(2025-01-10) Aszera Sunstrike, Welcome To Fallon House!

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	At long last, Aze has finally arrived at Fallon House by Siamus Fallon's invitation to come and enjoy the perfectly lovely frosty beach, and meet his perfectly lovely frosty wife, as well as an enormous household ensconced in an enormous house. There are so many rooms (some maybe haunted, some maybe cursed), and so many people (some maybe friendly, some maybe not). Whatever else it may be, it's going to be an interesting trip. 20k~ words. Personal plot RP.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

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deliberate suggestions of characters in conflict, light romance

It's after noon, and therefore past the point of luncheon, before tea, and a suitable time of arrival for a guest at House Fallon. This early into the cold, crisp winter of January, all traces of Winter Veil have been already tucked away, not remaining for even a day after the last of the holiday. None of the roar of celebrations of the birth or promotion lingers in evidence, but House Fallon still buzzes with the energy of a full house, however, between the newest arrivals of the family, and the lingering guests who may or may not ever leave (never a certain thing with the Fallons).

An uncomfortable heavy misty rain refuses to budge from the coast, which would be uncomfortable to travel in regardless of conveyance overland, but the soon to be arriving guest is traveling through other means today. How rain compares to a brief rip of space and time through the Twisting Nether is best left to the travel journals and reviewers.

Arranged in the wide front foyer, the only correct place to initially receive a visitor by Guesting Protocols, is a small party consisting of the Lord of the House, the Lady of the House, the butler, and the resident warlock. Upon the entryway table is a bouquet, the twin of another in the intended guest room known as the Bird Room, consisting of an unusual array of sprays of wild plum tree, the blossoms barely opened, a match for the slightly withered white roses that frame a burst of color in the hellebore, surrounding by Traveler's Joy with it's dangling white 'beard.'

Lady Fallon has been bathed, powdered, and dressed in such a way that if you did not know she had given birth less than a month before, you would not guess it now. There are no traces of evidence of this potentially weakened state permitted. The dress she wears has whale boning in the stays, giving her a rigid shape, allowing the formal dress she wears — large skirt, long sleeves, high collar, of a heavy dark gold and deep maroon, with embroidery of a calycanthus flower framed by two anchors — to hold her up proudly. Her hair is a coronet of gold, a clasp at the center of a brooch of mignonette, though only simple stud earrings dot her delicate ears. Cosmetics hide exhaustion, and her expression hides even more.

Though to what purpose with this particular guest, it's unclear. These details only show to the assembled who can see, but perhaps, what matters is that Lady Fallon knows them as well, her armor and her mask. Already, she wears the Duchess, cold and calculating, not a trace of the warm, vivacious woman who lives underneath showing.

Lord Fallon — or Admiral Fallon, but not Lord Admiral Fallon — is dressed with a like formality, because it is Guesting Protocols. His suit is, as usual, dark blue, but his waistcoat is the pale gold with maroon flowers that he has worn on only one or two past occasions. Again, their guest is unlikely to notice or appreciate this. It is his own background statement nonetheless.

His manner, though, is decidedly warmer and more casual than Her Grace's, and he smiles at Lena Coit.

The butler Vane hangs back discreetly by the door. He is in livery because he is the butler. He does not smile because he does not.

Lena Coit, the resident warlock, is dressed not to make any particular statement herself, except perhaps that she is a warlock. She's in her professional robes of dark green and purple, perhaps as a gesture to the formality of the Fallons. Her blond hair is bound back in a loose braid, and she holds a shimmering purple crystal in one hand. She does not seem stoic or armored today, with the casual manner of one in a foyer to welcome a friend.

Lena looks from Lord to Lady Fallon, her smile faltering only slightly at the intimidating figure of the latter, and asks, "Shall I begin? I believe we're at the designated hour."

Siamus takes his pocket watch out and flips it open to check, because someone suggested a number could be checked and he loves that. "Aye," he agrees. "I believe we're ready." He tucks the watch away again, smiles at Lena, smiles at Avrenne. Look at his fantastic Ice Duchess.

Avrenne does not smile back, her face a hard composure that does not crack, a glacier in cold, Northern winter. She remains where she is, her hands clasped in front of her, holding her place, chin up, shoulders squared, eyes dark and unreadable. She is not one of the summoners, not this time.

Lena lifts the crystal and murmurs Aszera Sunstrike, drawing open the portal and waiting for the others to lend their energy to the endeavour.

Siamus steps toward the portal to help channel. Vane moves impassively from his place by the door to join the endeavor.

The portal takes shape, and then the visitor passes through into Fallon House. Aszera Sunstrike arrives carrying a bag over one shoulder and a case under one arm - the latter large enough to house weapons, though if so they are carefully packed away and inaccessible. In the other hand she holds a dark, gleaming cane which she rests on the ground. Her heavy black blindfold is the same as her companions from Northrend or shipboard might expect, but the rest of her clothing is decidedly not.

Aszera is dressed formally in a deep blue satin long-sleeved gown, with gold and silver thread forming an asymmetrical sunburst along her waist and gleaming faintly in threads on the sleeves. The neckline is low reasonably modest, but low enough to show the tattoos tracing near her collarbones, which might look almost like a part of the dress itself by color. Around her neck is a fine gold chain with loosely-set Shattrath pearls, and she wears small dangling pearl earrings set in the same gold.

"I'm here," Aze says with a wide smile of delight, entirely undaunted by the Ice Duchess. She wobbles a little, catching her balance on the cane, and her smile fades for a moment into an expression intent and focused. Then she turns towards Avrenne and smiles, giving a deep, graceful curtsey. Is it the depth appropriate for a human commoner to a duchess? Who knows, not Aze. But she does know one set of rules of propriety, and she's gonna use them. "Your Grace, thank you for your hospitality."

The woman that Aze has assumed, correctly, to be the Duchess, must be a mage, although Aze might be pardoned if she assumes that mage is mid-cast, or perhaps channeling something, because one way or another, the mage is on fire.

Not externally, she might gather after a harder look, but on the inside, concentrated mostly in her hands, as if she called into herself a fireball and held onto it, and cannot or will not release it. But even the rest of her is strange: red threads of fire singing through her veins, overwhelming the pure arcane until the arcane is barely a whisper in her; there is something elemental about the fire, so that it is more a living thing within her, housed or caged within the flesh of the woman. It isn't strong — in fact, one would call it weak by any metric — but it seems constant, hot and unending.

Aze can be also be forgiven for assuming that such a woman might have a warm voice, perhaps smokey or sultry, at least something of heat. What emerges instead is a voice of ice cold tones, her Lordaeron accent frigidly crisp as a Northrend summit. "It is not by my invitation you are here," she states, after a brief pause, as if she had expected something more, like say, a proper introduction before addressing her. There is no returning curtsey, nothing but that hard, unyielding stand. "You owe your thanks for hospitality to the Admiral, whose generosity and honor is what permits your arrival. It is to him that you should be conveying such sentiments."

Siamus intervenes as though neither woman has spoken. "Your Grace," he says courteously, "I present Miss Aszera Sunstrike. Miss Sunstrike, Her Grace the Duchess Esprit, Lady Fallon, my wife." Aze can't see that he's smiling at her but the warm slant is audible. "Welcome to Fallon House. And ye know Miss Coit, of course."

Aze doesn't lose her smile, but the muscles in her face tighten slightly at the cold tone of the duchess's voice. Then some of Avrenne's words seem to register, and she turns slightly toward Siamus with a faint lift of her smile. Curtseying again, just as formally, she says, "I believe you are aware of my gratitude. But if it needs saying again, Admiral, I am in your debt for the welcome and the generosity."

Straightening, she adds offhandedly to the warlock, "And of course, a pleasure to see you again Miss Coit."

Lena nods, glancing at Lady Fallon with a touch of worry, and then seems to remember the visitor can't see either gesture. With a touch of wariness, she responds, "Likewise, Miss Sunstrike."

There is none of the warmer touches, the welcome, that Lena has seen of Lady Fallon, to speak nothing of the wife Siamus knows. This is the Duchess of Reputation, whose coldness, and resistance to charm is legendary. (Which may make the conquest of such a woman to be charmed all the more satisfying, but that's another story.) Avrenne's control over her body language is tight, the movement of her hand elegant and economical to signal Vane to get the luggage. "The Bird Room has been made available for you, on the second floor. This is the foyer of the first floor, which consists of mainly common use rooms. The second floor is mostly bedrooms, the nurseries, and the Admiral's office. The third floor has studios, workshops, and other guest suites. You will be given a tour to know where things are, and which places you may go freely. Vane will see your things to your room. If you have need of refreshments, they will be made available. If you require accommodations that avoid stairs, it will be seen to." Ah, the cane, and the balancing on it.

Vane approaches Aze and bows his head courteously. "Madam," he says to prompt her; she has a blindfold on, it's possible she's not aware the vrykul is here to take her bags.

"Oh, right, yes, thanks," Aze says distractedly, perhaps still focused on the Ice Duchess's words. She hands over her case and bag to the vrykul's waiting hands, maybe a little too easily for someone who is genuinely blind.

The cane she keeps for the moment, but she says in the direction of the Lord and Lady, "I shouldn't have any problem with stairs, it was just… a little disorienting coming through into…" Aze trails off, maybe considering that this woman doesn't really care about the whys. She picks up with something more relevant, resting her hands on the cane. "I realize I'm a difficult guest, in a number of ways. I don't want to do anything to make that worse, so I want it to be clear that I'll follow your lead here, whatever it is I need to do."

There is no thawing in the glacier, but it doesn't worsen at least. "Your willingness is noted, and appreciated, Miss Sunstrike. The household is aware of your arrival today, and you are a guest of the house, no more or less than any other." The words are welcoming, at least. The tone is what Siamus might call frosty, and what others would perhaps call the tone of a headmistress informing a delinquent student they are currently on probation, and will be monitored closely as such. "When you are settled here to your satisfaction, you will be introduced to the family, those of the House, and our guests currently residing here. You need not be concerned that you will need to explain your nature; they have been apprised.

"On that note, we have frequent other guests to the house, some of whom will be coming here during your intended stay. You are cordially invited to be present for some of those, as a number of those guests may be of interest to you, such as the brother and sister-in-law of the Aspenwoods I have been given to understand you share a friendship with, as well as a new House establishing itself here, headed by a Quel'dorei, Kalindra Azuredown, who oversees some land in Redridge, near the Tennerows, who have been cooperating with your sister, Mrs. Sunstrike, and her husband, if I recall correctly." It's a softening phrase, but her tone leaves no room for doubt that she recalls anything but correctly. Aze has been prewarned about her mind for details.

The invitation has something of a sound like a suggestion, but if so, it's a Duchess Suggestion. It sounds a lot more like Avrenne has an itinerary, and a scheduled social calendar, and Aze is just being apprised that now so does she.

"I am… at your disposal then, to meet whoever you think best, Your Grace," Aze says finally, with another smile. "And yes, my family was in Redridge, last I heard, busy killing orcs." Aze's smile flickers for a moment, as she realizes that was possibly not the proper thing to say. She carries on with, "…though I have not met Lady Azuredown or the Tennerows. I haven't actually… ever… been to the Redridge Mountains."

"No, I wouldn't have expected you have been," Avrenne says. She says nothing of whether Aze will this time, or not.

Lena steps back, keeping quiet and out of the range of fire, and offering no assistance to the visitor.

"Well… thank you for clarifying what is expected of me," Aze says finally.

Siamus steps forward again. "Will ye have a tour of the house, or would ye first like to see your room?" He's still smiling, his manner easygoing; he might be at a different party than these three ladies.

"Do enjoy your visit, Miss Sunstrike," Avrenne says, without an ounce of warmth in the otherwise cordial words. "I will be down later for tea in the library. You will excuse me." She sweeps off, ascending the stairs as though she will be harshly judged for any imprecision, full practiced elegance on display.

Vane vanishes silently with Aze's luggage, after a courteous bow of the head.

Siamus offers Aze his hand, and turns to smile at Lena. "Thank ye, Miss Coit. Obliged, as ever."

"Of course, sir," Lena says quietly, accepting what seems to be a dismissal.

Aze's eyebrows raise, but she takes Siamus's hand without hesitation. "I guess I don't have to carry my stuff, so maybe the house?" She pauses, frowning. "Is that… um… how Her Grace usually greets guests?"

