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| Details |
| Author: | Luridel |
| Summary: | Lord Cecil's trip to Lady Merelda's house for tea turns into a lesson in Gilnean riding and an outing to the Darkmoon Faire. Oslynn gains a nickname. Wobby gains a hat. ~9.4k words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
It's a pleasant summer afternoon, the bright sun making dappled shadows on the stone streets of Stormwind as the light is filtered through the leaves of the tidily spaced trees. The Veyne townhouse in Old Town exudes the same sense of warmth, with little pots of freshly blooming yellow and pink daylilies to either side of the solid door and its little abstractly-shaped knocker. The slightly peakier dormers and larger windows of the structure — nods to the Gilnean style — might, to some, make it seem even more welcoming.
It remains to be seen what impression the whole structure will make on the young man and interpreter who are invited today for tea.
Arriving promptly on time is Lord Cecil himself, dressed in a pale grey waistcoat over a white shirt, slacks to match the waistcoat, and neat brown shoes. The sleeves of his shirt are folded precisely above the elbow, revealing his forearms, and it is far more obvious in broad daylight than it was at the ball that Cecil is not just a man who stands around looking sad and writing poetry all the time - he clearly has a workout regimen of some kind. His brown hair is still parted perfectly down the center. The most visually interesting thing about him is the flower he carries.
He is carrying a single red Gilnean rose on a long, thorny stem with some leaves, and he is very careful about where he holds it, because of said thorns. It smells very fresh.
Beside him, dressed in a dark blue suit, walks Wobby Cardassus. The sun beats down on his bald head. He is sweating more than Cecil; he has the suit jacket on. Outdoors. In the summer. He is not wearing gloves today, which exposes the letters and numbers tattooed across his fingers below the knuckles: 'GDF' on his left hand and '025' on his right.
There's a faint humming sound, and a tiny bird with wings moving so fast they blur hovers a little to the right of the pair, as if considering them. Perhaps it is considering the rose Cecil carries, because the fearless little hummingbird soon moves over to the lily at the left side of the door.
Cecil watches the hummingbird with a gentle smile while Wobby walks up to the door and knocks briskly.
There's only a brief pause before the door opens, and then the butler appears at the doorway. He's in fairly formal attire himself, a little too warm for the weather, but he seems to be wearing it as a point of pride. The butler looks out primly towards Lord Cecil, and there's only the briefest pause before his gaze drops politely down to Wobby.
"Lord Cecil and Mr. Cardassus?" he asks in a smooth, unhurried voice.
Lord Cecil nods politely.
"We are," says Mr. Cardassus.
"Welcome," the butler says with a faint smile, stepping back and opening the door to reveal a small but tasteful foyer. "Right this way. The Lady Merelda and Miss Gravehowl await you in the sitting room."
The two of them follow the butler once inside, Mr. Cardassus regularly looking up at Cecil to see if he has anything to say. Cecil seems slightly more focused on not stabbing himself with any thorns.
Miss Oslynn Boles/Gravehowl sits in a demure pose on a couch in the sitting room, her soft skirts perfectly arranged. Lace the color of caramel ice cream covers her chest and throat, then layers over her shoulders and upper arms, gathered with pale sage ribbons at the elbows, leaving her forearms bare. The dress under the modesty-preserving lace is mostly a soft pink with a pattern of small flowers, but a pale sage green sash is tied at the waist, gathered off to one side with the ends trailing down to the pale caramel lace hem.
Her hair is pulled up in a looser version of the updo she wore at the ball, and her eye makeup is similar but subtler and in shades of sage and caramel rather than silver, lashes sable brown rather than black. Her lips are almost exactly the same soft pink as her dress.
The butler nods them into the sitting room, announces them, and takes his leave.
Merelda sits next to Oslynn, her own dress a modestly cut grey with green embroidery, and her red hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck. Did Merelda choose her gown to give the impression of herself as a vine and Oslynn as a beautiful flower? Who can say.
