(2025-06-30) Auction Foyer - Fallon Gala Year 29

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	The conversations within the rear foyer around the auction times in the Fallon Charity Gala of Year 29. 6100~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

Just beyond the foyer on either side, two narrower hallways branch from the main hallway toward the rear of the house. They open into another sort of foyer space, still elegant but more casual than the front foyer, that leads to a set of grand glass doors to the terrace and the gardens beyond.

This rear foyer area is furnished with an array of genteelly down-at-heel furniture — which is to say, settees and armchairs that look too expensive for actual use appear in fact to be comfortably lived in by people to whom expense is no barrier. Ornate carpets muffle the parquet floors, and antique tapestries of mermaids hang on the walls. Doors on either side of the space lead to two small, private studies.

In an alcove above a fireplace inset in the wall is a painting of a ship as detailed and lovingly-rendered as any portrait of a person has ever been. A discreet brass tag on the frame identifies it as The Lady Blanche, by Priscilla Moore.

Priscilla's sense for vibrant colors and bold shapes remains true in this rendering, and it bears her trademark brushstrokes that sometimes edge off into softness rather than harsh lines. The Lady Blanche herself is a proud third-rate naval gunship, and every detail of her form, down to each line and plank, is set here against a starry night sky rendered in deep indigo and touches of violet. Notable is the presence of the other White Lady, the moon, illuminating the ship in all her true colors rather than leaving her muted by the darkness. The surrounding stars — shining silver gleams of paint and a carefully-applied metallic substance — are not simply placed at random; they are star-chart accurate to their places in the sky.

The deep blue sea beneath this Lady Blanche has a soft glow. Perhaps it is simply the water in the moonlight, or perhaps it is for another reason — the sea itself appears oddly becalmed, almost but not quite glass-like, with only the barest ripples of waves, gentle wakes around the edges as though the ship has been floating above these calm waters.

Smaller figures are visible on the deck, tiny touches here and there that suggest certain people — a silhouette of a particular coat, a hat, and so on. Standing in the prow is a figure in mostly shadow, lit from behind to frame him in moonlight. The silhouette of the Admiral’s hat is obvious, his positioning noble and his size almost larger than life.

Anyone familiar with Avrenne may read her hand in it. Others may just see a truly lovely painting of a ship at night.

Displayed around the room on various small tables and pedestals are arrayed the various items up for auction, with the exception of item 16, which would be awkward to put on a pedestal in a rear foyer. At the back garden doors and one of the entry hallways, two footmen stand, looking discreet and plausibly servant-like and also hulking and alert.

Miss Curran is seated demurely in a settee against the wall. She is dressed in sober black, and has a ledger resting on her knees. She awaits bidders.

Lord Bertrand escorts Lady Priscilla into the room. "The auctions," he says quietly to his wife, and then, "Miss Curran, good evening. You'll be taking bids today?"

Priscilla is here for one thing and one thing only. She scans the pedestals. Jewelry. Jewelry. Pearl. More jewelry. Axe. Painting! She beelines immediately to admire Finley's contribution to the auction.

Miss Curran rises gracefully to her feet and bobs a prim, perfunctory curtsey, smiling. "Good evening, Lord Bertrand, Lady Priscilla. I will be, that's correct. If you have questions about any of the items, I'm happy to answer."

"Oh, where in Azeroth is this?" Priscilla asks, gesturing to Finley's painting. "Is this a real place…? I'd like to place a bid, of course."

Bertrand nods and makes a go-ahead gesture to her and begins inspecting some of the other auctions.

"That's a painting of a landscape in Deepholm," Miss Curran tells her. "The Plane of Earth. Extraordinary, isn't it?" She opens her ledger to jot a note on the opening bid.

"Deepholm!" Priscilla says with just as much delighted awe as if Miss Curran had said 'outer space'. "Did he go there? I must ask him."

Miss Curran smiles again. "He did indeed. I'm certain he'll be pleased to tell you about it."

"Incredible," Priscilla says. She beams at Miss Curran. "I'll be back later to see if I'm still winning. Birdie? Anything you want?"

