possibly reassessing. "Aye," he says. "I've a strained relationship with orcs myself, Miss Ravendusk, having been killed by them in childhood. Does leave a grudge. And every volunteer we can get to the isle is a priceless resource at this point." His emphasis on volunteer is a little more obvious than his wife's on willing, but Siamus is not as subtle a creature as the Duchess.

He looks to Lester. "You and I both know how stretched the Alliance is in both resources and focus at the moment, but also how strategically important Tol Barad is." (Siamus means that he has harped on this point aggressively in the House of Nobles, mostly to sneers or weary silence.) "I'd be grateful if Miss Ravendusk saw fit to join the cause."

Ilanya finally speaks again, her voice cool and demure. “Then allow me to assure you both, Your Grace, Vice Admiral. I have spent much of my life preparing for this moment. The Horde who infect Tol Barad will soon find their limited days filled with regret for their ill-advised venture, before their accursed blood feeds the earth and the carrion gnaw at their bones.”

Lester’s mustache twitches, an echo of amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He lets Ilanya’s statement hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. “I have one final gift, if you will have it.”

Siamus is regarding Ilanya appreciatively. Damn, the little lady knows how to flirt; he gets you now, Reniya.

Avrenne views Ilanya with the same neutral impassivity as before, her attention fully on Lester. "Then it seems as though we must have it, for it we did not, it wouldn't be a gift, would it?" Teehee. Lester can have a little cheeky wordplay, as a treat.

“It is as you say, Your Grace,” Lester says, the slight smile remaining as he retrieves his hat from Ilanya and reaches dramatically, using the full motion of his arm, inside. What he pulls out is a leather bound journal, which he presents to Siamus. Was it in there the whole time? Hard to say. “You must forgive my tardiness in delivering this, given its relevance to your newest ward. One in my employ brought it to me after all was over and done, and asked me to take down a copy. Doing so took time, you understand, and he has as much a claim to it as young Ralaea.”

The journal appears to belong to a death knight named K, its entries dating back as far as the Battle for Light’s Hope Chapel. The names, places, and events contained within might seem startlingly familiar, to one who has been heavily involved in the investigation of a certain Mondragon.

“This is the copy, and you may do with it as you will,” Lester continues, “but I have also brought the original today, lest you see reason to doubt my integrity on the matter. I am aware that my reputation often lends poorly to my earnest claims.”

Siamus steps forward to accept the journal and then steps back to Avrenne's side again. He opens the leatherbound book and begins to page through it. His expression, when he realizes what he's holding, is a moment that looks like a literal shock, an electrical current jolted through him.

He finds his social mask instantly, but in his haste to cover his reaction, he heels too far to the other side; that slight, ironic slant of a smile is probably also the wrong expression with which to read a death knight's diary.

"That won't be necessary, Lord Amerith," Avrenne says. "A gentleman might have a certain reputation amongst those who benefit from portraying him as a man of malignant intent, but that is not the reputation he has with those who have worked with him for so long, and we know you to be a man of integrity to House Fallon." Is that because he always is a man of integrity, or just that he knows to be one to at least this particular House? Unclear from the specific wording, and the tone, but the words stand to encompass Amerith within a certain sphere of influence all the same. "I am sure Ralaea will be grateful to recover a piece of someone she lost, more than once."

There is only the slightest pause from Lester, information being tucked away behind hazel eyes, before he dips into another dramatic bow, hat in hand. "Then with that, I believe my business here is concluded," he says. "Once again, I am glad to see you both well in the wake of the chaos from that dreadful night."

Ilanya follows Lester's lead, her curtsy exact and proper.

Siamus inclines his head graciously, still wearing that inscrutably amused expression, though his eyes are black and hard. "Amerith. Very kind of ye. Miss Ravendusk, a pleasure to see ye again."

Avrenne gives her usual curtsey, watching the Count and his 'maid' (for a certain definition of 'maid'), with those dark eyes, capable of warmth and frost, and for now holding at something in between.

---

Flower Language:

• Oleander: Caution
• Freesia: Trust