(2025-06-30) News to the Announcement - Fallon Gala Year 29

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	The news of Theramore and the subsequent reactions to the devastating attack. 8700~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

The News

There is a minor stir by the ballroom doorway. Vane, the giant butler, looms there, scanning the crowd. Another figure stands half-concealed behind him.

Siamus spots Vane. He raises an eyebrow and excuses himself genially from his current conversation to set his drink down and stroll toward the door.

The butler steps aside to let him pass, and bows his head to murmur something quietly. At the movement, the other figure in the hallway is briefly visible: a uniformed midshipman, hat under her arm. Despite the uniform, she is disheveled and dust-stained from travel.

Siamus listens to Vane, then steps out into the hallway and takes the midshipman by the elbow, an unusually forward gesture. He turns her and steers her across the hallway, where the pair of them vanish into the Little Parlor. Vane takes up a discreet position outside that door, hands clasped behind his back in a military parade rest stance.

Avrenne's eyes flick to Siamus and Vane, and then for all intents and purposes to anyone who might be observing her, she does not seem to pay any additional attention to it. She moves through the ballroom, and if she happens to come to a particular stand in a certain place that allows for an angle of visibility to the ballroom doors, it isn't obvious.

Finley's shoulders briefly hunch, tightening, and then release. Everything's fine, his body language says, as he continues a pleasant conversation with a convenient NPC.

Ozzy, enjoying her conversation with Lord Cecil still, cannot help but stare for a moment, lips parting in awe, at the sheer SIZE of Vane. "Cor…" she breathes. The elderly gnome may not know the sign for that.

Ionala caught that, and is now keeping half an eye on the matter. Maintaining a genial expression, she tilts her head in Vane's direction. "I'm sure it's well handled, but I wasn't in the Cobalt Eye for nothing. Something's afoot."

Arric's eyes brighten with intrigue. "Ah, was this what it was like to travel with the Eye!" he says.

Aze slips back into the ballroom, taking up a position by the side of the wall again. She seems to scan the room, and then she smiles for no apparent reason. A friend is doing alright.

Arthur (who has just happened to drift back to the buffet table) also noticed the minor stir, and the disheveled naval uniform, and the swiftness with which the Admiral hustled her into an office. Perhaps that tour of the house Siamus offered isn't happening today, because Trouble knows trouble when he sees it.

A raised voice erupts from behind the closed door of the Little Parlor; it is sufficiently loud to be audible to those closest to that end of the ballroom, but not so that they can make out words.

(It’s definitely Siamus’s voice.)

Vane, standing sentry in the hallway at the parlor door, remains impassive. That might just be the only face he has, though.

Niris slowly sets down a piece of cheese and gives Elohad a sidelong Eyebrow.

"Shit," Elohad says quietly.

Niris picks up her cheese again — this is her Emotional Support Cheese, just in case — and moves closer to Elohad. She waits and tries to look nonchalant.

Shun's attention shifts towards the ballroom entrance, noting the man entering with the butler.

Ionala's on alert. (Most of the room is on alert.)

The door of the Little Parlor bangs open, the sound as unmissable as a gunshot even above the music, and Siamus goes past the ballroom doors at something approaching a run. He vanishes down the hallway toward the foyer and main stair.

Vane turns and goes into the Little Parlor. He emerges a moment later with a hand on the young midshipman’s back, his head bent to address her quietly. There is something consolatory in his manner. A glimpse of the midshipman’s face shows her red-eyed and tear-streaked, and then Vane has ushered her away as well.

Avrenne is mid-conversation, angled exactly in an elegant line to be able to see where Siamus might go after having left the ballroom earlier. The sight of Siamus moving in such a way, the sound of the door, has Avrenne hold up her hand to her conversation partner in an immediate, inarguable halt command. The baron in question is taken aback, but when a duchess tells you to stop talking, you stop talking.

She doesn't even turn her head again to look at him. "You will excuse me," she tells him, and she leaves before he can even start another sentence agreeing that of course, he understands.

Avrenne does not run. She does not telegraph any urgency whatsoever, her strides as elegant as always, but the line she takes out of the ballroom is precisely the shortest distance, and she parts the sea of people with a different type of magic. There is nothing in her expression to give her away of concern or worry.

"Shit shit shit," Elohad whispers.

"He wasn't shouting at that young woman, was he?" Niris whispers back, her eyebrows fierce. She accidentally eats her Emotional Support Cheese in disapproval.

"Absolutely not," Elohad assures her. He slips an arm around her tenderly.

Ionala looks at Maisha and Arric, an eyebrow arch asking, "are you ready?"

Arric looks ready. Sudden War Face. Who knew he had that face?

Maisha frowns and reaches for her gun and her raptor. She has neither because this is a fancy gala. She suddenly does not look ready.

Shine puts his arm around Lena, and very carefully sets down the drink in his other hand. He makes no other move, but watches the ballroom doorway intently.

The music in the ballroom continues on, moving smoothly from one song to the next, carrying along with the dancing and musical background sound as though nothing unusual has happened.

A young woman with her black hair pulled back primly, and wearing a crisply-starched dark blue servant's dress, hurries through the door of the ballroom and then freezes, grey eyes wide, as she is suddenly made the object of a great deal of Attention.

She drops a curtsey to the assembly in general and then looks around for Finley.

Finley is easier to spot than some for his height, and he makes an excuse to his conversation partner, before he makes his way to Moirin, his expression so carefully perfectly pleasant that it has begun to strike a false note to the most observant.