"I'll bid on lots 8 and 13," Bertrand says, nodding to the falcon figurine and the clockwork songbird. "Can't resist a good bird. I must live up to my nickname."

Miss Curran smiles and makes additional notations. "Thank you, Lord Bertrand."

Bertrand smiles back at her. "Of course." He pauses a moment to admire the painting of the Lady Blanche before leaving the room with Priscilla on his arm.

Lady Alaisa slips into the rear foyer. Her suit jacket is gone by now. "I'm probably late," she says, nodding to Miss Curran. She is not late at all, she is just not the very first bidder.

"You aren't late at all, Lady Alaisa," Miss Curran assures her. "You aren't the first bidder, but that's rather a position of advantage in an auction." She smiles.

Alaisa smiles back. "As long as everyone else forgets about the things I want," she says, and begins to browse the auctions in order. She spends almost a minute examining Lot 6, the Totem of the Wolf God, before moving on, and at Lot 10 she actually reads the certificate. "Hm." She lingers there for another minute before moving on to the rest of the exhibits, and the moment she sees the name 'Sintha Fallon' on the clockwork songbird, she says, "This one." She doesn't even look at lots 14 - 16.

Miss Curran nods. "It's very clever, isn't it?" She makes a notation in her ledger.

"Oh, yes. Can I hear the song?" Alaisa is not going to touch an object on display without permission.

"Of course, Lady Alaisa." Miss Curran sets her ledger aside and moves over to the display pedestal. Very carefully, she strokes a fingertip down the front of the bird's throat, activating an almost-invisibly-concealed mechanism.

The bird straightens up and tilts its head in a swift, abrupt movement; the side effect of clockwork motion happens to look extremely lifelike in songbird form. It opens its beak and a little, softly-melancholy tune begins to unwind in music box miniature.

Alaisa smiles wistfully at it, listening. "Thank you," she says when the song concludes. "I'll be back." With a genuine smile to Miss Curran, she disappears into the hall.

Lady Gardenia Aspenwood drifts in to place a bid on Lot 12, and drifts out again.

Bertrand stops by to check in with Miss Curran and ask, "How are 8, 13, and 15 going?"

"Very well, Lord Bertrand," Miss Curran says innocently, and then tilts her head to look at him over the rim of her spectacles. "… or did you mean, are you and Lady Priscilla still currently the high bidders?" She smiles at him. "Because in that case… well, on lot 8 you are."

Bertrand laughs. "Well, let's up our bids on 13 and 15, then," he says. He does not ask what the bidding is up to. He's an Aspenwood.

Miss Curran nods, still smiling, and makes more notes.

Aszera walks through the hallway towards the back foyer with her head tilted slightly downward, holding her upper arms.

Invisible in that hallway is Alaisa Lysander, waiting right next to the doorway that leads to the rear foyer, listening.

"Cheers," Bertrand says to Miss Curran, and turns towards the hall. "Aszera Sunstrike!" he calls, waving to her. "Hey, could you look at some of these pieces and tell me if they're magical? They've only labeled lot 5 as such, but I'm curious about some of the others." He glances at Miss Curran. "Not implying you wouldn't disclose such a thing if you knew," he says, "but Sunstrike's got a rare knack."

"Indeed," says Miss Curran. Her smile has faded a cool degree or two, but remains fixed in place. "Miss Sunstrike is a talented lady."

"Yeah, sure," Aze straightens, dropping her hands as a smile springs to her face. She pauses by Ally and whispers, "Hiding?"

Alaisa nods silently to Aze.

"Damn," Bertrand says, looking at Miss Curran. "You know, my thought to mouth filter really failed to catch that one. Normally it's quite good at stopping things like that. I'm sorry, that wasn't meant as an insult of any kind to the household. I have faith in the Fallons, of course you've gotten everything appraised." He waves Aze over regardless.

Aze nods subtly in response… and doesn't blow her cover. Instead, she moves into the room, and says, "What? I'm not here to insult anybody. I can look at stuff if you want, though, it's not like I can really not, anyway. Could you all hear the speech from in here?"

