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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Lena, Melancholy and Shine encounter Baird unexpectedly in the Shrine of Seven Stars. Considerable news and poetry are exchanged, tea is drunk, and the future is pondered. Also, Bun profits. ~11k words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
The Golden Lantern within the Shrine of Seven Stars is thronged with people.
Some are outsiders newly-arrived through the Alliance city portals; most of these seem to be here simply to gawk at the exotic opulence around them. A great many others are Pandarian natives; most of them seem to be here to gawk at the exotic tourists.
A trio of kaldorei sip jasmine tea in peaceful silence at the bar, while a gnome has a coughing fit after a swig of rice wine; the pandaren seated next to him thumps him good-naturedly on the back, possibly to the gnome's further detriment. A group of dwarves in Explorers' League garb stand near one wall, where they appear to be… staring at the wall, and talking excitedly amongst themselves. One of them traces the etching there with admiring fingertips. A pair of jinyu stand nearby and watch this bemusedly. Or maybe amusedly. It's hard to tell with jinyu. And at a table tucked near a paper screen at the far end of the bar, a pair of humans appear to be sharing tea and an array of Pandarian snacks with a tanuki.
Well, they're not sharing the tea with him. Probably for the best.
There are four seats at the table. Three are occupied by aforementioned humans plus tanuki; the male human has hooked the fourth stool with a foot and pulled it beneath the table, an unspoken signal that the seat is reserved for an expected third person. (Or a fourth, if you count the tanuki.)
The man himself, dressed in casual layers of black and grey, is remarkably inconspicuous for a one-eyed man with tattooed hands and a tanuki dining companion. All of his own attention is on his blonde companion, which is probably how the tanuki is managing to steal sweet rice cakes from the table with impunity.
His blonde companion is not dressed to be inconspicuous — she's in a well-tailored silk gown of sea-green and bronze that shimmer faintly with some kind of enchantment, and her hair is held up in a bun with two bronze, engraved hairsticks. Still, she doesn't exactly stand out in the sumptuous and well-maintained surroundings of the Shrine. Her gaze is snagged on a nearby wall decoration, a depiction of a mogu in the clouds over the Vale, magical power gathered in his hands. The tanuki is free to snack away.
"Even here," she says quietly. "I suppose it makes sense, this place must've been built during the mogu empire."
"Aye," says Shine. "All of it, I expect. The guardians in the valley, the palace and the shrines…." He cranes up at the ceiling, and then sweeps a look around the richly ornamented walls. "Feels strange with all we know of them to see all the… artistry of a thing like this. They seem a more brutal people." He picks up his teacup and has a sip. "Then again, it could all be slave work. Or at least some of it the pandaren who came after. Must have been queer for them, moving into the shells of the old empire. Like… hermit crabs."
"But if it was all slaves, then at least they were moving into structures of their own making," Lena points out. "I've a mind to get to know these Golden Lotus folk better. They must be dying for conversation if they've been locked in here so long."
"I'd be curious to know how much of that library of their downstairs Gwen can read," Shine says. "I expect there's a trove of history there. And I saw a couple've lorewalkers about, with Mishi."
"Enough here to study for a lifetime," Lena agrees. "I expect the lorewalkers will be at it, for sure, maybe Gwen too. I'm still a bit of a slow reader myself, even in just Common. I'm more concerned about the mogu trying to sneak in here. They've got this whole multi-pronged thing of trying to steal back all their things and spirits… it doesn't bode well."
Shine glances up at the mogu art. "Aye," he says. "I want to speak with that Master Zhi and the woman we saw in the pagoda at the crossroads. Hear more about what they know of mogu coming here." He has another sip of tea. "But we need still to address the Zandalari and the Vault."
"Mm," Lena says, settling her hand next to her teacup. "I expect there'll be some sort of expedition organized, with all we've learned so far."
As if on cue, a young woman descends from the stair case with a more stark contrast to the Golden Lantern's vibe — she's dressed in a black peplum long sleeved blouse with deep red rose detailing on the sleeves, black gloves with a dark red lace over them, a tight black velvet vest with a fur lining, and a flowing black velvet skirt that seems to absorb light. Her black curly hair has been caught up in a scarlet net at the base of her neck, and topped by a small black hat with a drape of a black lace netting over her dark heavily made up eyes, and the bold red lipstick that she never seems without.
Melancholy has her focusing cane with her, but it is used casually as she walks down into the bar area. Once she spots Lena and Shine, she flutters her fingers at them with a red lipped smile. "There we are," she greets as she approaches the table.
Shine glances up, nods courteously to her, and uses his foot to slide the designated stool out. "Miss Grimlocke. Will ye have tea?"
"I wouldn't turn it down," Melancholy says as she arranges herself on the stool, setting her cane against the table, and peering at the tea as if she might identify it by sight alone. Hm. Mystery Pandaria tea. "What are we having?"
"Oolong," says Shine, and lifts the pot to pour her a cup. (There is a third teacup. She was expected.) "Tavernkeep called it 'Blue Dragon Oolong,' but I'm pretty sure that was poetry and not specificity. I don't imagine blue dragons were involved."
Melancholy's laugh is a dark bell, as she lifts up her cup, sniffing at it delicately. "Not yet anyway. At the rate things are going, I'm not going to be surprised if blue dragons do show up out of the — well, blue."
"I'd rather expect bronze," Lena says with a faint smile. "This being a place out of time and all that. Then again, the blues seem friendly enough these days, now that they've decided not to kill all mortal spellcasters."
"Touch and go there for a bit, aye?" Shine asks very dryly.
He seems to notice then that the dish of sweet rice cakes is nearly empty, and turns a gimlet eye (but just the one) on Bun, who gazes right back at him and unrepentantly finishes stuffing another rice cake into his face. Shine sighs. "What would ye like to eat, Miss Grimlocke? I'll order us something more for the table."
At that moment, there is a lull in the conversation near the bar, and a man can be heard to say blandly, "It's likely you wouldn't recall her face, to be honest." The pair of dwarves being addressed both laugh uproariously, one of them sloshing his beer.
The speaker is a lean, square-jawed young man somewhere in his twenties, and anyone who has met a sailor can probably tell at a glance that he is a sailor; he has a healthy bronze tan and a shock of curly hair bleached by sun and salt from light brown to an uneven ash blond. The collar of his loose linen shirt is open, revealing a silver medallion on a cord around his neck, and his rolled sleeves display tattooed hands and forearms.