Siamus considers the question thoughtfully. "It is not, no. But this is a more delicate political situation than anything usual, and she will be vigilant wi' that. I did warn ye there'd be a chill; it's all to do wi' the Horde and sin'dorei." He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles lightly. "She's a brilliant lady," he assures her, which is probably not one of Aze's specific concerns at the moment.

"Yeah, you did warn me," Aze says, shifting a little closer to him. "I tried to be polite and respectful, but… maybe I've just been too long on battlefields for this sort of thing. Maybe I'll pick up the rules better as I go."

"Ye did well enough," he says. "It's best, as ye did, to defer to her in the political and social matters. It's one of her particular expertises; best thing I could have done for my own political career was marry the lady. She'll steer ye true. And she's seen to the house, so there are no worries about the children." He tucks Aze's hand into the crook of his arm in gentlemanly fashion and guides her toward one of the two hallways at the front of the house.

"I'll show ye to the library and dining room first, as those are most likely to be rooms ye'll want to know. And if, once you're settled, ye find yourself either lost or wanting for company, ye'll find that my office is the one next to your room." Just a gentlemanly observation.

"Oh, good, that the kids are sorted. I'm not out to scandalize anybody," Aze says, breathing a sigh of relief as she lets Siamus guide her along. "This whole place feels like a honeycomb, caught me off guard when I first arrived. Thanks, for the tour, genuinely. I probably would get lost. And you probably can guess I'm not much for reading, but it'll still be good to know where the library is."

After a few steps, she tilts her head towards his slightly and asks, "Can I ask you, when I'm not sure if I'm going to step wrong?"

He glances down at her, an eyebrow cocked. "Of course ye may. Though I promise that — depending on the matter — ye may ask Her Grace, as well. She'll appreciate manners, but she'll appreciate just as much your own concern wi' correct manners, and your willingness to look for her advice. As I say, it's her expertise." He considers Aze's face for a moment. "She may seem a touch chilly, but she's nothing but the House's best interests at heart. While you're a guest here, you're one of the House's interests."

A touch chilly, yes. That is a way to describe it, certainly.

"Her Grace does seem like… an interesting woman," Aze says, her voice going a little quieter with thought. "And an impressive one. Some of my questions might be a little too simple, though. Like… what am I actually supposed to be doing, to settle in? If the bags are in my room, that's pretty much it, isn't it? I'm about as settled as I've been anywhere, the past decade or so."

"Ah." Siamus looks a little surprised. Don't ladies… settle? Do Lady Things? "Well," he says, "if ye'd like some time to yourself at all, aye?" You know, in case you need a nap after your… long summoning journey. "Otherwise, I'll just take ye about, and perhaps ye can meet some of the household, and then I expect we can have tea." He pauses outside the library door. "… and this is the library, where tea will be served, and usually is."

"Okay, for tea, not books," Aze says, nodding toward the library. Then she quickly amends, "Or that is, books for other people, and maybe me someday." She considers the rest of it and says, "I don't think I need to be alone. The summon was pretty much instant, and I already dressed up to fit in, planning to meet people. Or I hoped I'd fit in, I don't know. Maybe I should have just come in armor, but that seemed like the wrong message."

Siamus drops his gaze to her gown. "Ye look lovely," he says, softer. "Ye make a fine impression."

Aze straightens a little at the praise, and she looks up at Siamus with a smile that has the faintest edge of hunger in it. Then she says, "I did bring my swords, which I hope isn't an insult. I just thought… maybe there'd be something around here I could be of use with. That and they do have sentimental value, I wouldn't want to leave them behind."

"Of course it's no insult. I don't expect ye'll be greeting callers wi' them, but it's not as though we haven't got a houseful of folk wi' weapons. And if there's a thing ye can be of use with, I'll be sure to let ye know."

Siamus looks up to consider the library again. Can Aze… see the library? Hm. "The dining room is this way, at the end." He squires her in that direction.

Aze allows herself to be led, tilting her head back a little as if staring at the ceiling. "Do people eat meals together in the dining room? Or is that not a thing? "

"Dinners, aye. Breakfast is served in the dining room, but it's not a formal meal; it's set out on the sideboard and people will come and go as they please. Lunch is often similar, unless there's company — if Her Grace has luncheon plans for ye, she'll tell ye — then tea is in the library and dinner is the whole household in the dining room properly."

"So I'm meant to attend dinner and tea and… sometimes lunch," Aze says, with a faint lift at the end inviting Siamus to confirm if she has it right. "And what if I forget what time it is? Is there another place one usually goes for food, if one misses the meals?"

"Ye can ask any passing servant to bring ye a meal or tea in your room or one of the studies, wherever ye please." Siamus makes it sound like servants just cruise the halls constantly, looking for people to feed.

Aze frowns. "How do I tell which is a servant? I mean, I'll probably figure it out once I've met everyone, but I don't want to make a mistake."

"Ye'll be introduced," Siamus tells her. "There's only a handful ye'll see about — the three maids, a footman, and Vane ye've met. They're in… uniform. Which, ah. Probably doesn't help." His wry smile is audible again.

"Vane, I think I'll remember what he looks like," Aze says, furrowing her brows. "Probably. Her Grace was a little distracting. I, uh, mean that in a good way. But I remember he was…" she raises a hand to gesture a tall height. "So I'll look for him if I need help and I don't remember the others yet."

Siamus smiles at her. "Aye, that'll do." He does not remark on the distractingness of Her Grace. He knows. He finds her distracting too.

He stops them near the dining room table. "Dining room," he confirms.

"Dining room," Aze repeats, and it might be unclear how much of it she sees, until she says, "Big household, if it fills the table. Biggest household I ever lived in was four. Used to eat dinner together, too."

"It's a big household now, aye," Siamus says, warmth in his voice. "It was only myself and my sister for years. And the table's always been that size, so." He looks it over. "The house goes a long way to filling it up, but there are also guests and friends often enough since Her Grace and the children came."

"And for me, now it's just myself and my sister," Aze says with a faint smile. "And her husband. But we don't eat together. Table's empty. It'll be nice, having a lot of people around. I hope they like me."

"I'm certain they will," says Siamus with all the confidence of a man who likes 97% of the people he meets. "I can show ye back in the other direction now, to the games room and the little parlor. Music room and ballroom as well." He pauses for a moment, possibly trying to remember whether there are more rooms.

"Games and music, that sounds fun," Aze says, her smile brightening. "You have instruments?"

"We do," says Siamus, and then gazes distantly down the hall ahead of them, thinking. "… I don't remember which." They are crossing back through the foyer, and approaching another set of double doors on the right. "And this is the games room," he tells her.

"Ah, well, I'm sure I can figure out how to play whatever you've got," Aze tilts her head towards the game room. "What kinds of games, then? Cards? Boards? Anything spicier?"

Siamus laughs at her. "Cards, boards, and billiards, chiefly. D'ye play?" He tilts his head.

"I'm not great with cards. Boards, it depends on the game. It's all the… reading situation," Aze waves her free hand dismissively. Darn missing eyes. "Billiards could be fun, though. Less reading, more action. I've seen it before, but I've never much played. Maybe I could get the knack. I'm not bad at collisions in other contexts, so… yeah, I could play. It's your house, so I'd guess you're into it?"

"I am, aye. A gentleman's game, they'll tell ye, though the dockside lads I learned it from when I was still in school could not have been called gentlemen, exactly." He glances into the room, toward the table. "Shine's the better of the pair of us, though ye mustn't tell him I concede it. And he's been teaching Her Grace — to my future sorrow, I'm given to understand."

"A ladies and gentlemen game, then, in this house," Aze says with a smile. "If there's a time where I'd be welcome to play, I'd be interested. I might lose a lot at first, but as long as that's still fun. Is Shine one of the people I'll be meeting soon?" Aze nods, confirming what is meant to be secret. "I'll be careful not to tell."

"Ye'll be welcome to play whenever ye like," Siamus tells her. "And aye, you'll meet Shine. He's a friend a long ways back, from school days, and was my lieutenant in Proudmoore's Fleet." He guides Aze from the games room and further along the hall. "He's… friendly with Miss Coit," he adds.

He leads her through another broad entryway into a huge, echoing space full of light from two walls of windows. "And this is the ballroom."

"Is he now," Aze murmurs with a sly smile, as Siamus leads her on. "And you have your own ballroom? Surprised Miss Coit isn't dancing the days away." She pauses, and turns to Siamus. "Can we invite Colson and Mordecai here? And maybe Cressidha and Sil? We used to dance in Nagrand, but we had just that one room in Telaar."

"Absolutely we can," says Siamus, smiling down at her.

Somewhere, the Duchess adjusts her itinerary. So it has been said, so it will be done.

"And you and I should still dance," Aze adds, her smile turning a little playful. Then she hesitates, and adds, "If it's not… inappropriate. That is, I was sort of planning on sin'dorei dancing all around, but if that's… if Her Grace would rather. I have learned the Stormwind Promenade."

"You and I will dance," Siamus assures her, that smile back in his voice. "As to what sort of dances, Her Grace is not much for dancing herself and likely won't mind, though perhaps the Aspenwoods and I can teach some more Stormwind dances to you and Miss Coit both." Dryly, he adds, "They're not particularly interesting dances, on the whole. I find it's the partner that adds interest, more than the dance itself."

"I can still learn them," Aze says with a shrug, using the motion to shift her side to brush against him. "Maybe I can find ways to make them more interesting." She lets out a low sigh. "But really, you have a pretty fucking amazing house. And I've only seen one floor of it."

Siamus looks faintly startled. "Oh, this is only the front downstairs."

Aze laughs. "Right, okay, one half a floor. Feels almost like… a city… or something."

Siamus smiles down at her. "A small-to-moderate-sized city, aye. Here, the music room is across the hall, and the Little Parlor too." He's silent for a moment as he guides her, and then he asks, "How much of it can ye see?"

Aze is quiet for a moment as well before she answers, "The dimensions of the rooms. Objects, especially the larger ones, the shapes of them. And I can't see the whole house from here." She says this last as if he might have reasonably expected her to. Then another thought occurs to her and she asks, "Oh, I should ask, before its too late. Where would I go to send mail?"

"Oh, ye can give it to any of the servants and they'll see it posted," Siamus says. "Or ye can leave it in my office and my secretary will send it out when she sends mine."

"Okay, yeah, maybe your office," Aze nods. "I just need to write my brother-in-law. He worries, you know, especially with all the… hostilities. Even though I think I've made it pretty clear what side I'm on."

Again there is a considering silence. "Have ye?" asks Siamus mildly. "To whom?"

"To…" Aze pulls to a stop. "To you. Haven't I? I spent weeks fighting for y- for the Alliance fleet, didn't I?"

Siamus looks down at her again. "I asked ye here because I believe, aye, that you're on the right side of the thing, or will be. So ye can mark that off; I'm not the one ye need to convince anymore. Aye?

"It will be seen as a test of my loyalty, too, the company I choose to keep. I've chosen to keep yours, so for both our sakes ye may want to be explicit about which way ye lean, with the people that ye meet here." He pauses, studying her face. "It will be the chief factor in Her Grace's esteem."

"I thought I was being explicit," Aze says in confusion. "I've killed for the Alliance now. What else… What else am I supposed to do?"

Siamus nods at her. "Aye, there's battlefield loyalties. And I've seen yours. But battlefield loyalties can be… ambiguous as well, whether a fighter is a friend or enemy-of-my-enemy, aye? If ye'd joined us against the Horde at Tol Barad would be one thing. Fighting nagas is another. And we're not on a battlefield here, the people here and the people you'll meet aren't soldiers. It's political and personal loyalty they'll be looking for."

"Well, I agree this is not a battlefield, and I'm here," Aze says, tilting her face up towards his. "I've put myself in your power. As I have before, on The Lady Blanche. That's… at least trust, right? What else should I do, introduce myself as Aszera Sunstrike, sin'dorei defector?"

Siamus smiles ruefully and lifts his fingers lightly to her chin, bending to kiss her upturned mouth. When he straightens, he says, "Ye have put your trust in me, and I value it. And ye may introduce yourself as Miss Aszera Sunstrike. Though ye might wish to add something about how glad ye are to be wi' the Alliance at last.