"No," Bertrand says quietly to her. "It was me who was rude, you did nothing wrong." He smiles faintly. "I was in there for the speech, so I wouldn't know.

Winnie slides into the Rear Foyer, attempting to make as little notice as she possibly can. Although, then, an adorable little jade turtle figurine with it's adorable malachite inlay eyes stares at her across the room and lets out a telltale, "Awww. So cute!"

OH NO. She is filled immediately with regret.

Miss Curran is smiling Professionally at both Birdie and Aze. "I did not hear the speech this time, no. I did hear parts of it this afternoon when the Admiral was drafting it. There tends to be a great deal of… pacing and addressing the walls involved." She glances over to reward Winnie with a smile as well.

Aze half-chuckles at Winnie's outburst, and she says with a smile, "Now that sounds like magic, of the cute variety." She pauses for a moment, and adds, "If any of you hadn't heard the news, Fallon said Theramore won."

Winnie looks up from her turtle at that, fidgeting briefly with her necklace. "Really? A-a retreat from the Horde? Or were they, um." She lets that just hang there. Um.

"They were defeated, seems like?" Aze says with a slight shrug. "It's good news. What's that one you're looking at?"

"Oh, um. This one," Winnie says as she points, and then hastens to add, her point wobbling awkwardly, "I'm pointing to a jade turtle. It has malachite eyes. It's really cute." She nibbles on her bottom lip though, as though trying to chew through any other questions unasked about Aze's origin or how she might feel about a Horde defeat.

A tall, gaunt, pale, brooding gentleman in a 7th Legion dress uniform quietly enters to browse the items up for auction. He does not greet or speak to anyone, and projects a vague aura of doom. His blackcurrant and wormwood cologne does not entirely cover the faint smell of sulfur.

A footman moves discreetly to Miss Curran's side to murmur something in her ear and then vanish again. She makes a bland note in her ledger.

Aze volunteers nothing on that count.

"Oh, that does sound cute. I'm not sure yet which one I'll bid on," Aze says. Does she have the money for that? Meh, maybe. She nods towards the brooding 7th Legion man in casual greeting.

Winnie scoots closer to Miss Curran to meekly request a bid on the turtle. Even when it turns out someone else has already put a bid on it, she does a mental calculation and decides to beat it. Her days of living noodle month to noodle month ended when she took the case for Harvey. She might not be even yet well-off, but she can buy a turtle for charity.

Bertrand looks suspiciously at Miss Curran. "If that request was on 8, 13, or 15, I'd like to up my bid again."

Zath, his browsing taking him slightly nearer to Bertrand, gives his friend a slight nod that looks icy to anyone but Bertrand, probably.

Bertrand nods back.

Zath drifts over toward the painting - the one on the wall, not the one up for auction - and gazes at it for some time, his expression inscrutable.

Miss Curran purses her lips to conceal a smile and nods gravely. She makes another note.

Aze lifts a hand to Bertrand, and adds, "I don't see anything unexpected, as far as magic goes."

"That's fine," Bertrand says, and shoots her a smile. "I'll be back," he says, and leaves the room. He heads down the length of the hallway and turns the corner.

The moment he is out of sight, Alaisa steps into the doorway, fully visible. "Lot 13," she says to Miss Curran, and points a finger up in the air.

Miss Curran blinks, nods, makes a note.

"Hi, Ally," Aze says, her smile warming a little. She doesn't sound surprised at Alaisa's appearance. "Think you'll be dancing later or sticking around here?"

"Aze, hey." Ally smiles at her, her posture softening. "We can totally go dance as long as I'm back before the auctions end. What time do the auctions end?"

"One a.m.," Miss Curran answers.

"There usually a lot of last-minute sniping at these things?" Aze asks, tilting her head towards Miss Curran. "This is kind of my first charity auction… gala… here in Stormwind."

"There may be attempts, yes. People who know when the auction will close do tend to loiter" — Miss Curran glances at Ally — "to be sure and slip in at the last moment if necessary."

