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

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	The conversations arising after Siamus Fallon's Speech until the news of Theramore breaks. 18k~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

Speech

Admiral Fallon moves to the front of the room to stand before the grand piano; behind him, the current song comes to an end and the band falls silent. He holds up a hand and waits patiently for the attention of the crowd to turn.

Oh, I think it's time for a speech," Lena says to the small group of conversationalists she's standing with.

Merelda turns curiously towards Admiral Fallon.

Celaven draws the dance with Nylarria to a close as the music stops.

Nylarria hangs onto his arm and wonders why everyone is stopping what they're doing.

Coincidentally Oslynn, Elohad, Arric, Zath, Kaerix, and Janice all give Siamus their full attention at the exact same time.

Aze steps away from the wall, watching Siamus.

Sil looks over politely, with his group of people.

Ness turns towards Siamus, very nearly upturning a table in the process. He does not, luckily.

As the crowd falls quiet, Siamus smiles thinly and inclines his head. When he begins to speak, it is in his carrying Captain’s voice; his native accent has been carefully suppressed, the slanted vowels starched upright in aristocratic Stormwind fashion.

“Ladies, gentlemen — friends, comrades. We're grateful so many of you could join us tonight. We had planned this gathering to honor an historic triumph: the defeat of the Destroyer, the dragon that shattered the world.

“But that broken world in these times does not let any of us stand still for long to admire even a great victory before the fight is joined again. Since Deathwing's fall, we've suffered the losses of — ” Siamus pauses for a grim moment, squares his shoulders. “ — the losses of valiant men and women in Kalimdor to Hellscream’s depravity. In the very hour of our salvation — the salvation of our world — he would not grant us even a minute to honor the heroes whose actions saved his people as much as our own.

“I know the first instinct of many of us here this evening was to throw ourselves back into the fight. And I expect that tomorrow, many of us will. But tonight those of us here will take that minute Hellscream would deny us. Because we are here to honor, not merely to celebrate. We are here to honor the great heroes who defeated the Worldbreaker. We are here to honor the men and women who gave their lives holding a line in Kalimdor. We are here to honor their loved ones and their loss — and to ensure that families bereft will be provided for by their countrymen. To give those who are unable to go to war themselves an opportunity to lend their aid in honor and remembrance of those who did.”

That’s unsubtle, Siamus, but okay. He’s not looking at any nobles in particular, but he’s not not looking at nobles.

“And as some of you have also perhaps heard by now, there is a light on the horizon, some cause to celebrate this evening. Earlier today, the Alliance forces gathered at Theramore halted Hellscream’s advance; they broke the tide of the Horde on Theramore’s walls. Soldiers of the 7th Legion, Wildhammer and Bronzebeard dwarves, Gilnean veterans and volunteers, Sentinels and Vindicators and Gnomish mages and engineers all held fast; Hellscream’s Horde met the might of the Grand Alliance and could not bow it.

“So we honor those heroes who saved our world, and we honor those who are doing it even now, and we honor the memory of those who lost their lives doing so. A fortnight ago, the Alliance ended Deathwing. Today it ended Hellscream’s march. In months and years ahead it will continue to meet whatever enemies think to rise against it, and it will end them as well. Because of its people. Because of these men and women gathered, and those like them across the sea and in every Alliance outpost, who rise to every new threat, who willingly make every sacrifice, who keep our world safe.”

He bows to the room and steps back.

Avrenne is not surprised by the information — she heard the speech earlier with Wife Privilege — but it does nothing to diminish the pride in her eyes, her attention fully fixed to Siamus for the entire speech, caught there like a compass pointing unerringly north. Even after it's concluded, she cannot take her eyes off him. Her hands are still clasped in front of her, and her expression retains some composure, but leaves little doubt in anyone looking at her that she clearly admires her husband. She may even be fond of him.

Finley, however, does the opposite. Rather than look at Siamus during the speech, he carefully watches the crowd in subtle glances. The news also does not surprise him, and the people he watches during it are to note their reactions.

Lord Lysander places his right hand over his heart at the very first mention of Kalimdor and keeps it there for the rest of the speech. He is not exactly the smiling type, but his grave expression conveys quiet approval.

Atley, who’s most certainly acquired a drink for his wife and himself by now, listens patiently to the speech before he grunts and raises his glass.

“Hear, hear!” he calls, once it’s finished, and knocks his glass back.

"YEAH!" bellows Isyldir, a tall draenei man in a purple suit that is slightly too small for him.

Emerine says something fierce and emphatic in Darnassian - a curse upon the Horde - and then seizes Reniya by the shoulders. "Did you hear that, Hartrimm?" Not even a hello, how have you been.

Reniya throws an arm around Emerine in return, clapping her heartily on the back. "Bloody right I did," he says proudly.

Arric applauds so hard you can almost see smoke rising from between his hands. His eyes are glistening.

Janice does not applaud, but bows her head in what looks like respect, or possibly gratitude.

The rest of my guys applaud the normal amount.

"Thank the Light," Bertrand says to Zath, closing his eyes in relief. "They did it."

Zath says nothing, but briefly clasps Bertrand's shoulder.

Bertrand smiles at him. "I've got to take this to my wife," he says, holding up the plate. "You might want to take a look at the auctions. Some nice pieces there."

“I shall do so," Zath says, and then gives a shallow bow of farewell.

Aze leans back against the wall and listens to the speech impassively, her face a perfect blank. Afterwards, she claps the appropriate amount, shifting her expression carefully back into a pleasant smile.

Corvin claps enthusiastically, only pausing to look after Janice briefly. Not for long, he's not one to begrudge people their privacy.

As Siamus speaks, for a moment Devon looks like a man who's just been offered a hand up from drowning. Then he carefully schools his expression again and applauds. Then he heads out of the room.

The rest of Alli's characters applaud in an unremarkable, expected manner, except Anareline, who is just not really a clapper.

Oranna gasps softly in open surprise, and relief, like someone who has grown to expect the worst got a windfall of good news. Her face is easy to read for anyone looking at it.

Velrin claps after the speech somewhere out of sight of Ven and Nylarria. She’s a little misty eyed thinking about all they’ve lost, but she keeps it together.
Reeve claps quietly at the solemn speech and tries not to draw too much attention to himself. He’s not here to make a scene.

Aze reaches up to tug at her collar, like it's tight on her neck. It is not. Pushing away from the wall, she slips out of the ballroom in the direction of the auctions.

Natalyah, Lathrik

Natalyah grips Lathrik harder through most of it, and there's a thunderous cloud over her face at the mention of those lost to Hellscream, one that turns into pride at the knowledge that the Horde was turned back. "They did it. They bloody did it," she says, a touch of Gilneas accent slipping around the word. There's a build up of lightning in the words, a fierce sort of joy.

Lathrik does not celebrate at the victory. Those who know him also know he is still adding up the losses in his typical pessimistic mindset. There is only a small, fleeting relief that they haven't lost entirely yet again.

Natalyah shakes him with no real force behind it that does more to move her in the air than it does him. "Lathrik, take the win," she says. "You can't only think of what's been lost. This time at least, our sword arm caught a break." There's a witty tease in her tone, bolstered by the flush of victory.

"We'll be needin' that sword arm, if hostilities continue," Lathrik says, a trace of a real smile appearing for a flash. "But, aye, now's not the time for gloom."

Ozzy continues to stare at Siamus even after the speech is over. Her face is unreadable; she has been studying well.

Colson listens attentively to the speech, the only sign of the news is in the faint rise of his eyebrows in brief surprise, as he gently squeezes Mordecia's hand once.

Mordecai smiles faintly and squeezes Colson's hand back.

Winnie is a lamp. Do not perceive.

Andy nods along with the speech, and there's a surprise that doesn't often show on the jovial man's face, although he recovers quickly. He seems thoughtful at the end, musing on the words with his shrimp cocktail.

Cressidha, Silvestre

"Well, that's good news," says Cressidha. She sounds like it's good news, even if her face doesn't particularly reflect it.

"Yeah, it is," Sil says, glancing towards her. "It'd be better if there wasn't a war in the first place, but that wasn't the Alliance's choice to make. I'm glad our defenses held."

Alysson grins at her. He probably doesn't really understand the current events, but Cress said it was good, so it is.

"Yes, wonderful news. Excuse me for a moment," Miranda says, making for the exit of the ballroom.

“Indeed." Cressidha glances at the band as the music resumes. "Would you care to dance, Silvestre?"

"I would love to, Sidha," Sil says, offering her his arm.

Cressidha takes it and steps out onto the dance floor with him.

Joelle, Finley, Siamus, Avrenne

Joelle's careful expression breaks for a full fifteen seconds, pure anguish appearing visibly on his face during the speech, before he reins himself back in. Most people probably don't notice. He is towards the back of the gathering, and the audience is focused on Siamus. When Siamus steps away, he attempts to follow, to approach him directly.

Finley takes note, catching enough of the look at the moment it happens to break a bit of his own Pleasant Mask in concer. As the speech, and his duty to observe end, he beings to expertly weaves his way through the crowd — not as difficult for some as a tall man — towards Joelle.

"Elle?" he calls out as he gets closer, through the sounds of the crowd clapping, cheering, and talking all at once.

At the sound of Elle's name being called out, Ozzy looks around.

Siamus has moved away from the front of the room as the applause and cheers break out, and made his way toward one of the refreshments tables at the side of the room. The footman in attendance reaches beneath the table for the bottle of whiskey, but Siamus shakes his head at him and leans in for a quiet word.

The footman is too skilled to look surprised, and he pours Admiral Fallon a glass of champagne instead.

Avrenne tracks Siamus through the room with no effort, watching the exchange. She holds her position, a singular point in the room of a lighthouse, steady and waiting to see if she is needed or wanted at the moment.

Joelle freezes roughly halfway to Siamus, the call of his name halting him in indecision. He does not look around for the source, as his gaze never leaves Siamus, he simply waits.

Finley gets to Elle, looking between him and Siamus, his Pleasant Mask failing as concern takes up place instead, and it's present in his tone. "Elle, what is it?" He lowers his voice into something that doesn't carry. "Something bothered you in the speech? Do you need to talk to Fallon?"

Joelle's expression has returned to it's usual calm, a serenity at odds with something in his gaze as he finally turns to Finley. "I was going to give him this," he says, slipping something from his sleeve and offering it now to Finley. It appears to be his wallet.

Finley, on the other hand, registers the wallet, and then looks deeply relieved, as he reaches out a hand to Elle's shoulder, avoiding taking the wallet. "Ah, Elle," he says affectionately. "You're a good man. The best of men. The part about those of us who weren't in the war itself, to give another form of aid? That was the urgency, to try to give more? You can tell me about it, of why it caught you so strongly." There's a soft encouragement that's a little at odds with Finley's usual Gentleman Persona, but he's careful to keep his back turned to most of the gathering.

Joelle gazes at Finley, his eyes seeking every detail, trying to read the other man as well as he can. Then, he glances down at the wallet and back. "It's all I can —" No. He stops, corrects himself. "It's the right thing to do." Even his voice is almost forcefully calm.

Joelle gazes at Finley, his eyes seeking every detail, trying to read the other man as well as he can. Then, he glances down at the wallet and back. "It's all I can —" No. He stops, corrects himself. "It's the right thing to do." Even his voice is almost forcefully calm.

Finley spares a glance at the rest of the room, and then adjusts his hand on the other man's shoulder as less a clasp, and more the start to guide Joelle towards a wall of the ballroom. "Will you walk with me a bit over to the side?" he asks. "Maybe even to the gardens? There's a whole conversation here, and it's not one I really want to have with so many people watching. If you can trust that whatever you decide, to hand over the whole parcel of money in that wallet, or not, that it isn't something that has to happen right this second. I promise it can wait."