Shine lifts his chin a little, his brow furrowed with faint perplexity. "That's — is that Baird?" he asks Lena low-voiced.
"Hm? Beard?" Melancholy repeats incorrectly, turning to look in the same direction, eyeing the dwarves speculatively at first, with no regard for subtlety in too open a genuine curiosity.
"Baird," Lena confirms, and then to Melancholy, "The human sailor, with the dwarves. What's he doing here?"
Whether it is because he caught his name among the general lull in conversation or because he has a sixth sense for being stared at — little column A, little column B — the young man looks over at their table. He does not look particularly surprised, but he has the manner of a man who has not been surprised by anything since he was like eleven years old. His mild, blue-gray gaze remains sort of disconcertingly fixed on the group as he waves a vague hand at the dwarves and weaves his way through the bar crowd and over to Melancholy and the Shines. (A lesser-known electro folk group.)
"Mrs. Shine," he says. "And Lieutenant Shine." He nods respectfully to the pair. Despite his Stormwind accent, he pronounces 'lieutenant' in the Gilnean and Kul Tiran fashion: leftenant. His gaze turns to Melancholy. "Hi," he says. "Bryn Baird." He offers her his hand.
Melancholy's interest visibly perks up, lighting up her eyes, as she meets his handshake with her own laced glove hand. She does not have a firm or strong handshake, but a noble lady's delicate touch.
"Oh, you're The Baird," she stresses, as she sets down her teacup. "The Shines told me I would be meeting you soon enough, and here you are. Soon enough, as prophesized. Melancholy Grimlocke." She leans forward, head tilted up to inspect him. "You aren't also a blue or bronze dragon in disguise are you? Because that would make this beyond fortuitous timing and straight into fated design of an entrance, as we were just saying that this place does seem likely for one to arrive."
"Not likely, unless he's actually an impostor," Lena says smoothly, and turns to Baird. "Melancholy's my apprentice." She doesn't explain further — the fel magic is implied.
"I hope I'm not," Baird says to Melancholy in all apparent seriousness. "It would be awkward." He contemplates her for a moment in that slightly disconcerting, gray-eyed, steady way. "Second lieutenant." (Leftenant.) "I know your brother." He turns his left hand to show her the pair of crossed cannons tattooed between his thumb and forefinger. (It is entirely possible this gesture is inexplicable to Melancholy.)
Melancholy laughs, a dark bell, at his answer, and peers at hand with interest, as if it might be a tattoo of her brother on his hand (stranger things have happened).
"I suppose if you were in disguise, you wouldn't just tell anyone either, so that's fair." When the tattoo is clearly not her brother, she raises her gaze up to him again. She doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by his stare, but perhaps she's used to oddness or unblinking stares. "I don't know what the tattoo means. But, I do know that my brother Woe is a Petty Officer, Gunner's Mate, and that he took over when you stepped up. I have all my notes on it, for when I join up on the ship. I do like to be prepared when I can be."
Lena gives an approving nod. Good, studious apprentice. Then her attention sharpens on Baird himself, and the approval dissolves into a worried frown.
"What brings you up to the Vale?" Lena asks. "Just to see the latest, or is there trouble down at the harbor?"
Baird's smile at Melancholy tips higher at one side than the other. A lifetime's tan has given him, despite his youth, a fine web of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
He glances up at Lena, and then from her to Shine. "Personal business for Captain Fallon," he says in that mild tone that people use when they mean it's complicated.
Shine raises his eyebrow. "What sort of personal business?"
Baird shakes his head. "Family."
Shine studies him for a moment, then reaches over to pick the tanuki up by its scruff and deposit it on the floor. He points to the now-vacant stool.
Baird nods politely and sits.
"Is Her Grace well?" Lena asks, sitting a little straighter in her chair as she lands on what might be the most possibly dangerous situation in the House that she's aware of at the moment. "Only… I can't see how something of that nature would need you to travel here. Is one of ours coming through, now the portals are open?"
Melancholy glances amongst them, not bothering to hide that she's listening with genuine interest at this turn of events, as she picks up her tea again to sip at it. "Hm, this needs sugar for me," she says in a quiet, low tone mostly to herself, as she looks for some on the table, waiting for an answer to Lena's questions.
Rather than answer Lena's question immediately, Baird leans back and reaches without looking over to a nearby table to snag the unattended sugar bowl there. He sits up and sets it in front of Melancholy.
"The Duchess is well," he says, again looking between Lena and Shine. "And the children. But there's a family out to make trouble for the Fallons, and the Captain's out for blood." (This latter sounds maybe a little more anticipatory than is wholesome.) "I'm looking for one of them."
"What family?" Shine demands, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. "What's happened?"
Melancholy blinks in surprise at the sudden appearance of the sugar bowl as if Baird had pulled it out of thin air, and makes a sound of a delighted little oh!, as she doles out two heaping spoonfulls of into her tea with a red lipped smile.
The smile fades quickly though at the words, and soon she is frowning in mild, somewhat distant concern, of someone hearing news of people she doesn't know well, but doesn't like to hear that they're in some trouble.
Lena sets her teacup down, her face going blank as she regards Baird. The fingers of one hand twitch, a half-realized curse. "And what kind of trouble? Do you mean out for… literal blood? And who is it you're lookin' for?"
Baird looks from Shine to Lena. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, a swift, restless staccato, and looks around the room as though suddenly distracted from the conversation. "I want a beer. Can I get anyone else a beer?"
Shine sits back again, his expression quite neutral. "I'd take one," he says. "Ye staying here?"
"Haven't decided yet," says Baird. "The rooms all as nice as this?"
"Not sure how ye quantify that, but if ye want to bring those beers, ye can come up and see ours. I have to put Bun to bed." Shine, perfectly straight-faced, reaches under the table to extract the tanuki, who is outraged to find himself yet again being manhandled, and is even now composing a strongly-worded letter to his congressperson.
Baird nods. "Sounds nice. See you up there." He gets to his feet, stretches lazily, then jams his hands in his pockets and ambles over toward the bar.
Shine looks at the two women with him and tilts his head toward the stairs. "Bring the tea, aye? I'll get us more food sent up in a bit."
Melancholy still has a hold of her tea, and pauses mid-sip at the sudden turn towards beer and rooms as if she has no idea how they arrived to this jump. As Baird ambles off, she stares after him briefly.