Moirin says, "Her Grace said — " She pauses, looks around the crowded ballroom which has A Lot of Eyes, and lowers her voice carefully. "Her Grace says she'll be back shortly," she murmurs. "And that you're to — manage. The tone. Of the ballroom."

"CONGA LINE!" shouts Isyldir loudly from the dance floor.

No pressure, Finley. His hand starts to reach for his cravat and then lands instead on his chest to just rest there for a moment.

"Right," he says. "Of course." Is it suddenly a lot hotter in the ballroom for anyone else? He takes in the mood, how some guests have picked up on what's happening, the shift from celebration to wariness. The call for another Conga line. "Right," he repeats, quieter, and looks back to Moirin. "I'll see to it." Job time.

Finley moves through the ballroom differently this time, as he passes by people with a calm, pleasant smile, briefly stopping here and there, as he makes his way to the Band Manager Alexa for a short conversation. The polite, genteel music fades sooner, and instead up comes the Big Band Energy. Congaaaa liiiiiiineeeee.

Moirin slips out of the room.

Shine gives Finley an are-we-seriously-serious-right-now? eyebrow but does not argue the power of the conga line. He also does not join it.

Finley looks back with that intent way of someone trying very hard to convey a thing through sheer will without actually making the expression needed to communicate it. In the end though, his pleasant smile and the way he starts encouraging others around to join in, and hey, did they have some of that lovely Kir yet? speaks volumes.

Lena sets down her own drink, her face paling slightly. It may be time for…. the fel? Summons? Who knows?

The maids of Count Lester Amerith are exuberant, but they are not oblivious. They have presently retreated from all corners of the ballroom and are now gathered around him, a gaggle of wary girls awaiting mobilization orders. The Count himself has a drink in hand, and is a bastion of calm. After all, what's to be done?

Raschal immediately grabs Florande and drags her out into the very center of the mildly hemorrhaging dance floor and begins leading her in…. the strangest dance you have EVER seen. Is it… satire? Clownery? What is even happening?

Niris turns her attention to the… thing… happening. On the floor. To Elohad, she murmurs, "Aren't those — is that Florande? And Mr. Crowflight?"

Florande is in high spirits! She follows in the dance, smiling, exactly as she and Raschal practiced it all week. It may look very strange, but somehow it also looks like they're doing something quite deliberate.

It is also now apparent to everyone that Florande is wearing little green shorts under her little green skirt.

Maybe it's because she knows she's covered, but she seems utterly unconcerned that many flips and tosses show her little shorts.

Niris looks relieved.

"I have never seen these people before in my life," Elohad says dryly, and with subtle Theatrical Projection.

Niris cackles and then cuts herself off abruptly, putting her hand over her mouth. She may have had a certain amount of wine with her cheese.

Elo looks down at Niris like he just won the lottery AGAIN.

Lord Cecil raises a hand to shoulder height in a fist with both his thumb and pinky pointing away, then brings it down lower. He gestures at Raschal and Florande in an obvious question.

"I believe they must be dancing, milord," Mr. Cardassus says. "Ehm, begging your pardon, miss Boles. Lord Cecil was asking, ah… 'what is that'?"

“Bloody brilliant is wot," says Ozzy, shocked into Loud Cat mode.

“Is something happening?” Velrin also notes the growing commotion and gets more serious. She laughs a little when she sees Flo dancing, but for now she is getting ready for action.

“Aye,” Atley says, before he turns towards her. “But we’ll be called upon when we’re needed. Standing orders are to have a good time, or try to,” he growls with dry humor.

Count Amerith takes a sip of his drink and watches the dancing with apparent interest. Maybe he plans to hire them.

VICTORY.

Arric's War Face has collapsed. He stares at Florande, face flushing.

"The kaldorei are a … free-spirited people aren't they?" he says genially but faintly.

"I think so, yes. They look like they're having a lot of fun."

"Aye, they seem to be," Maisha nods. "It looks fun."

Estel, Shun, Miranda

Estel seizes the opportunity to start putting cheese cubes in her pockets.

Shun adds a few in his own pockets. For her. He at least wraps his in a handkerchief first though.

Miranda, who has reentered the ballroom at some point, clings tightly to Alysson's arm. She is glancing towards exits. Alysson, for his part, is grinning and waving at the conga line.

Estel nudges Shun and says, "Miranda's here!" with surprised delight. She makes her way along the edge of the ballroom. "Miranda!"

Miranda's attention snaps towards Estel, and she pales a little. A smile forces its way onto her face. "Estel," she says when they get closer. "And…?"

Her green eyes shift to Shun.

Alysson, too, turns towards them, all grins. "Ho there, Estel!" he calls.

Shun blinks but follows Estel through the ballroom, weaving through the other party goers on the way.

"Shun," he grunts as they arrive.

"It's been forever, hey. This is my partner, Shun." Estel squeezes his hand. "Shun, this is Miranda and this is Alysson."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Miranda says.

"Nice to meet ya," Alysson says cheerfully. "What kind o' parter? Partner o' crime? Partner o' pants? Pantsner?"

Apparently he is hung up on pants. Miranda glares at him.

Shun nods curtly to the two as they're introduced, then just says, "Yes."

"All of the above," Estel says. "And we're gonna get married."

"Oh, but…" Ionala nudges people. The Admirable is here. Time to find out what happened.

Mansia does not stop dancing until Isyldir shakes her a little.

"Pssst. There might be more speeches," Izzy whispers. "Pause line, pause line."

Mansia halts the conga line in place.

Reeve emerges, having sensed something is amiss and watches Siamus from afar.

Shun just sort of furrows his brow at Alysson. He doesn't get it.