There aren't many people watching, but there are some eyes on them here and there.

Joelle's shoulders are almost rigidly tense, something he's managed to hide the appearance of, but not the fact. "Oh." He glances one last time towards Siamus, then nods.

"Okay," he says, loosening up enough to be easily guided by Finley, after slipping the wallet back into his sleeve.

Niris, Elohad

Niris gives an un-regal little whoop, the sound seemingly startled out of her, and drops her plate of cheese on the buffet table with a thud as she turns to fling her arms around Elohad's neck. She doesn't even notice the cheese cubes scattering.

Elohad buries his face in her neck, not because he is crying. He's very manly, like Anduin Lothar, a fellow bald hero. He just has a wife with a very nice neck, that's all.

I mean that's true too.

Janice quietly excuses herself to Corvin and disappears for a time.

Arthur cheers at the news of Hellscream's treachery failing at the walls of Theramore, a brief, soft "For The Alliance!" and applauds with everyone else.

Ionala's expression is shocked at the news of Hellscream's attack, but she smiles at hearing that Theramore prevailed. She claps with everyone else, too.

Kyris looks behind his mother's wheelchair and realizes his sister is gone. "Did Ally miss the bloody speech?" he mutters in bemusement.

"Hm?" Lady Lysander glances back. "Ah, she must have gone to the library," she guesses.

Devon slips back into the ballroom, his smile a little more genuine now.

Ionala, Niris, Elohad

Ionala looks around for anyone higher up in the company to speak to, quietly.

Elohad, Lieutenant of Cobalt Company, has just finished embracing his wife, and totally not crying, by the cheese table.

Niris begins collecting her cheese cubes to return them to her plate with immense dignity.

Aha! Ionala keeps her eye on the target and heads over, timing her arrival so he totally wasn't just finished crying. "Sir Elohad?"

(Anyone who regularly associated with the aristocracy of Stromgarde, optional: Something that's changed in her posture and bearing makes Ionala look…familiar. Like someone they haven't seen in … oh, at least more than a decade. But…who was it?)

"Webster!" Elohad says with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look sharp. Good to see you here! Niris, you know Webster, don't you? From the Cobalt Eye?"

Niris has just crammed a celebratory piece of cheese in her mouth, but she gives Nala a bright, close-lipped smile and nods, extending her hand.

"Thank you, Sir," Ionala says. "I was wondering if there was a group organized to head to Theramore to assist with the wounded, or bring supplies?"

"Ah." Elohad pauses for a moment, looking for all the world like an actor who has forgotten his next line. "There is… not, at this time. Everyone's otherwise assigned right now."

"I can go," Ionala says. "I've trained in clinic for years, and i've gone visiting for medical services for the people of Stormwind. I can rearrange my schedule to make the journey. I can also relay any more complex requests for help, if needed."

Elohad nods thougthfully. "Let's get together after this and talk about it more," he says. "At headquarters, when we're both free. Normally I send people to areas that the military can't quite cover on their own, neglected areas, or battles so big it's literally all hands on deck, like Deathwing or the Lich King. But if this is personally important to you, we can have a talk. Not tonight, though, hm? Why don't you have yourself a dance or two? Let yourself relax for a night?"

Ionala nods. "I will stay tonight, and come back to headquarters tomorrow. Thank you, Sir."

Elohad smiles at her warmly. "Now go have a good time. Dazzle them!"

Bertrand drops the plate of food off with Priscilla. "Finley's over there, but he seems busy," he says, gesturing. "Want me to go check on the auctions?"

Priscilla accepts her plate and kisses Birdie on the cheek. "If you need something to do, by all means."

Bertrand nods and exits the ballroom.

Shine, Lena, Oslynn, Arric, Merelda, Maisha, Mordecai, Colson, Reniya, Emerine

Ozzy, failing to spot the source of the voice calling a familiar name, returns a polite, dead gaze toward her conversational group.

Shine takes a sharp, startled breath at the news, and when the speech is done he applauds firmly before turning to wrap an arm around Lena's shoulders. He squeezes her against him briefly and kisses the side of her head in a rare display of Almost Exuberance, and then he lets go of her and smiles a whole-ass human smile, recognizably smiley, at the group around him.

Lena slips an arm around his waist and her smile is relieved. She says quietly, "It wasn't a sure thing, not after the news from Northwatch and Triumph."

"Gravehowl?" Emerine says as she approaches, peering at Oslynn. "That's a new look on you. This is Reniya Hartrim. Hartrim, Oslynn Gravehowl. She helped with the situation up in the Highlands." She flashes a grin at the others. "And this is Lady Merelda Veyne, and do you know Shine and Coit?" She does not introduce Maisha, Mordecai, Colson, or Arric, who she doesn't know.

"Oslynn Boles," Arric corrects firmly before Ozzy can open her mouth.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hatrimm-m-m?" she glances nervously to Arric as she guesses at the title. Arric nods subtly, and Ozzy turns back to Reniya and Emerine. "And a pleasure to see you again, Miss… Emerine." She does not know Emerine's surname, apparently.

She is speaking in an entirely different accent now, and … there is no follow up to her greeting. She smiles faintly and pleasantly.

Shine smiles — he's still doing Whole Smiling — at Emerine, and tips a nod to Reniya. "Nightvine. And Hartrim, evening. Good to see ye both. This is Miss Cloudskimmer, and Lords Arric Falrevere, Colson Aspenwood, and Mordecai Aspenwood, all of Cobalt Company."

"Would you like something to drink?" Colson asks Mordecai, after a moment.

"Hello," Mordecai says softly. He nods to Colson. He definitely looks like the crowd he is in has grown too big for him.

Arric beams at the two newcomers. "A pleasure!" he says, seeming sincere.

Ozzy's gaze wanders to Shine, and hangs there, as though he's a bit of driftwood in the sea. A metaphor Janice would not appreciate one bit, but she isn't here even if someone had said that out loud.

"If you will excuse us," Colson says politely to his group, as he leads Mordecai over towards the water table.

Shine casts a look at Ozzy and his smile ticks up at the corner. He gives her a subtle nod. Doin' great, kiddo.

Ozzy looks poignantly hopeful for a moment, and casts her eyes around the ballroom briefly.

Ionala sees a young lady she doesn't recognize looking around, and makes sure to smile with extra twinkle, as a friendly face.

Ozzy flickers a brief smile back at her, gives her outfit a sweeping, admiring look, and then turns back to her group before Arric frowns at her.

Reniya smiles pleasantly. He is… not going to remember half of these people. Except maybe Ozzy.

"Oi, you're Ozzy?" he asks, smile changing to a grin. "One of Elle's new friends, aye? A pleasure t'meet you, lass. An' thanks for the work you did for ol' Lathrik."

Ozzy's expression doesn't change very much, but she does slowly turn pink.

"A pleasure to m—" she already said that. She gets the 404 Page Not Found expression again briefly, and then settles on, "You are too kind."

Emerine stares at Ozzy. Something strange and magical or perhaps sinister is happening here. Blink twice if this is against your will, cub, she fails to communicate telepathically, because she obviously cannot communicate telepathically.

Reniya's grin widens. "Too kind, is it? Would y'like it if I was… somethin' else?"

Merelda looks at Reniya and then Ozzy, raising her eyebrows. This is another kind of communication.

Ozzy stares back at Emerine. Her gray-green eyes are like a doll's, pretty and vacant, her posture impeccable, her skin looking like it's fresh from a spa treatment.

Then she turns to Reniya, visibly searching her mind for an appropriate response. "As you like, sir," she finally says ambiguously, with a slight smile.

Arric nods subtle approval.

Shine has mercy. He bends to murmur something to Lena, and then steps forward to offer a bow to Ozzy. "Would ye like to dance, Miss Boles? It's pleasant to circulate a bit on the dance floor after all this standing."

"How kind of you, Mr. Shine," says Ozzy, her eyes doing his namesake. She steps toward him, but does not reach out a hand until his is offered. She has been taught well.

Shine offers his hand solemnly to squire Ozzy out to the dance floor.

Lena smiles at the two of them, and gives a subtle little finger wave to Ozzy.

Once they've headed off to the dance floor, Merelda turns to Reniya and says, "Miss Boles is very much available for dancing, in a general sense, as you see, should you like to dance with her later." Mom is trying to help. It's probably good Ozzy isn't there to here it. She means well.

Lena lifts a hand to her mouth, she isn't laughing.

"I was under the impression that she preferred Gravehowl over Boles," Emerine says.

"Dancing in a general sense," Reniya repeats. "That's about all I can manage, aye." His eyes glimmer with amusement.

"Well, I expect she'd enjoy it," Merelda says with an amused smile. Turning to Emerine, she adds, "And ordinarily, yes, but tonight is something of a special… well… I shouldn't say. Except you'll note that she's quite a polite young lady tonight, isn't she? This is an event she's looked forward to, I assure you."

Shine, Oslynn

As soon as they are well out of earshot, Ozzy, keeping her demure mask in place, murmurs for Shine's ears only, "Bloody 'ell oi'm dyin' out 'ere! No' one noble 'as so much as looked a' me an' oi keep fuckin' up wot to say. Oi'm never catchin' a 'usband at this raite!"

Shine pats Ozzy's hand consolingly and lowers his head to murmur, "The night's hardly started, I'm sorry to tell ye. They're all still busy nodding and nosing at each other. Give 'em a bit to get in the food and the liquor now that Fallon's had his speech and you'll find it warms right up." He guides Ozzy into position for the dance and gives her a tilted eyebrow that presumably means, Ready? "Is there a gentleman who's caught your own eye? Ye may have opinions of your own, ye know."

Her expression does something wobbly for a moment. "Don' matter what oi want," she murmurs. "Oi gotta take wot oi can get. Oi guess… oi just go' this stupid idea in me 'ead, you know? Tha' oi'd show up an' be so beautiful tha' someone would fall in love a' first soight, loike in the tales. Tha' some'ow the roight dress would make me… I dunno. Someone else."

She gives him a smile. Ha ha, isn't it funny? What a comedy! Those aren't tears starting to her eyes, and if so, they're of mirth.

"But it's loike they say," she says with a crooked smile, the first expression all night that's looked anything like her. "Put a ribbon on a pig an' all you get's a muddy ribbon."

Shine knits his brow. He lifts his head to look around the room and then bends it again to Ozzy. "Here, it's all right, aye? Let me tell ye as an impartial gentleman, if I may, that ye look astonishing well tonight. I'm sure ye've caught eyes, and a young lady doesn't come to a party looking like yourself without having some choice in her business, I assure ye. There's no 'taking what ye can get' here, or ye'll be taking a great deal more than ye bargained for."

Shine pauses, tries to decide whether to rephrase that, shrugs it off. "Some of this lot are all standing on manners, aye? Too dainty? They'll want proper introductions and so on to meet a young lady. So ye tell me if there's anyone ye see, and I'll be glad to give ye — or ask Lady Merelda or Admiral Fallon to give ye — a proper introduction. Also I can warn ye off the bad ones."

He leads her carefully into the steps of the dance as he speaks.

Ozzy is a decent dancer, though she lacks natural grace or refinement. It's clear she's been practicing though, and she's responsive enough to follow his lead and not embarrass herself.

"Anyone noble who ain't loikely to smack me around," she says, her composed and almost regal expression completely at odds with her murmured words. "Gotta marry noble to be noble. If e's good lookin' tha's a plus. Oi suppose if there ain't any blokes it could be a girl, but that ain't me flavor."