"I've never needed to before," Alaisa says, "but I might if I can't dissuade Lord Bertrand."

"I'm afraid," says Miss Curran apologetically, "that it's a bird."

In case Ally isn't aware. Of the whole bird situation.

Zath wanders over to contemplate the bracelet. He gazes at it as though it is an open casket at a funeral.

"Birdie loves birds," Winnie says in a sheepish voice, and then hears what she said. "I-I mean, that's Lord Bertrand's nickname, because he…likes…birds."

Maybe no one heard her. Maybe Winnie has enough time to meld with a nearby lamp. She might get lucky.

"Oh, that's why they call him that?" Aze asks curiously. "He might be a stubborn bidder then." To Miss Curran, she adds, "Can you put me down for that one?" Aze points carelessly at the feathered armband.

"Damn," Alaisa mutters under her breath.

"Certainly," says Miss Curran, and makes another note.

Aze tilts her head over towards Winnie and adds, "We seem to have a lot of friends in common, but I don't think we've met. Aszera Sunstrike."

"I'm Winning," Winnie says, and then makes an uncomfortable noise. "I-I mean, I'm Winnie. Demasco. Lawyer." Habitually she starts to put a hand out to shake and then sort of angles it so she's just checking on her…dress. It needed to be smoothed (much like Winnie herself). "It's, um, good to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, too. Lawyer, huh? I'm…" Aze pauses, not sure at this moment what to describe herself as. Instead, she says, "You can call me Aze, if you want."

"Miss Sunstrike works in childcare," Zath says from nearby, without looking at either of them. He is now gazing dolefully at the clockwork songbird.

"Oh!" Winnie says, looking from Zath to Aze. "Most of my work is in Family Law, working with children affected by circumstances surrounding guardianship." Whew, nice and clean sentence, very normal. She's winning. Sorta.

Aze flashes a smile at Zath that he probably doesn't see, absorbed in songbird, and gestures toward him. "Yes, that. I mean, also I fought Deathwing, which is really why I'm here right now, so… childcare and violence, though never at the same time, obviously. That is, orphans — I've been helping out with orphans. In Shattrath, and now at Drakewatch. Is that the kind of guardianship stuff you work on?"

Cerethan blinks into the room, clearly a little underdressed. "Greetings! I heard an auction was to take place today in this manor! Lest I'm mistaken, this is the very room, yes?" he exclaims loudly.

Alaisa nods mildly to Cerethan.

Miss Curran eyes him over the top rim of her spectacles. She smiles Politely. "That is correct, sir," she says in an indoor voice. "It is a silent auction, so if there's a lot that interests you, do let me know. I'll tell you what the bidding is currently at, and record your bid if you wish to make one."

Aze turns slightly towards Cerethan, and takes a step to kind of casually place the others between her and the night elf. She's just looking at… whatever the lot is that's in front of her now, that's all.

Cerethan's eyes widen and his shoulders lower. A… Silent auction. His voice gets way, way quieter. "Thank you, and my sincerest apologies for barging in like a barbarian." He looks around. "Now, I'll… Take a look at the auctionable items."

Miss Curran's smile turns encouraging. "Take your time, sir," she tells him.

Ben gallantly escorts Mizzy into the room.

Ismene enters on Ben's arm, eyes alight. She smiles at Miss Curran, but most of her attention is on the auction items.

Cerethan goes directly for the 'female elf figure' from Vash'jir, coincidentally, near Aze. He inspects it minutiously. "Ah!" he says out loud. He looks around, making sure he didn't bother anyone with that volume. "A shame that it has been damaged by the waters. It would otherwise make for a great memorabilia of the Highborne's past empire," he says, his voice lower.

"You're… looking for a souvenir?" Aze asks in a low voice, stepping to adjust the distance between them.

Then, she tilts her head towards the door as Ben and Ismene come through and her expression brightens. She raises a hand in greeting.

"Hey," says Ben to Mizzy. "Aze is over there. And — ain't that — that's a thing out of Vashj'ir?" He peers at the statuette Aze and Cerethan are both hovering near, and leads Mizzy in that direction.