The Announcement

Admiral Fallon reappears in the ballroom doorway, the Duchess Esprit on his arm, a sheaf of papers in his other hand. He appears composed, his blue-and-gold formalwear still impeccable, but his face is ashen, a stark ghost of himself. His gaze is as black and sharp as obsidian. The contrast is almost deathly, like eye-pits in a skull.

He moves to precisely the place he stood earlier to speak, in front of the piano, and again the music falls quiet behind him. He gazes out at the conga line and Raschal and Florande's… thing, and is clearly not actually seeing either. He waits.

THE DANCE ENDS.

Florande impulsively gives Raschal a glomping hug at the end of it.

Yay! Hugs! Raschal waggles his eyebrows at the crowd and then drags Florande out of the center of the room.

Duchess Esprit, Lady Fallon, is composed as a picture, as she waits for the full attention of the ballroom for her husband. Her eyes flick around the crowd, an opaque gaze that gives nothing away as it takes note of others.

Finley clams up fully behind a blank expression more often seen in a well-trained butler than a gentleman.

Colson simply holds Mordecai's hand, gently squeezing once, his neutral Aspenwood expression giving little away.

Oranna halts mid-water sip, looking obviously very uneasy.

Winnie is a lamp. She has completed her transformation.

Natalyah is still floating next to Lathrik, and her grip goes from tight to manual tourniquet levels of squeezing. "Siamus looks like a ghost who's seen a ghost. Something's wrong," she says, stating the obvious.

Atley glares at Siamus attentively and sets his jaw. He goes silent and still.

Lena reaches down to take Shine's hand, but in a way that seems to communicate it may be time to run soon.

Shine squeezes her fingers gently and holds on.

Lathrik's expression is somewhere between his social mask, and his intensely serious gaze. "Aye," he says. He doesn't even seem to note the squeezing. Maybe he thinks he can read Siamus's mind if he stares hard enough.

Arthur is caught halfway through a plate of cheese when Siamus returns. Keep munching, or—no. He sets the plate down to listen.

Elohad looks similar to the way he did when seeing the ghost of his father in Karazhan, if anyone here was there for that and looks at him.

While Auralind has spent much of the gala as a wallflower (and eating ham), her ears tense as she senses a decided shift in the din and energy of the room. Thaeru'kal at her side, she steps out from her leaning-spot, head swiveling to try to find the source of the change in atmosphere.

Atley looks to Auralind, as if willing her to draw closer to him. He raises his burly arms and folds them across his chest, flitting his gaze back to Siamus.

Joelle is calmly drinking water. He is Calmly. Drinking. Water. Everything is fine.

Ozzy stops talking to her noble companion. Her smile vanishes. Any astute observer would recognize her look and posture as one who has //been // in a war and is awaiting the "all is lost, retreat" order.

"This isn't going to be good," Ionala whispers.

Alaisa is, of course, watching the crowd rather than Siamus.

Merelda looks over. She is familiar with this atmosphere.

Arric casts a fretful look toward her, then Maisha. He subtly steps between them and the Admiral as though instinctively shielding them. He is really just blocking their view, alas.

Siamus

Siamus clears his throat as the room quiets. He speaks in the same carrying voice as before, but he does not bother to smooth his native accent this time. "Ladies and gentlemen." Then he pauses. There are probably words coming after that. He is still visibly collecting them.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I will begin by saying that I will answer what questions I can — and that may be regrettably few — but please let me speak the necessary first." His tone is so measured and calm it is itself a little unnerving. "I will ask that ye listen, and I know that we have a great many seasoned soldiers among us and we will remain in good order.

He pauses. "I am deeply grieved to tell ye all —" There is a flash of something stark in his gaze. It may actually be grief. It may be rage. "I am deeply grieved to tell ye all that a few hours ago, in the wake of the Alliance victory at Theramore, the Horde detonated a mana bomb within the city. It was, initial reports indicate, a device of… tremendous size. Theramore has… is gone."

Of all people, Lady Cressidha, who has probably never swooned at bad news in her entire life, goes very pale and clutches at Sil's arm for support.

Sil, who looks entirely horrified, quickly moves to support her.

"A mana bomb," Cressidha whispers. She covers her mouth. "I may be sick."

She is not. The moment passes, and she lowers her hand.

Colson blinks. Blinks again, as the blood drains from his face, leaving him pale and drawn. "Light," he breathes out. Deep inhale in, hold, slow breath out.

"Gone?" Mordecai repeats in a tiny voice. The news is having difficulty sinking in.

"I do not…" Colson says and then fully stops in the sentence. He squeezes Mordecai's hand twice with a grip much tighter than usual. The paladin breathes slowly, carefully, but there is an unmistakable sense of the Light growing around him.

"Lady Jaina…" Ozzy blurts. Luckily she is so shocked it's a weak whisper.

Lord Cecil signs something that his interpreter is not paying attention to, a quick movement of his hands, one spread flat palm face-up and the other in that same Y-hand shape as he'd just used, tapping against it. He looks horrified.

Arric abruptly leaves the room.

Auralind stiffens. Dozens of scenarios immediately begin playing out in her head. All of them seem to result in escalating war.

Velrin’s jaw drops.

Finley shakes his head, his face blank and lifeless. He shakes it again, just in case the first shake didn't work to reset the world again. (It doesn't.)

Lathrik takes a moment to process the information. Then he straightens and casts his gaze around the room. This is suddenly Work Lathrik, prepared to help anywhere needed, a calm presence in a storm of emotions.

Natalyah is certainly having one of them right on his arm. Fury boils in the sea of her eyes, and she pants shakily before it's a blink and there is now a Sudden Worgen on his arm instead of a human woman. She doesn't do anything dramatic like roar, but Lathrik might be able to hear the sound of her grinding her teeth together to halt it.