Shine sweeps the ballroom with a look before bending to Ozzy again. "If there were a single gentleman in the room likely to smack a lady around, I don't think he'd be welcome in this room for long. At any rate, I can tell ye none of the gentlemen here are the type. As for noble…."

He scans the room again for Single Noblemen. His gaze pauses on Kyris, then moves on. His gaze finds Andy and slides past hurriedly.

Ozzy continues watching Shine scan the room, hope springing eternal in her expression as she waits.

The 25-year-old Lord Cecil Soso stands all by himself by one of the refreshment tables, gazing wistfully at the dancers. His light brown hair is parted perfectly down the center in the most mathematically precise center part imaginable. His suit is neat and brown and boring.

"Now, don't stare, but look past my shoulder when I turn ye," Shine says under his breath to Ozzy. "The gentleman by the table there, wi' the light hair. What d'ye make of him?" He turns Ozzy in time with the music as promised to afford her a glimpse of Lord Soso past his shoulder.

Ozzy subtly casts a glance at the young lord. "Ohhh," she says excitedly. "'E looks kinda lonely!" That seems like a plus, the way she says it. She seems to have no other opinion about the man, bless his brown-suited, center-parted heart.

“Come with me," says Shine to Ozzy, and guides her into a final turn and then toward the edge of the dance floor before things get Perilous. He catches Siamus's eye and beckons with a tilt of his head.

Nylarria, Celaven

Nylarria stands still and looks at Celaven, “What now?”

"Oh, um," Celaven looks around to see what might be next. "Are you hungry?"

“Not particularly…” Nylarria stiffens up. She’s a bit disarmed as usual while alone with Ven but she isn’t panicking or getting visibly distressed this time.

"Then, would you like to try another dance?" Celaven asks, again offering his hands. "Did you enjoy the dancing before?"

“It was… nice.” Nylarria admits. Her normally stern expression cracks under her veil.

"Then let's go again, shall we?" Celaven asks, with a slight smile. "I believe I know this one, so I can lead us through it."

“Ok…” Nylarria holds onto and follows his lead. Fortunately with her spectral sight giving her a preternatural spatial awareness she is able to keep up quite well.

Celaven is carefully courteous as he leads her through the steps. A perfect gentleman, by human standards. He is not among the best dancers in the room, certainly, but he keeps the beat, and he does know the footwork for this one, as promised.

Nylarria had begun a bit stiff in her movements but as they keep going she starts to loosen up. Celaven could swear that Nylarria was enjoying herself.

Celaven smiles, guiding them through the other dancers carefully, so they don't collide.

Nylarria uses Ven to support herself when she needs to step with her right foot, clinging closer to him to help keep her balance.

Celaven is careful not to make any sudden steps for Nylarria's right leg, and he provides plenty of support for her balance. They might occasionally fall a little behind the beat, but he carefully brings them back to it and shows no sign of concern.

Velrin is tucked away in an unassuming place in the corner of the ballroom watching Celaven and Nylarria with a smile.

Arric, standing amiably with Reniya, Merelda, and Lena, is doing his usual sweep of the ballroom with his gaze for Potential Introductions when his eyes catch on Velrin.

On SO MUCH Velrin, my stars.

He makes a slight choking sound, and his face goes red. He averts his eyes, then looks back again because surely that was a hallucination, surely someone wouldn't come here dressed like— nope, she's still there. He looks away again.

Velrin briefly looks away when she notices Arric looking at her. She smiles and wiggles her fingers at him innocently.

OH GOD the naked woman wiggled parts of herself at him. Arric goes from quite red to rather pale. "Would you excuse me a moment?" he says to Merelda, Lena, and Reniya, and heads out toward the gardens for some air.

Arthur, Siamus

Arthur has pillaged the buffet long enough. It's time to tote around a glass of something, mingle, and make sure he didn't miss another member of the Blade in his haste to gobble down canapes.

There are plenty of familiar faces around for Ionala to smile and nod at, but Arthur is looking around for someone, anyone, there's no one, oh no. He heads back to the buffet for two steps before he stops and goes in the other direction. "Socialize," Art mutters under his breath. "You're Trouble Reeves of the Cobalt Blade. Everyone here is Company. Just say hi to someone."

He is presented with an easy target. Admiral Fallon steps smoothly in front of him, champagne glass in one hand, his other hand offered out. "Reeves, it was? I'm pleased that some of the Blade was able to join us tonight. I hope you're enjoying yourself?" There is something sincere in the question, something that suggests that if Art is not enjoying himself, Siamus would be glad to personally take care of that.

As Siamus takes back to the field to enjoy himself, Avrenne turns her attention to the rest of the gathering, moving back into play.

Arthur takes the offered hand, gladly. "That's me," he says. "I'm Arthur Reeves. When I heard about the party I really wanted to come and honor everyone who fought, so I came here from Shattrath and now I realize that I don't know many people outside of my own squad. Including you, but you're not exactly Cobalt Company, are you?"

Arthur kind of forgets to let go of Siamus' hand for a bit there. whoops. He's also kind of wowed, to be fair.

Siamus has zero objections to not being let go of, and makes no effort to let go of Art's hand. "I am not exactly Cobalt Company, I'm afraid, no. But honored by the association. A fine group of people. And I believe ye may have admirers among the throng; we've got some books of Cobalt Blade Adventures up for the auction this evening, it happens." His smile curves a little higher. "I'm certainly an admirer myself."

Siamus has literally never read a word of the Cobalt Blade Adventures.

Art smiles wider. "It's a little funny, reading stories about yourself and your friends. The events do follow pretty closely to what happened, but I'm positive I'm not that funny." Hand not let go? Hand not let go. All right then. This is what we do, now.

Art has glass in his other hand, and swirls it a little bit. "I hope they raise a good price. The cause is worthy, and in need."

(Arthur does not remember what that cause was.) "Also, you have a lovely home. Quite amazing.”

Siamus inclines his head with still-smiling courtesy. The smile has taken on a slightly different quality. It is possible that hand-not-let-go has become Funny; these are dangerous waters. "I'd be glad to give ye a tour at any time ye like. Have ye seen our library?"

Is this now let-go-of-hand-last contest? Maybe. Arthur's the fisherman who cast a line and caught a legend—now what?

Get in trouble, that's what.

"I haven't yet seen your library," Arthur says. "Or any of the rest. I would like to, when you would have me."

"I would be happy to have ye right now, if ye'd like," Siamus says sincerely. "Library's just down the hall."

There is, in fact, an actual library and stuff down the hall. Siamus is not being 100% hijinks at his aristocratic gala.

Just, like, 70% hijinks.

Arthur, Siamus, Kyris

Someone nearby coughs once. It's Kyris.

Don't be jealous, Lysander.

Arthur glances in the direction of the cough, curiously.

Kyris Lysander is an elegant man wearing what resembles a military dress uniform but is lacking in medals and insignias of rank. He is looking anywhere but at Siamus and Arthur.

Siamus turns toward Kyris and affects an expression of polite startlement. He is transparently not startled. "Lysander," he says warmly. "Didn't see ye there, man. Should I assume ye've already met Mr. Reeves of the Cobalt Blade? Reeves, Kyris Lysander? Also Cobalt?"

"Hello!" Arthur says, "We haven't met, but—oh, one moment. I'm so sorry, Siamus, I've been hanging onto you for dear life." He smiles at Siamus, loses the hand not let go contest, and shakes Lysander's. "I haven't really been out to any of the gatherings, and I've been in Outland for a while. There's still trouble there."

Kyris shakes Arthur's hand firmly and then lets go. "Outland," he says with a slight frown. "What's wrong in Outland?"

Siamus is content to release Arthur. It was fun while it lasted. He attends to the conversation politely.

"We have a bit of a mystery we're chasing there. Some of the blood elves are still scheming, and I know that we're investigating the whereabouts of a woman who went with the Sons of Lothar, originally."

Arthur finally has a sip of whatever that strong amber liquor is and turns to include Kyris in the conversation circle with Siamus

"Perhaps you'll find Turalyon out there, who knows," Kyris says dryly. There's no bitterness in it. Maybe the Cobalt Blade will find Turalyon.

Elohad's head swivels briefly toward the conversation at this, but then he is quickly distracted by his hot wife eating some cheese.

"Arator Is still holding out hope, I believe," Arthur says. "It's a hard search to give up. More of the Sons of Lothar just disappeared than I had assumed. Who knows? Maybe they're all somewhere even stranger than Outland."

Arthur shrugs a little. "Have you been with the company long? Are you friends with our Admiral, here?" He flashes a little grin at Siamus.

Siamus smiles back at him, and then turns the smile on Kyris and arches a brow. Are you friends with Our Admiral, Kyris? "I've known Lysander and his family for some years," he tells Art. "Finest swordsman in the kingdom, ye know."

"Are you," Arthur says, very pleased to make Kyris' acquaintance. "Always so impressive, swordsmanship. I just stand in the back and throw fire. And ice. And bombs," he says, recalling.

Kyris blinks. He looks at Siamus, uncertain. He clearly doesn't know the answer to whether or not they are friends either.

"I joined Cobalt Company not long after the defeat of the Lich King," Kyris answers finally.

Arthur glances from Siamus to Kyris, aware of the tension but not certain what it is. "Just in time for the upheaval here, then. What a time, and never a moment to draw breath. Have you been to Uldum, and Mount Hyjal, then? Uldum was barely a story when I was young."

"I've not been to the mountain in years," Kyris says. "I was posted at Tol Barad for some time, but things have settled there. The island is firmly under Alliance control. Uldum is still a story to me, though my sister went, I believe."

"Ah," says Siamus regretfully to Kyris and Art. "If ye gentlemen will excuse me a moment, I believe I'm needed. Be glad to show ye the library later, though, Reeves." He steps away with a courteous nod and approaches Shine and Ozzy instead.

Oslynn, Shine, Siamus, Cecil

"Miss Boles," he greets her. "I must say ye look remarkable. Is there anything I can do for ye?"

Shine says mildly, "I believe Miss Boles would like an introduction to Lord Cecil, if ye've a moment, Fallon."

Siamus raises his eyebrows. "I'd be delighted," he says, and offers Oslynn his arm.

Ozzy takes Siamus's arm in such a demure and ladylike manner that he might question if he did in fact recently see her flopping around in sea lion form on the floor of a public inn.

He will never question that. He definitely remembers that.

"You are too kind, my lord," says Ozzy in a Stormwind noble accent.

"Tides ha'mercy, how fast did ye learn that?" Siamus asks her genially. "Took me years." He is navigating her smoothly through the ballroom crowd all the while, toward the defenseless Lord Cecil Soso.

Lord Cecil looks curiously at Fallon's approach with this mysterious young lady. His eyes are also brown, and sad, and probably his best feature. He looks as though he probably writes poetry.

The mysterious young lady looks demure and beautiful, if somewhat taller and thicker boned than some of the young ladies he may have seen at such functions. She has full lips and sparkling gray-green eyes and very smooth youthful skin. She is clearly very amiable with the wonderful Admiral Fallon, but in a demure, daughterly sort of way.

"Lord Arric is a most gifted teacher," says Miss Boles primly. He almost certainly had her memorize that one word for word.

"Uncanny," says Siamus. "Ye must take some credit for an apt pupil, but aye, Falrevere's a good man. Here we are. Lord Cecil." Siamus inclines his head courteously to the sad-eyed young man, smiling. "May I present Miss Oslynn Boles? Lady Merelda Veyne's ward — Gilnean, ye know. Making first acquaintance of Stormwind society. Miss Boles, Lord Cecil Soso."