Ismene looks at Aze and returns the wave as they approach the statuette. "It's not going to suddenly thrust you into memories of an ancient warrior priestess, is it?" She wrinkles her nose.

Ben stops in his tracks. "Uh." He eyes the statue warily. "I don't — reckon they would be auctionin' it off if it was… that kind… of thing?"

"Of course I'm looking for a souvenir, what else could I possibly be looking for at an auction? I'm looking for an artifact of historical importance that will fit perfectly into my home decor." Cerethan laughs, still staring at the statuette. "Perhaps an artisan talented enough could restore it to its past glory?" He seems to not hear Ben and Ismene approaching, too focused on the artifact.

"That's pretty restrictive, depending on your decor," Aze says. "And, you know, what you consider historical importance."

At this point, Ben and Ismene are arriving to the conversational circle.

"Hi B…" Aze starts brightly, and then smoothly amends to, "Mr. and Mrs. Hazan? And no, this one's not magical, don't worry."

"Well that's a relief," Mizzy says. She looks up at Cerethan. "Are you thinking of bidding on it?" she asks.

"To my dismay, it is not, no!" Cerethan confirms the non-magicality of that statuette, finally turning around. He looks at Ben and Ismene. "Perhaps. It is an interesting artifact, historically, after all. It's a portal to the past, to see how the Highborne at the time dressed, and who deserved to have a statue built in their honor." There is no stopping him from talking. "Now, for someone like me, it doesn't seem too different or ancient, but the cultural interest in that piece will only grow with time, and even faster for people as short-lived as yourselv-" he turns to Aze as he speaks and lets out a small cry of surprise. "A- are you, um…" he whispers. "One of them?"

"Uh, one of… the Highborne?" Aze asks Cerethan, raising an eyebrow. "I guess you could say that."

Then she tilts her head toward Miss Curran. "I was too, for a few weeks at the end there. After they made contact with the ships."

Miss Curran's smile turns fixed. "That's quite right, you were, weren't you? The Admiral's guest. Then perhaps you might also be interested."

Ben gives Aze a slightly baffled side-eye. After a moment he nods and says, "Yes. That is a relief, Miss Sunstrike."

Ismene sidesteps Cerethan so she can see the next item. "What a pretty pearl!" she says. Then she cups her hands around her eyes and bends closer. "I think it's glowing."

Ben mimics her, bending close and cupping his hands around his eyes. "Huh. It is, maybe?"

Miss Curran moves over toward the group. "That item is, yes, faintly luminescent. It isn't clear why but it's quite harmless, it's been assayed for magical properties and there are none." She smiles at the Hazans. "You were both in Vashj'ir, were you not, Lord Bennarin, Lady Ismene? The pearl was retrieved in the Abyssal Depths."

"No, don't be ridiculous, would I, a Highborne, react in such a manner to another Highborne!" Cerethan's voice is a little louder again. "I meant a demo-" he lowers his voice. "I meant a demon hunter!"

Aze stiffens at that, and then shrugs. "I thought you were kaldorei."

Mizzy blinks at Cerethan. After a beat of silence on her part, she says loudly, "Lovely place, Vashj'ir, if a bit lacking in sunshine. I did enjoy riding on a seahorse and highly recommend the experience."

"Technically," Cerethan says, raising his shoulders. "And I understand how my lack of manners when I entered the room may have let you to mistake me as such, but no. You, however, dodged my question."

"Oh, yeah, the seahorses were great," Aze says with a flash of a smile. Look, a topic change! "So cute."

"Then yeah, sure, well-spotted," Aze says, raising a hand to brush her blindfold. "And how about that massive spiny Ancient thing, right? It was neat."

Zath is now staring at the violet pearl as though it was taken from his mother, the tragically deceased violet clam, whomst it is Too Soon to discuss.

Miss Curran catches his gaze. Oh look, a whole group. Perhaps it is time for a spot of Bidding War. "A lovely item, is it not, Captain Tyrrell?" She smiles warmly.