Ionala reaches for a shield and sword that isn't there. "Hells, no." She looks at Elohad, remembering that she offered to leave the party and head to Theramore directly. "It was a feint. /Hells./ They threw bodies against Theramore's walls, put on a good show, and…"

She can't go on. Her voice doesn't work. She can't see through tears.

Reeve’s ears shoot up and his posture slouches as his bestial side takes over a bit. What does he mean gone???

Elohad looks ghastly. Ionala can rule out that he somehow knew in advance and was protecting her. He looks like he just glanced down and found a sword point emerging forward from his chest.

Shun furrows his brow upon hearing this news.

"A mana bomb," he murmurs, shaking his head, "Great."

"Fuck," Estel says loudly. "That's a whole fucking city."

"Did not think the Horde would go that far but in hindsight, I should not be surprised," Shun mutters.

Atley narrows his eyes and juts out his jaw. He reaches out to press a hand against a Ivri’s back in a gesture of reassurance.

He’s still for a long moment before he up-nods and inquires, voice clear and strong, addressing Siamus as if it were just the two of them.

“Is Lady Jaina alive?”

Arthur shakes his head. "It can't be gone. Gone? No, surely there was a mistake…"

He pulls out a portal rune, ready to cast the first spell he ever learned in Lady Jaina's tower. He hoped she'd noticed his accomplishment. He hopes, now, that it can't be true.

Siamus

Siamus meets Atley's gaze steadily. "I do not — it does not appear so. It does not, at the moment — please understand that I am operating with what information I have, and at the moment it is not possible to get near the city, so that isn't a great deal — but at the moment we do not believe there were any survivors. The city, the ships, anything in a radius…." He shrugs helplessly.

Velrin tries to grab Dane’s hand. Whether this is for his sake or her own is unclear.

Atley doesn’t seem to notice, or at the very least, he doesn’t resist. She’s given a firm squeeze.

Atley nods slowly in understanding before he audibly cracks his neck left and right, tossing a thoughtful scowl around the room.

The sound of shattering glass fills a small corner of the room. Joelle looks down at his trembling hand, surprised to find it bloodied, the glass he was holding moments ago all but shattered. His expression flickers between anguish, rage, and guilt, and he begins to excuse himself from the ballroom.

Ozzy's head whips around instinctively at the sound of shattering glass. She sees the blood first, then recognizes the face. As he goes, her visibly ripping heart now finishes breaking. She bursts into sudden, noisy sobs. Arric is not here to tell her that is unladylike. Literally no one else on Azeroth would care.

Mordecai squeezes Colson's hand twice and begins moving towards Elle, pulling Colson along.

Colson doesn't resist, allowing Mordecai to steer the paladin boat.

Lord Cecil looks stricken. He fumbles for a handkerchief, but Mr. Cardassus actually produces one faster than he can get to his and holds it out for Ozzy.

"No," Kyris says sharply, holding a hand out in front of Arthur to stop him. "It won't be safe."

Arthur snatches back the thread of arcane energy that trickled from his fingertips. He stares at Kyris, his face as white as his hair. If he'd followed his impulses…

He looks absolutely haunted, the rune still in his hand, and looks around. He can't be the only mage here. "Where's Jo? Where's Gwen? We have to…we have to figure out what to do…"

Niris is leaning weakly back against a buffet table, clinging by her fingertips to one of Elohad's sleeves. She is gazing almost dreamily into space. It doesn't look like a great dream.

Miranda stares at the floor, still squeezing Alysson's arm. She does not look surprised at all. Almost guiltily unsurprised.

Estel abruptly lets go of Shun and pulls Miranda and Alysson into a fierce hug.

Avrenne

Avrenne raises a single hand, palm up, and her voice carries easily through the room without seeming to shout to everyone. "Let us be clear when we say that it is not possible to get near the city that we mean by all means mundane and magical. Mages are not to attempt to portal or teleport to Theramore at this time. It may be wise to not portal or teleport at all, as with the destruction of that arcane nature in such a place, it may have affected all the leylines," she says with Authority.

Ionala can't stop crying. She turns her face up to the ceiling, clamps her jaw on her sobs, but they shake her anyway.

Arric returns to the ballroom, white-faced but conscious at least, and beelines for Nala, holding out an embroidered handkerchief, before checking on Maisha.

Arthund drops the rune on the floor. He'd come so close to… "Kyris."

He's holding out his hand.

Kyris takes his hand in mild confusion. Is this how he gets trapped in an endless handshake?

Oranna puts her face in her hands, and she joins the crowd of those whose only recourse with this kind of news is to cry.

Siamus

"It will take us some time," Siamus says, "to have all of the information, as I say. The city site is not at present safe to approach. There were a number of… senior military officials in the city to aid with its defense. Their loss will also temporarily delay some matters. His Majesty and his military are doing what they can, and when there is further information we'll know it." He is still doing Weirdly Calm.

Lord Kieran inhales sharply and grinds his teeth together. He looks like he has been stabbed.

Yes, this is how. Exactly how. Arthund looks decidedly ill. "I almost—"

and then his grip loosens as he's the first to fall, fainted dead away.

Kyris, who already had a handhold, catches him easily. "Ah," he says, and looks around, unsure of where to put the gentleman.

Shine has been standing and staring, but now he exhales explosively and chants a litany of bad words under his breath almost mechanically, like a prayer he learned from rote in childhood. He turns to Lena and wraps her up in a fierce embrace.

Lena seems surprised to find tears running down her face. And then she is embracing Shine, and her face is hidden for now.