Ozzy gives Lord Cecil a very correct and dignified curtsey. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord," she says, her eyes modestly downcast.

Lord Cecil gives Oslynn a very proper bow. Then he slides one flat palm over another at an angle. He places his hands up, pointer fingers pointing up at the sky, and gently taps his knuckles together. Finally, he points one finger at Ozzy.

"Lord Cecil says it's nice to meet you," says a very wrinkled, gray-haired, elderly gnome in an unwrinkled suit, his neck tilted back as if he's constantly used to looking up.

Ozzy blurts out, "Oh, 'e cawn't—" and then quickly shuts up. She looks at Siamus uncertainly, then at the gnome, then at Cecil. Arric's phrasebook did NOT cover this. She looks on the verge of panic.

Siamus lays a reassuring hand over Oslynn's hand on his arm. "Lord Cecil will understand ye well enough if ye address him directly." Although the Gilnean accent might confuse matters. "So he can see what you're saying, aye? And as ye don't know his language yet, there's Mr. — " Siamus raises a polite eyebrow at the gnome. "To translate." He pauses. "Lord Cecil is an accomplished poet, I believe." Siamus does not read poetry, if he can help it.

Now Ozzy is on slightly more familiar ground. Her face settles back into amiable docility. "A poet?" she echoes. "How interesting! Do go on."

"Mr. Cardassus," the gnome fills in.

Lord Cecil brings a hand to his chin in an upwards-facing fist with his pinky and thumb extended, leaning forward slightly with a look of kind concern.

"Lord Cecil asks, 'What's wrong?'" Mr. Cardassus translates.

"Mr. Cardassus," Siamus murmurs in quiet acknowledgement, so as not to speak over either Cecil or Ozzy.

Ozzy gives Mr. Cardassus, then Lord Cecil, then Siamus, a sort of deer-in-headlights look. Arric definitely did not teach her any responses to "What's wrong?"

She approximates. "I am well, thank you my lord." But her eyes say, what did I do wrong oh shit i screwed up didn't i, what did I do.

Lord Cecil holds both hands at chest height, fingers spread, palms down, and shakes them in a little wiggle with a questioning look.

"Lord Cecil wishes to know if you are nervous," Mr. Cardassus says.

Siamus pats Ozzy's hand reassuringly. The gesture may be meant to convey you can say yes. It may just be a tacit yes of its own for Cecil's benefit.
Ozzy pauses for a long time, studying Cecil's face for a long time. She finally says, quietly, trying for as close to Intelligible Stormwind as she can even though she's straying from the Phrasebook:

"I am not used to this sort of thing. I'm not from hhere. I've never been to a fauncy to-do like this. I dunno what to say much, past hhello. I'm afraid of being rude or… I dunno."

Lord Cecil holds a hand palm-up and lightly swipes two fingers from his other hand across it, back and forth, as if those fingers are two feet dancing across a ballroom floor. He them offers his hand more traditionally to Oslynn.

"Lord Cecil is asking if you would like to dance," Mr. Cardassus translates, and then does a double-take. "Lord Cecil! I won't be able to interpret for you - if you're moving about like that!"

Lord Cecil points to himself as he raises a hand to his head, fingers bent at a right angle.

"'I know,'" Mr. Cardassus translates for Siamus and Ozzy's benefit, and then gives a little huff. "Well, I'll just be right here, then!"

Siamus smiles broadly. A success, Oslynn! Well done! He inclines his head to Lord Cecil, prepared to relinquish Oslynn to his company.

"So that's dance?" Ozzy says, mimicking the gesture. "You can say anyfing - anyTHing, with your hhands?" She seems intrigued. Then she remembers herself, and curtseys, clearing her throat. "I would be delighted to dance, my lord," she says in flawless Stormwindian.

Velrin, Dane, Ivrianna

Velrin makes her way to say a quick hello to Dane and Ivri, "Hello! It's good to see you both again! I hope the babies are doing well."

Atley turns to face Velrin with a sudden smile that’s only in his eyes. “They are,” he says with a nod. “You look lovely. Enjoying the evening so far, then?”

Velrin’s ears wiggle and she beams at his compliment, “Mhmm! I got Ven and Nylarria to dance together. They look like they’re having fun too.”

Atley grunts and nods slowly, looking over heads to try and find Ven and Nylarria. “Have you gotten her to meet Aszera, then?” he asks conversationally, taking a small sip from his glass as he shifts his gaze back to Velrin.

Velrin nods, “She went to talk with her for a little bit. It seemed like it went ok.”

Ivri finally finishes the canape she'd been munching on, at least enough to waggle her fingers at Velrin. Hi. Eating is important.

Atley grunts. “The two seem like they’d have much in common. How’s Celaven doing these days, then? I’ve not seen him since the Molten Front.”

“He’s well. I haven’t been able to see him as much as I’d like either given his work with the Seventh Legion.” Velrin looks wistfully toward where Ven and Nylarria are concluding their dance, “Goddess willing that will change soon.”

“Indeed,” Atley concurs. “Fortunately, we’ve nights like these to celebrate with and enjoy one another. Mm?”

“That’s true.” Velrin’s eyes gleam, “You don’t happen to have Karson or Lila with you by chance?”

Atley’s eyes shine with amusement and he shakes his head. “Not this time. P’raps in a few years.”

He observes the exchange at the opening and tongues the inside of his cheek with a low grunt. After a brief pause, he glances at those around him and dryly observes, “That one’s fed well, isn’t he.”

Velrin giggles at Dane’s comment, “Is Karson entering a competition against him?”

Atley continues to observe the situation with a stern expression while answering Velrin with a slight head shake. “It’ll be a few more years ‘fore that one, too.”

Dane, Ivrianna, Azizia

Atley, still escorting, sets his drink down on a server’s platter, or somewhere else that’s appropriate, and walks right up to Azizia.

“You fit in well here. Azizia, this is my wife, Ivrianna. Ivri, Azizia and I were on Squad together from Northrend into Uldum. Few places in between.”

Ivri smiles brightly at Azizia. "Hi," she says. "Thanks for helping keep him safe out there."

Azizia blinks. "We have met. Why are we introduced as if we have not speaked before?" she shrugs. "But yes, I do keep Mr. Dane safe." She upnods him. "Thank you for compliment on outfit of mine. You are appropriately dressed as well."

Atley leans back and squints, trying to remember, either drink or time or repeated concussions having clouded his memory. Either way, he grunts. “This your first time at the Fallon Manor?”

"It is, yes," Azizia says. "It is unnecessarily big and hard to navigate, ironically, I think. At least if floor was see-through, we could know what is below at any time."

Atley shakes his head and sets his jaw in thought, briefly glancing around. “Have the Draenei got any history of noble estates and houses? Manors, like this?”

Ivri looks down at the floor. "I'm pretty sure what's below is an extensive wine cellar…."

"I do not know," Azizia shrugs. "I have grown in exile, hiding on planet where at some point people of its became enemies of ours." Azizia points at Ivri. "That is information I would like to know!"

Ivri considers. "You wanna raid the wine cellar? I can probably help with that." She looks around to see if she's been Observed.
Azizia frowns. "No, I would not steal. But people are carrying glasses of wine, and I do not. I supposed cellar was where they found them!"

Ivri is abruptly less interested in the conversation. But she bravely converses on. "No, the wait staff brings them up." She cranes her neck and points to someone with a tray. "There, see?"

Azizia almost aggressively walks into the direction of that person with the tray at that. If I were that person, I'd be scared.

Fallon servants do not scare easily, but this one definitely braces himself.

"I did not see you before," Azizia says as she takes a glass from the tray. "Thank you. You can go now."

The servant bows his head and goes now. A little more hastily than is decorous.

Atley looks between Ivrianna and Azizia, scoffing with amusement. “We’ll leave the raiding for another time,” he jokes dryly with a growl. “But I am of a mind to see more of the Manor. Let’s bugger off to the auction and have a look at wot’s out.”

Ivri loops her arm around Dane's. "Ah, you want me to steal something from the auction, I see. Seems a bit rude when our hosts have been so lovely, but I'll give it a go."

Atley shakes his head. “It’s a gift from us keep them on their toes, innit’?” he says, escorting her out of the ballroom and into the foyer with the silent auction. He lightly rubs her back and lets out a long, quiet breath.

Ionala, Arric

Arric, returning from briefly cleansing the Vapors from his system via the fresh summer night air, spots Nala on his way back in and does a little double take. He pauses, uncertain if it's really her. She doesn't look much like a librarian at present.

She smiles back. "Arric! I hoped to catch you when you brought back your books. Were the books on trolls and loa informative, and did you read Tide's Treasure after all?"

He laughs. "I did. I believe I laughed in all the wrong places, though." He takes a moment to politely admire her, from the collarbones up. "You are positively transformed this evening! I feel men really do miss out on the chance to surprise people at events like this. We all rather look the same, don't we? Has your date gone to fetch drinks? Mine is over there…" He points toward the group where presumably Maisha is still standing. "I needed a bit of air, and then on my way back in, here you were! Would you and your companion like to join us?"

He looks around eagerly for the companion.

"I came on my own," Ionala says. "I didn't think to ask anyone to come with me, since everyone else would have been invited too." She looks over at the standing, chatting group. "I have to fetch my own lemonade, but that's not a burden. There are so many people here! I knew in my head that Cobalt Company was big, but this is a whole party."

"Isn't it splendid?" Arric says. Then his eyes spark. "I just realized… you know my date, do you not? Maisha Cloudskimmer? Weren't you both in the Cobalt Eye? She and I bonded over our raptor companions, and I couldn't bear to come to this alone. I'm so useless alone. Well you absolutely must join us now. I insist."

"Maisha?" Ionala brightens. "Light, we haven't seen each other in ages. I'll tag along with you, I simply must say hello."

Arric, Maisha, Merelda, Lena, Ionala

Arric returns to Maisha, Merelda, and Lena, with a new lovely friend in tow.

"Maisha, look who it is!" he says delightedly, gesturing to Nala like he created her himself.

Maisha stands over with Merelda and Lena and anyone else who might be there, chatting happily. She looks over to see where Arric is, and notices Nala with him. She gives a big wave.

"Nala! Where'd ye find her?" Maisha says cheerfully. "Glad ye did."

"It's been a while," Lena says with a smile. "I remember you, you're May's friend."

"And I'm Merelda, pleased to meet you," Merelda adds.

She was just standing there, all on her own, can you imagine? An absolute crime. So now that the two of you are together, I would love to hear Miss Webster's take on that Cobalt Eye naga adventure you were filling me in about recently."

"Naga adventure?" Merelda asks, looking to Nala in curiosity.

"Oh, aye, I was tellin' Arric about the time in Desolace, when we investigated th' naga activity off the coast," Maisha nods. "An' turned inta naga an' all that."

Isyldir, Mansia, Kaerix, Nesselos, Raschal, Florande

Isyldir puts his hands on Mansia's waist and calls, "Kaerix! Ness! Come dance!"

Mansia goes, "Hmm?" and then, "Oh, the line," and accepts her fate as the head of the conga line. Does it match the music? Not exactly.

"A conga line!" Ness says with delight. "Kae, shall we?"

Kaerix joins happily! She's so pleased to be part of this! She really gets those hips going. Burgundy skirt go swish swish.

Ness's hips are going, too. People might need to keep a little safety clearance.

Isyldir cheers. "Conga line!" he calls to the ballroom at large. "Come join the line! The line is for everyone!"