"Ohhh. A private conversation topic, I see," she says in understanding, if somewhat overt stating of the subtle implications. "Well, that's fair enough." She stands up and gathers her focusing cane to tuck under an arm, her tea in the other hand.
Shine gives Lena a look that suggests discreetly that she may want to work on her new apprentice's discretion.
Melancholy misses the discreet suggestion entirely.
Lena moves one shoulder in the faintest suggestion of a shrug, and turns to Melancholy. "We're just going to take the tea to the room, is all. Long day. I'll get the pot if you can handle your and my cups."
She doesn't wait to see if Melancholy will manage, but just lifts the teapot delicately and rises. With a slight tilt of her head to Shine, she heads in the direction of their room.
Melancholy doesn't look like she's had such a long day, but she doesn't dispute it in any way, as she picks up Lena's tea cup, and follows her teacher. If there is one thing the noblewoman has a high degree of skill in already, it's managing teacups.
Shine, tanuki now tucked under his arm like an angry, wriggling football, steps to the bar to lean over Baird's shoulder and say something quietly to the younger man, then turns toward the stairs to head up.
Once in the privacy of the Shines' comfortable room, he sets the tanuki on the floor — Bun goes to sulk beneath the bed — and says quietly, "'MacBride,' he said."
"This a family Fallon has tangled with in the past?" Lena asks, settling in to sit at this more private table. She sets down the teapot and reaches toward Melancholy for her cup.
Melancholy hands over Lena's teacup as she stares thoughtfully into space. Once her hand is free of teacup, she sweeps her hand in the air as if she's checking some invisible inventory they can't see but she can.
"I have the strangest sense that I've heard that name before, but I can't remember when. I feel like it's in here somewhere though — don't you just hate that when it happens, like you know you know, but you can't remember why or how you know?" she asks semi-rhetorically. "It wasn't recently though, I'm sure of it."
Shine looks to Melancholy with sharp interest; his attention hangs there a moment and then he looks back to Lena and shakes his head. "Not Fallon, no. But Duchess Esprit. It was a MacBride girl who ran off with Her Grace's fiance a few years ago." He shrugs lopsidedly. "Worked out for the best, aye? But it was a shifty piece of work." He is silent a moment, frowning. "But something worse than just shifty is up, if he's sent Baird after it."
Melancholy lowers her hand with an ohhhh as things fall into place. "That's where I know it from. Oh my garters, it was such big gossip when it happened, and with such a name like MacBride, I remember thinking how it was strange twist of fate. But that was absolutely ages ago," says the twenty-five-year-old for whom three years ago was a Long Time Ago. "What could they possibly want now?"
"Ah," Lena says, wincing. "I do know that story. What else could they want with Her Grace? Haven't they wronged her enough? Or perhaps jealous things have gone better for her than them…"
There's a sort of knock on the door — kind of a thud that proves to be an elbow-knock, because Baird is outside it with a beer in either hand. He nods respectfully when Shine opens the door and offers him one of the beers before stepping into the room. "Oh," he says, and takes the place in. "It is nice."
You're not actually here for a room tour, Baird.
Melancholy looks around the room as if evaluating it anew, perhaps through different eyes or perceived relativity of Niceness. She sips her tea. "And hopefully private enough. We're practically dying for answers to this MacBride Mystery you've introduced in our midst," she says primly but with an eager light in her eyes. It's likely she's the only one who looks like she's on tenterhooks for the information that sounds like it's straight out of some dramatic novel.
"I take it this is not a thing to repeat publicly?" Lena asks, looking from Baird to Shine. "Whatever this is. Exactly how secret are we talking here?"
"Well, ma'am," says Baird, and crosses away from the door to lean casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket, "Captain Fallon told me to be careful, and use the utmost discretion."
This feels like a pretty bland set of instructions, but Lena works with Baird and therefore knows that the idea that anyone would think they have to tell him to be careful or use discretion means Something Is Afoot. "I am under the impression the lady might be a witch." He has a sip of his beer.
"A witch?" Melancholy asks, far too delighted at this turn of events. "Oh my garters. How exciting. A cursed witch who looks like a harmless old lady, by any chance? Oh — wait, no, a swamp witch, that's the best kind from the stories. And also in disguise as a harmless old woman. That would be ideal." It's not a customizable witch made to order, Melancholy, but okay.
"Or are we talking the sort from Kul Tiras?" Lena asks in a lower voice. To Melancholy, she adds, "They've a tradition, of a sorts. An evil tradition."
"I'm not personally acquainted with Kul Tiran witchcraft, ma'am," says Baird, "but based on what I've read, it seems similar." To Melancholy, he says, "They do live in a swamp. I don't believe that's connected to the witchcraft, though. I think they just… live in a swamp."
Melancholy makes an ooooohh shiver of delight at Lena's explanation. And then another at Baird's that it is a Swamp Witch. That's what she heard in that. "Isn't that what swamp witches do? What a treat this is!" She hears it after she says it, and there's a moment of true chagrin and self-awareness as she puts up a halting hand to her lips and then in the air as if to stop something. "I'm sorry, no. That's a terrible thing to say, given that this is clearly a miserable circumstance for the family involved. I let my excitement of intrigue get away from me. I really do apologize. Let me start again — this sounds awful for House Fallon, and if there's something I can do to help, I'll be glad to do it."
Lena glances at Melancholy with mild amusement, but then sobers as she turns back to Baird. "But the lady. Is she the one wronged Her Grace? What's changed that she's a problem anew now?"
"It was a different lady initially, ma'am. The one Captain Fallon asked me to find. It was the sister of the current lady. She was nosing around Her Grace and the family in a suspicious way, and she was supposed to come here to Pandaria, on the 25th of last month. But the plan changed. She's dead and the other one's here now. But the dead one admitted to having some plans for the family that have got the Captain on the war path." Baird has another sip of beer. "So I'm to find this woman. She has a knack for slipping out of people's memories, it seems. Hard for them to recall what she looks like. That sort of thing."
Melancholy gulps at her tea like she wishes it was popcorn. "Oh, how strange. How are you supposed to find someone who doesn't stick in people's memories? No, wait, you said recall what she looks like — does she stick in people's scent memories? Or tactile? Although I guess it would be stranger for people to touch someone, but still. All five senses, that sort of thing."
"Some sort of enchantment, to do with her looks? Illusion-type magic?" Lena muses. "And aye, wonder if that works on someone doesn't rely on sight. We've such allies."