"Ye can note in conversation the work your sister is doing for Tennerow against the orcs, or ask questions about any plans or interests ye have for the future that relate to the Alliance." (Because Aze is a lady who makes tons of plans for the future in advance.) "But I don't mean to coach ye, only to advise. If you're interested and sincere, that should do. Ye needn't persuade anyone on first meeting."

He pauses again and when he speaks this time his voice is a little harder. "Sharing certain opinions on certain present leaders of the Horde would serve ye well also."

Aze leans into the kiss, and stays looking up at him afterward.

"I am sincere and interested," she says, and then continues in a mild voice, "And I bet my opinions aren't that much different than yours. Fucking orcs and trolls. I don't know if there's something specific I should know? I've been getting the highlights of the news, but I have been off in Outland for a while."

"Well," says Siamus, and tucks her hand more firmly into the crook of his arm as he begins walking again. "Ye know that Hellscream's set on taking the mouth of the Baradin Bay, and razing the forests in Ashenvale and slaughtering Sentinels. Ye know that Windrunner plague-bombed Hillsbrad and wiped out Southshore, and then invaded Gilneas and plagued it for good measure. Took Andorhal and slaughtered its farmers and raised them as Forsaken just after we'd finally recovered the place from the Scourge. Et cetera." His tone is blandly conversational, and he continues to gaze ahead as they walk.

"Yeah, I got all that," Aze says, resting her other hand on his arm. "Just wondering if there was some new atrocity I'd missed. Sometimes it's hard to believe Windrunner turned into such a bitch, but I guess that's undeath for you. I guess I'll add that to my list, fuck the Forsaken."

Siamus glances down at her, his smile lopsided. "Aye," he agrees. "There's an opinion that will win ye friends. Fuck the Forsaken." He looks ahead down the hall again. "As it is, better than half this House came out of the Fall of Lordaeron, and have strong feelings — ye might imagine — about its current occupiers."

"If we want to compare homelands destroyed by the fucking Scourge," Aze mutters, her own voice hardening. Then she takes a breath, and says more calmly, with a smile, "Yeah, I could see we have some common ground there. Might not be the right thing to bring up at first tea, but I'll keep it in mind."

He laughs softly. "Not at first tea, perhaps, no." They're at the foot of the stairs now, and he pauses and looks up. "Will ye see the second floor as well? There's plenty of time before tea yet."

"I'd love to, if there's time," Aze brushes her hair behind one ear with her free hand and smiles, any tension from the recent conversation already forgotten. "Please, Admiral, lead me onwards and upwards."

Later

The Fallon Library has been well prepared for a full afternoon tea service, not significantly different from usual. The only real difference between today and the day before is the quantity of the food and tea, and the mandatory attendance by all the family, including the babies. There are four desks, and a coffee table, and on each is a tea serving for the four wards, two adult Fallons, their guest, and one semi-solid food eating baby (the twins have made prior arrangements with the duchess, and they are excused, but they still must make an appearance). The rest of the household's members have been invited to the same tea in half an hour, which should give Aze ample time to adjust to first the family, and then even more people who live here in this very normal house.

She will meet the other guests before dinner.

There is, of course, an abundance of tea, served piping hot, and of two varieties: a pink hibiscus and rose herbal, and a brewed until it's practically coffee Lordaeron Breakfast variety. Milk, sugar, honey, and lemon slices are all available, though it is known that only some will avail themselves of the ways to dilute their caffeine. There is, as usual, one (1) glass of milk, set for Ralaea, who takes 'tea' only in the spirit of the small snack meaning, and not the actual liquid.

The snack has the usual fare. Sandwiches, cut into rectangles: crushed white pepper and orange mint herbed butter with cucumber, smoked salmon and cream cheese with the tiniest of lemon peel, and chicken with nutmeg and tarragon edged with walnuts. Scones, one sweet, one savory: a cranberry dusted with powdered sugar, and a parmesan chive. Desserts, with a one of each for each policy: lemon and cranberry chequered sponge, cherry and white chocolate macron, and bite sized hazelnut tortes with vanilla mascarpone cream topped by teeny tiny mint leaves.

Finley is in fine form, his hair still worn longer these days, curling around the edges of his collar of his dark maroon suit, with the gold cravat. He sits in the seat furthest from the main door, watching it like a hawk, his face a mask not of a bland butler, but an amused young gentleman. It would seem real, if not for the fact that his expression hasn't altered for fifteen minutes, and his arms are crossed hard over his chest.

Isla cannot, in contrast, sit still or keep one emotion in place long enough for it to find rest on her face — she's a sparkler of joy in her seasonal red dress, the colors of the fabric like a burst of sunset, the long skirt of it held out from her legs with the use of a small hoop crinoline, to keep them from getting entangled with her legs. It makes her dress swish like a soft bell as she moves through the library, flitting from table to table, buzzing from nervous to excited to worried to curious to annoyed to teenager. Her hair is already sticking out in several directions from its once tidy braid.

Otto sits at the table he always does, in the same chair he always does, and he has already organized his plate, and his tea. It's just Friday for Otto, dressed in a crisp long sleeved white shirt and black pants that may or may not belong to a formal suit somewhere. It's Friday for Otto but with fancy pants. He has on shoes. They are house slippers, but they're shoes. They count. Avrenne said so seven months ago. She probably didn't mean for guests, but here we are.

Ery has been dressed in a delightful little navy sailor dress that will need to be cleaned for two days when she is done with it, but for the moment, she looks precious, all navy and red. There is no hat.

The twins rest in a bassinet, brought down specifically for this tea. Elliot is in navy blue; Eamon is in maroon. Both are currently in infant post-milk dozing, and therefore adorably quiet and drowsy.

Five minutes before 4pm, Avrenne arrives, still wearing her golden dress, looking severe and cold as the winter's breath outside.

Ralaea is dressed in a green velvet dress with thin gold embroidery on the sleeves and skirt, nothing extremely fancy or formal. In her hair is a green and red painted clip in the shape of a holly sprig. She sits tucked into a corner of the couch across from the fireplace, sullen as usual. It is apparent from the neatly combed, glossy state of her hair that she did not ready herself for today.

Avrenne surveys the assembled children with a critical eye, and moves to sit on one of the most uncomfortable looking wingbacked chairs near where the infant boys have had their bassinet parked, her hands clasped lightly, and her posture flawless (in part because the stays she wears to give her the shape she currently has does not actually allow for any other form of posture).

At one minute past four o'clock, the Admiral strolls into the library. He is dressed — as is usual for a formal meal — in a dark blue suit, but his waistcoat this afternoon is a pale gold embroidered with maroon flowers, a sort of counterpart to the Duchess's gown. His hair is swept back in a way that suggests he may recently have been Outdoors, where there is Weather, but then again his hair looks like that a lot of the time. He's smiling his inscrutable smile, his dark gaze gleaming as he takes in the room and his gathered family.

He is escorting a dark-haired young elven woman on his arm, and he pauses just over the threshold. "May I present my guest, Miss Aszera Sunstrike? Miss Sunstrike, ye've already made Her Grace's acquaintance, and I believe ye know Ralaea as well."

Aszera's face is a little flushed, as if she'd been out in the wind, but her loose dark hair is only lightly windswept. Her dress is formal, though, a deep blue satin long-sleeved gown, with gold and silver thread forming an asymmetrical sunburst along her waist and gleaming faintly in threads on the sleeves. The ends of her dark blue tattoos are just visible at the neckline, and she wears pearls loose set in a gold chain around her neck and dangling at her ears. Her eyes are blindfolded, but she turns politely as if she were looking at the assembled.

"Yes, Ralaea and I have met," Aze says quietly, with a more reserved smile than is usual for her.

Avrenne rises to a stand as Siamus and Aze arrive. Finley rises with her, in an almost eerily perfect way, as he continues to be a Gentleman. Isla freezes and sloooowly rotates so that she faces the door. She attempts to set her hands in front of her, as Avrenne does, and be Dignified. Otto blinks, and stands up, facing the guest. He doesn't try to be anything but Otto.

"Miss Sunstrike, may we present our eldest daughter of the House, Ery Esprit Fallon," Avrenne says, a hand moving elegantly through the air to the ten-month-old. The baby gives a helpful loud ba POH! at the sound of her name, banging her hands down where she sits. "Our sons of the House, Elliot Esprit Fallon, and Eamon Esprit Fallon." The twins do nothing of interest. They are only several weeks old, and still don't even really look fully at people or objects.

"Our eldest ward," Avrenne continues.

At that, Finley cuts a bow to Aze. "Finley Boutille, at your service. It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, and it sounds pleasant and sincere, the voice of a man in his mid-20s. There is nothing special about his energy, except for the start of the cling of shadows of a rogue in training.

"Our second eldest you know," Avrenne confirms. "Our third, Otto Renner."

Otto doesn't bow, but he does say, as he smiles at Aze, "I'm Otto. I'm smiling at you, because it is nice to meet you." Why the young man sounds so young, a wispy sort of voice, isn't clear, but there's something very pure about his energy, if a little odd.

"And our youngest," Avrenne finishes.

"Isla Lenaire," Isla says, scowling at Otto, and then looking imploringly at Aze — which doesn't likely have any impact on Aze at all — before she beams up a smile. The Light shines within the girl, a brilliant overbright ball of sunshine curled up tightly within her. "I'm also smiling at you, and so was Finley. You musn't think we weren't. It's so exciting that you're finally here! Can you see smiling? Is it like our auras become brighter or bigger or —" The young girl's questions cut off suddenly.

The reason might be lost on Aze, but caught by everyone else in the room, of Avrenne's motherly raised brows of a warning of Manners and Bombardment of Questions.

Aze's own reserved smile softens at the introductions, especially at the sound of the baby, Otto, and Isla. Nervous tension loosens in her frame at the warm welcome.

"I can hear," Aze answers Isla's cutoff cascade of questions. "Usually a smile can be heard. Not always, not for everyone, but usually."

Otto blushes, shy, and sits down, ducking his head, as he now attempts to be close enough to the table that if no one looks at him long enough that he might maybe get under it.

"Oh!" Isla says, her hands rising up to her chest. "What does mine sound like? Does it sound like a bell or like a little chime or sunshine on a spring day?" The last one might be something Isla read once and now has always wondered what that is exactly supposed to sound like. Is it Isla? To help Aze hear it, Isla smiles wider and harder, until it almost passes into scary, unhinged grimace territory.

"She means it has a different tone," Finley says, still standing, as he waits for Avrenne to sit to sit back down.

"I know that," Isla says, whirling on the other ward with a furious scowl, the smile definitely out of her voice now. "I just mean, she might have a whole other way of describing it, and I'm curious. Avrenne said I'm allowed to be curious, Lee!"

Avrenne did, in fact, say that, but now she clears her throat in another warning, as she sits back down in her chair. "Miss Sunstrike, would you care for some tea and refreshments before you consent to answering any curiosity and questions?" Her own tone makes it clear she is not smiling, but then again, she hasn't been at any point. So, nothing has changed.

"Oh, tea and… yes, thank you," Aze says, smiling at the unsmiling lady. She pauses, trusting Siamus to take her to the correct seat, and says not pointed at any particular person, "But I don't mind curiosity and questions - I'm happy to answer. And to be here, obviously, it is exciting. I would like to be well understood - for the future." Aze pauses and tilts her head toward Isla. "I meant tone, but you are like a little sun. Warm and bright."

Siamus, still smiling himself — if not like a little sun — escorts Aze over to a seat on the couch not currently occupied by Rae. Once she has been seated, he steps away to go to where Ery sits on the floor. He crouches down in front of her, and the toddler stretches a hand toward him commandingly and says, "AHP."

Siamus nods seriously at her. "I'd suspected as much myself, aye." He picks her up and rises, sweeping her briefly into the air as she waves her feet delightedly, and then he collects her close against his shoulder and kisses her on the cheek. She smacks him. This is probably not the first time Siamus has been smacked after kissing someone, and he laughs.

Aze sits back against the couch, with a faint sound that might be a happy laugh at the baby's obvious happiness. She reaches for tea and refreshment at random - who knows what she'll end up with.

Avrenne knows at least the tea part. This is primarily because she has poured the tea, as the hostess duties require, having chosen the caffeinated variety for Aze, perhaps in some courtesy of considering the need for fortifying beverage in the wake of her children.

It is Finley who actually brings it to Aze, however, a solicitous air to him. "Would you like any help with the food? There's a wonderful spread, but if you have a preference for chicken over salmon, you might find the bread not as forthcoming about its contents as Isla."