In addition to the usual armchairs and couch scattered around the small coffee table, there is a stool of a size that would set an average-height gnome at level with an average-height human while sitting.
Merelda rises with a warm smile when Cecil and Mr. Cardassus enter. "Welcome. Please, have a seat. The tea will be along shortly. I am, naturally, Lady Merelda Veyne, and I believe you both know Miss Gravehowl."
"A pleasure to see you again," says the flower on the couch in a perfect Stormwind noble accent. She does not rise.
Unlike her dead-eyed look through much of the ball, there is a slyness in her eyes now, as though this is all a delightful game. She does not actually wink at Cecil, but something in her expression makes it look as though she is on the verge of doing so at any second. It verges on unseemly, though no one disapproving could likely put into words why, as she makes exactly the proper amount of eye contact, her dress and posture is modest and graceful, her tone demure.
It's just a vibe of imminent mischief, somehow.
"You have such a lovely home," says Mr. Cardassus of his own accord. "Lord Cecil was pleased to receive an invitation." He hoists himself up onto the stool and settles comfortably, very dignified, eyes on his lord.
Cecil bows first to Merelda - a bow of the correct depth and duration for foreign nobility. He steps forward towards Ozzy, holding the flower. With his free hand, he points to himself, then holds up a very loose fist with his forefinger held above it, crooked, and moves that from his own chest forward and down, like he's presenting somebody with the flower. Then he turns his right hand towards the flower and mimes poking it with his middle finger, then withdrawing his hand rapidly as if he has just pricked himself on a thorn.
"Lord Cecil has a gift for you, Miss Boles, although he warns you it is sharp," Mr. Cardassus interprets.
Cecil shoots Wobby a look of minor irritation. He holds his hand out in front of him, hand curved slightly and fingers pointed down, and rotates it back towards his body so that he ends with the palm up. He follows this with a sign that probably ought to use both hands to look complete, and the gesture looks like it might be mimicking the movement of sound travels outwards as he makes an 'o' shape with his mouth.
"Miss Gravehowl," Wobby corrects.
Ozzy's eyes widen at the sight of the rose, and a soft "Cor…" escapes her. But then her expression schools itself into one of maidenly delight as she says in the proper accent, "Why Lord Cecil, wherever did you find it?"
Lord Cecil carefully places the very sharp and pointy rose down on the coffee table so that he can sign with both hands, and he chooses an armchair where both Wobby and Ozzy can see his movements clearly. He holds both hands out flat, palms towards him, and moves them to cross in front of his face like he's hiding from something, then makes a 'C' shape with his thumb and forefinger and brings it from the side of his face outwards.
"Lord Cecil was able to purchase it at the Darkmoon Faire," Wobby says without any surprise. He was likely there himself when the flower was bought.
Ozzy's eyes widen again. "You 'ave that here?" One out of two H's not bad for her state of startlement.
"Thank you, Mr. Cardassus, we're very pleased to have you both here with us," Merelda says with a smile, returning to her own seat. "It is a lovely Gilnean rose. Shall I call for a vase?"
"Dark moon," Ozzy says softly, trying to imitate Cecil's gestures.
"If you would care to, it should go in water," Wobby answers Merelda.
Cecil nods and signs 'Dark-moon' more slowly and precisely for Oslynn's benefit.
"They put up portals to Darkmoon Isle every other week just outside of Goldshire," Wobby explains to Oslynn. "It is available to visit this week. Lord Cecil and I went this morning, to make certain we could find something fresh."
"I should like to go sometime," Ozzy says wistfully. "Goldshire… I could run there directly from here in the proper form." A touch of mischief in her smile now. "But don't worry, I shan't."
"Not today, please," Merelda says with a polite smile. "I see no reason why you couldn't, though. Especially if they have such lovely things there."
As if on cue, the maid comes in with a tea tray and four cups. No other refreshments, as requested. She carefully arranges the teapot and cups on a runner on the table, and then begins to back away when Merelda raises a hand.