"We've do?" Melancholy asks with interest.
Lena nods. "I'd expect worgen, with the scent. Her Grace knows Lord Graves, of the Gravehowl pack, and some of theirs. Another young lady, as well, a detective. And there's the ex-Illidari Fallon recruited a while back — I count her a friend as well, and she's a detective too these days. She's got a different sort of senses."
Baird nods. "The Captain will make arrangements, now that we know. Meanwhile I'm just after rumors and ripples. Shaking the trees. Dumb and harmless." He has another sip of his beer.
Shine studies him for a hard moment. "When Fallon sets someone else on the trail — one of his friends with other senses — do you think he'll take you off it?"
"Couldn't say, sir," says Bryn. "Hope not." He shrugs.
Shine is looking at him now in a manner far more intense than that answer seems to justify. "That bad, is it?"
"It's bad, sir," Baird agrees equably. "Rooms here expensive?"
"I assume you're on Fallon's coin," Shine observes dryly.
"Yeah. Don't like to be free with it, though. Not on vacation." Baird appraises the room again.
"Not exactly much choice here," Lena observes. "They've only just opened the place after thousands of years, not really set up for travelers. Countryside's nice, though, if you don't stay in the Shrine. Of course, I hear there's an outside risk of mogu assassins."
Baird gives Lena that lopsided smile, a flash of white teeth against the tan. "I don't mind camping, ma'am. But I suppose it's not often a man gets to stay in a place like this, either." He looks between Lena and Shine. "Mogu are the bulldog-faced ones." A statement, not a question: he's just revisiting his facts. "What about the Zandalari? Seen any around here?"
Lena's brief answering smile is automatic, her thoughts elsewhere. Then she returns to the moment and shakes her head. "Not here, not yet. Though they're allied, so if the mogu strike in force I expect the Zandalari to follow at some point. Might be, though, that the trolls are after this vault situation, while the mogu wage this part of the war. I reckon we'll see soon enough."
"Do you want to see the Zandalari, Mr. Baird?" Melancholy asks, and then considers. "Or is Second Leftenant Baird? Or is that only on the ship? What am I to use to call you, properly?"
"I'd be glad to see some Zandalari at just the right distance, miss," says Baird. "And it's just Baird — or Bryn, if you like, that's my middle name — but aboard ship it would be Leftenant Baird." He has another sip of his beer. "Or just Baird, honestly."
Melancholy lifts her brows at the information, but doesn't press further. She has what she needs. "Just Baird, then, for the nonce. The Alliance is planning to do something about the Vaults, where the trolls are likely to be if. I don't know what just the right distance means, but I'm assuming you do. Maybe they'll let you join in? Your MacBride probably isn't likely to be there, but you never know. Maybe she uses troll witchery and threw in her lot."
"I hope the Zandalari aren't already there, when the forces arrive," Lena says, with a slight wince. "That'll mean our people are too late. And I do hope your MacBride hasn't fallen in with an ancient troll empire. At least, if she has, she'll have a lot more enemies than just us."
Baird shrugs an equable shoulder. "I'll ask Captain Fallon if I should join, but this is the job he gave me for now."
To Melancholy, Shine says, "Baird is a sharpshooter, is what he means about the distance. Sniper."
"Oh, is that a usual sort of job you do? A sniper for a tracking down — " Melancholy visibly considers the reasons. And then sets a gloved hand over her lips. "Oh. Oh, I see. Well. I suppose that changes the genre of the novel adaptation a bit, doesn't it." She has the look of someone out of her depth, but determined to tread the water anyway.
"Warlocks do tend to attract a dangerous crowd," Lena says with a faint smile, as she takes a sip of tea. "Ours is a loyal crowd, though, so you needn't mind the genre too much. We're on the side of right."
Baird salutes Melancholy politely with his beer.
"It mostly means," says Shine, "that he's patient and observant. So: tracking down. But I do expect he brought a rifle with him."
"'What through the dark come down, / What through the shadows fall, / What through the dark come on the sea, / And the ships and the hills and all?'" Melancholy recites, adding thoughtfully from another, "'Either the Darkness alters, / Or something in the sight / Adjusts itself to Midnight, / And Life steps almost straight.'"
"'We grow accustomed to the dark,'" Baird agrees.
"Adjusts to midnight… and life steps almost straight," Lena says, tilting her head in thought. "That one's pretty. Did you write it?"
Baird glances at Lena, has another sip of beer, and lapses into gazing at the far wall as though he can see something past it.
Melancholy alights with Newfound Interest on Baird, opening her mouth to say something, but is immediately distracted by Lena's question. "No, no. I don't write any myself. That's Torment; he's the poet. I'm only a collector and appreciator. That's from Annette Wynne of the first, and Emily Dickinson of the second." She turns her attention back to Baird. "Do you like poetry, Just Baird?"
"I read poetry," Baird specifies thoughtfully. "Some of it I like. Some of it I don't. Your brother lends me some, after I asked him one time."
Shine is eyeing Baird with the sort of jaded parental expression that says this is a new, weird development and yet also he is not terribly surprised. Kids, man. (Or maybe just: Baird, man.)
Lena is looking at Baird with mild surprise, so maybe she doesn't know him as well.
Melancholy doesn't know him at all, except several key points, and her surprise is more delighted. "Of course. Well if you do have something you think you'd like that Woe doesn't have, you should tell me about it. I'm not a librarian in training anymore, but I do still know how to find books for people, one way or another."
Baird focuses with that steady intensity on Melancholy again. "Oh yeah? A librarian in training? What sort of training do you get for that?"
Shine gives Baird a look that very clearly conveys, Son you cannot be a sailor, a sniper, AND a librarian.
Lena settles back to let the bookish people talk.
Melancholy's expression rapidly alters from the smile to a distant, empty sort of look, her eyes sliding off to the right, as her hand tightens its grip on her teacup. It lasts for only a moment or two before she seems to deliberately throw it off, setting a smile over it determinedly.
"I was apprenticed to the Royal Librarian for a time. It takes a lot of training to learn the systems, a combination of facility with numbers and organization across multiple fields and genres. There's likely an opening now, of course, though I wouldn't know for certain." She turns her gaze to Lena. "I have a new fate, myself. Which has led all of manner of new things, including the investigation into these Vaults. There's a devious plan with a long dead king involved."