Arric hopes everyone notices the sexy, famous, brilliant man fainting, who is definitely a man and very much to be admired.

Maisha is simply stunned, like she can't really take in the information. She may be in shock.

Arric puts an arm around her, almost an exact echo of her comforting gesture at their first meeting.

A few tears trickle down Maisha's cheek. "How could they? How could anyone?"

Arric is out a handkerchief. He stares helplessly at Maisha's tears.

Aze rocks back against the wall, her face utterly blank, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It looks like she might just collapse there. But then she evens out her breathing deliberately and just stands there, pointed toward Siamus.

Emerine, who looks absolutely furious, pulls up against the wall next to Aze and puts a hand on her shoulder.

Aze flinches at the touch, but doesn't pull away. Quietly, she says, "It's sin'dorei."

Emerine hisses, much like a cat, but pats Aze's shoulder gently.

Aze takes another breath, and lets it out slowly. "I need to talk to the Admiral. Before everything gets worse." She reaches up to touch Emerine's hand, and then pushes away from the wall, heading over towards where Siamus stands.

Ionala accepts the handkerchief. she attempts to dab her face, to pull herself together. She catches her breathing and gets it back under control, then reaches into a clever pocket for her own, which she gives to Maisha.

"I had one," she says, gamely. "I simply didn't think of it."

Arric tentatively holds his free arm out toward Nala, in case she needs it.

Ionala takes it. "The respite is already done," she's says. "It's war. Again."

A gesture that began as an attempt to cradle and comfort morphs halfway through, and instead he lands a hand on her shoulder. Fellow protector. He nods.

Avrenne maintains her perfect composure at Siamus' side, and if there were any who might have been less familiar with her reputation as a cold woman who eschews things like emotions in favor of pure logic and reasoning, they may become aware of it now. She seems to feel nothing at all beyond a rational series of reactions to logistics.

Atley looks down at his belt and grabs the Lion of Horn of Stormwind. He doesn’t heft it, he just fidgets, rubbing a thumb over the golden design.

He raises his voice and looks around at faces in particular. “They will never stop, until they are stopped!”

He tongues the inside of his cheek. “I am going to fight.“ he announces with a tone that suggests he’s certain the sentiment is shared with many, if not most, in the room.

Avrenne's dark eyes flick to Dane.

Atley looks directly at her.

Dane gets no information from the viewing. She is a queen made of ice, observing only, her opinions and thoughts veiled completely from view.

Atley maintains eye contact for a moment before he seamlessly shifts his gaze to his fellow patrons, studying them.

“We’ll make a plan, then strike.” Velrin leans down to whisper in his ear, “The Horde has been too clever these past weeks. We can’t afford to play into their hand any further.”

Atley grunts.

Count Amerith murmurs something, and his maids disperse into the room, offering assistance to any who might have become ill at the news, or comfort to anyone seeking it. The Count himself remains in place, sipping his drink. No one who knows him expects emotions from the man, and there are none to be found.

Arthur comes back to consciousness, caught by Kyris. "Oh…sorry. I—I could have doubled the disaster. If you hadn't been here…"

Arther gets back on his feet, but he looks dreadful. "Thank you. I didn't think of anything but proving it myself. Tadget will never let me go anywhere without her after this."

"I highly recommend you have a seat," Kyris says, bending down to scoop up Arthur's portal stone and pass it back to him.

Arthund nearly drops it again, but drops it in the pocket where it came from. He makes it to a nearby chair, and rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

Reeve slowly makes his way to an unobtrusive corner of the room and tries to make eye contact with Siamus. He’s trying to signal that he’s ready to get going if he needs him to do something about it.

Siamus

Siamus raises his voice again. "Make no mistake: We will answer the attack. His Majesty will not hold back the declaration now. But we will answer at his command, and strike them together and decisively. We have — at present, we count among the lost General Marcus Jonathan. Admiral Aubrey. Sentinel Shandris Feathermoon. Archmage Rhonin.

"The King will be marshaling his resources. He has plentiful resources here in this room who are ready and willing this moment, I know. We will act, and we will answer. As we are called upon to do."

Atley raises his gaze and squints at the ceiling as the names are listed.

Aze makes her way over to where Siamus stands, waiting for the moment to speak.

Atley looks to Ace, grim and curious.

Jo simply looks as though she can't believe it, she looks to Kerlo, as if he might explain it's all a misunderstanding.

Kerlo, cursed with believing everything he is told, looks grimmer than she has ever seen him.

Avrenne

Avrenne's clear voice rings out to everyone, her Lordaeron accent crisp and precise. "Understandably, in the light of this news, some of you may wish immediately to return home, to come to terms with what has happened, and prepare for what is yet to come. Carriages will be made available to anyone who had anticipated returning through magical means, as once again, the leylines may be destabilized and unsafe to travel along even to Stormwind.

"For those who are not yet ready to depart, the ballroom, the library, and the gardens will remain open to all, for as long as needed. Take the time as you need. We are ever strongest together, and united, and we will face the coming days as the Alliance, now and always," Lady Fallon declares, standing proudly next to Admiral Fallon.

Admiral Fallon nods firmly and sets a hand briefly on his wife's back, oh no public physical contact. Look, it has been a very trying day.

Finley, Ralaea

Finley stares at Avrenne for probably much too long, before the words permeate some insulating covering, and he at last looks at the ballroom, running a hand over his face, his expression still oddly blank. He searches the crowd for Ralaea.

Ralaea, who has definitely been here the entire time, is scowling and fussing with her dress. Good thing it has layers, because she is slowly ripping it into tatters. Riiiiip. Someone give her a sword.