"I'm sure my wife would think so," Zath says. "She could not be here tonight. Maara, our little draenei orphan, is awfully ill tonight, and Lady Tyrrell's singing is the only thing that soothes her. She was so crushed; she had a dress all ready, and it was just this color…"

Goodness, what monster would bid for it now.

Sure enough, Ben straightens and steps back respectfully. He ain't no monster, sir.

"Why is a demon hunter her-" Cerethan begins to ask, his voice still low, as he looks widely at all the people gathered. "Well, I am hardly one to judge, actually." He takes a deep breath. "Lord Cerethan Starflight," he introduces himself. His eyes now curiously go to the luminescent pearl. He may well be a monster.

Miss Curran's gaze goes at once to pin Cerethan with a look. Aze might not be her favorite person, but. "Miss Sunstrike is a close friend of the family," she informs him.

Ismene's eyes light with recognition as she notices (finally) the man standing near the pearl. "Mr. Tyrrell!" she exlaims. "How good to see you again. You're looking quite well." She turns to Ben. "Ben, this is the gentleman I told you about, who made sure I reached the temple safely. He was seriously injured doing so, I'm certain I mentioned."

Cerethan waves his hands in the air. "My apologies, I misspoke out of surprise, not out of malice. I am not used to see… these people in such events, that's all, but up until recently, I am certain you weren't used to see my people in such events."

The edges of Aze's lips twitch slightly at Zath's elaborate story, but probably because she's holding back tears about poor Maara. Don't worry, Zath, Aze might be a monster but she doesn't have the money to get into a bidding war at a charity auction.

Zath looks deeply put out by being warmly recognized by a lovely young lady.

"Lord Bennarin," his says, as though punitively. "Lady Ismene." He inclines his head as though it hurts slightly to do so.

Ben turns to look Zath up and down, wide-eyed. "Mr. — Captain? Tyrrell. I am obliged to you very much, obviously. Ismene has spoken of you very highly." He offers an earnest hand out.

"Of course," Aze says with brief smile. "I'm glad that's all cleared up."

Zath reaches out a gloved hand to clasp Ben's briefly and somewhat feebly. His hand is so cold and thin Ben can tell through the glove.

"Your wife is too kind," he says. It is typical noblespeak, but he makes it sound like a dire character judgment, likely to end in her death.

Cerethan smiles at Aze, then leans towards the pearl. He examines it. "I would like to bid on it."

Ben nods, still earnestly, and there is a chance the handshake might be less brief than Zath could wish because it turns into a double-handed clasp as Ben pumps his arm up and down. "Ismene is a very sweet lady. I am real grateful that you was there for her."

Aze smiles… maybe at Cerethan. Maybe at Ismene, the too kind. It's vaguely directed.

Zath's bones may be in danger of shattering into icy shards at the handshake. He endures this as stoically as he has endured his life's many other tragedies.

"As am I," he says. "Though you are more than welcome to consider me properly acknowledged and speak of it no further. I am certain there are all manner of things for you to enjoy tonight."

Besides interrupting Zath's brooding, or bidding on that pearl.

"I would be real honored to buy you a drink sometime," Ben tells him, because this definitely seems like a great guy to have a drink with. "Or we can have you over for dinner?" He looks at Ismene.

"Your intention is noted and appreciated," Tyrrell says, "and I shall consider it already done, and myself welcomed lavishly, so that if plans do not for whatever reason materialize, I can always recall your hospitality most warmly regardless."

"We don't really have a house that's capable of entertaining in any style," Mizzy says. "We're going to look for one in the future. We'll certainly make sure you receive an invitation to any house warming party we have."

Ben raises his eyebrows and looks a little impressed. Can you just… do that? When people invite you fancy places?

Zath can. Try and stop him. "Are you enjoying the gala?" he asks as though he doubts it.

"More than I expected," Ben says honestly. "But it's nice to take Miz— Ismene out dancin' and it was good to hear about Theramore. Could do with maybe less cravats."

Zath nods gravely. Damn those cravats to hell, his eyes say. A nearby cravat trembles, fearing for its life.