Baird continues to regard Melancholy levelly; if he noticed the change in expression he does not remark it. "Whose long dead king?" he asks. "What's the plan? This is where the Zandalari come into it." Again the question that is a statement.
"The Thunder King — that one's a mogu, but resurrected by the Zandalari," Lena glances to Shine for confirmation, but continues, "They've teamed up, trying to regain their old imperial glory. We've an eye towards what else they might be after. Some kind of library of souls of past kings in these Vaults, and maybe something for making an army of clay statues. And who knows what they might want with the Vale? That is, I'm not sure we know that part yet."
"Not I — and I can't even really begin to guess in specifics, even if we probably can assume it's something to do with power, because isn't it always?" Melancholy says blithely. "Unsurprisingly, I'm more interested in the intersection of my fields of study of a library and souls, but it doesn't mean I understand the process happening any better — they don't seem to use the Dewey Decimal system or a card catalogue whatsoever."
"When you take a soul from someone," Baird says to Lena, "does it retain its identity in the crystal? Is it a particular person in there? Or does the person get stripped away by death and the soul in the crystal is just energy of some sort?" The question is asked slowly and thoughtfully, no trace of judgement or accusation in it. He just sounds curious.
"On our part, it's not an entire soul," Lena explains, warming to the subject. Maybe she assumes she has an interested audience here. "What we mostly do is break off fragments, shards. And those don't really retain much of the original person, it's just soul energy. What the mogu do, with the soulbinding, is a whole other level. They're trapping entire souls intact, complete with their identity, personality, knowledge… and some of them, the ones they value, they store. So it's like… I think they prevent the whole person from moving on. We've got also hints that they might attach the souls to other bodies, making them live unnatural long." Lena pauses for a sip of tea. "And the souls they don't so much value, they seem to attach to objects, like those clay soldiers, and enslave. They were doing that to the pandaren, back in Jade Forest."
Melancholy counts as an interested audience, as it's especially relevant to her chosen profession, finishing off her tea, and looking like she probably wants something to nibble on while she attends her lessons. Bun understands.
Baird nods contemplatively. He is definitely an interested audience; it's why he asked. "The mogu use souls-magic. But there are different schools of souls-magic, and theirs is different from yours not just on ethical grounds but fundamentally, in nature and practice."
He does not seem to be explaining this to Lena but reviewing the facts for his own reference. Then he nods and has another sip of beer.
"Aye, different," Lena nods, leaning forward over the table. "But similar enough that I'd like to learn more about it. Not to use it, of course, obviously not, but it's interesting to see what a person can do with soul energy. And if that information's out in the world, it might as well also be a thing we know about, in case we've got to counter it someday."
"From just the right distance, of course," Melancholy adds primly.
Baird flashes that crooked white smile again at Melancholy and then straightens from the wall. "I think before it gets much later I should go downstairs and make a room for myself official. If you don't mind me imposing on more of your time, I'll bring food up for us when I come back. I'd be interested to hear more about the whole business."
'The whole business' is a little bit vague. This being Baird, he could mean mogu soul magic, or he could mean Life, the Universe, and Everything.
"Aye, that's good with me," says Shine, and glances to Lena for confirmation.
"Sounds good from my side," Lena says, settling back. "And I'd be interested to hear how things set at the harbor, and… that whole business."
"I should think to have a Whole Business as well," Melancholy says blithely with a red lipped smile as she taps a finger near her mouth. "I suppose I'll put mine back in the Whole Witch Business and add in any gossip about Woe — it will be awfully good fun to tease him a little when Little Melancholy shows up unexpectedly." Or expectedly, as the case may be. Also, not really so little. With her boots, she stands at six feet tall.
Baird smiles again, tips back the rest of his beer in three long swallows, and then with a polite nod to the room in general, takes his temporary leave.
"Strange running into him here," observes Shine. "A bad business, that. Wonder if I ought to talk to Fallon? He wouldn't have set Baird on… a minor misunderstanding. Something must've happened."
Lena nods. "Something personal, or he'd have sent word to us in Kun-Lai. But I trust he knows his resources. All of those as were up in the Highlands he could call on, if we're drawing up lines of battle. And if there's some kind of visual illusion going on, I bet it won't dodge Natalyah's nose or Aszera's… senses."
"What about after the Whole Business of the Vaults is concluded if we took a jaunt out to ask Admiral Fallon about it — presuming of course that it isn't all over by then," Melancholy proposes, still absently holding onto her empty tea cup. "I could practice my naval terminology. 'Captain on the ship, Admiral off it,' and all that."
Shine smiles faintly at Melancholy.
There's a knock at the door and then Baird opens it and leans in. He's got a pack slung over his shoulder and is cradling a long, cloth-wrapped bundle that is presumably at least one rifle. "Going down the hall to drop my stuff," he says. "Food's coming up." He ducks back out again without really waiting for acknowledgement of any of this.
He also does not close the door, which may be deliberate because he's barely disappeared when a pandaren woman bustles in carrying an enormous, laden tray that conceivably contains one of everything on the menu. She beams as she carries it over to the table. "The young man said this room, yes?"
"Ooh, a sampler," Melancholy says, delighted by the variety pack of treats to try.
Bun heard someone call his name, and appears from beneath the bed.
"Thank ye kindly," Shine says to the server, and offers her a couple of coins for a tip. When she's gone, he doesn't bother to close the door but sets about rearranging the chairs in the room so that there are now four around the table: the two preexisting table-chairs, the desk chair, and a weird ottoman thing. (You know what hotel rooms are like.)
He settles on the weird ottoman thing himself, leaving the desk chair free for Baird.
None of the seats is for Bun.
Melancholy settles in on the other table chair, setting her teacup aside the tray to be dealt with by someone else, and resting her focusing cane against the table, so both hands are free for snacks, Bun Style.
Lena sits in the table chair and pats her lap absently. It might be a tanuki invitation. Then she looks up at the others and the bountiful tray.
"The pandaren certainly don't do these things by half-measures," Lena says in appreciation. She glances at Melancholy, and adds, "I do hope shipboard fare is not too disappointing, once things are settled here and we head back to the harbor."
"Clem does his best," observes the returning Baird. A damp cowlick and the way he is adjusting a rolled sleeve suggest he has splashed water on his face and politely washed his hands before the meal. "On long sails, though, he's at the mercy of what will keep in damp storage and what will cook without much fresh water. We catch a lot of fish, which is more agreeable than the salt meat Stormwind issues standard."