"Vase and water, would you, Ashlynn?" Merelda says quietly. "For the flower."
"Yes, ma'am," Ashlynn says with a curtsy.
Cecil signs 'sharp' warningly at Ashlynn. Now, with both hands free, it is his own pointer finger that he pretends to poke as part of the sign rather than the stem of the flower.
"Do be careful about it, miss, the thorns weren't removed," Mr. Cardassus says to her.
"It is traditional to leave them," Ozzy explains. "The Gilnean rose is prized not only for its beauty but for its stubbornness. The thorns resist grazing animals, and their roots are such a deep and tangled network that you can burn a field of them to the ground and they will still simply pop up again. A fitting symbol for the Gilnean spirit."
Her accent suggests that the speech was rehearsed, but clearly it was not part of any externally provided Phrasebook and is coming straight from the heart.
Cecil smiles quite sincerely and nods. He points loosely with both hands in different directions and taps his fists loosely against each other, one above the other.
"Appropriate," Mr. Cardassus says.
Ozzy smiles with obvious satisfaction.
The maid reaches out cautiously to take the thorny flower, nodding to Mr. Cardassus and then Ozzy. "I'll be very careful with it, miss, and I'll bring it back straightaway."
Merelda looks over towards Ozzy with obvious approval.
Ozzy adds milk and sugar to her tea with practiced motions. "I am sure you have both heard by now that the attack on Orgrimmar was a dreadful disaster," she says with the sort of appropriate ladylike pout of someone who has read this distressing fact in the papers and definitely did not herself do any biting and clawing of giant kraken tentacles.
Cecil looks at her with concern, points, and makes an open-palmed sign as if he's gesturing to a nearby location. He lifts his eyebrows slightly like he's asking a question.
"Lord Cecil wishes to know if you were there," Mr. Cardassus says.
"Oh yes," she says breezily. "Their shamans called up a terrible unnatural fog; we could not see our own hands in front of our faces. And when it cleared, the waters were full of kraken with tentacles as thick as tree trunks that snapped masts like matchsticks. I was on the Lady Blanche with Cobalt Company - the finest ship and crew in the Alliance navy - and so we did not sink… but it was days before I got the taste of kraken out of my mouth."
She immediately lifts the cup of tea to her lips after this sentence-ending, but her eyes are full of knowing laughter over the rim.
Merelda blinks, glancing over towards Cecil and Mr. Cardassus as if to judge how alarmed they might be by the ferocious young lady.
"The navy did meet with some success," Merelda manages eventually. "The recovery of a port, and the end of the blockade to the kaldorei lands. The kraken were… as I understand… unexpected. But then I suppose kraken generally are."
"Odd how they do seem to keep surprising Cobalt Company," Ozzy observes mildly.
Cecil gives Ozzy a wide-eyed look - it's possible he didn't know about the kraken - and takes a small pad of paper and pencil from his waistcoat pocket. He begins to draw right away.
"My word," says Mr. Cardassus. "More than one kraken? In the same part of the sea?" He does look alarmed, but there were things more alarming than Oslynn's ferocity in that bundle of information. Multiple kraken, for example.
"Indeed. I would estimate a dozen or so. The Horde were controlling them somehow, the Admiral surmised. He claimed they do not normally attack in that manner. He seems to know a great deal about kraken, as they are the symbol of his family's House. House Fallon has always treated me so very kindly, however, despite such a dreadfully ferocious symbol."
"House Fallon does seem to follow their symbol in that way," Merelda says with a nod, but she doesn't sound disapproving. "Not fearing a thing for seeming fearsome, but looking at it with understanding."
Mr. Cardassus drinks some tea, plain, and then spoons some honey into Cecil's tea and stirs it with a teaspoon.
Cecil glances up at Merelda with a brief nod, scribbles some more, and then turns the pad of paper towards Ozzy.
He has drawn a kraken on a plate with a fork and knife on either side, and has written, "Tastes good or bad?"