"I am not a table of contents, Lee!" Isla protests, having spent an entire forty seconds basking her compliment of being like a little sun! She is shiny and bright! "Or an index! I'm a little sun." She sounds more like the summer sun at high noon in the desert than a lovely spot of sunshine now, but here we are.

Aze accepts the tea from Finley, struggling for a moment to keep from laughing at the banter between him and Isla. She keeps her composure and leans slightly towards Finley to say, "I'd appreciate it, Mr. Boutille. Chicken sounds perfect."

Haha! Another one for team chicken! Finley's smile is obvious in his tone, a gentleman's smile, cultured and practiced until indistinguishable from the real thing. "It's a favorite of mine," he tells her, as he sets two of the sandwiches onto a plate, along with Aze's allotment of scones.

Avrenne merely takes up her tea, observing in her chair. There's nothing in her posture or body language to suggest she is tired; her cosmetics hide it well. It's only there in the fine details of her eyes, the frequency of her blinks, that gives even the slightest indication that the unassailable duchess may, in fact, be at least slightly assailable. Her free hand is on the side of the bassinet, which she uses to rock the twins gently, rhythmically, to keep them pleasant and quiet with all the sounds of the gathered. If there is one thing they are used to already, however, it's the sounds of lots of people speaking.

Once Finley brings her the plate, Aze sips tea and munches on a sandwich briefly in silence, maybe trying to map out where all the social pitfalls are in this peaceful room.

"Wes… Miss Westwind," Aze says carefully, turning to her. "It's been a while. Have you been well, since Northrend?"

Siamus, meanwhile, bears Ery over to the bassinet where her brothers are lying peacefully. As he passes behind the Unassailable Duchess's chair, he drops his free hand lightly to her shoulder. It could almost be an accidental touch, as though he meant to weave his way around the chair and misjudged it, put a hand out in passing to catch himself, and oops sorry lady, misjudged that as well. He doesn't look down at her or acknowledge the gesture, just continues to the bassinet and leans over it to show Ery her brothers.

Ery is so fucken tired of her brothers, and immediately begins kicking her legs in protest. Squirmy little mother-usurpers.

Siamus straightens away before Ery can trouble the twins, and carries her back to the couch where Aze is seated. He settles at the opposite end of it, decorously, and sets Ery on his knee.

Aze does a little finger wave at Ery, but does not move any closer without invitation.

Avrenne's head moves slightly at the touch, a barely visible lift of her shoulders; one might wonder if she was trying to shrug it off if one only watched the general movement of the Fallons, or if one was watching the Lady Fallon's eyes, flicking up to him, think that it was to extend the contact for just a little half-second longer. Either way, it's brief, and small, and quiet.

Ery eyes Aze's fingers suspiciously.

"You can just call me Rae," Ralaea says, eyeing Avrenne as if for permission. She can just call her Rae, right? "And yeah, I've been okay. I almost died to a fence post, but that was a while ago now."

Avrenne gives Ralaea the nod. Ralaea is permitted to decide who gets the use of her name. Unfortunately, the nod of permission comes too soon before Ralaea then proceeds to ignore her Etiquette Training and moves into conversation topics not approved for tea time.

Finley's smooth gentlemanly behavior slips for a moment, before he catches it and rights it. "Yeah, that was a while ago now," he agrees lightly.

Isla chews furiously at her lip, suddenly finding that she needs to stare really, really hard at her food.

Otto has… wait, where is he? Did he disappear? He's nowhere to be seen, except by Aze, as the little ball of a guy with a plate under the desks closest to the windows, quiet as a mouse.

"A fence post," Aze says, and takes a moment to find the appropriate frame of mind to speak to Rae. Don't say anything flippant, Aze. DON'T. She repeats, like it's totally ordinary. "A fence post. Dangerous things. I'm glad to see you came through safely. I was mostly in Northrend, then Outland, so I have faced only the usual dangers."

Ralaea nods in approval. Dangerous things indeed.

"Miss Sunstrike," says Siamus conversationally, "has been living in Shattrath City." Which is very far from Stormwind. And the Cataclysm. Let's talk about that.

"Oh! Have you seen — " Isla starts, and then makes a slightly choking sound as she tries to steer that carriage around with an awkward, "In a manner of speaking seeing, Khadgar?! Avrenne said he was in Shattrath. And that there's a giant singing naaru that lets everyone be in the city, and that there are floating elevators. Does Khadgar still have a beard? Has it grown, do you know? Oh, and does the sky change yet at all, or wait, can you not tell if…" Doesn't matter. "Does the city look different to you, because Outland's near the Twisting Nether? Is it all purpley and bluey? Or do you see the fel everywhere, and it's all green?" This may be Isla's imagination of what goes on in Outland.

Avrenne allows the conversation topic to change, away from fences and explanations of who has and has not had a recent brush, or perhaps brief speaking acquaintance, with death.

Aze pauses, maybe trying to figure out the right order to answer those. "Yes, I've seen Khadgar, in my way of seeing - he spends a lot of time with A'dal, that's the naaru. I didn't see Shattrath or either of them before I lost my eyes, so I don't know how it might be different. There are floating elevators and uh… I don't know about beards. I don't think the city itself looks all that different from other cities? A lot of people live there - it's kind of a refugee place, so there's all sorts of different kinds of people."

"Yes, there are," Avrenne agrees, that same cold, unsmiling tone. "It is a neutral city, enforced as such, with no violence permitted, regardless of what may have transpired on Azeroth. A'dal permits all within, both the Alliance, and the Horde, with no distinction between them within the city walls." It's simply information, stated in fact. But given the undefined allegiances of the sin'dorei in the room, perhaps a reminder of potential flaws of the city for someone looking to prove where her loyalties lie in actions alone.

And yet, Avrenne simply continues, "I had the opportunity to stay an evening in the Scyrer's Tier when I was there several years ago. I was most impressed by the golem sentries. A fascinating combination of magic and engineering, although I find that history has given us a warning of reliance on magic for security. Nonetheless, they were interesting, to see the sin'dorei perspective on innovation for guards." The words and the tone make her full, true opinion on the matter unclear, a neutral position, neither here or there. "Do you have a permanent residence in the city, Miss Sunstrike, or were you only visiting?"

Isla has oscillated from this news of the golems — golems!!! — back to wondering about Aze's house or shack or floating palace?! who knows! in Shattrath.

Finley settles himself into a seat once more, watching the proceedings with that gentleman's amusement.

"I've been living there since spring," Aze answers, turning to Lady Fallon. "I have a small place in the Lower City - close to the orphanage where I volunteer. I did live in the Scryers Tier, years before, but it doesn't seem like the right place anymore. Both for convenience and because…" Aze drops a hand to the table. "Neutral or not, given how things are going, I don't see a future for myself among the sin'dorei."

Siamus smiles — at Ery, apparently — and the baby replies "OHDOH." Her father considers this solemnly.

Ralaea does not comment on her own very mixed experiences with Shattrath. She simply glances towards the door, her thoughts elsewhere.

"Mm. That would be seeing quite far, given the general lifespan of your people," Avrenne remarks, but the glacial tone might have thawed a degree or two. Or maybe the tea is just warming her up, as she takes another sip. "It's impressive how much is done in the Shattrath orphanage. Matron Nicole Bartlett certainly seems to have an exceptional head for stretching a budget, perhaps from a history of a family from Lordaeron's stock." Bartlett — where has that name come up before? Ah, yes, the High Captain who nearly got Sintha killed from a Horde attack. Good times. "And I have been given to understand the jungle trolls of Matron Mercy's heritage are also well versed in making do with less." Trolls! Classic.

It might also be relevant to note that House Fallon does not support through financial means the Shattrath Orphanage. Shattrath may be neutral, but House Fallon is most decidedly not.

"I have always respected those who seek to provide aid to orphans of war," Avrenne continues. Does that mean she respects Aze? Unclear from the choice of wording of have always.

"Are you adopting any wards?" comes a wispy voice from under the desk. A floof of curls peeks up from the edge, looking over the way to Aze.

Isla gasps, setting her hands to her chest. "Oh, are you?"

Siamus raises his eyebrows.

"I… what?" Aze asks, taken genuinely off guard for once. "I don't really have a House or anything like that, and I'm not sure… uh. The thought had not occurred to me yet, but maybe it's something to think about."

Isla shrinks half an inch with an embarrassed flush. Oops. She probably knows better.

Otto doesn't, he just watches Aze, and then nods. "Okay," he says, as he sinks back down to his nice hidey hole.

Avrenne considers this for only a moment before her eyes flick from Aze to Finley. She doesn't say anything, just looks at him for a moment.

Finley nods and stands up, crossing the room casually, to lean out and signal Vane. You may release the kraken other household members for another wave of introductions.

"There are many thoughts that I am sure Miss Sunstrike must allow to take precedence," Avrenne says to her wards. "For now, I expect much of it will be in the memorizing of many names. Though at least several are known to you already, to ease the process."

Not long after Finley issues the Vane Signal, a prim-looking young woman in tortoiseshell glasses and tweed, her dark hair bound in a heavy, glossy knot at the nape of her neck, enters the room.

That is not what she looks like to Aze; visible to Aze is a complex, shifting, slightly menacing weave of nature and shadow magic.

This person says pleasantly but without a smile. "Lady Fallon. Admiral. Good afternoon."

Siamus lifts Ery from his lap and rises to his feet again because a lady has entered. "Miss Sunstrike," he says, "my assistant, Miss Curran."

Miss Curran surveys Aze with a severe expression, and then comes over to the couch to offer out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sunstrike," she says. It does not sound like a pleasure; it sounds like rote courtesy.

Finley returns to his seating area, not yet sitting, a hand just set on the back of the chair, and the smile on his face grows briefly more sincere, a look of approval in his eyes, before it melts back into the smiling gentleman mask.

Avrenne merely drinks her tea, and rocks the babies back and forth. She hasn't yet eaten anything. It's unclear if she will or not.

Aze rises from the couch when Siamus does, and holds her hand out to shake Miss Curran's.

"A pleasure, Miss Curran," Aze says, though she sounds faintly puzzled. "May I ask what you assist with?"

She may be wondering if this is the House assassin.

No, that's the guy who helped her with the sandwiches. He's in training, though.

It can be.

Miss Curran smiles slightly. "Whatever the Admiral requires," she says.

"Indispensable," says Siamus.

Neither of those really offers Aze an answer.

"I see," Aze says, which is the appropriate response because she clearly doesn't.

Miss Curran's smile widens. She gets it. "I trust you'll enjoy your visit," she says, and lets go of Aze's hand to turn and contemplate the refreshments.

Aze remains standing, waiting to see what will happen next.

The next person to come into the room is a familiar warlock, Lena Coit, now in a light blue linen dress that brings out her eyes.

"Miss Sunstrike," Lena says with a small, private smile. "We meet again."

"Miss Coit," Aze says with an answering smile.

Siamus has remained standing because Aze did not sit, so he does not need to stand again for Lena. He smiles at her. "Miss Coit."

Lena bows her head politely in greeting and says, "Admiral."

She turns to the refreshments and then adds to Aze, politely, "You need to sit down."

"What? Oh," Aze sits, a little more clumsy than usual.

Lena finds a seat for herself with her snacks.

Ery screeches and leans precariously toward Lena.

Lena smiles at Ery.

There is an ominous hiccupy sound from Elliot at the sound of the screech of his older sister, as if he's considering if that counts as crying and if he should now also start to cry, and Avrenne rocks the bassinet at a slightly faster rate, with a shhh, shh shh.
Siamus shushes Ery, bouncing her a little, and sits again casually. He was just standing because he likes to stand, it's nobody's fault really.

Tabiana enters the room next, wearing a loose-fitting cream colored top and brown pants, her vulnerable Lady State beginning to show. If she happens to match the color scheme of the walls in the Library, perhaps that's simply a coincidence.

"Miss Sunstrike," she says in greeting, inclining her head. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Then she takes up a spot along one of the walls, standing dutifully by in case anyone needs anything. She's not really here now, shh.

That is not to be permitted, Miss Lynds. The behavior of someone of a guard in the room would imply that there is something to guard about, which has not only implications to be avoided, but could put a guest at ill ease. "Will you take some tea, Miss Lynds? There is herbal if you prefer it. Please do try the scones while they are still warm," Avrenne says. It's a suggestion, but not really. Eat among the people, Miss Lynds.