He settles on the desk chair and surveys the bounty on the table. "Don't know what a lot of this is, but it smells good."
Bun has waddled hopefully over to Lena's side and sat back on his haunches, paws upstretched in the universal sign for UP, MOTHER.
Lena reaches down to lift the little tanuki into her lap as she nods to Baird as the animal settles. "If it's anything like the last… every place we've been, it should be." She pauses to begin the snacking, and then asks, "Did Fallon say what these people'd done to the family? I know it's likely not my business, but might help us to be prepared if we run into them. One person's dead already, as you said."
Baird is examining a dumpling in a manner that suggests he might be puzzling out in his head how to make one himself from scratch. He glances up at Lena, sits up a little, and looks sidelong at Shine. "I'm not privy to all of it, ma'am, sir," he says. "But I believe a member of the house was killed. And there was a threat against the children. The babies." He eats the dumpling.
There is a degree of perhaps unintentional menace in the nonchalance of his manner. Sort of like the way he says amiably, from a certain distance.
"What?" Lena says, her face paling, and she drops her dumpling. Here, Bun, profit from her shock and dismay. "One of the… one of ours? You could have said — who? Someone on staff? Or… sorry, if that's part of what you're not privy to," she looks to Shine, "but we lived in that house long enough that… if someone's been murdered. I can head down to the harbor, talk to Fallon."
Bun profits!
The way Shine is staring at Baird might suddenly remind one that he is probably carrying a great many concealed knives.
Baird nods at Lena. "The young man isn't dead any longer. But Captain Fallon's in a way about it, you can imagine. He's over his head with sending letters and speaking with people. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you." He glances again at Shine. "He hasn't been at his best recently in general."
"'The young man?'" Shine says. "One of the servants or one of the wards?"
"I wasn't told," says Baird, as he reaches for another dumpling. He and Bun are kindred spirits. "But it was Mr. Boutille. A MacBride came after him. She killed him, but not before he'd killed her. He came back, she didn't. And now Captain Fallon wants me to find her sister."
"I can see," says Shine after a grim silence, "why he might put you on it."
Baird nods again and eats his dumpling. "These are good."
Lena does not grab another dumpling. She stares forward, resting a hand on Bun to steady herself. Then she shivers, and looks back at Baird with a chill in her eyes, one that's not directed at him. "That's worse than I imagined. Mr. Boutille should never have been in put that position — he's a civilian. That's where we are, then, have to assume every member of their household is a combatant."
Melancholy is mowing through the fried cheese curds like they're popcorn, the intensity of her consumption scaling proportionally with the developing news.
The only pause in the vanishing cheese curd act by the local goth girl is when Lena remarks that Mr. Boutille is a civilian. Melancholy's expression goes slack with a devastated distant look, and it takes effort for her to tighten it back up, refuse to slip any further into an odd despair. "That's abhorrent. The poor young man." Who is, in fact, older than her, but that's unimportant. "It's an appalling feeling, dying in such a shocking way, when you think you ought to be safe, even if you do manage to come back. Why would they do such a thing? Isn't there enough tragedy in the world already elsewhere without bringing such horrendous violence to regular people?" She presses another cheese curd into her mouth, as if it can stop other rising emotions in its tracks by virtue of fried dairy power.
"I don't think they're very good people, miss," Baird offers gently. He is watching her again in that strange steady way.
"No wonder Fallon's on the war path," Shine says. He nods at Lena. "Ye should go and see him. I'll see if I can step away from here and Cobalt's business for a bit — I don't know when the vault thing is happening. But one of us should go, if we both can't. I should write to Avrenne."
Baird, still looking at Melancholy, says, "'They shall have stars at elbow and foot.'"
Melancholy pauses again in cheese inhalation to look at Baird with momentarily oddly wounded honey eyes for a long second before she summons a fragile smile, her black lace veil over those eyes. "'Though they go mad they shall be sane, / Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again,'" she recites in a slightly husky voice, which she clears delicately. "How very appropriate."
Lena looks quizzically at Baird and Melancholy, and then nods to Shine. "I will. And perhaps write to… I don't rightly know if Mr. Boutille would welcome a letter. In any case, I expect he's well cared for, back at Fallon House. The first death can be quite shocking, after all, and there's those as would know so in the house."
"Aye," says Shine quietly. He pauses, cants his head. "… Tides. It's not his first. I didn't think of it because he came home already sound again, but he died in Stormwind City, in the Shattering. Isla collected him."
Baird continues to gaze at Melancholy, but he might actually just quietly be doing algebra in his head or trying to recall the names of every king of Lordaeron in order.
"Oh," Lena says simply, tilting her own head, possibly running through her own accounting of deaths known and unknown. "The world is a dangerous place, isn't it? But here we all are."
"Here we all are," agrees Shine. He's looking at Lena now, a little softly. "A lot happened on that day."
Because Baird is watching, he can see the exact moment that the mention of dying in the Shattering makes Melancholy’s eyes widen, and her gaze start jumping chaotically around the room, as if she can't find a place to rest it. Her breathing leaps upwards into quick, shallow breaths, and her lips press tightly together, but it doesn't hide the shake. As they continue speaking, a guilt and shame lands so heavily on her that it causes a slight flush on her pale cheeks and tears pricking the edges of her eyes, such that you might think she had been somehow personally responsible for Finley's death, or maybe the Shattering itself.
Melancholy puts down her food, and gathers up her cane as she rises to a sudden stand, a rigid expression of a forced polite smile doing little to conceal anything. "Excuse me. Do you have the ensuite powder room in here, where I might freshen up my lipstick?"
Her lipstick is as bold and unfaded red and perfectly applied as likely the moment she put it on.
Baird's gaze drops from Melancholy's eyes to her mouth. He makes no comment.
Lena's gaze snaps back to Melancholy as she stands, and there's a flicker of guilt in her eyes as she notes all the signs Baird likely saw come into being. She smiles back, a simple polite gesture that's more of an acceptance of the chosen mask than a symbol of happiness.
"Of course, please go ahead," Lena says, gesturing towards the 'powder room' with one hand. "And it's… it's safe here. We're all safe, aye?"
Melancholy forces her smile wider in a tight flash in the only answer she gives directly. "Excuse me," she repeats, as she strides to the powder room, one red and black laced glove holding onto the focusing cane with a crushing grip, and the door shut with a noble lady's carefully ingrained gentle touch behind her.