"Strongly fishy," Oslynn answers solemnly. "With notes of goblin engine oil and rotted rubbish." Boy it's a good thing they are not serving food.
Cecil grimaces, then draws a 'no' symbol over the picture of the kraken on the plate.
"Indeed," Ozzy says with impeccable dignity.
"I would certainly not advise seeking out the creature for consumption," Merelda nods, agreeing with Ozzy and Cecil's assessment.
"On a more pleasant topic," says Ozzy most gracefully, "The Fallons also have such splendid horses. Do you have horses, Lord Cecil? Do you enjoy riding?"
Lord Cecil nods. He raises one hand in a palm-up fist and rapidly unfurls his fingers one at a time. Then he brings both his hands up to the sides of his head, thumbs touching the ends of his eyebrows, and makes quotation marks with his first two fingers on each hand. It looks a little like horse ears.
"The Soso family has only a few horses, suitable for traveling," Mr. Cardassus answers. "No warhorses or racehorses. Lord Cecil's mare is named Apple."
This is clearly more information than what Cecil signed, and Cecil shoots his interpreter a warning look before finally picking up his teacup. He takes a sip, then tips his head back slightly as he swallows.
"There is a tradition in Gilneas of riding without saddle or bridle," Ozzy says. "Have you ever tried it?"
Merelda shoots Ozzy a worried glance, and adds, "We do, also, have several riding horses for the family, though they're stabled elsewhere in the city. There is a certain… appeal to riding without tack, though one must have a good rapport with the horse."
Cecil shakes his head slowly, but he does look curious.
"I don't believe Lord Cecil has had the opportunity," Wobby says.
"lt takes a very intelligent mount and a close bond with the rider," Ozzy elaborates. She gives Cecil a peculiar look when she says 'mount,' not lewd but more as though she is attempting to transmit a secret message. "I find it rather exhilarating."
"Perhaps the two of you might go riding one day," Merelda suggests, but the tone sounds almost like she's trying to divert the conversation, even though the words seem fully supportive of everything that has been said so far. "Elwynn is a very pleasant place for horseback riding, with all the shade from the forests, especially if you avoid the hottest parts of the day."
"We could ride to Darkmoon Faire after tea!" Oslynn says enthusiastically, her accent slipping a bit, vowels sliding. "Why wait? I know just the perfect mount to teach Lord Cecil Gilnean riding style. You could be our chaperone, Merry, so Mr. Cardassus could have the evening off. Wouldn't it be loverly?"
Merelda gives Ozzy a very definite Look, but then she turns a friendly gaze to the two guests. "If Lord Cecil and Mr. Cardassus are agreeable to the idea, I would not mind serving as chaperone."
Cecil nods eagerly, flips to a new page, and rapidly begins drawing.
"Lord Cecil," Mr. Cardassus says, squinting at him. "I know we had not planned for a second trip to the faire in today's itinerary, but I would still be willing to accompany you."
Cecil looks evaluatingly at Ozzy to gauge her opinion.
Ozzy shifts slightly in her chair, eyes darting from Mr. Cardassus to Cecil. "Well a ride is less about conversation," Ozzy says, "And when we get to the fair he can just write me notes. It's a loud place; you'd be yellin' all evenin' anyway." She's having trouble with her accent again, and notices, reining it in. "But of course if you do not wish the evening off, you would be more than welcome, Mr. Cardassus."
Cecil turns towards Wobby and signs rapidly, much faster than he has ever signed in Oslynn's presence before. Ozzy and Merelda may be able to pick out the signs for 'Darkmoon' and 'horse' now that they've seen them.
"Well," Mr. Cardassus says, and smiles at Cecil. It doesn't make him look any younger, but there's a friendliness to it that is emerging for the first time. "Lord Cecil has suggested that if your destination is the Faire, I might head down there myself and attempt to win a prize I saw earlier." He gestures at the two of them. "Lady Merelda is certainly an appropriate chaperone for the riding lesson and the faire, but myself being nearby would allow me to interpret should Lord Cecil wish to convey anything particularly complex." Also, he wants to go to the Faire. That is a little more obvious now.