"I am never certain what to do with good news," Tyrrell admits.

Ismene makes a mental note to tell him later that it's 'fewer', not 'less', but it's gauche to correct one's husband in public. She refrains after a glance at Ben. Then she smiles anew at Zath. "Especially because I'm not co-hosting this one; I get to just enjoy."

As the conversation continues, Aze steps back and slips away towards the door.

"You certainly seem more at home here than you did where I first found you," Zath says dryly.

"I must've looked a sight, running across an active battlefield," she admits, blushing a little. "But when I thought Ben was in danger, all I could think of was getting to him. Getting to him safely didn't enter into it. I promise, I'll try not to be so rash next time." She even ducks her head a bit. Sorry, sir.

"See that you do not," he says severely. It isn't concern for her well being, who said it was. Maybe he just likes scolding innocent damsels.

Maybe both.

Ben puts an arm around Mizzy to squeeze her against him briefly. He does his trademark Puppy Eyes at Zath. "Thank you, sir."

Zath inclines his head. He also has his own set of puppy eyes, but they are blue and eerily luminous and will be in evidence at absolutely no point this evening.

"A pleasure to see you both," he says in a distinctly GOODBYE cadence. A pleasure to have seen you both, such a pity you are now taking your leave and being warm and earnest and adorable elsewhere.

With a polite nod of her head to Zath, Ismene attempts to drag Ben farther along the table, even if it means skipping a few items. Or a lot of them. "Oh, look at the pretty songbird!" she says.

Alaisa twitches and steps quietly out into the hallway, where she vanishes again.

Zath says conversationally to Miss Curran out of the blue: "Do you know the tale of the Wolf and the pearl? Do they traumatize children with that one outside Lordaeron?"

Ivri enters the room on Dane's arm. She looks up at him, a question in her blue eyes and on her lips. "You all right?" she asks. "What's with the sigh?"

Atley raises his gaze and shakes his head. “I’m well,” he reassures her sincerely, before his gaze is drawn to the auctions. “S’just good to get a bit of fresh air.”

His attention is drawn to Zath. And the oncoming story.

Ivri rests her cheek on Dane's bicep for a moment and squeezes his arm before letting him go. She looks down at the items for auction, reading the note cards with them.

"A devastatingly handsome but cursed prince - always golden haired in the version I was told, for perhaps obvious reasons - falls in love with an innocent young fishermaid, smitten by her Lightly virtues and bare ankles. He dares not defile her, but it causes him to break his lifelong betrothal to his noble bride, also barely of age but who of course has jet black hair, an obvious sign of evil. She has made pacts with Dark Powers, and she curses the golden prince, turning him into a ravening black wolf - black is a theme, you see, for Danger.

"The crazed predator is then led to the shore, where he devours the golden-haired maid. Did I mention the hair? Fair haired people are virtuous, you see. Apparently the author had not visited Alterac at any length. At any rate, the wolf devours the fishermaid's pure unsullied viscera, then flees in complex existential horror. His manservant sees to the remains, and finds a single pearl clutched in her cold white hand. The story doesn't say what color the pearl was."

Zath glances from the violet pearl to Miss Curran to see if he still has her attention.

Miss Curran is hugging her ledger and regarding Zath steadily. She nods. "It always begins with bare ankles," she observes with quiet, perfect solemnity. "What became of the pearl, Captain?"

A slight pause at the address, some Unscheduled Pain flickering across his face before it returns to glacier mode.

"The loyal manservant, weeping virtuous tears for his fellow commoner, placed it atop her becomingly modest grave, where he engraved the inscription: Here lies Angelette. May any who take her last treasure meet her grisly end." He pauses. "Some versions of the story use a much more shocking substitute for "take," which scans the same and sheds some light on the confused moral of the story for young noble boys, but I did not hear that version until I was grown.

"Anyhow, the tale ends with a vague tremulous pronouncement that to this day, anyone who dares lust after Angelette's pearl finds shining predatory eyes gazing at them from the shadows when next they enter a forest, and those eyes are the last thing they see. The next moonrise, the pearl reappears in its proper place as though by magic."