Raschal, with Florande by the food tables, says to her excitedly, "Hey, this could get the right mood going… let's do it!"

Florande hops a little on her feet in excitement."Yes! We are so ready. I am so tossable."

Raschal drags Florande over to join the conga line, pushing her decisively ahead of him and setting her hands on the back person's hips for her. He seems very comfortable moving her around, like he's used to it??

Florande doesn't protest at all, and just sort of lets him move her around like a doll. She's beaming, though, so she seems to be happy about it.

"We're doing the line thing?" She asks, mimicking the hips of the person in front of her.

Isyldir cheers in welcome. The line grows!

"Yeah," Raschal says. "For now. We'll do our thing once everyone's loosened up some."

"The line is for being loose, got it," Florande says seriously, and then blows a stray curl out of her face.

Natalyah, Lathrik, Almeiria, Ilanya

Natalyah's wicked laugh rings out at the sight of an actual Conga Line, held in the middle of the Fallon's ballroom, and she looks at Lathrik with an expression filled with mischief and a love of the ridiculous.

"Oi, are ye — you're not considering…" Lathrik trails off. He does not want the answer to that question. Instead, he scans the ballroom, looking for any sort of distraction, and his eyes catch on… Oh. That's Almeiria. He points anyway. He'd take an Almeiria to a conga line.

Natalyah follows the point and does not reach the desired conclusion, instead her smile is evil impish. "Ohhh, that would be delightful. Can you imagine? Do you think I can dare her enough to join it to try to beat us at it?" The good news is that Natalyah is positively charged with good cheer, on top of the world. The bad news is that it's because she's entertaining a scenario where somehow both Lathrik and Almeiria have joined a Chaos Conga line.

Lathrik starts to say something, then changes his mind abruptly. If he's going down, he'll take Almeiria with him. "Aye, absolutely," he says. "Ye can definitely… win at… whatever that is."

Quite possibly, Lathrik has never seen a conga line before.

Almeiria is in a quiet conversation with Ilanya, the pair of them watching over other silver-and-black clad maids as they mingle and enjoy the party.

Natalyah is practically vibrating with excitement, which certainly makes for a look when she's coming at you hovering ominously through the air on the arm of a paladin, but hey, she's practically your cousin by association, Almeiria. At least she's still human.

"Almeiria! It's good to see you," she greets with enthusiasm. And her mood doesn't even sour with Ilanya, which might mean that the unusual woman has been at least partially forgiven from perceived sins. "And Ilanya."

Almeiria gives Natalyah a suspicious stare. "It's good to see me? Your day must have been dreadful, Natalyah, dear, to utter such a thing."

Ilanya, her expression much more open and genuine when speaking with Almeiria, suddenly snaps back into her mask, giving a demure curtsy in greeting. "Miss Kensington-Whit, Mr. Dinnsfield," she says in greeting.

Lathrik watches Ilanya closely, though he wears his own social mask.

Natalyah doesn't wear any mask at all. It's possible she doesn't own any.

"Oh, yes, yes, completely dreadful, the roads, the weather, complaints complaints," Natalyah teases, too openly joking to be easily mistaken for serious even if her words could be taken at face value. "Lathrik and I were just looking over at the Conga line forming, and I thought maybe you might want to join in with us. Maybe see which one among us can learn it the quickest and best?"

She isn't even pretending she isn't there to dare Almeiria, no deep laid game with a careful hook, just a slap her cards down on the table and see what happens.

Ilanya laughs. Demurely. "How lovely," she says. "I'm sure you will have a lovely time."

"Why, exactly, did you think that?" Almeiria asks, her expression flat. "If I have somehow given the impression that I am the sort of person to make a spectacle of …"

And then she smiles, signature sweetness and all. "Have you met my son? We're not related by blood, of course, but he's Miranda's brother, and as it happens, he's here today. I'm certain he would love to join you."

Natalyah probably looks more evil than Almeiria, a devilish smile with eyes full of fired up mischief. "And I take it I should understand that he is the sort of person to 'make a spectacle of himself' to come to mind just now? Are you sure you don't want to join in to add some decorum, perhaps inject a flair for doom? There's some very avant garde kaldoreis and draeneis already in the mix. Imagine what he might learn." She doesn't add a muahahaha but we can understand that it's implied. "But, of course, if you're worried that your reputation for being intimidating could be at risk… we could always find some rich boy you can scare off dramatically. If Mr. Cadogan is here, you being a woman and speaking to him ought to do it, although that one might be too easy for you."

"Might be?" Almeiria looks genuinely insulted. "Might be too easy for me? Has my reputation truly suffered so much? Fine, then. Lathrik, dear, fetch me a drink and we'll see about this dancing."

Lathrik stares at Almeiria. She's doing it again, ordering him around. But, if it gets her to participate…

"'Talyah, I'll be back in a moment?"

Natalyah is too flush with victory to notice the ordering around, and possibly too used to giving them, as she turns to Lathrik with a smile that could light a person on fire. "And one for me as well! If Almeiria can Conga dance with a drink in hand, so can I," she declares, ever ready to one-up the dare stakes.

Lathrik glances between Natalyah and Almeiria again, then at Ilanya who is already quietly dismissing herself, before heading to the drinks. It is highly likely he will have two or three himself before he returns.

The conga line will probably still be going strong by then.

Arthur, Kyris

Kyris nods to Siamus and turns back to Arthur, but four draenei and two elves in a line on the dance floor quickly catch his attention. "What is she doing?" he says quietly out loud.

Arthur doesn't know who Kyris means. "Dancing? Boisterously. Which one is she, by the way?

"Ah." Kyris shakes his head. "The dance was just… unexpected in a ballroom like this. Er, I know the green-haired woman - Florande Wildbloom. She's been my team leader before."

Behind the woman in question is another night elf, a lanky young man in a very non-night-elf suit. His general demeanor is so childlike and mischievous that it seems quite likely he is the Bad Influence here.

Who knew a bad influence could be so fun. Florande probably looks a lot different than when Kyris fought with her on Tol Barad, not least of which is because she was usually a bear there.

Shine, Lena, Arric, Merelda, Maisha, Emerine, Reniya

Shine returns to the group off to one side, his one-eyed gaze tracking Oslynn for a few moments as she is escorted by Lord Cecil to the dance floor. He returns his attention to the others and stops beside Lena to rest his hand at the small of her back; he offers a courteous nod to Arric, Merelda, and Maisha and Emerine. "I beg your pardon," he says generally. "Miss Boles looked like she was ready to enjoy the party."

"It was good of you to guide her to it," Lena says, smiling at Shine, and then glancing over to Oslynn and her nobleman dance partner. "It can be a little daunting, coming to a party like this for the first time, and not knowing who to talk to or how to circulate. I'm hardly an old hand at it myself, even now."

Merelda watches Oslynn, fluttering her hands nervously for a moment, but then she settles and turns back to the group. "I do hope she enjoys the party. She looks so lovely tonight, just like… she might be a Veyne, herself."

Shine raises his eyebrow at Merelda. "She looks a picture this evening. You and Lord Arric have both done fine work, and I know how hard she's been working at it herself. I found her a very quick study, very willing." He pauses and then adds offhandedly. "Ye should see the picture Her Grace has made with Ralaea Westwind. If ye'd met the lass a year ago ye would never believe it. But the Fallons could see she was a good lass at heart and in want of an anchor, so they made her a ward and gave her the guidance. She's fair blossomed."

This may be an overstatement re: Ralaea's transformation, but that was not the real point Shine was trying to make anyway. He smiles at Merelda and looks down at Lena. "Shall I fetch you a drink?"

Arric beams at "fine work," but looks genuinely baffled at "quick study."

The secret is making fun of rich people, Arric.

Merelda studies Shine, like she's certain he's making some kind of point, but she isn't entirely sure she's reading it correctly. "Miss Boles certainly has a good heart as well, it's true."

Lena rests her hand on his arm. "I could come with you."

Shine smiles down at Lena, then lifts the smile to nod courteously again to Merelda and the others. "Please excuse us. A pleasure to see all of you."

He offers her his arm and escorts Lena away toward a refreshments table.

Shine, Lena

Lena leans in slightly to speak to Shine as they head for the drinks. "Such news. It seems the ships won't be needed there, after all."

Shine tilts his head toward Lena to listen as he steers through the crowd. "Aye," he says. "Feels strange to wonder at it when they had the place defended to the teeth — the 7th, Kirin Tor, and all — but after Triumph the orcs were looking… It got so even Theramore looked chancy."

He glances down at her. "D'ye know Fallon offered two in the end? Grand Admiral held him off, though, sent two of Taylor's."

"He offered?" Lena asks, her eyebrows raising. "For… Theramore? We'd talked about it, that it was important it not fall, for the Alliance, but… Theramore."

Shine looks around and lowers his voice further. "That article. In the Herald. About Northwatch? It had him raving. I suppose at a certain point current grudges burn worse than old ones." He gives a half-shrug and stops by the refreshments table. "What will ye have?"

"I'll have Kir," Lena says, looking up at him. "That article… I'd say I can't imagine, but… if I knew the author I might try to talk to her. There's a pain in surviving that's sometimes hard to face alone."

Shine offers Lena the drink the footman has handed him. He surveys her and nods gently. "Aye. Yes. I hope she's got people to look after her." He pauses. "She's Major Mattingly's daughter. I can only wonder what he's felt about the whole business."

"Major Mattingly's daughter?" Lena takes a sip of kir, and says, "He must be relieved she's alright, I imagine. Must've been worried sick, knowing his daughter was in the middle of all that. Hope he's proud of her writing. It takes a lot to write something like that, and so soon after it happened. I didn't even talk about Silverpine for years. I just… made up a version that had all the necessary details and told it by rote whenever anybody asked."

"I imagine he is," Shine agrees. "Relieved, that is. And proud. Hell of a story." He shakes his head and gazes at nothing for a moment.

He is called out of reverie when the footman attending the refreshments table, which is on his blind side, says "Mr. Shine?" quietly. Shine turns at once to accept his own drink and nods his thanks.

Lena moves away from the refreshment table with Shine, sipping her Kir. "Hope we've all plenty of stories ahead, Mattingly included. Seems so, now, with Deathwing gone."

Arric, Merelda

Arric turns to Merelda after Shine and Lena have left. "So!" he says. "Your verdict? I think she sounds perfect, and she has been quite mannerly. I will confess I… was a bit… apprehensive."

"I am deeply impressed, Lord Arric," Merelda says with a genuine, warm smile. "In only a few weeks time, too. She'll need more time to feel comfortable, I think, and to adapt to how people will react to her in these kinds of situations. But… this is the launch. And she does seem to be sailing, rough seas or no."

"Just look at her, dancing with a nobleman!" Arric says with pride, as though he chiseled her from stone himself. "I did not teach her to dance," he confesses.

Merelda does turn to look at her, eyes shining with approval. "Yes, the dancing was Joelle Ebek and Aszera Sunstrike. Though if what my staff tells me is accurate, this style of dancing is from Joelle Ebek."

Celaven, Nylarria

Once the song finishes Nylarria steps back slightly. She is silent for a little bit, “That was… fun.”

Celaven smiles. "I found it so as well."

“Good.” Nylarria takes a step back and fidgets like she wants to say something but can’t quite put it to words.

Celaven looks at her curiously, waiting patiently for her to find her words.

“I… apologize for being so cold to you.” Nylarria states, “I am unused to trust.”

"Trust takes time to be earned," Celaven says seriously. "There is no need to apologize. I hope I have begun to earn yours."

“Maybe…” Nylarria mutters, “It’s troubling. I feel like I can let my guard down around you. I was taught to never let my guard down.”