"There's one with cranberries," Isla tells Tabiana excitedly. "And cake! It's just a little one, but you can have Otto's. He doesn't want it."

"It has too many colors," is the explanation from the young man beneath the desk.

"Miss Lynds, good to see you," Aze says, brightening but not standing again. She's learned her lesson. "Have you seen…" Aze hesitates. "I'm glad to see you're well."

"Perhaps we can speak later," Tabiana offers gently, gliding over to take a seat next to Ralaea as smoothly as if she had come up with the idea herself. "I hope you enjoy your stay, in the meantime."

Siamus has risen again at Tabiana's entrance. When she sits down with Rae, he sits again too. It's a pattern.

"Yes, of course," Aze says, frowning. She doesn't ask about Tabiana's condition, because that's not polite.

A tall, dark-skinned man strolls into the room. He is in a Suit, for a guest occasion, and although he rarely wears one these days, years of practice as a footman in livery render his appearance crisp and immaculate, perfectly at ease in the formal clothing.

It does clash a little with the eyepatch and the tattooed hands, maybe.

Miss Curran eyes Shine coolly, like she can't believe he put on a suit for this.

Siamus, meanwhile, is grinning. "Miss Sunstrike," he says. "Costentyn Shine."

Shine offers for Aze's hand and bows over it politely.

Avrenne's eyes flick to Shine, with the warmth of approval on the suit, not simply because he cuts a fine figure, but for the representation of formality. She has not tried the scones while they are warm. She lives by other rules.

Aze gives him her hand, a touch of curiosity in her smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shine."

She tilts her head slightly toward Lena for no apparent reason.

Shine straightens, letting her hand linger in his a moment before releasing her. "Likewise. I've heard a great deal about ye."

(Mostly from Lena.)

He steps away from her and turns his head to make a one-eyed survey of the room. When his gaze finds Lena, he smiles. He turns to collect a cup of tea for himself from the table, and then moves to lean casually by her seat.

Lena's smiles warms when his gaze meets hers.

"DOH BOH DOH BOH BOH PA!" announces Ery, and attempts to lurch free of her father's lap toward Aze. Perhaps she's curious as to whether fingers are still on offer.

"That's a fallacy, in fact," Siamus tells the baby, collecting her back again. "Common one, though."

"Oh, she's still learning. You know how easy it is when they're young to confuse a citation of authority to support one's point with an argument from authority," Avrenne says, and the playful rejoinder slips out likely from a lapse of severity due to exhaustion. It's too late to take it back, and so she simply continues on as though there was nothing unusual about the statement at all. She is not playful. Ahem. She is a very serious duchess. She sips her tea.

Siamus inclines his head courteously to his wife. "As ye say, Your Grace." To the baby, he says, "But I'll expect more diligence in future." He leans forward, one arm wrapped around Ery to support her, and selects a macaron from the table. He presents this to the baby. Babies are allowed to eat macarons, naturally.

Ery takes the macaron in both hands and begins working at it enthusiastically, dribbling on her sailor suit.

Aze grins at Ery and shifts over a little closer, but doesn't reach for her. She looks for a moment like she might want to add to the banter, but she doesn't.

Lena, finally, is the one who addresses Aze, in a mild and courteous tone. "I understand you've been off-world for some time. How are things in Outland these days?"

Aze turns her attention back to Lena. "I guess it's much the same as it has been for a while now. Demons sometimes, or other problems, but mostly under control."

"Still falling apart?" Ralaea asks.

"Slowly," Aze nods. "It still might outlive us all, depending on how things go. I wouldn't worry about it crumbling away any time soon."

Isla might not be worrying about it crumbling away, but she's definitely thinking about it, and because she was elsewhere at the time, having a differently terrible day, she still sees certain tropes as romantic and not terrifying. "But it is falling apart? Have you ever seen a piece just crumble off? What would happen if someone was standing on it? What if another person was right there, but still on the solid ground? Could they jump to get the person on the crumbled piece, and could they get back? Or would they both just fly off into… where do they go? The pieces? Into space? The Twisting Nether?" Isla's questions are eager, enthusiastic, full of a dreamer writing the tragedy with the glee of the writer.

Avrenne's lips press together, the skin around her eyes tightening, and her gaze is pulled to Siamus like a compass to North.

"They kind of float," Ralaea says, helpfully. "The pieces. Just. In the air."

"Yeah, exactly," Aze nods, pointing at Ralaea. "So they'd probably be safe. They could just like… hop over. Or someone could bring a gryphon, if it drifted too far."

Siamus meets Avrenne's gaze and holds it steadily.

Shine says, "Lena — Miss Coit — and I were talking of going out there."

"I worked there before," Lena adds. "Up in the Netherstorm, when I was with a Cobalt squad."

Isla plops further into her chair with disappointment, her chin landing into her hands. "Oh," she says, about the floating rocks.

At the news of Adventureland with a Romantic Couple, she immediately perks up. "Oh! Where are you going? Will you go to Zangarmarsh? Nagrand? Oh, I do so want to see Nagrand someday! There's wild herds there, and they might be so fluffy! The pictures make them look so fluffy, and maybe someone can tame one and lead a herd!" She looks hopefully from Shine to Lena. Who is the one who will tame a herd of fluffy possibly murder giant animals??

Avrenne simply looks at Siamus, in calm, even breaths, and the death grip she has on her teacup eases, and for just a flicker, there's a smile of herself, swiftly tucked back behind the ice.

"Sure, if that someone isn't gutted by a giant monster bird first," Ralaea says.

Isla gasps in delighted horror. "There are giant monster birds? How giant? Compared to a horse?"

Finley's smile looks like it's been nailed on, painfully, but he doesn't intervene.

"Nagrand's really nice," Aze counters. "You really probably wouldn't get eaten by a bird there. The whole land's a bit more like… maybe like it was before. I used to have a friend in the area. And Zangarmarsh is worth a look. I'm not sure where else… most of the rest of it is not in great shape."

Ery leans from her father's lap again, s t r e t c h i n g to offer Aze a stickily gummed half-macaron.

Aze reaches forward to tap the half-macaron, and says, "I think this one's all yours."

Ery gives a little HAH! laugh and sits back to resume assimilating the macaron.

"Zangarmarsh I'd like to see," says Shine.

"I've not seen any of the place myself," Siamus says.

"Netherstorm is… pretty in it's way," Lena offers. "The ethereals there have got these bio-domes where all sorts of plants and animals live inside, for all the rest is barren purple rock. It might be worth a look, if you're not bothered by the arcane lightning."

Aze shivers. "Yeah, it's… something."

"Or you could just stick to the Terokkar area, where the sky isn't a disorienting mess," Ralaea says. "Oh, but do yourself a favor and ignore the naaru. They get in your head and it's unpleasant."

"Yeah, sure," Aze shrugs. "But you'll want to avoid where the mana bombs exploded in the north. And the disaster zone in the south."

Avrenne pours herself more tea, still rocking the infants with the other hand.

"The mana bombs?" Isla asks in a loud, gleefully horrified voice. "What kind of bomb is that? How do you get mana into a bomb? Is it mana from a mage? One mage or a lot of mages?"

"Come now, Isla, I'm sure Miss Sunstrike doesn't want to spend her vacation talking about unpleasantness such as bombs, especially those of the past," Finley says, with a fingernail grip on his pleasant gentleman's persona, the rearing head of Annoyed, Overbearing Older Brother just a flick away. "You said you were in Lower City? The markets there are something I've wanted to see. I heard there's just about everything for sale, from incredible cloth to charms that the unwary are told to believe are 100% genuine."

"The… markets, yeah, they're interesting," Aze nods, turning to him with a touch of relief. "Mostly it's passers-through and visitors who get tricked by the grifters. If you're ever there when I am, I could point out who to be wary of - though I really doubt you'd fall for a tikbalang ward."

"There are also… unsavory characters sometimes, around the markets. I would not recommend one to go there alone," Lena adds, possibly for Isla's benefit, since most of the adults in this room are rather deadly, including her. "Cobalt did some business there around some questionable books to be destroyed, if I recall."

"Is it Lower City where ye can find those… Ethereals? The traders?" Siamus asks before Isla can latch onto questionable books.

Is his interest in unusual alien races, exotic trade goods, or the likelihood of interstellar piracy and tariff-evasion? We may never know. (We probably know.)

"Yeah," Aze speaks up, before Lena answers. "I mean, yes. They're usually reliable enough if you want to buy something - in the sense that they don't cheat their customers. But as far as I can tell, most of their merchants have no real allegiances or… well, much of a firm grasp on ethics. You have to be very careful."

"So extraplanetary goblins, basically," Siamus says dryly. Someone get the man a spaceship.

Shine conceals a smile by lifting his teacup for a sip. When he sets it back on its saucer with a clink, he drops his free hand to rest it at the back of Lena's neck. He brushes his thumb lightly back and forth. "Did we talk of going to Netherstorm? I can't recall. Mostly our intention was my education in demons."

"Demons?" Siamus is startled. "Ye taking up warlocking?"

Shine laughs. "No. But it seems a useful familiarity to have these days. And fair trade for sailing lessons." He looks mildly to Aze. "Do you sail, Miss Sunstrike? What sorts of pastimes do you have?" Besides demon stuff. Maybe we will steer away from demons now.

"I've been on ships," Aze says, which is true as far as it goes. She takes another sip of fortifying caffeinated tea before continuing. "I've never done much sailing, but maybe I could now that I get around better than I did at first. I've been pretty tied up in soldiering for the last couple of decades, but before that… I was a dancer, professionally. And I'm a decent musician - I've always been pretty good at picking that sort of thing up. I have other pastimes, but those have always been the main ones."

Some hobbies aren't really suitable for discussion at family tea.

"A dancer?" Isla pauses in her eating, Otto's cake halfway to her mouth (sorry, Tabiana, you snooze blend into the wallpaper, you lose), left to hang there in the air (so, I guess maybe there's still a chance to snatch it, Tabbers, if you're quick). "What made you leave dancing for soldiering? Was it another soldier? Did they fall in love with your dancing, and then died tragically, and you swore to get revenge instead of dramatically throwing yourself onto the funeral pyre?" That is… very specific. So specific that one might reasonably conclude it's from a story, like some version of the Steadfast Tin Soldier.

Avrenne frowns. She may be considering rescinding Isla's permission to be curious about their guest.

"Does she have a spangle?" Otto asks, potentially inexplicably, peeking over the desk again at Aze.

"I don't, um… I thought I was pretty good at Common. What's a spangle?" Aze says, puzzled. Then she turns to Isla, and says, "It was the Second War, really, so I mean, I did know a lot of soldiers with tragic stories. Liked some of them quite a lot. But also that was when I realized… the fragility of things. That, and my parents thought the discipline of the military would be useful. They were probably not wrong."

"A spangle is like a bauble, or a sequin, as one might wear on a dress or sash," Avrenne answers Aze. "And no, she does not have one, Otto."

"Okay," Otto says, ducking back down.

"There are few things that can instill a sense of discipline, honor, duty, and loyalty as the military can," Avrenne continues. "The sense of service and commitment, from the innate structure of a military, is of the highest that any career might offer. It is my understanding that there were many similarities between the military of your people, and ours, and those principles hold true across borders. We hope to see our own children make such a choice themselves, as has been tradition in both our lines, Esprit and Fallon both." The twins don't say anything. Eamon dozes drowsily, still blissfully unaware of anything except that he can hear his mother's voice and the bassinet is moving, and he likes both those things.

"What do they think now, your parents?" Isla asks, all wide eyes and baited breath. The cake continues to be held in the air, forgotten.

"Not everyone has parents anymore," Ralaea says in answer to Isla, then asks, "Do you still like dancing?"

Isla, however, whirls on Ralaea, all fury and indignance. "I know that! Obviously, I know that," she says, a tremor to her lips, and she sets the cake down too hard, some of the spongecake falling into pieces at the mistreatment. "But she didn't say that she doesn't. They —" Whatever was about to start that sentence is cut off.

"Isla." It's a sharp toned reminder, like the toss of a bucket of ice cold water, from Avrenne.

Isla freezes, and closes her mouth, staring down at her plate in blinking hitches of anger, grief, and still burning curiosity.