It's free chair real estate for any opportunistic people.
Bun would be an opportunistic people but he is comfortably ensconced in Lena's lap.
"She had a pretty rough time of it," Baird says, and reaches for a skewer of grilled meat. He does not say this like he is speculating; he says it like Melancholy told him and he is politely explaining for her.
"I should be a bit gentler," Lena says in a low voice. "I brought her from Stormwind libraries into a war zone, and her a noblewoman too. It's just been so long since… sometimes I forget this kind of life can be a bit frightening to those not used to it yet. Shattering must've come as quite a shock, as well."
"It isn't you, Mrs. Shine," says Baird, and tears a tiny corner of grilled meat from the skewered strip to set it gently on the table in front of Lena.
This might seem like some kind of bizarre consolatory gesture, but Bun explains it three nanoseconds later by disappearing the morsel happily.
"Maybe not, but I wonder sometimes," Lena says with low sigh. She returns to the food. "She'll be down on the ship with us, once the harbor's built and there's battle to be had."
"She handled herself in combat with us," Shine observes. "Even if she was green."
"The ship'll be an adjustment," Baird understates.
It'll be stiff competition this year in the Understatement of the Year Awards.
On that note, the door to the powder room opens again, and Melancholy steps back into the room, adjusting her gloves, with her focusing cane tucked under her left arm. She's wearing even more eye makeup than before, with even more darker shadows and black eyeliner, and her lipstick is even more freshly red.
"You know, I had a thought worth speaking on," she announces blithely as she strides back towards her chair. "That you might want to speak to the Grummles in your searching quest. They're a delightful diminutive race of the ferriers and guides of the mountains and trails, and they deliver supplies all over the place, and they have an incredible sense of smell. If you have them on your side, you'll have an entire network who might come to your tracking aid. You'll want to barter in luckdos." She retakes her seat.
"That's good thinking," says Baird. "But what are luckydos?"
Shine nods wordlessly at Melancholy. That is good thinking.
"A luckydo is — oh I had this written down somewhere," Melancholy says, as she fishes out a trusty black notebook from a pocket, flipping to a page by memory, and reading off it. "'A person, place, or thing of good luck and fortune, which usually has a special smell to it.' Some examples have been pocket lint, rabbit feet — preserved, not raw or freshly dismembered, a detail I am not certain I find actually less repulsive but it's not my luckydo culture, to be fair — special charms, favorite cousins, pine resin, and a wide variety of incense."
"They're a superstitious folk," Lena says with a smile. "But we heard the story of them from Lorewalker Cho. If you treat with them well, they travel far and have keen eyes. It's a good idea." She pauses, and adds to Baird, "Just don't ask them to keep an eye out for 'enemies'."
"Huh," says Baird. "Well, I didn't bring any of my favorite cousins with me. I have a Stormwind penny minted in 591 and a stone with a hole in it, but I don't… sea glass? Would they like sea glass?" He looks between Lena and Melancholy. "I suppose I could just get some incense here at the shrine."
"There's no way to know until they can smell it, and you should show it to a variety of Grummles, not only one. As they say, you should never trust unsmellable luck, but," Melancholy says, interrupting herself as she holds up a finger in emphasis, "Sometimes what that really means is that it's luck for someone else." Someone spent significant amount of time among the superstitious Grummles. "Which I think is a remarkably astute concept of the individualism of luck, and there really may be something to it." And maybe believed some of those superstitions.
With her return to the table, there is also a subtle increase in the faint but noticeable scent of the fel — and when she snaps her notebook closed and returns it to her pocket, the movement reveals a tiny, brief hue shift where a newly applied fel armor shimmers over her clothes.
Baird nods thoughtfully. "Yeah," he says. "Someone else's luck." He considers this, staring at Melancholy in that peculiar, still way that might not actually be staring at Melancholy. "I should bring a few things, I guess, so they can pick out their luck."
If Baird detects anything of the fel, he doesn't react or remark it. It is Shine who is suddenly watching Melancholy with his brow drawn down in a slight frown. He flicks a glance at Lena.
Lena catches his eye and raises her fingers slightly, as if to brush something aside. Pay it no mind.
"They're very friendly," Lena says aloud. "So you won't need to worry about them refusing to aid you. Cobalts have been helping keep them safe on the trails, too, so they've likely got an idea that outsiders are good folk."
"Oh! I have a skull that I could add to your collection of possible luckydos — we took it from a soulbinder Mogu skull pile in the hopes that it might be haunted and answer some questions, but all attempts to induce a haunting or spirit connection has thus far been unsuccessful, and at this point I think it may be only an unfortunate skull. I have it in the Emotionless Void, rattling around doing nothing at the moment, but I'm sure if it did help, it would be well considered a worthwhile cause," Melancholy says, as she reaches back into another pocket to pull out a different all black bag. When she opens it, there's a slight chill that emanates from it, and she reaches in all the way up to her shoulder, which disappears inside the arcane bag without moving any of edges. She gropes around for a moment before she lifts up and produces for Consideration: a humanoid-ish skull. They could have been someone's favorite cousin, maybe.
"Oh," says Baird. "I suppose it could have been someone's favorite cousin. You have an Emotionless Void? Is that a warlock thing?" He looks at Lena. Has Mrs. Shine had an Emotionless Void this whole time?
Melancholy is startled into a dark bell of a laugh. "No, it's a Grimlocke Thing. My sister Miserie made it for me, and now it's all the more appropriate enough to confirm a fated path." Melancholy sets the bag down in her lap so she can hold out the skull with both gloved hands, cradling it gently with a visible sense of respect for the dead, despite the odd transaction.
Baird sets down his meat skewer, wipes his hand respectfully on his shirt, and reaches for the skull. "Does your brother have an Emotionless Void?" Woe has not previously mentioned having an Emotionless Void.
"I don't know," Melancholy admits as she places the skull carefully into his keeping. "He might, or he might not. You'd have to ask him."
Lena raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. She has no emotionless void, honest.
"Hi," says Baird conversationally to the skull. He sets it in his lap. Lena has a lap tanuki, Baird has a lap skull. Hopefully the skull does not want snacks.
Shine is now looking at Lena like Why is there more than one of them? (Weird Children, not skulls. Although there might be more than one skull, too.)
One would hope there are at least six skulls in this room. If not, someone is hiding a disturbing secret.