"What do you think will happen if you do?" Celaven asks, an open, genuine question.

Nylarria pauses and thinks for what is probably an uncomfortably long amount of time for Ven, “I have had supposed allies turn on me before. And more than that, I need to remain focused so that my curse does not overtake me…”

"I know what you are, and what you face," Celaven says, studying her expression. "I will not turn on you. It is a promise."

“I will try to accept those words.” Nylarria concludes.

Cressidha, Silvestre

Sil moves into the familiar steps of the dance, moving with the enthusiasm of one who genuinely enjoys it. "I'm glad you were able to make it to the gala, after all that work with the mages. Can you believe even the Kirin Tor helped in Theramore?"

"I'm glad they did," Cressidha says. "It's the very least they could do, considering the Horde were the aggressors."

"Yeah, it's tricky, stepping into a war as a neutral organization," Sil nods. "But I can see the argument for maintaining balance. In this case, it's clear that it's a war only one side wanted."

Sil smiles at Ben and Mizzy as they pass by them on the dance floor.

"Indeed," Cressidha replies to Sil with a faint smile. She looks to the side and favors Ben and Mizzy with that same smile. Welcome to dance hours.
"I hope this is the end of it," Sil says, as they continue to dance around the room. "They tried and they lost, and now we can all move on and just be happy Deathwing's not flying around anymore."

"That would be nice," Cressidha says mildly. She clearly doesn't believe it likely.

"Well, you know what they say, hope for the best and plan for everything else," Sil says with a low sigh. "But maybe no planning today. There's always tomorrow for that."

"It's too late in the day to plan," Cressidha says in agreement. It's already evening.

"I reckon Thrall's still all right, at least," Sil says, considering, as they step past the lively conga line. "I heard the Earthen Ring's upset with the whole Barrens situation, too."

Cressidha makes a 'hm' of general agreement. "The Horde's shamans crossed a line."

"But we won't," Sil says firmly. "We know what the Alliance stands for. I just hope… we haven't managed to find a time for that Outland trip yet. Your chick'll be so grown."

Ben, Ismene

Ben is standing at one end of and little behind one of the buffet tables, watching the proceedings on the floor. His suit and waistcoat are still elegant, his hair in uncharacteristic order, but the cravat has been tugged almost hopelessly loose; it's practically a small, elegant scarf at this point. He is still flushed and fidgety with exuberance at the news of Theramore's victory.

"Missus Hazan," he asks Mizzy gravely, "would you like to dance? We got to show off you in your dress properly."

Ismene tips her head back to smile up at her husband. "I thought you'd never ask," she says. Lacking in manners, she takes his hand and drags him to the dance floor. Yay, dancing!

The Clydesdale, as is traditional, is willingly towed by the Chihuahua. On the dance floor, he stops and gives her a pretty creditable, actually, formal bow before offering his hand to lead her into the dance. Someone has been practicing his polish.

Not a whole lot, but practicing.

With a delighted little laugh, Ismene curtsies and takes his hand, positioning herself within the circle of his arms. "Your cravat is a mess," she says fondly. "We should have pinned it."

"If we pinned it," Ben explains seriously, "I just would have broke or lost a pin from pullin' at it." He considers. "Or stuck myself with it, I guess. Maybe I should get a real sharp tie pin and that will be a deternent."

"As many battle wounds as you take, I'd think you wouldn't even notice a little pinprick." She grins up at him. "I'd heal you anyway, of course. Can't have my beloved husband bleeding all over his nice shirt. Are you sorry you weren't at Theramore? Desperate odds, a full-scale battle, it seems like someplace you'd have gone if you could have."

"I kind of am, yeah," Ben admits. "Reckon it was a hell of a fight. But damn. Damn, it's a cloud off, yeah? After all the news lately."

Mizzy nods. "It is," she says, "but one wonders what our next move will be." Does one? Dressing formally seems to have all formalfied her speech patterns.

"One does, yeah," Ben agrees solemnly.

Ben grins back at Sil and Cressidha.

"They'll have to declare war now, won't they?" she asks. "An attack that size can't go unanswered." Ismene inclines her head gracefully to Sil and Cressidha.

Ben looks back down at Mizzy, sobering. "I expect so, yeah. Sir Elo says Fallon and a couple of others been shoutin' about it all week in the House. I guess the only reason we ain't done it yet is because Jaina Proudmoore didn't want it that kind of fight. But now that Theramore's piece is took care of, I don't reckon the King will let the rest of it stand."

Ismene sighs. "And you'll be right back in it," she says, looking at his cravat. Presumably she means Ben will be in the fighting, not his cravat. It's not very effective on the battlefield, sorry to say.

He would wear it if Mizzy asked him to, though.

"Probably, yeah," he agrees seriously. "I mean I do not reckon this is one we can sit out, after what all happened. You would think, like the man said, we killed Deathwing and they could give us five fucken minutes, but instead they gotta try it."

A dowager in unflattering yellow satin nearby shoots Ben a venomous look at the language.

Ismene glares back at the dowager. A trifle loud, she says, "They probably assumed all the brave warriors like you who defeated Deathwing would be too busy celebrating to go to war." YOU WANNA GO THERE, GRANDMA? WE CAN GO THERE RIGHT NOW. She sniffs.

The Chihuahua BITES.

Yellow satin grandma stiffens and turns back to her own partner, making a pinched face.

Ben misses this entire exchange. "Somethin' like, maybe. You know I felt a little weird about comin' to the party after… all the sh-stuff this week. But it was important to Sir Elo, and I guess I am pretty glad I did now." He smiles down at Mizzy. "Because I get to dance with the prettiest girl in the room." After a heartbeat he adds, "And we won at Theramore."

"And I'm happy because you got to dance with the prettiest girl in the room." Mizzy grins at Ben. "Also, don't say fucken."

Ismene can correct Ben, no one else is allowed to.

"Oh," says Ben, and flicks a guilty look around. "Sh-yeah. Sorry."

"We should buy a bigger house," Ismene says, apropos of nothing. "In Stormwind, like Sir Elohad has."

Ben blinks at her. "Yeah?" he asks cautiously. "You want? Where, do you think?"

"Someplace nice. We need to start keeping a house where we can entertain." She casts a critical eye around. "Oh, not this big, but if you're going to inherit your father's title, we should at least start setting the tone."

Ben looks around too. "What does a person even do with a house this big? Imagine the cleanin'." He shakes his head. "Reckon it is like living upstairs to a museum or somethin'." He drops his gaze to Mizzy again. "What kind of entertain? Like, dinner parties? Dances?"

"Dinner parties," she agrees, "afternoon teas, just little things that let the political powers-that-be know that you're aware there's a game and you're dipping your toe into it."

Ben briefly contemplates the prospect of dipping his toe in afternoon teas. "Uh-huh," he agrees vaguely. Then he nods, decisive. "Okay. Yeah. In the city. Cathedral, maybe, or Old Town. I can start lookin'. If you find somethin' that you like, though, you'll tell me? We can talk about it?"

He studies her face again, a line between his brows. "How big, uh. Rooms-wise? Do you reckon it should be. Like… how many bedrooms big?"

"Well," she says with a smile, "at least a few extra bedrooms. For children."

"Yeah," he says, and smiles tentatively back at her. "Yeah, okay. Few bedrooms."

He looks up at the ceiling. "How many bedrooms you reckon they got in this place?" he half-whispers.

(It's 28, Ben. 30 if you count the nurseries.)

"They should make that a contest. Like those 'count the beans' jars at county fairs. The person closest to the correct number of bedrooms gets a prize." Mizzy grins. "I'm putting in an early guess at twenty." No prize for Mizzy, so sad.

Ben gives a low whistle and then laughs. "Twenty bedrooms? What the fu- what on earth they gonna do with twenty bedrooms?"

It's true, Ben. That wasn't nearly enough.

"A lot of people live here now. Plus they have three children. Lord and Lady Fallon may keep separate bedrooms, though…" She blushes, "that's not really something we should discuss." She casts a chiding glance at him, as if it's his fault she was brought so low.

Ben looks sheepish, as though it is in fact his fault. But he observes low-voiced, "I reckon they better," a little darkly. Someone is not Over It.

"Have you looked at the auction items yet?" As if she hasn't been with him since they entered the house. "Not that we should bid on anything if we're going to be buying a house in Stormwind."

Ben shakes his head. "I ai- have not yet. I heard there is not a pony this time. You want to look? At what they got, I mean, not for a pony." He grins at her.

Mizzy nods. "Yes, let's at least look. Maybe there's a house!" She gives her husband a merry little grin.

Ben gallantly escorts her from the room.

Cecil, Oslynn

Lord Cecil bows to Oslynn and offers his hand. His eyes no longer look quite so sad as he leads Ozzy out onto the dance floor. He cannot easily communicate while he dances, but as soon as his interpreter isn't watching his every move, he seems to get more comfortable and sure of himself, and he shoots conspiratorial smiles at Ozzy while they dance as if they're getting away with something and only the two of them are in on the joke.

It's Ozzy's favorite kind of smile, and she returns it reflexively. As they dance, she mouths, without speaking, Can you understand me just as well if I talk like this? Or do you hear a little and use that too? Arric's lessons in precise enunciation have served an unexpected purpose; she is not mumbling and burying all the words in the back half of her mouth; her lips are doing precise and varied things.

Lord Cecil blinks at her. Both arms are occupied in the dance, but he withdraws one briefly to tap his ear twice with his pointer finger.

Ozzy turns pink. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I f'ought… I thought maybe you was like… you were like a… girl I—" She treads on his foot. "Sorry!" From pink to red. "I'll just… she removes her hands briefly to do the "dance" sign - as a child would, accurate but a bit "loud". She clamps her lips shut and tries to focus on her steps.

Across the room, as though with a sixth sense, Arric turns to watch her and frowns.

Cecil winces very minutely, but he doesn't cry out in pain. He makes a gentle sort of 'mmm' sound with his mouth shut and smiles at her, trying to show that he isn't upset.

Ozzy has no immunity to smiles; she contracts them immediately and usually a worse case than the person she got it from. She doesn't say anything else, but she looks happy now, and gets the steps right.

When the current song ends and the band switches to another, Lord Cecil gestures to the southeastern corner of the room, where there are sixteen neatly-arranged chairs, and offers Oslynn his arm to escort her there. It is not where Ozzy's entourage was - or where his interpreter is.

Ozzy follows him demurely, but a tiny line has appeared between her brows, and the palm resting on his forearm is slightly damp.

Lord Cecil does not pull out a chair for her because the chairs are already in a neat arrangement, but he waits for her to sit first, as is proper. He reaches into his suit jacket and withdraws a small notepad and a pen.

Hello, he writes, and flashes another one of those conspiratorial smiles at Ozzy. Look, he can communicate without Mr. Cardassus after all. His handwriting is a neat script, legible although he writes fast.

Ozzy goes ghost-white, but smiles softly as she looks at the note; it's a bizarre combination. She wiggles her fingers in a little wave. To the guy sitting next to her.

Cecil wiggles his fingers back, mimicing the wave. He writes underneath that Hello:

Wobby Cardassus will find us soon. Do you want to tell me anything before he's listening?

The interpreter's first name is Wobby, apparently.

Ozzy gives Cecil a strange, intense look, a very I AM BLINKING TWICE, I NEED HELP look. She nods. She glances at the pen and paper and back at him, her eyes like two question marks.

I can hear, Cecil writes, but he offers her the pen and notepad regardless in case she'd prefer to write it down.