At Isla's question, there's a subtle flinch in Aze's body language, a tightening between her shoulder blades, but the expression on her face doesn't change.

"It's fine, Miss Lenaire, it's a fair question," Aze says with a reassuring smile, setting down her tea. "I choose to believe they'd be proud of my resilience and determination. And yeah, Rae, I love dancing. Do you?"

"I don't really do it well," Ralaea admits, letting the conversation change. "The teacher I had before was really good at it, but terrible at teaching."

"I'm a passable teacher, if you're interested," Aze offers. "I don't know a lot of the Stormwind styles yet, though."

Avrenne makes a mental note to add in a dancing teacher to Ralaea's retinue of instructors, for the long term.

Isla pushes her cake morosely around her plate, subdued now that her Curiosity Permit has been revoked.

Finley slides a pot of winter strawberry preserves over to Isla. "What of Lordaeron's styles? There's sometimes only a small difference between the two, but a discerning dancer might appreciate the flair that Lordaeron has on formality. There were more than a few that Stormwind found overly decadent."

Siamus raises his eyebrows. Overly decadent Lordaeron dances? Do tell.

Ery blows a macaron-colored raspberry.

"There wasn't that much time for dancing when I was in Lordaeron," Aze says with an apologetic shrug. "And there wasn't a lot of… mixing of cultures, unfortunately. Do you know any overly decadent Lordaeron dances? I'd love to learn."

Finley gives a laugh that sounds warm and pleasant, if a little too cultured still, the laugh of someone who has practiced laughing just like that. "I do, as a matter of fact. Her Grace did teach us all the traditional ones, and even the passing fads, to keep them in living memory." Is there something defensive there in his voice? Maybe, maybe not. There is something sharp and guarded, in his eyes, but Aze cannot see those. "It'd be a privilege to pass them on to someone who would appreciate them as well."

Isla smears a pile of strawberry preserves onto her cake, and shovels it into her mouth. She's occupied by this and therefore can't add anything verbally, but the rest of her face that she turns to Avrenne says she's eager to help and oh, please, please, please Avrenne can she be part of the dancing, too, please. Mom, pleaassseeee.

Siamus smiles at Finley and nods brief approval. Yes, good, this is now a Cultural Interchange household. Cultural Interchange with hips.

Aze indeed does not pick up anything sharp or guarded. Just a new, willing dance partner tinged in shadow. But who's she to judge that, drenched in fel? "I can give you some of mine, too. If you like, of course. If you're interested."

"Miss Sunstrike has given lessons to some of the younger Aspenwoods," Siamus adds. "In a friendly fashion, not formal. It might be pleasant to have them over for dance lessons, aye?" He glances toward Lena. "And Miss Coit, perhaps ye'd like to join?"

"Oh, certainly," Lena says with a soft smile. "I know some Lordaeronian dances as well, but likely not so well as Mr. Boutille, Her Grace and others of the household."

"I expect what you do know would be worth sharing, Miss Coit. As Finley says, it's worth keeping in living memory, regardless of whether that dance was seen in the high ballrooms of the aristocracy or simply part of celebrations of holidays among the people. I was never much of a dancer myself, and I paid only the necessary attention to them. I had not thought that I might end up one of the few who would carry the memory of them to pass on," Avrenne says, a distant sound to her voice, like she's speaking mostly of someone else, not herself, her gaze on Ery, before she flicks her eyes to Isla, her chin lifting with the motion. "Yes, Isla, you may attend such a dancing party. You may consider it practice for a debut. In several years."

Isla near vibrates out of her chair, half-standing with an awkward leap that has her bumping her stomach into the table, sending a disturbing wave of motion that rocks it enough to slosh people's fuller teacups. There's the oof, and she sits heavily back in her chair, but she is undaunted. "Oh, thank you, thank you! This is so exciting! Will we really have the Lady Cressidha Aspenwood there? She hasn't visited in so long!"

"She will receive an invitation for consideration, and if she is available, yes, she will attend. She may be busy. If not, perhaps Mr. Silentstep will be willing to accompany her," Avrenne says, already mentally working out the pairings to match up partners for this dance party.

Siamus arches a brow. He may not have gotten the memo about Cressidha and Sil. Or he may have gotten it and misplaced it under his desk, or made an origami whale out of it.

"They're both pretty good at…" Aze starts, and then cuts herself off. "You've likely seen them dance more often than I have, here in Stormwind."

Aze doesn't react to the Cressidha and Sil news, possibly because she is just thinking of them as part of her little Telaar dancing friend group and hasn't caught the implication.

"Rae, if you'd like to join, I'd likely be new to much of it myself as well," Lena says, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

Ralaea blinks. "Why would Sil come with Cress?" she asks.

Avrenne gives Siamus a significant look, a non-verbal confirmation that yes, it is what he might be thinking, and Lady Cressidha does, indeed, have a suitor.

The look of this silent communication is then entirely forfeited by their daughter. Avrenne represses a sigh. "Because Mr. Silentstep is courting her," she explains. "It is not to be bandied about in gossip, Ralaea. It is new, but her parents approve of the match."

Siamus blinks. "Silentstep? Is courting Lady Cressidha?"

Yeah, it was an origami whale. Also, you can see how he and Rae are related.

"Yes," Avrenne confirms. "We shall see what his schedule permits. Cobalt Company has been rather busy as of late."

"Wait, courting? Like they're going to get married?" Ralaea frowns, trying to remember if she's even seen the two in the same room together.

"Sil and Cressidha are going to…" Aze sounds mystified.

Lena is not mystified. These things happen.

"There has not yet been a proposal," Avrenne says. "It is early days, and Lady Cressidha has the freedom to make her decision on the matter at her leisure. Generally speaking, however, yes, Ralaea, one courts with an intent to marry."

Ery SHRIEKS. She can't believe it either.

Siamus puts a hand over her mouth, which is a mistake, as she immediately attempts to gnaw him like a macaron, and she has teeth now. "Tides a' — " He yanks his hand away, astonished. Ery blows a raspberry of victory and flaps both hands at the table in a clear request for another macaron.

"This mean she's taking after me?" Ralaea asks, straight faced. Was that a joke? Unclear.

Aze laughs, and then quickly stops, reaching hastily for her tea.

Avrenne makes a motherly disapproving tsk sound at the nibble. "Ery, one does not bite one's father," she scolds, in those words, to a ten-month-old. It is likely super effective. "If you want another macaron, you need only point to indicate your intent, dearest."

As Ralaea speaks, Avrenne, for some reason, finds herself very thirsty, as she hastily raises a teacup up to her mouth to drink, and not to hide a smile or swallow down a laugh.

Isla has both hands to her face now. She's still on the whole Lady Cressidha and Silvestre Silentstep romance revelation. "Oh! Oh! They met in Cobalt Company, didn't they? This is so exciting! Just imagine the clothes at Lady Cressidha's wedding!"

Siamus flashes a rueful smile at Rae. "The family resemblance is all in the teeth," he tells her, and leans forward to obligingly collect another macaron for Ery. She is not exactly pointing to indicate her interest so much as angry-flailing to reach the tray herself, but close enough.

"Cressidha… Lady Cressidha made a lot of my clothes," Aze says cheerfully. "Not… this dress. But when I went to Northrend she did a whole wardrobe set for me."

"She's a very talented tailor," Lena nods.

Isla practically swoons. "They must be ever so pretty! Lady Cressidha always wears the most interesting things. Have you seen her shadowcloth dress in — " She halts midstream as she remembers that much as Aze sometimes seems like she can see, she can't see. "Oh, I… um." Embarrassment silences her as she shrinks down several inches, willing herself to become a blob so she can disappear into the cracks of wood.

"I am certain they are well made and suit you very well, Miss Sunstrike," Avrenne says. "Lady Cressidha has always had a fine mind for wanting her clothes to reflect the person as an individual, more than follow any set trend. She made a masterwork as part of her training, a Shadowcloth Robe, that is visually stunning and also well made for a battlemage. Isla has hoped to see it, and to hear more about it since learning of it."

"Did you bring that wardrobe with you, Miss Sunstrike?" Finley asks, genial and pleasant. "It's not so cold here as Northrend, but winter can still bite down this far south. The house is always kept warm, but if you're interested in walks outdoors, even a furlined dress won't feel overwarm."

"Some of it, but… I was fighting in Northrend," Aze pauses, trying to choose her words more carefully. "I mostly brought dresses, but I do have some Aspenwood-made clothing that would work well for outdoors. Oh, and, my cloak. That one was a gift, back in the early days after. I always keep it with me."

"I've seen her Shadowcloth Robe, I believe," Lena says, considering. "She's certainly very skilled at clothing with enchantments, in addition to being a talented mage. We've not had so much chance to work together, but we have before."

Isla is all starry eyed. This Shadowcloth Robe has been elevated to legendary status through pure wishful thinking. It is so enchanted it can probably slide bread just by Cressidha standing next to a loaf. It can explode evil goblins just from them looking at it.

"Were there any others that should receive an invitation to this dancing party?" Avrenne asks, rocking the twins steadily. "We will want to keep it somewhat small, so that it is not too formal for Isla. She is not yet out in society, but a gather of friends and the household is reasonable." And by this Avrenne means just some twenty odd people or so and a formal band hired for the occasion. You know. 'Small.'

Aze takes a last bite of sandwich, uncertain if that is directed to her.

Lena considers carefully. "Not that I can think of, unless perhaps Ben and his wife might be interested?"

Siamus raises his eyebrows and takes an intent interest in Ery's macaron-gumming.

"Yes, I have been given to understand that Lieutenant Hazan and his wife are friends of yours, Miss Sunstrike. I am not as certain as to their interest in dancing, as I have never seen them take much to it at any formal gathering. Their own schedules may be busy as well, for visiting, but their family is always welcome to visit Fallon House. House Ference is a friend of House Fallon's," Avrenne says, diplomatically and somewhat ambiguously. Will they be invited? Unclear from her wording. She does open her mouth to add something else, perhaps a change of subject, or another on the same, they will never know.

Into this space Eamon wakes from his dozing to realize he is Uncomfortable. This begins the crying alert, a shrill, startlingly loud clarion sound, which in turn wakes Elliot, who is now Uncomfortable because there's a loud screaming baby right next to him, and he adds his own protest. Avrenne doesn't even make another attempt to soothe the newborns in their bassinet — she is already familiar with these particular cries, as she rises to an elegant, if hasty, stand, reaching for Eamon to pick him up, bouncing lightly on her feet to start to soothe him down to at least less ear-bleeding levels. Elliot cries louder to make up for it.

Ery did not realize this was a Crying Party. She lowers her soggy, smashed macaron and squinches her face up in preparation. Siamus practically leaps to his feet to prop her against his shoulder. "Shhhhh, shhhh shhh, starfish."

Aze raises one hand to a long ear, though she doesn't look upset. Babies scream and cry, sometimes. Fact of life.

"Miss Lynds," Avrenne says, looking to Tabiana, her voice carrying over the baby crying surround sound. "If you would get Elliot, please? We can take the boys back to their room. I expect they have had enough visiting today." As if the infants had been part of the visiting, and not just two little lumps in a bassinet, but allow a mother her indulgences. Her boys are little gentlemen doing tea time visiting.

"Of course, Your Grace," Tabiana says, rising at once to see her duty done. She inclines her head to Aze, then claims Elliot into her own soothing embrace.

Siamus is now pacing a short circuit, gently jogging Ery in his arms as she attempts crossly to smear macaron mush over the shoulder of his coat. "I'll just —" He hesitates. "I'm going to take the starfish up to the nursery. I expect I'll be back shortly, Miss Sunstrike, if ye have need of anything."

Avrenne gives the room a nod. "You will excuse us," she tells them, over the sound of the babies, sweeping out of the room with Tabiana expected on her tail, as though she were off to do some important business. In this case, that business is a diaper and a feeding, but here we are.

The room feels much quieter in the wake of the exit of the screaming children.

Isla sucks in a deep breath, and tries not to let it out in a shout. "A dance party," she whispers to herself with a squeal of pure, unadulterated glee. "I'm going to a dance party!"

"Thanks," Aze says, waving farewell to the little macaron-eater.

After Avrenne and Siamus leave, Aze turns to Isla with a grin. "As much dancing as you want, little sun. And really, don't be embarrassed about the questions. That's the best way to get answers after all, isn't it?"