Finley crosses to her immediately, pushing his way through the crowd. He gets as close as possible to her, leaning all the way down. "Second LT, we gotta get Morningdew out of here. He could be hit by all this pain spilling out. We need to move," he tells her urgently, quietly.

A task! Ralaea nods, brightening a margin. "Yessir," she says. "You want to distract him? I'll grab the runesword, and then we'll…" She gestures vaguely towards the direction of outside.

Finley considers it. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. It's not pain I'm feeling, just anger," he says, and he probably believes it. Well, he can be at least one kind of distraction to Harvey, or at least a warning. "Let's go, quickly, before people get in range of him."

Ralaea kicks off her shoes, collects them, and then sprints — wait, she might get in trouble for that — skips, towards Harvey's enclosure. Look, there is nothing urgent going on, she is frolicking… or something.

Avrenne's eyes flick from Ralaea to Finley.

Finley just looks back at her for a moment, and then towards where Harvey was stashed.

Understanding hits Avrenne, and she nods sharply, a General signing off a plan with gratitude that it was already handled.

Finley's red-prone cheeks go redder, as he hurries out of the ballroom to get Harvey out before something terrible happens to Death Knight Reputations.

Somewhere, Roper narrows his eyes for no reason.

As if given permission when she didn't realize she needed it, Oranna swipes at her face repeatedly, and starts making her way to the exit. She's going home. That sounds like a good idea.

Ismene, Ben

Ismene stands in the doorway of the ballroom, having made her way there from ogling the auction items when it became apparent Something Was Afoot. She's holding Ben's hand and staring agape. "But… we have to go," she says in her littlest voice, barely audible beyond arm's length. "We have to help. There might be peo—"

She looks up at Ben. There might be people, Ben. There have to still be people. Her eyes fill with tears and sad knowledge. Right Ben?

Ben is standing dumbstruck. He is watching the rest of the crowd as if waiting on some authority to emerge and Do Something. At Mizzy's question, he looks down at her, his gaze strained. "Mizmainy —" he says. "Shit. Mizmainy. A fucken — a mana bomb, he said. The — you remember? In Terokkar?"

(You're not making it better, Ben.)

She nods, a faint up-down that might barely register. "I remember," she says softly. Her eyes glaze over as she thinks back. Slowly, her awareness shifts back to the room, back to Ben. "I can't— We can't— There's nothi—" She blinks, and the motion frees tears to trail down her pale cheeks. "What do we do now?"

Ben inhales sharply at the sight of Mizzy tears. He lets go of her hand and turns to gather her up in a tight embrace. "I do not think," he says a little raspily, "that anybody here knows that now. The Admiral and Lady Fallon are the ones with the announcements and it sure seem like… they don't." He rocks her a little on her feet. His breathing has a strange, hitching rhythm.

He looks up again at Atley's declaration. "Yeah," he says under his breath. "Yeah, I reckon."

Mizzy clings to Ben, hands fisting in his nice coat. "We fight," she sighs. "War. Again." She tips her head back. "We should check on Elo and Niris. There'll be council things to discuss and Niris will be all alone."

Ben nods and scans the crowd. People are beginning to disperse, a river of stunned or grim or weeping people in their party finery flowing unevenly around Ben and Mizzy. Ben stays planted where he is, holding Mizzy against him to shield her from the traffic, and lifts his chin to scan above the crowd. The green gown is planted, as expected, near the cheese. "I see her," he tells Mizzy. "C'mon." He begins to lead her against the flow, deeper into the ballroom.

Mizzy sticks close to Ben, as close as she can without them tripping over each other. Once she's in arm's reach of Niris, she reaches out to hug her, sure of her welcome. "Niris," she says. Just that. Is there really anything else to say?

Dane, Ivrianna

Atley syncs back up with Ivrianna, and approaches the Fallons, or attempts to. He’d offer a brief bow of farewell to each, starting with Avrenne, respectful of their time, before leaving.

Shun, Miranda, Alysson, Estel

Shun folds his arms and just looks very grim about all of this. Moreso than usual.

Miranda is softly crying. "I'm sorry," she whispers to Estel, clinging to her. "I'm so sorry…"

Alysson looks subdued, for his part. He did not know this was coming, and is maybe a little too shocked to speak.

"I know, I know," Estel says quietly. "Timelines are bullshit. I know. There's probably more like this, huh? It's hard. I get it. It's so hard."

Shun furrows his brow again as he tilts his head. His fingers tap against his arm as he thinks this all over.

"Not sure why you are apologizing," he quietly says, "Unless you had some means to breach Horde ranks to deal with Hellscreamer prior to this shit."

Estel looks at Shun sadly. "I'll explain later," she says.

Miranda attempts to compose herself. "I… I trust your discretion," she tells Estel. "We… should retire, for the evening. There are people here who know, and…"

"We're uh… y'know, if you need anythin'," Alysson says.

Shun nods at Estel, then just sort of eyes the two. Hmmm.

"Yeah," Estel says quietly, and lets go. "Yeah, okay. You two stay safe. Love you."

Shun is staring very hard now, as if he's trying to see past potential illusions.

Kerlo, Jocoza

Kerlo Quarterflash, finally recovering enough to speak, takes both of the Cobalt Company Captain's tiny four-fingered hands in his own, and murmurs to her three little words, his lavender eyes blazing with a mix of potent emotions.

"…Until we're ash."

The usual three are also there, but in his eyes only.

Jo squeezes his hands tightly, and looks deep into his eyes, finding something there that strengthens her. She murmurs, "…let us reinvent the dark."