Ozzy exhales. Somewhere in the huge outrush of breath is, "I'm sorry, I am mostly a bear or a worgen and I only read real slow and I am only pretending to be a lady."

Cecil throws his head back in an audible laugh, his shoulders shaking. He looks at her, looks at the pad, and begins drawing. The pen strokes are very rapid; in under sixty seconds he has drawn a bear standing on its hind legs wearing a rough approximation of Ozzy's ballgown. He sketches a little crown on the bear's head and grins at her. There's a gap between his front teeth. Fooling everyone, he writes under it. He doesn't seem offended - if anything, he seems proud of her and happy to be in on the joke.

Ozzy is surprised into an unladylike giggle at the sketch. "Yeah," she says to him a little dreamily. Like she isn't entirely sure this whole thing isn't a weird dream. The way a middle aged paladin might have once felt, approached by a friendly moonkin on a scorched lifeless plain under a streaked black sky.

She reaches out to pat the bear's crowned head on the sketch with a fingertip. Pat pat. Good bear.
Wobby Cardassus, the hairless and very wrinkled gnome with a permanent crick in his neck, finally makes it through the crowd. "There you are!" he says with frustrated relief. "I am so sorry, Miss Boles. You must have questions."

In a flash, Lord Cecil stows the pad of paper and pen, not allowing Mr. Cardassus to see the drawing.

"Quite so, sir," Ozzy says, affecting an air of genteel bewilderment. She does not, however, ask any actual questions

Lord Cecil points briefly at Ozzy, raises his hands to his chest in fists and lifts them with his thumbs pointing up, and then wiggles one finger in the air, looking at her questioningly.

"Lord Cecil!" Mr. Cardassus protests, but translates obediently: "Lord Cecil is asking where you reside?" He frowns at Cecil, who quickly clarifies by holding one hand out flat and palm-up like a piece of paper, bringing a fist up with his thumb close to his mouth, and pressing that thumb to the 'paper' hand.

"Ah, of course. He wishes to know so that he can write you a letter," Mr. Cardassus clarifies.

Ozzy dutifully recites Merelda's address, then says, "You are too kind, my lord," to Cecil. The Posh Parrot is back.

This time, instead of looking concerned by her demureness and general bland vocabulary, Lord Cecil shoots her that same conspiratorial we're-getting-away-with-something-fun smile in the moment that Mr. Cardassus is busy withdrawing a neat little leather-bound notebook. Mr. Cardassus writes down Merelda's address with grave concentration.

Ozzy winks at Cecil. Arric happens to be listening intently to his date at the moment, saving his hawklike gaze from resulting in The Vapors at his student's wanton harlotry.

Lord Cecil does not dare wink back at the lady - they are in public, anyone could see - but his eyes shine with amusement.

Once Mr. Cardassus is done writing and is back to staring up with that perpetual crick in his neck, Lord Cecil points to Ozzy with a questioning look. He places a hand flat against his chest with his fingers spread out and then pulls it away with his thumb and middle fingers touching, then does the same sign for 'dance' that Oslynn has seen before: palm flat, fingers swishing back and forth along it.

"Lord Cecil wishes to know if you enjoy dancing, Miss Boles," Mr. Cardassus says.

"Yes, my lord," Ozzy says, the pretty tame parrot. Something mischievous gleams in her eyes, though, when she adds, "In every form!"

Of dancing, she obviously means. Obviously.

Cecil indicates himself, then forms his hands into fists with his fingers pointing outward. He taps them together, then moves both hands a little to the side and taps them again.

"Lord Cecil says that he does as well," Mr. Cardassus interprets.

Shun, Estel, Janice

Janice emerges from wherever she went after the speech, and finds her old place against the wall, where she resumes observing everyone present.

Shun slowly makes his way into the ballroom, taking in a deep breath as he does so. He glances once towards Estel before seeking out an open space on the floor.

Against the wall, a red haired woman in a snow white three-piece suit watches him with interest, as intently as though preparing to paint him.

Estel grins at Shun, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You lead, you can keep us from crashing into anyone, yeah?"

Or from anyone crashing into them. There is a very energetic draenei and night elf conga line making their way around the dance floor. Raschal is at the back of it currently.

It doesn't take long for Shun to notice he has eyes on him. His gaze shifts to the red haired woman for the moment before he turns his attention to Estel.

"I can do that much," he nods, placing his hands at her waist. He then lowers his voice, "Someone is watching. Back wall. Red hair."

"Okay," Estel says. "Act normal. We're just dancing." She waits until a natural turn of the dance lets her put their audience into view.

The woman has chin length red hair and a very white suit. And a lot of black eyeliner. She looks like someone might be planning to quiz her on Shun later. Either that or she is thinking really intently about something and doesn't realize where her eyes are stuck. Or… both?

Shun gives a subtle nod as he guides the two of them around the dancefloor, ensuring no collisions happen with them. No feet are tread upon.

While he moves with grace, there's also a lack of flow that a true dancer would have. He's just someone who has a lot of control over his movements.

"Do you recognize her?" Estel whispers. "I've never seen her before."

"No clue," he utters in turn.

Throughout the dance, Shun occasionally keeps tabs on the red head to see if there's any change in demeanor or positioning.

Once his dance with Estel finishes, he releases her and steps back to give her a bow.

Janice does indeed eventually stop staring intently at him. She is now staring intently at Ekorenine Spellbond.

Estel curtsies to Shun, grinning, and leads him off the dance floor towards one of the refreshments tables, where she has a moment to clock who Janice is staring at now. A sad look flickers over Estel's face as she sees Ekorenine.

"Looks like she is watching someone else now," Shun murmurs as he grabs some water. He does do a quick sniff test before sipping.

"That's Ekorenine," Estel says quietly as she gets her own glass of water. "Lady Spellbond. My friend Sandy's mom. She's blind. Because of me."

Shun pauses mid-drink at that, "Because of you…?"

"It's not a great story," Estel says. "We were doing a ritual together to try and locate her kidnapped son. There was… magical pushback."

Shun's brow furrows as he nods. He reaches for her hand to give a light squeeze.

"I see."

There's a pause.

"Did you find the kid?"

Stelliana

Stelliana wanders around the ballroom, staring at the decorations and furniture in amazement. She's on her fourth kir and she has a plate that has a few too many snacks on it for a polite buffet-goer. Gosh, these people have so much food and drink on offer! What's a girl from Westfall to do?

Ekorenine, Elohad

Ekorenine has arrived at the same time as Sandy, but while he waits in the foyer, she got help to get to the ballroom. With wine in her hands, she listens to the music, sitting on one of the chairs. She's wearing an ankle-length purple dress with a deep neckline. Her semi-transparent cloth wraps around her shoulders and fall in front of her arms. Her curly grey hair is in an afro, and elegant earrings fall on each side of her face. She wears heels, purple with golden details. She fans herself to the rhythm of the music, then a little quicker when she realizes that the ballroom is rather hot and she can't just use that fan as an accessory.

Elohad wanders over for a moment. "Lady Spellbond," he says warmly. "You look elegant. And a bit warm. Can Niris or I bring you a drink?" He then clarifies, "A cold one. They have those."

"Lord Elohad," she says instantly recognizing his voice. She chuckles. "Elegant… I wished my dress was a little longer, but with all the people present at those events… adjustments had to be made." She smiles in his general direction. "I would not mind a colder drink, dear, you are right."

"I'll be right back, my lady," says the Truest Knight, with the air of someone going on a Perilous Quest. He shuffles his feet slightly and uncharacteristically as he goes, conveniently making it very easy to hear his departure even with music and the hum of chatter.

“There is no reason to hurry, dear!" Ekorenine smiles at Elohad as he walks away.

Elohad returns with a cold drink. "Here you are, my lady," he says as he gently touches the glass to her free hand.

Ekorenine carefully avoids her empty glass by moving her hand slowly and places her hand on the new glass. "Thank you, dear!" She smiles. "How are you doing? It has been quite some time."

"I absolutely couldn't be better," he says in his resonant voice, audible at least two conversations away. "My sons are healthy, my mercenary company is thriving, and every day I get to help shape the future of the kingdom with my votes and my voice."

His oh so resonant voice.

Ekorenine smiles warmly, taking a sip of the cold drink. "That is wonderful," she says. "You have built yourself a wonderful life, Elohad. I knew you had it in you, from the moment I first spectated one of your shows."

Elohad ducks his head modestly. Aw shucks, ma. She cannot see this, so it is probably for the benefit of the people in the two conversations that stopped at the sound of his resonant voice.

"Oh goodness," he says. "Must not have been one of my tragedies, if it left you feeling so optimistic."

Ekorenine chuckles. "I can leave a theater after a tragedy and recognize an expert tragedian when I see one."

"You flatter me," says Elohad like a demure damsel who has studied her Phrasebook. "I hope you know I would already do anything you ask; there is no need to be so kind."

"Well, if you offer so nicely," Ekorenine says, lowering her voice and leaning in Elohad's direction. "There is an… important mission, I would like you to handle. Covertly, preferably." She closes her fan and gently taps on her chin. "There is someone I would like you to handle, or rather, an issue, I would liked fixed."

Ekorenine snort laughs behind her closed fan. "I'm only joking, Elohad. I have nothing to ask of you, which I assume must be pretty rare with all the responsibilities you bear." She smiles, chuckling to herself. "Those compliments were genuine."

Elohad was just starting to look intrigued… then he laughs. That laugh. AHAAHAHAAAAHAHA.

"You had me, my lady. I was already sifting through my mental card file of available Cobalts."

Eko is unsure about the sincerity of that laugh, but oh well. She laughs along, a little less loudly, though. "You should know, I would be the last person to ask a mercenary company to… 'handle an issue' like that."

"Oh is that so?" Elohad asks politely. "Why is that?"

"Oh Light, simply because I don't want to see anyone killed or hurt," Ekorenine exclaims, clutching her pearls with her fan. "Certainly not as a first solution too!"

“You wound me, my lady. Cobalt Company is full of gentle souls and clever problem solvers. Priests, engineers, scouts, scholars."

"Oh, no, please don't misunderstand me," Ekorenine shakes her head. "It is not the 'mercenary' title I'm against. I was… Purposefully trying to appear as shady and mysterious earlier, like a femme fatale in a play,." She tilts her head briefly. "Perhaps I lack experience with the sneakier groups of the Alliance to properly convey that."

"Your virtue shines through the pretense, I'm afraid," Elohad says gallantly. "I could never believe it for a moment, I regret to inform you."

"I recognize there the charming words of the playwright I have enjoyed over the years," Ekorenine sighs happily. "Thank you, for these words we have exchanged and for the fresh drink."

Elohad bows, bids her a gentlemanly see-you-soon flavor of farewell, and returns to the cheese his wife.

Siamus, Janice

The party's host finishes what appears to be a great deal of sly flirtation with a woman who is a solid two decades his senior and dressed in unflattering yellow silk. He sketches a sardonic, smiling bow to her in courteous farewell and then moves purposefully — surely he has just spotted Important Person over there! — out of range.

He stops by the drinks table — drinks, drinks are the Important Person that he saw — and drains the socially-acceptable measure of whiskey a footman offers him, then scans the room again. His gaze lights on the red-headed woman in white. He sets his glass down and makes his way through the crowd toward her.

The Herding Dog gaze intercepts Siamus, then changes to something more polite as it becomes apparent he is approaching.

Siamus stops before Janice; intent black gaze meets Herding Dog Stare. Rather than bow, he offers a hand out. "Miss Mattingly," he says low-voiced. "I'm honored ye could be here tonight. Thank ye for accepting."