Isla beams at Aze, after giving a look of triumph at Finley — ruining it slightly by giving into the temptation to stick her tongue out at him — before she remembers that she is a Very Adult, who has been invited to attend her first real live dance party with grown-ups. "It is, isn't it? I know I ask a lot of them, but you really can't expect to know things about someone unless you ask. Avrenne says you can observe things but most of the time when I'm observing, all it's doing is making me have even more questions!"

Isla does seem to realize at least one thing though, of her volume as she nearly shouts when the room feels a lot more quiet without the babies, as she clambers up in a clumsy way to get out of her seat, to come around to the couch where Aze is sitting. "But you must have some questions, too, about us and everyone." Will she get to ask them? Who can say. "You did get a tour of the house, didn't you? Did Siamus show you the haunted room?"

"The room isn't haunted," Finley corrects immediately, as he stands. "It's nothing but a figment of Isla's imagination."

"It is so haunted," Isla insists, reaching out for Aze's hands to impress on her the sincerity of this haunting. "Really it is. You should come look at it again. It's seen so many things that it simply has to be haunted just to contain them all!"

Aze lets Isla take her hands and laughs again. "He didn't mention anything about a haunting, no, but I did get the tour. Which room was it?" Aze stands up, and adds in a very reasonable tone, "Ghosts are real, after all, so it'd be no wonder if they turned up a house here or there."

Lena, finishing up her snack and rising, seems to be trying to suppress a smile as she looks over at the cluster of people. "I'll be up in the Tiragarde Suite if you need me. I think the ghost might be shy if too many of us look for it, after all."

Isla leans forward to whisper conspiratorially to Aze, "Also, it's right next to her room." She considers for a moment, and then looks up at Finley. "Lee, Miss Sunstrike is in the Birdie Room, isn't she?"

"It's the Bird Room, but yes, she is," Finley confirms.

Isla nod nods, and pulls on Aze's hands to get her to rise, which half unbalances the young girl. "Then it's right by your room as well. Oh it's so exciting to have someone in the Birdie Room. We had just a brief visitor there recently, but before that, Bir- - Looord Bertrand stayed there. He does so like birds, and knows so much about them. He's married to Sci — Laady Priscilla, who stayed here for a whole year before she got married. She's done all the art of people in the house." Nice catch on Formality, Isla, doing… well, we can give you half marks, at least. She tugs harder on Aze. "I can show you the rooms. All the rooms by the one you're staying in are so exciting on that side of the house. They were some of the rooms we were all locked in when we became sleeper zombies and tried to attack everyone during the Nightmare. I was in the Haunted room, and I was ever so terrible. I had to be turned into a sheep!"

"Glad you didn't stick like that," Aze says, letting Isla lead her along, "Though I bet you were a great sheep. Are there usually so many guests? Or are they like, on a rotation?" She pauses, and adds, "You don't have to call me Miss Sunstrike, by the way. Aszera is fine. Or Aze."

Isla is already dragging her out of the room, marching for the stairs with determination. Finley follows at a respectable pace behind, having no trouble keeping up with his long strides. "Oh, then you must call me Isla," she impresses upon Aze. "Although it can be so delicious to be called 'Miss Lenaire.' That's what I'll be called when I debut, and I'm not just a child anymore. I'm sixteen now, and I'll be seventeen in February, which is so close to being grown up, it really is. But, you may call me 'Isla.'"

"We have frequent guests of the house," Finley answers, knowing Isla well enough to know that she has been completely knocked off the track of questions. "Her Grace and the Admiral know a great deal of people, and are free with their generosity."

"We had the most dramatic of times with guests recently. It was so exciting, we even lost a door," Isla tells Aze, barely pausing for breath, sounding nearly as breathless as her aunt Sintha. "It was upstairs on the third floor. There was a Stormwind guard who simply burst into the house from the terrace, and everyone had such a fright. He was so nice, really, but he was in such a state, and everyone was running through the halls. But it was all because one of our guests, Mr. Reniya Hartrim, was dying and he needed a desperate rescue from Lena, that is Miss Coit, who summoned him and two others. They stayed here overnight because it was in the middle of the night when this happened. Mr. Reniya stayed in the Compass Room, to get better, which is where Bren was staying, that is Mr. Westwind, Rae's brother, but he left a few months ago. He was staying here to finish healing when his leg was broken after he was kidnapped by death knights!"

At this, Isla is forced to pause for breath, dragging Aze up the stairs towards the Botany room, although she helpfully gestures wildly towards the other end of the house where the Compass Room is.

Aze seems a little dazed by this list of names and situations, but she gamely follows along, nodding towards the Compass Room. "The generosity does seem to lead to a lot of excitement. I don't really plan to be that kind of exciting as a guest. I mean, I don't plan on dying or removing any doors."

Aze turns towards the Botany Room. "I think I heard about that one, with the death knights and Rae's brother - my sister and her husband helped rescue him. Maybe I should've helped too, but I was kind of annoyed with her at the time. You know, sister stuff."

Isla looks back at Finley, who gives her a look in return. "I do. I — there used to be another of us, Avrenne's wards. Daisy. She left us though," she says, and anger colors her voice. "She's still not speaking to us, and I don't think I'd help her if she suddenly asked me for a favor now, after everything."

"Isla," Finley says, caution and censure in his tone.

"Well, I wouldn't," Isla rejoins vindictively, with all the surety of a sixteen-year-old. She pulls Aze to the door of the Botany Room, her tone changing completely as she announces it. "This is the haunted room. It has such a perfect possibility of a story in it. It faces east, and you can just imagine how a lady must sit here, pining for a sailor at sea, wondering if she will ever see him again, and day by day passing and realizing that he's gone down beneath the waves, and all that's left is her hope keeping him still a memory on the horizon with the rising sun, each day maybe he'll come, and each day she wastes away a little more when he doesn't, until she dies at the window."

The Botany room is opened, and… well. There are…windows? Facing east. And it is a room. There's nothing else, however, no strange residue, no lingering miasma of things it's seen.

"To be clear, Miss Sunstrike," Finley says with a dry voice. "We have no proof of any such individual living in this house, although it is true that it was in ownership of another family before the land and title were given to the Fallons. Isla has simply taken this fact and embellished."

"It does make for a dramatic story," Aze says, tilting her head in thought. "And I meant you too, Mr. Boutille, not just Isla. Unless there's some reason you need to keep titles."

Then the sin'dorei rests a hand on the door, and seems to be focusing intently on the room. "Do you know much about the people who came before, why they left? It's such a lovely house, I can't imagine an owner wanting to set it aside." She sighs, tracing her finger in a circle on the wood. "I can just picture her, waiting there, growing translucent with time as hope slowly fades. The rest of the family starts launching expeditions to search the depths of the sea for shipwrecks, desperate for closure. Until the money runs out, and they have to sell their grand house and accept that the mystery will remain forever. Till beyond death, they all reunite once more." She gives a quick flash of a grin, and adds, "Unless the story has a happier ending, of course."

Isla's quiet for a moment where Aze can't see her just staring, with starry shiny eyes, but she is aware when Isla lurches forward to seize Aze's hand and declares passionately, "I love you!"

Finley's eye roll is not audible, but it might be strong enough to be felt in [aura].

"Yes, it goes exactly like that," Isla continues, practically vibrating Aze's hand with her own excitement. "And the house did fall into disrepair, it's true. The Fallons rescued it when they got the land. And it simply feels as though it must have had some tragic ending. Did you know they built a lighthouse, too, down by the harbor? You can see the light from it at night sometimes. Well, you could if you…" Could see. Right. Awkward. Uh, moving on. "And you musn't bother with Lee and trying to get him to call you familiarly. He's a real gentleman now, and it means when he calls ladies with familiarity it implies things, like you're intimate. It's why Siamus will call you Miss Sunstrike around us, even though… you're… friends. Good…friends." Wow, the girl is not subtle, that's for sure.

Finley clears his throat very, very pointedly. "It is that, Miss Sunstrike. I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression. The formality might be unwieldy, but it's for clarity and out of respect. Isla's still a child, and the rules don't apply so strongly to her. She has the privilege of youth to sometimes forget her etiquette, and be familiar where we would not. It's courtesy, as much on your behalf as ours. Perhaps by the end of your visit, you might call me 'Finley,' and I might call you 'Azsera,' but for now…" She can hear the smile, the pleasant tone, see the dip of a head bow, as if to say he is simply bound by these rules, she understands, surely.

Aze, her hand still clasped in Isla's, does not laugh. It is a near thing, as she considers the absurdity of people being so careful about her reputation. Then again, it's probably really about his reputation, and that's fair.

"Yes, Lord Fallon and I are such good friends - we met in Northrend, you know. And I understand, Mr. Boutille," she says finally, with an amused smile. "I'll continue to hold you in respect, as you hold me."

Turning back to Isla, she nods. "It does all seem to fit together, and the lighthouse, lit in futility to guide him home." She raises her free hand, a delicate flutter of movement. "Maybe all the happiness, now… the repairing of the house… even all the excitement… maybe it helps old spirits be more at peace? Seeing that life continues, and that others will cherish the things they once held dear."

"Or maybe some of them are jealous, and that's why they curse one of the rooms, so that everyone who stays there ends up injured," Isla whispers back, and then starts dragging Aze out of the Botany room towards the Compass room. Technically, Aze has already been through these halls. But maybe not on this sort of tour of them.

"We really must rile them up sometimes, the spirits. This was the room where everyone stayed during the Nightmare, and they had to listen to us sleepers beating on the walls, all huddled up, and now Lena stays there. Scilla, that is Lady Priscilla, got to sneak in pistols in her handbag. There was even blood on the walls. Cook sent up ever so many cookies, it was like a little party when we woke up. And this one is where Avrenne brought in a whole bunch of them and she sang so loudly to drown out all of our zombie groaning and biting, because it used to be Sophie's room," there's a soft, sad sigh, and then a forced brightening, "and now it's where the twin boys sleep, so we must be quiet when we go past in case they're sleeping now. She can sing louder than anything you've ever heard, she really can, Avrenne, I mean. I can sing a little, too," Isla tells Aze, with a teenager's shyness more than modesty. "But not like Avrenne. Do you have opera, in Silvermoon?"

"Oh, yes," Aze says in a low voice, not to wake the screamers. "Terribly tragic opera. I can sing a little too, but I wouldn't call myself a singer. It's just another instrument I mess with sometimes. Probably not like Her Grace."

Aze frowns, letting all the pieces of the story fall into place. "It was really rough here, then, during the Nightmare. I was in Northrend - the Nightmare got my sister and we had to tie her up. It was… quiet, though. Just her as a z… stuck in it. Her husband went into the battle to save her, while I kept watch."

Isla's voice brightens. "Oh, that's terribly romantic. It must have been so tragic, to have your wife trapped in it, having to tie her up like that, and go in to try to save her, not knowing if you'll ever see her again. Miss Curran went to fight in it. Scilla did so want to fight, but she couldn't fall asleep. And for all that it was terrible, really, we all came through it. That's because of Siamus and Avrenne. They're like that. They wouldn't have let anything happen to us." It's spoken with a youthful sort of belief, the invincibility of one's parents.

Finley is notably silent, brooding, perhaps.

"And this is my room," Isla says, as she opens another door. A sense of chaos is evident in every design choice that Aze can sense. "Oh, don't step over here. That's my lamp, that I'm going to fix, like Sintha does. She's the most clever engineer you've ever met. She has a whole menagerie of little things she's made, but we're not allowed to go in her workshop when she isn't home. She's in the 7th Legion, a real life siege engineer. She's mostly not at home anymore." This is related morosely, joy deflated. "But she will visit probably," she says, joy reignited. "You'll love her, she's the most perfect person, after Avrenne, of course."

"I'm sure I will," Aze says brightly, though she doesn't sound perfectly sure. She steps carefully as Isla directs, not wanting to crush any lamps or anything else. "Si… Lord Fallon has talked about her, a little. One of my friends they mentioned earlier, Sil… Mr. Silentstep - maybe I don't need to be so formal for him, I'm sure Lady Cressidha won't mind - was in the 7th Legion for a while once. I bet they know each other."

Because everyone in the 7th Legion knows each other? Aze turns slightly toward Finley, measuring his silence.