Ivri eyes the pearl, then Zath, then moves on to the turble, bypassing the books. "Well I guess I won't be bidding on the pearl, then," she mutters.

Miss Curran considers the tale for a thoughtful moment. "To be honest, it sounds rather Tirasian, between the pearl and the monsters in the woods," she observes as though they are now a very small seminar in world folklore.

VICTORY.

"Is there a Tirasian version perhaps? Tailored to both flatter and instruct the boy Arthas and with something deeply Tirasian and terrifying replaced with a common wolf?" Zath asks.

"I am not an expert, you understand. But it does seem thematic in the instance. At any rate, what an edifying tale. Thank you for sharing it." Miss Curran looks over the top rim of her spectacles at Zath. She was about to have a bidding war on her hands, buddy.

"Incidentally," says the unrepentant 7th Legion spectre haunting the item, "I have recently learned that Arthas is Thalassian for 'wolfish' or 'of the wolf.' I am not certain if his parents were aware - the name also appears farther back in the [Queen Lianne surname] family tree and may simply be a gesture toward Her Majesty - but I feel certain the author of my boyhood version was aware."

Atley scoffs with amusement at Ivrianna and gives a crooked nod of agreement before he looks back to Zath. “How’s it you came to know all this?” he asks, gaze drifting to the pearl.

He allows Ivri to drift, maintaining a loose handhold, and inclines his head in greeting to Miss Curran.

"The story?" Zath says. "It was read and told to me probably a hundred times before I reached maturity. The name etymology? A conversation with an elf."

Atley grunts and nods down at the pearl. “You believe it’s true, then?”

"Something about this particular pearl," Zath says in his darkest black-velvet ghost-story voice, "makes me believe indeed.”

Atley grunts at Zath.

Ivri lets her fingers trail away from Dane's so she can continue down the row of items. "Look, they're auctioning off a gryphon!" Ivri says. "Want another one, Dane?"

He follows along after Ivrianna. “A fine beast, but we’ve both our own, haven’t we. Let’s have a look at wot’ else there is.” He parts form her to peruse the other options.

Lady Lysander enters the rear foyer, her wheelchair being pushed by her daughter Alaisa. Alaisa guides her chair carefully between the exhibits so that she can get a good look at everything. "Steelbloom's autographed this set," Renna murmurs to her daughter, and then looks up at Miss Curran. "What's the bidding for these at the moment?"

"One hundred gold," Miss Curran reports with a smile.

"I'll place a bid on that, then," Lady Lysander says. She allows herself to be wheeled past more items, and then, "Oh! Ally, your friend Sintha must have made this one. Here, I'll bid on it for you. What's the songbird at?"

Alaisa smiles a little bashfully, and goes, "Mother, you don't need to…"

Miss Curran doesn't even glance at Alaisa. "Four hundred," she tells Lady Lysander. She's smiling a little.

"My, it's popular. Very well, put me down for four-fifty," Renna says.

Lord Bertrand enters the room.

Alaisa smiles politely at him.

"Am I still leading on 8, 13, and 15?" Bertrand asks.

"I just bid on this beautiful clockwork bird," Lady Lysander says. "Lord Bertrand…"

Lord Bertrand takes a look at the picture they make - the tired librarian in the wheelchair and her mysterious daughter. "I understand," he says to Miss Curran. "Am I still leading on lots 8 and 15?"

She checks her ledger. "Yes and yes." She smiles up at him.

"Excellent," Bertrand says, and smiles back. "It's lovely seeing you here, Lady Lysander," he says, and shakes her hand. "I do recommend the gardens if you find yourself getting fatigued."

"Thank you, Lord Bertrand, that's very kind. I may take you up on that." Renna smiles at him and waits for him to leave the room.

Then she looks at Alaisa. "Now, dear, stop haunting the auctions all gala and go dance with your friends. Shoo."

"Fine, fine," Alaisa says. "Thank you, mother." She shoots a triumphant smile at Miss Curran over her shoulder and leaves.