"So someone knows what I look like," she says, shaking his hand firmly. Soldier grip. "That's a surprise. The number of people who could put my name to a face is not what it used to be." Dry as the Southern Barrens. Most of the Southern Barrens, not that one part. Some girl in a darkened hallway somewhere is probably approaching that part.

"I did make enquiries," Siamus returns, equally dryly. He has a connection or two in the military. "I wanted to be sure if ye made it that I wouldn't miss ye. I hope you're not offended I didn't make it general notice, but I had a feeling ye might prefer I didn't."

"Yes, you have my gratitude for that," Janice says. "May I say, Admiral Fallon, that I spent a good hour the next day trying to imagine you waving my article around at the House of Nobles. Given that at the time I didn't know what you looked like and still don't know what the House floor looks like, it was an exercise in pure imagination, but it sure did give me a lovely feeling of importance. Soaked in it like a milk bath."

"It's an important article," Siamus tells her. The words are serious but there's a glint of humor in his gaze. "I'm sure Ference or Tennerow could give ye a clearer picture of the scene; I was distracted at the time. I'll introduce ye to either of them, if ye like. I do expect the article's been more influential than ye realize. It was a powerful piece."

"I wouldn't mind a word with Ference," Janice says, annoying her author. "I'm not familiar with Tennerow. What's his story?"

Devon is wandering the ballroom, occasionally speaking to an acquaintance, a glass of Kir in hand.

Siamus turns slightly to scan the room, and indicates Devon with a nod in his general direction. "The gentleman in the [color] suit, wi' the dark hair and the glass in hand. Lord Devon Tennerow, of Redridge. Family's in mining money. Sits on the House with myself and Ference. He was wounded at Hyjal and had to step down from the military, but he's still a military man through and through, and his brother serves now." Speaking of military men… Siamus scans the room again. "D'ye know Lord Kieran Lysander?"
"I do not," Janice says. "This is my first time moving in these circles. The air is thin up here." Something in the inflection of first time implies heavily, not the last.

Siamus makes another survey of the room. "Ference is in conversation. Let me introduce ye to Tennerow and then we can see if Lysander's about." He offers Janice his arm reflexively.

Janice stares at his arm for a plump two and a half seconds before she takes it awkwardly, more wounded soldier than damsel.

Devon looks over as he notices Siamus and Janice approaching, adjusting the collar on his blue and cream suit. He smiles and says, "Admiral Fallon, I've word from Leric — he came through safely.

Siamus's smile is immediate and warm. "Ah, tides be praised. Tides a'mighty." He offers Devon his other hand — the arm that doesn't have an intense, awkward young lady hanging on it — for a vigorous congratulatory handshake that is the dignified male version of jumping around hugging each other.

Devon returns the gentlemanly handshake-hug with enthusiasm, and turns to Janice, waiting with good cheer for the introduction coming soon.

"Janice Mattingly," Janice says to the gembleman being "hugged". "The journalistic gadfly formerly known as Matt Janus."

Siamus, who was preparing to introduce, pauses as his introducee introduces herself. What an enterprising lady. He nods and releases Devon's hand, because there is no Humor Value here. "The author of the piece in the Herald. Ye recall."

"One and the same?" Devon, an avid reader of the War section of the newspaper, says as he looks at her in amazement. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Mattingly. You're a credit to the Alliance."

"Yes, it was very clever of me to not get shot, and then be unable to keep my mouth shut. These are two of my profoundest talents. It seems I've stumbled into a career where they're the primary prerequisites. Born under a lucky star." Her darkly lined eyes are ever so lightly dusted with War Trauma, likely easily recognizable by Devon.

"I think ye'll find that not getting shot and being unable to keep one's mouth shut are both fine qualifications for politics, as well," Siamus observes. "But ye have a talent, Miss Mattingly. Shame to waste it there."

"Waste it?" Janice raises a brow inquisitively. The lightly traumatized herding dog seems to have possibly caught a whiff of Opportunity on the wind?

Devon's expression softens unexpectedly at her sharp words, and he nods at Siamus. "It comes down to chance so often, who returns at the end of the day, who's whole and not. There's courage in facing that uncertainty, time and again."

"And wisdom in deciding not to waste one's good fortune, or so I've been telling myself every hour on the hour the last few days."

"There is," Devon says. "I told myself something similar, after my injury." He touches his shoulder lightly. "I was still alive, and there was still work to be done. Even if the work was different."

Siamus has genuinely sobered, though not maybe from the alcohol. But the Mood. "Aye," he agrees. "It's the work still to do that ye must keep on."

"If I may say, I am definitely in the market for some different work. Very different. Maybe scooping ice cream instead of massacres. Everyone loves strawberry ice cream," Janice says.

Siamus considers her seriously. "I may have something for ye, come to think of it. Plenty of opportunities, I expect, but I may have one or two. We can discuss them, if ye like? Let me see whether I can't introduce ye to anyone else first, and then we can have a word.”

"You're a veritable blue signal flare on a quiet stretch of ocean, Admiral Fallon," Janice says, in quite a blasé tone for someone who just swam through hot bloody salt water toward such a thing a few days ago.

"Again, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mattingly," Devon says, offering her a bow. "And if there are any opportunities with which I might assist, I hope you will ask."

"I wouldn't mind talking with you sometime about what it's like to try to build a Life After War," Janice says. You can hear the capitals. "If not for an article, maybe for practical advice."

"I would be happy to share my experiences," Devon says seriously. "It is… something people usually don't write about, but it does take time and effort."

"I feel very sure of that," Janice says. "I'll find your details, send a card, all that."

Devon nods, and reaches out a hand to shake hers. "I'll make certain my details are sent to you."

Janice's eyes skim over Devon's own details, a head to toe sweep that is impossible to tell if professional or prurient in its curiosity, before letting go his hand.

Avrenne sweeps through the ballroom like she owns it, which in this case is simply a truth, rather than only an energy the regal woman ordinarily employs. There are several openings of opportunity among those who are the movers and shakers of Azeroth’s social and political spheres, some of whom are now precisely in the right place to be moved and shaken themselves. Subtly, of course, as is the Duchess Esprit’s way.

She doesn't look like she's tracking her husband's movement through the ballroom, and a casual observer might simply note that they are independently pursuing their own interests rather than moving as a single unit. Some people may draw conclusions about it.

Elsewhere, Janice Mattingly's gaze flicks briefly to Avrenne, then back to Siamus. 60-65% chance of Conclusions.

If Admiral Fallon is aware of his wife's circuit of the ballroom, there is no indication; he does not glance in her direction or evince awareness of her presence. He nods respectfully to Devon and then ushers Janice away. "Let me borrow ye out to the terrace a few moments for some talk," he tells her. "And then we'll try to pin Lysander and Ference when we come back. Will that do?"

"Aye aye, sir," Janice says, warm but dry.

Siamus smiles down at her, and then navigates Miss Mattingly out of the ballroom and down the hall.

Some fifteen or twenty minutes elapse and then Siamus escorts Miss Mattingly back into the ballroom before taking his courteous, inscrutably-smiling leave of her. He returns to the general social circuit of the room.

Maisha, Arric, Ionala

Maisha turns to Arric, smiling. "I think I never saw so many pretty dresses and suits in one place. An' those draenei and night elves look like they're having a good time."

“Do you think you'll make a habit of coming to these sorts of events, now that you've got a taste of it?" Arric smiles down at her. "I wonder if Bael and Rica are enjoying the attention of the Fallons' grooms in their special little enclosure. Rica could absolutely slip through those slats, you know… but she won't."

A pause as his expression transparently appends, I'm fairly certain.

"She won't," Maisha says reassuringly. "Bael's too big fer it, and she would no' leave her friend behind. As for the balls… I don't rightly know. It's a lot more welcomin' than I worried — I was no' sure I'd fit in, but everyone seems so friendly. Do you enjoy these sorts of things? I mean, I know yer here for yer student, but for yer own self?"

"Oh, very much," Arric says easily. "I always meet at least a dozen different new people. You'd think I'd run out eventually but no! Changing continents certainly helped I suppose."

"What an incredibly strange experience that was," Ionala says. "But i still have dreams where i can swim like that. Isn't it strange?"

Ionala catches what Arric said to Merelda and looks out to where Oslynn is dancing with a nobleman. "I take it she needed a little background before she felt comfortable attending the gala? She looks very pretty. I'd say you did a good job helping. There are a thousand little rules of manners, and they all depend on circumstance."

"I miss the tail, sometimes, when I'm in the water," Maisha nods to Nala.

"Oh, it was quite a challenge indeed!" Arric says enthusiastically. "She's from… a certain area of Gilneas City that makes her accent and grammar nearly unintelligible to a Stormwind noble. It was rather like trying to turn a mostly-dried clay duck into a swan without breaking it."

He pauses, gazing at Ozzy wistfully with something suspiciously like contrition for the first time tonight.

"I… may have cracked it just a bit," he admits quietly. "But just look how happy she is now."

Ozzy is indeed seeming to have the genteel time of her life with a young brown haired nobleman and an elderly gnome (a servant?).

"It was very kind of ye, and I would no' say she looks very cracked," Maisha says, gazing at Ozzy. Then she turns to Nala and adds, "You know all the fiddly little etiquette rules, too, I guess? From yer family?"

"I can take no credit for her beauty, of course," says Arric to both women. It's almost an awwwww moment until he adds, "I believe she had someone else for dress and hair and so forth."

"Also she's a pretty girl, aye?" Maisha says innocently.

"Ah yes!" Arric says amiably. "I always forget you have an eye for ladies! Perhaps her broad shoulders appeal?" His tone isn't even teasing: he seems genuinely curious.

"She does look a bit stronger than some o' the noble lasses, doesn't she?" Maisha says, and nods to Nala. "You too… though I'm not… I don't mean anythin' untoward. But it's nice ta see strong lasses around at a party."

Arric looks between Maisha and Nala as though trying to detect the exact flavor of Maisha's appreciation, and if it is returned.

Ionala laughs. "I designed these sleeves for that reason! Heavy combat has put a demand on my priestly garb. And I wasn't quite sure if the off-shoulder and sleeve bands would look right."

"I think you look positively brilliant," Arric says enthusiastically and non-threateningly. He compliments her with the air of someone who fully expects it to roll off her like water off an army tent.

"Oh aye, ye shouldn't be self-conscious about yer arms," Maisha says, flexing her own tattooed arm with a good-natured smile. There's no real sense of flirting in the words, just appreciation of a friend.

"Thank you," Ionala says, and her chees go a little pink. "I had some time to figure out how to balance formal and practical. I took up tailoring when I joined as a novice. I never could resist a pretty dress."

"And a practical dress is even better," Maisha says with a firm nod. "Pretty and practical is best o' both worlds."

"So you made that yourself, did you, Miss Webster?" Arric asks in mild astonishment. He might have thought ball gowns were harvested from trees, somewhere balmy and colorful.

"I couldn't do all the sewing myself. there wasn't enough time. But I worked out the design and got some help." Ionala smiles. "Maisha can tell you that I can't walk past anyone selling fabric."

"Well I declare it a triumph," Arric says in a tone that professes to close the matter. "The perfect blend of strength, elegance, and modesty."

Maisha nods in affectionate agreement regarding Nala and her cloths, and then turns a very similar look on Arric. "Aye, just so. Ye've a way with words."

"Oh, use enough of them and eventually the right ones tumble out if only by the law of averages!" Arric deflects genially.

Arric observes her with bright cheerful interest, no visible conclusions. "Miss Webster, are you acquainted with the Lady Fallon?" he asks Nala conversationally.