Kerlo nods, and then steps in and clutches her as though her tiny form is all that floats in a dark endless sea.

Jo's tears soak into his jacket as she clings to him, the only planet in an endless void.

Natalyah, Lathrik, Ren

Natalyah can't get back to her human form, although from the strained way she's been clutching at Lathrik, it's obvious she's tried. She doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, which is somewhat alarming in itself.

"'Talyah," Lathrik murmurs to her. "Shall I take ye home? We'll find Ren, and…" He scans the crowd. Where is Ren?

Natalyah puts a clawed hand over her dress, the sharp nails tearing at the gossamer tulle. "I — " She tries to look around at the sea of faces. "I don't know. Maybe home. I don't want to stay here." The word comes out a high pitched canine whine.

Lathrik scans the room again, then starts making his way towards the exit, intercepted midway by Reniya.

"Lathrik, mate, I can't find Elle," Reniya says. Then he takes in Natalyah. "That is… I'll handle it, he can't've gone… too far."

Natalyah buries her head against Lathrik's neck. It's a lot harder and much more awkward as a taller floating worgen, but she's determined to do it. Take her home, Lathrik.

Siamus, Aszera, Avrenne, Elohad, Devon, Kieran

Siamus glances over at Aze. His expression remains grim, but he tilts an eyebrow at her.

Aze takes that as an invitation, and steps closer. Her face is still oddly blank as she looks up to him. "You said it was a mana bomb. That's sin'dorei technology. I might not know anything more than the Alliance already does, but any knowledge I have is yours. For the Alliance."

Siamus stares intently at her, his expression unchanging. He nods once and looks to Avrenne then back to Aze. "We'll have words in my office later, aye."

Avrenne nods to Siamus. She will manage the others, while he takes the information later. Division of labor as needed.

"Understood, sir," Aze says, nodding, and then backs away. She heads out of the ballroom entirely.

Siamus touches Avrenne's back again lightly and then moves out into the room in search of Elohad, Devon, and Kieran.

Kieran is found easily enough: he is sitting down because Alaisa has led him to a chair and made him sit down. He is clutching at his left arm with his right.

"Lysander," Siamus greets him in a clipped tone. He puts a hand briefly on his shoulder in acknowledgement. "A word with yourself, Ference, and Tennerow." He surveys the older man. "Will ye come across the hall to the parlor? I'll collect 'em." He looks up to sweep the room again for Elo and Devon.

Devon is there, pale-faced and furious.

"Right away," Kieran says, and stands. "Ally, tell your mother I'll be busy."

"Yes, Father," Alaisa says smoothly, and departs to find her mother.

Lord Lysander heads across the hall to the parlor.

Elo is embracing an extremely sexy and unhappy woman.

Wow, Niris is going to be super mad.

"I have to go back to Outland," Arthur says. "The rest of the Blade is still there. Someone needs to carry messages to…"

He stands up, and wobbles a bit.

Ionala, Arric, Maisha

Ionala has pulled herself together. She's resolute. It's to be war, then. She'll be ready.
Arric looks between the two beautiful Cobalt Eye maidens. His look rather uncharacteristically says, we're all siccing raptors and things on the Horde now, yes?

Ionala nods. Yes.

Maisha is still stuck on the grief part, but don't worry, she'll get to revenge raptors soon.

Arric returns her nod, flint behind the normally summer-sky eyes as he tightens his grip on Nala's shoulder for a moment. He keeps his other arm around the grieving Wildhammer lass.
An older man with brown hair flecked with grey that is parted in a perfect center part strides through the ballroom and comes to a halt in front of Cecil and Oslynn. "Son, we're leaving," he says.

Cecil, Oslynn

Cecil holds his hands out at an angle to each other and wiggles his fingers.

"Lord Cecil asks you to wait," Mr. Cardassus interprets.

There is a beariful sobbing blonde lass beside him, faint streaks of kohl marring her spcheeks.

"Wait? I said it's time to go, son," Lord Soso says, and puts a hand on Cecil's shoulder.

Cecil puts a hand in a closed fist on top of his palm in front of his chest and slowly lifts both fist and palm like he's offering them to Ozzy, looking at her with concern.

"Lord Cecil is asking if you need any help, miss Boles," Mr. Cardassus translates.

Cecil shoots him a look of mild frustration and repeats the sign, once again moving his palm and fist out towards Oslynn as if he's presenting her with a plate of an almost thumbs-up.

"Or if he can help you at all," Mr. Cardassus corrects. The 'help' sign seems to be directional.

Ozzy cannot maintain Lady through all this. Get bent, Lord Arric. She throws her arms briefly and violently around the young nobleman she just met,gives one last sob that somehow conveys gratitude, and then… leaps to her feet and changes to a worgen. In a ballgown. And lopes out on all fours.

Welp.

Winnie, Xandros

Winnie finds her father at the edges of the ballroom, the older man a dangerous shade of pale. "Do you want to go home?" She sets hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't acknowledge her.

"Dad?" Winnie says weakly as she shakes his arm. "Dad?" There's a desperate note in her voice now.

The words finally get through, as Andy looks over at his daughter, blinking as if he has no idea how she suddenly got there. "Winnie?"

"Dad, we need to go home. I need to get back to the cit — " Winnie says, but stops as Andy pales even further, going an alarming shade of gray. "To-to the house. I can go home with you to the house, okay?"

Andy nods wordlessly, and for the first time in his life, he seems truly old, as he leans heavily on his daughter, trembling like a leaf as they make their way back to the Demasco Elywnn estate.