Finley's silence is guarded, but his body language is relaxed, as he leans casually against the threshold of the door.

"Oh, and you mustn't call him Lord Fallon. He doesn't like it, and hardly anyone ever calls him that. He's 'the Admiral,' now, although he was 'the Vice Admiral,' and when we first met him, 'the Commodore.'" Isla has just remembered that she should probably also be calling him by his title, and Avrenne as well. Whoops. "But, you don't have to call your friends by such titles, either. No one will think anything of it, not here in the house, especially. It means you're friends. But, if you were at a formal party, maybe, it would be best. You can always ask Av — uh, Her Grace. I'm supposed to remember to call her that in company, but I really don't usually use it. All of us wards are allowed to call her 'Avrenne.' She doesn't insist on her title. It's just better manners when we're around company to use it." Isla swings her arms around in the center of her room. "Avrenne and Siamus call each other by their titles all the time, but that's not usual for married people, it's just something they do. Scilla and Birdie call each other just that, but they do both like nicknames."

"Have you worked with the 7th Legion much?" Finley asks, sidestepping everything about nicknames and the Fallon's pet names for each other.

"Ah… no, not much," Aze admits. "I was kind of on my own in Northrend, up until I joined thr Argent Crusade. I guess it was more important to me to be there and fight than to… well… figure out where I fit with everybody else. I went to Icecrown Citadel, though, with the Argents, saw things through to the end." She pauses thinking back. "Wait, wait, I did work with them once. In Naxxramas, they called in my team for a fight against a frost wyrm, our specialty."

Aze brightens further, remembering. "Oh, yeah! And your Lord Bertrand was there. I remember because he d… did really heroic stuff." Aze's shoulders tense a little at that, but she just smiles, and then adds to Isla, "Fallon was already a Vice Admiral when I met him, I think. Rising quickly."

"Deservedly so," Finley says with a smile.

"The only downside really is that Commodore really has such a romantic sound, don't you think?" Isla says with a disappointed sigh as she trails over to her desk, morose and wistful. "'The Commodore and the Duchess' had such a ring to it, like a proper story. There are some titles that just spark like that. There's something very military sounding about 'The Admiral and the Duchess…' Oh!" She lights on book on her desk, seizing it up and spinning — hitting her hip on the desk edge with an ow and then I'm fine, I'm fine — presenting it to Aze. "This is the book of stories my friend Thaniel brought me. Not the original, this is the copy I made, it took me hours and hours, but they're all here. They're from Gilneas. Thaniel is a worgen, and when we first met he thought I might be a worgen, too. Don't I seem like I could be?"

It would help Aze if Isla paused for either breath or answer, but she doesn't, because she's already setting the book down and making for the door as if she might rush off again, only to find Finley half blocking her. "That's the other exciting thing about the Haunted Room, we had a worgen stay there, but she didn't stay long. She had terrible nightmares that make her sleepwalk, and not because of the ghost, apparently she had them for a while. I wasn't a bit scared, not at all. She came here in the middle of the night, and we were all woken up by Vane to tell us that if we heard horrible howling that it was just the worgen and not to panic, but she left the next day," Isla tells Aze, crowding Finley out of the way. "It was with Lukas Rhendardt, Lord Graves, who is Thaniel's pack leader who came to get her. He doesn't stay either, but he does visit! Oh, I do hope he visits while you're here. He's simply the most heroic and dashing, like a great knight from the stories, all stoic, and blond, and so fast. He's good friends with Siamus, so you might meet him." Wait, good friends like actual friends or g o o d f r i e n d s.

"I can't say I've met any worgen," Aze says, turning to follow Isla's movements. "Not in a social way, at least. I heard about what happened to Gilneas, but… I've been out of world for a while. I do like heroic, dashing knights and friends of Siamus, so maybe we'd get along. It sounds like your household is brave in their friends, but I knew that already. Very brave, not to be frightened of a strange worgen howling at night." Aze pauses, and then adds, "I don't sleepwalk, in case you were worried. Or howl, but you would probably guess that. More of a wolf thing than a demon thing." Aze smiles brightly, and carries on, before Isla or Finley have a chance to comment on the 'demon' thing. "Maybe you could read me some of the stories sometime? I can't, really, but I'd be curious to hear what kinds of stories they tell in Gilneas."

Isla has neither pause nor horror at the mention of demons; it's possibly obvious from her and Finley's lack of reaction that there is no surprise at all. "Oh, yes! I will! There's a story in there that's like that, of being brave of sorts. It's a very strange and horrifying story of a boy who can't feel fear," Isla tells Aze, all excitement over this story's horror. "No ghosts can frighten him, and no monsters either. Everyone keeps trying to scare him, but he just cannot be frightened, and he keeps beating the people who try. He says he wants to know fear, because he wants to 'shudder,' like being so scared, and it never does work, and even the king tries. Eventually, they realize he must be the bravest ever, so he marries the princess, but she is more clever than anyone else, and throws cold water on him, and he shudders just like he wanted to. Avrenne would be just like that, I think. She wouldn't put up with any of the nonsense. I would have just been so much better at being a ghost than the others in the story." Sorry, all the king's men, but Isla's just different.

Isla leads Aze along the other way of the house, in a clumsy circle of the second floor. "That way is the Compass Room and Finley and Rae's rooms, but they're very boring, except that Rae has a tent in her room, and you're not supposed to ask about it, or tell her that it's very silly." This is related in a stage whisper. "Oh, you might hear singing sometimes, if you do wander the halls at all at night. It's not any memories or ghosts. Avrenne and Siamus sing to the babies. Sometimes, they even sing together, and it's so beautiful, but you can't open the door to hear them better, it can wake the babies, and they'll be very cross with you. Avrenne will get very frosty."

As opposed to…?

"I don't think I'd mind not feeling fear," Aze says mildly, allowing herself to be towed along. "But then again, sometimes fear is just your body telling you that you're doing something stupid, so I guess it's helpful. Good on the princess to figure out what he was looking for, though I would argue shuddering from cold and from fear are two different things." She pauses for the space of a breath, and adds as an afterthought, "Is that what she's like when she's angry? Frosty?"

Isla's stride catches, and there's a strange, uncomfortable pause that must be Isla and Finley looking at each other, in some unspoken communication.

"Oh. Mm. No, not… not when she's angry," Isla eventually says, sounding small and very young. "But," she continues, hastily and with a forced brightness. "She's almost never angry. It has to be something really, really awful to make her angry. Don't worry, she's not angry at you, even if she's cold. Sometimes she's like that, to people she doesn't like especially, but it doesn't mean she won't be civil, and you can always win her over. She always says that it's best to have 'strategic allies rather than enemies.' She even works with people she really doesn't like, like that awful cousin of the awful Sir Mallory, Mr. Judd. Sophie used to say that she always liked it when Mr. Judd would come to visit in the summer, because Avrenne would make the living room ten degrees colder during his visit."

Finley laughs, a softer, sadder laugh than his friendly gentlemanly one.

"She wouldn't really. Avrenne can't do any frost magic. Sophie just used to like to say it," Isla tells Aze, and there's a sudden grief dragging the young girl down. "She's gone now, Sophie, I mean. She wasn't a guest. She was Avrenne's secretary, and housekeeper, and looked after us. She and Sir Somer, our knight, died — not in the house, so they aren't ghosts here — they died in the other house we used to have in Stormwind, when the big wave came and destroyed some of the Stormwind Harbor."

Finley's body language has seized up tight, and he holds onto a breath.

Isla sighs loudly enough for both of them. "It was horrible. Mr. Barbour, and Miss Milla and Mr. Marten and Miss Alys died, too. They're buried here, though, except Mr. Barbour, he was given back to the sea. I can show you their graves. I brought them some flowers for Winter Veil, and I meant to bring them more when the New Year started."

Aze is startled by the change in tone the simple question kicks off, her lips tightening as Isla initially shrinks back. Then, there is some relaxing, perhaps some sense of understanding in Aze's body language, as Isla's narration turns to grief. She reaches a hand to squeeze Isla's shoulder gently in comfort, and says, "I'd be happy to see the graves, if you'd like. To be one more person to remember their names. The cataclysm didn't hit quite as hard where I was, up in Northrend, but… it's hard, I know. Losing people, all at once."

In an ideal world, a tiny little rain cloud would appear over Isla's head, to rain down on her dramatically. In the reality, it just feels like it did. "We lost more, and worse, when the Scourge came in the Third War. That's what Rae meant, downstairs. We're all orphans, even Avrenne, those of us from Lordaeron. Almost everybody died back then. The Cataclysm wasn't as bad as that, because even though there was a wave here, too, Siamus stopped that one. No one in the house died, or was even really hurt." Isla forcibly turns a blast of sunshine of willpower at the rain cloud, her voice brighter, and if her smile is painful when it starts, it gets easier as she goes. "That's why you really must feel quite at home while you visit. Nothing truly bad ever happens in the house, not so long as Avrenne and Siamus are here, even when it gets very exciting at times. So you can just think about relaxing and enjoying yourself."

"Which is what I'm sure Miss Sunstrike would like to do, Isla, instead of tearing through the house after a whirlwind of chatter," Finley says, and there's the Overbearing Older Brother coming out from his own sullen thoughts.

"But she hasn't really seen the attic even yet!" Isla protests. "You'll love the attic, Aze, I just know you will. I can't even tell you about it being haunted, because sometimes when I'm up there, it really feels like it is, and the more stories I tell myself of it there, the more they seem to come true until I feel like I might lose the game of it entirely, and run downstairs. You can hear the strangest of sounds, scratching and swishing and tiny little taps like the ghost of a child."

"They're from me, because I'm up there painting," Finley says in a dry, half-annoyed, half-laughing-at-Isla voice. "Making sounds on a canvas."

"Ghosts," Isla insists.

Aze laughs and says, "I would love to see the attic, then, ghosts or not. Though I would wonder, Mr. Boutille, if your painting really does sound like the tapping of a ghost child." Then her smile falters as she adds, "We do have that in common, if you didn't know. Quel'thalas, like Lordaeron. Almost everybody died back then. The kingdom still exists now, but… it was a near thing. It's why we named ourselves sin'dorei, to remember. But also…" she takes a breath, committing to the strange emotional whiplash this tour involves, "…this is already great fun. Relaxing doesn't have to mean not doing anything."

There is the distinct sound of a young girl making a seeeeee as she sticks her tongue out at her older ward sibling, and the exasperated sigh of a man who knows he's outnumbered.

"Avrenne and Si — the Admiral are just like that, too. I do love getting to go to things like the theater and concerts, but they do mean you have to sit there and do a lot of nothing while you watch, and not talk at all, and so it's never very relaxing for me," Isla tells Aze. "I was in a play just a little while ago. I was a very important villager, who did terrible things to a witch as part of a mob, and Sintha was one of the knights, and had the most spectacular moustache." She once again manhandles Aze, grabbing onto a hand and half-dragging her towards the stairs to the third floor. "Come along, I can show you where Mr. Ebek burst down the door. He was the lead in the play we were all in, and he was so very dashing, and very handsome, just as the romantic hero should be. He didn't burst through any doors in the play, but I think he should have, he's very good at it."

In a quieter voice, subdued under the sound of Isla gasping for breath as she talks and walks, Finley adds to Aze, "We are sorry to hear about your loss. You don't have to talk about them, if you don't want to. We all understand." Especially Finley, who is definitely not going to be talking about his losses any time soon, probably not in this decade.

"I'll talk about my life, so I'll talk about them," Aze says quietly, for Finley's ears. "Just not all the endings, if I don't have to."

Then she says in a louder voice, as Isla pulls her along, "A play mob, really? I bet you and Lady Sintha were wonderful." She grins. "Maybe I'll catch your next one, rising star. And this door… they fixed it yet?"

There's just the barest touch of a hand on Aze's shoulder, maybe just an accidental graze, a fellow acknowledgment of loss and memory.

"Oh, of course. It was fixed the next day. Nothing ever stays broken for long in the house," Isla says, and then hurriedly adds, in case Aze had thought to say something about it, "And my lamp is going to be fixed. I am going to fix it."

"It's been broken for almost a year," Finley tells Aze in a low mumble that maybe Isla didn't hear. If she did, and her ears have gone red, Aze doesn't know it.

"You'll see, Aze." Will she? Eh, we'll let the expressions slide. "Everything is always made right in the Fallon House!"