"It's a pretty nice bag, good size," Lena nods. "You're sister's a mage, right?"
"Yes, with the Kirin Tor," Melancholy says proudly, unaware of certain biases among her companions. She carefully closes the Emotionless Void and sets it back into her pocket with that same faint fel shimmer. "They call her 'Sparkler,' though I prefer her proper name personally. I think the nickname a bit obvious — she does sparkle, but it's much too on the arcane nose to label it that way. I'd probably be contrarian enough that I'd deliberately de-sparkle, if it were me, but I eschew nicknames for myself as a rule, as you know."
Shine finds himself deeply fascinated by his food as soon as Melancholy mentions the Kirin Tor. Lena can handle that one later.
"Why is that?" Baird asks Melancholy. No judgement, just genuine interest.
"Why would I be contrarian or why don't I like nicknames for myself?" Melancholy asks and then holds up a halting hand as she considers it. "Wait — no, don't bother clarifying; they have something of the same answer, so I actually can speak to both." She puts her hand down and reaches out to selected several of boiled silkworm pupas, delicately placing them on a smaller plate for herself. "Because for me, my name is who I am. It's informed my identity, of what I know of myself, and what I've decided to be. It isn't something that I want to have made piecemeal or altered suddenly, for what it might shift of myself, and surely something must shift when a person alters their name, by what they are called and known as, and I'm no exception to that rule. It isn't just sounds that come out with nothing attached to it. Names mean something, as all words do, and I have decided on mine."
"A person can claim a different identity for themself by taking a name other than the one they were given," Shine observes. "Or people can use multiple names. A surname professionally, a nickname with friends and another with family…." He shrugs. "Doesn't alter them, necessarily, just… distinguishes different facets. Like the way ye might wear certain clothes for one occasion and different ones for another."
He considers Melancholy in her goth finery like he's suddenly wondering whether she wears different clothes for different occasions.
"I think everyone has a right to decide their own name, or what they would like to be called," Melancholy says, as she pops in a pupa, covering her mouth from view with a gloved hand. "I've simply settled on mine, as much as my clothes."
She doesn't wear different clothes. This is The Look. Always. She wears dramatic black nightgowns to sleep. Maybe she even keeps the lipstick on. Who can say.
"There's something to be said for knowing who you are," Lena says quietly, looking down as she collects another dumpling. "But also something to be said for being able to change when you need to."
Shine watches Lena.
"I think changing my name is what made me a sailor," Baird says. To Melancholy, he says, "Your brother's Grimlocke aboard, like I'm Baird. You'll be Miss Grimlocke, like Mrs. Shine. If you want to be called differently, you'll have to tell people. They default to custom."
"You changed your name and became a sailor," Melancholy repeats with a nod as she taps a finger by her lips idly. "That's what life is like, isn't it? It's all about finding the times when you're meant to push back against fate, and when you should surrender to its pull. Sometimes, you have to change course, when you realize you've gone the wrong way." Like leave a library to become a warlock.
She considers the food again before she raises her gaze back up to Baird. "Miss Grimlocke. Hm. I think it will suit enough. I prefer 'Melancholy,' but I'm usually not anyway — 'Lady Melancholy' is the custom in Society, and sometimes that's the appropriate distance with some. And I am a Grimlocke, so it's truth, and that's fair."
"Nobody is a Lady aboard," Baird says. If he is aware of a double meaning, his face gives nothing away. "We'd never call the Captain 'Lord Fallon' either, no matter what the landsmen do."
Lena busies herself with eating her dumplings while Melancholy talks about fate. Then she pats Bun, and gives him a dumpling.
"Yes, aboard ship rank is clearer," Lena says. "Might be we'll have a clear one for warlock sooner or later, rather than Miss and Mrs."
"Well, it's all one to me. I'm not a Lady anymore regardless, by choice. I'm a warlock," Melancholy says decisively, as she rubs her fingers together, and then sets both hands together in an idle steeple. She has finished snacking. "So it will be correct."
Lena looks at her with some concern. "But not literally, right? Your family… they've not… you're still a Grimlocke?"
Melancholy looks to Lena in surprise. "Of course I'm still a Grimlocke, as I said. My parents would never disown me, no matter what I do. It's a personal decision, that's all. I've stepped away from that other life. I'm hardly necessary in it — really, I'm the fifth child. I could vanish entirely and not disrupt the line with more than a little ripple." She illustrates it with a hand, closing all her fingers together and then spreading them out slowly. On that note, though, she rises again from the table.
"Thank you for the tea." She likely means both the beverage and the food, as that's considered tea in her part of the world. "I should retire to my room. It's been a long day." As Lena said.
Lena's concern fades only a little as Melancholy explains, but she nods agreeably. "Rest well. I expect we're not done with the troubles here, trolls and mogu and witches, now."
"Good night," says Shine with a nod.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Melancholy," says Baird. "Thanks for the skull."
"Yes, a pleasure, despite the circumstances. Good luck with your reckoning, Baird," Melancholy says blithely, as she picks up her focusing cane, wiggling her fingers in goodbye as she strides for the door to let herself out. "Ta-ta."
Baird blinks once after her. "Huh," he says mildly.
"Did ye tell her?" Shine asks him.
Baird shrugs a shoulder. "Didn't tell her anything but what you heard me tell her."
"Huh," says Shine, and smiles faintly.
"Do you think she takes off the lipstick?" Baird asks. His tone is not prurient; it is again that genuine curiosity, as though he is asking Siri to Google it for him.
"I'm not sure she takes off the hat," Shine says mildly.
Baird nods. "Ship's going to be an adjustment," he says to Lena.
"It is," Lena says, looking at the door after Melancholy's departure with a faint crease between her brows. "She's… very different than I am. Very different background. I don't really hold with fate." Then she smiles, her expression smooths, and she adds, "I think she'll prove equal to it, though, in the end. The fel magic and the fleet, if she decides to stay there. Find a way to adjust without losing herself."
"Yeah," says Baird. "She will. And she'll have her brother and you there for support, ma'am. I think we got off a little wrong-footed, but it'll be fine. You going to see the Captain?"
"I think I should," Lena says with a firm nod. "He hasn't called for me, but he might just be thinking I'm tied up in military work elsewhere. Might be some folk in the household need summoning, or… I don't know. Surely it's a few days at least until the next disaster, so there's time."
"Surely," says Shine dryly. "At least."
Bun steals a dumpling.