Mansia, Kaerix

Mansia approaches the band, tears streaming down her face. "[I wanted to say before,]" she says in Draenei, "[I love your horn jewelry… it looks so nice. But now it feels such a small thing.]"

Wordlessly, the draenei woman sets down her instrument and rises to offer Mansia a hug.

Mansia gives her a big hug. "[Did you know anyone from Theramore City?]"

Kaerix is nearby, Listening, tears streaming down her face.

"[No.]" The other woman shakes her head, lifts a hand to smear a tearstain across her own cheek. "[No. But it's so terrible. I can't believe —]" She gives a teary bubble of laughter, a hiccup. "[You would think we could believe by now what terrible things…. But I can't. I still can't.]"

[The knowledge even of strangers' brutally extinguished souls is like an anguished chorus to all who have even briefly touched the Light]," Kaerix says softly. "[To feel anything less than heartbreak is a sign of incipient madness.]"

The musician, whom I am not going to name don't make me do it guys, turns to Kaerix and offers out her other arm. Join hug.

Isyldir steps forward and tries to hug all three of them at once. Are his arms big enough? Almost.

They can squish.

Kae has enough Hug for everyone. Also some gentle, comforting petting of backs, or in the case of friends, hair.

Avrenne, Lester

Avrenne circulates to Lester, approaching him no differently than she might on any other ballroom occasion. "Count Amerith," she says. "Would you like any arrangements for your guests? We can assist with it if you intend to stay to discuss with the Admiral, Lord Lysander, Lord Tennerow, and Lord Ference as members of the House, but your guests wish to return home."

Lester tilts his head slightly to one side, and Ilanya appears as if from nowhere. "A moment, please, Your Grace," he says cordially, though the warmth as usual does not reach his eyes. "Allow me to confer with my staff."

He leans down to murmur in Ilanya's ear.

She responds, equally quietly, then curtsies before Avrenne. "Your Grace," she murmurs, as she dismisses herself again. Whatever she might be feeling is not visible on her face.

Lester straightens. "It would seem they prefer to remain," he says. "And we thank you for your most gracious hospitality."

"You are most welcome to it," Avrenne says, her own expression a perfect composure of a woman untouched by panic or anger or any sentimental emotion. She is powered by pure logic rationality. Or at least, that's what she looks like. "You will find the Admiral in the Little Parlor just across the hall from the ballroom. Please, take any refreshment you might prefer with you if you wish for something to drink. It may be a long conversation."

She doesn't wait for agreement or permission to leave; she's a duchess. She sweeps off into the rest of the room.

Priscilla, Bertrand, Avrenne

Priscilla, sitting on one of the chairs, has a thousand-yard stare. Bertrand has pulled her into his arms. He looks perfectly neutral.

Avrenne makes her way to her friend, not quickly or urgently, no sign of panic or distress in those perfectly spaced even steps drilled into her a thousand times. But her voice is altogether different when she speaks, warmer and softer than the crisp unfeeling Duchess. "Priscilla. Lord Bertrand." She doesn't hold out her hands, keeping them clasped together, but she does come within touching range.

"Lady Fallon," Bertrand murmurs.

"To be the hostess when news like this is delivered," Priscilla says, looking teary-eyed up at Avrenne. "Oh, Avrenne, I don't envy you the task. Is there anything I can help with?"

Avrenne reaches out to Priscilla to rest a gloved hand on the other woman's hair, a gentle, motherly touch. "Truly, dearest, what you can help with the most is seeing to yourself. It will do me much good to know that you are well and cared for. This evening has not been what I hoped it would be for you, for any of us. If you wish to be back at home to hold Angelica, you should do so." Her eyes flick from Priscilla to Bertrand and back. "If it would do you good to have a task, there is a midshipman who delivered the news who may still be in the kitchens, and who may be about to attempt to navigate out of the house with a crush of guests leaving."

Priscilla clearly weighs it - can she handle a task right now? The answer seems to be no. "I'll go home," she says, standing. She once again clasps Avrenne's hands in hers, maybe checking their temperature through the gloves. "And Birdie can go home a couple steps ahead of me, so he can break the news," she says with a hard swallow.

Bertrand accepts this role with grace. "You won't have to tell a soul, my heart," he promises Priscilla. "It's possible my mother may have received a messenger already, if Fallon did. And if not, I'll break it to her."

The gloves are cool, but silk can be deceptive that way. The mere fact that she is still wearing them may also mean that Avrenne has an implacable grip on her anger, to avoid burning herself on the gloves she ordinarily would never wear, to keep her arms covered.

"I would expect her to have received the message already. All the House of Nobles has likely been informed, or will be very shortly as we speak. If Duchess Aspenwood does wish to confer with her peers at this time of night, she will be most welcome to the conversation Siamus is having with the others," Avrenne says, looking in a direct line to the Little Parlor, where Siamus, Devon, Elohad, Kieran, and Lester have gone. "But, of course, it is not necessary. Tomorrow will come as it does, and the House will be called to order accordingly."

"I'll make her aware of it," Bertrand promises. "Don't worry, Lady Fallon, I'll make sure Scilla gets home safe."

Priscilla squeezes Avrenne's hands once and lets go. "Angel's still too small, or I might have had her brought here to stay the night," she says with a sigh.

Avrenne sets her hands back into a clasp in front of her. "The house here will be in disarray of routine due to these exceptional circumstances all through the night and tomorrow, I am certain. At that age, routine is crucial to their health and well-being," she says with all the experience of a mother of three small children. "It's for the best. Do try to get some rest tonight, dearest." She looks over at Bertrand. "All of you," she amends.

With that, she ends the conversation the usual way of a duchess — by deciding it herself, and then sweeping off.