Ozzy's smile wobbles a bit, but then as she studies Mr. Cardassus, it returns with sincere warmth. "Oh yes," she says. "Shame you didn't have time to get your prize on the way. No need to linger over the tea then," she declares decisively. "Have a quick pick-me-up and we can all be on our way to what we really want, yes? I haven't been to Darkmoon Faire since I was a girl, and back then-" She considers, cuts herself off, rephrases whatever she was going to say. "I didn't get to do as much as I wanted."
"Well, then, we shall certainly make sure everyone has as much fun as they'd like," Merelda says, with a touch of a softer smile as she looks towards Oslynn. "I've not been to a faire myself in years, and… with everything else… a bit of levity is certainly welcome. I hope they've not yet adapted a kraken-smacking game."
A wild giggle escapes Ozzy; she covers her mouth halfway through. She begins to work on her tea like it's a race, drinking it as fast as its temperature physically allows.
Merelda just sips hers peacefully. She may be fine with leaving a half-drunk glass behind.
Just then, Ashlynn returns with the rose in a decorative crystal vase that suits the stem length. She curtsies and says, "Would you like the flower to remain here?"
Ozzy pauses in her tea speedrun. "Yes please, somewhere in the shade; Gilnean roses prefer it." She starts to lift her teacup again, but then a lightning bolt of an idea seems to strike her eyes.
"Merry," she says with a look half mischievous and half pleading, "if Mr. Cardassus is also interested in Gilnean style riding, perhaps you could provide him a mount to use along the way? I think a gnome would take to it even more easily than a human, as they won't have to break the habit of trying to grip with the legs. Gilnean riding is about posture and balance. If you start to lose your balance, you use the mane or a strap around the neck to steady you, rather than trying to hold on with the legs. You let the legs just relax."
Merelda carefully sets her cup down as Ozzy explains, while Ashlynn is busy finding the perfect setting for the rose.
"If you would like, we do have horses in the stables. Ozzy has given you a good idea of what to expect," she says finally, and then adds, with a long-suffering air. "However, I suspect Miss Gravehowl may also be including in her description the riding of less traditional animals, such as deer."
"Awww, don't spoil the surprise, Merry," Ozzy says sulkily. Then she chugs more tea, with the air of someone trying to hurry to the surprise before her stodgy Mum ruins it.
"I personally am not interested in Gilnean-style riding," Mr. Cardassus says. "You do seem to have intrigued Lord Cecil, however. Thank you for the offer, but I shall pass." He drinks his tea.
Cecil shows his latest sketch to Oslynn. It is a bear standing on top of a horse.
Merelda nods to Mr. Cardassus, and adds, "We do, naturally, have saddles and bridles of a variety of sizes available, should you prefer a traditional ride. As well, I would be happy to arrange for a carriage."
Ozzy frowns a bit at Mr. Cardassus's refusal, but in a typical fast 180 degree mood shift, snorts with unladylike mirth when she spots Cecil's drawing.
Cecil grins at her. He points to Oslynn, traces a question mark in the air with one finger, and then indicates himself.
"Lord Cecil is asking if you have questions for him," Mr. Cardassus says.
"Like a million," Ozzy blurts. "But I don't wanna be rude." She adjusts her accent again, and her posture as well. "I hope that Lord Cecil and I will have many opportunities to learn more about one another. I am very curious about the Soso family and Lord Cecil's interests, but I am happy to let him tell me whatever he wishes in his own time." She turns to look directly at Cecil now, her eyes earnest. "Anything you want to tell me is interesting to me," she says quietly, almost as though translating what she said to Mr. Cardassus into Cecil-ese. "But I know some things are harder to talk about if you don't know someone, and I'm not real good at manners yet. I don't want to step wrong."
Merelda smiles at Ozzy with fond approval at her consideration.
Cecil points at Ozzy and draws the question mark in the air again. He brings a hand in a thumbs-up shape beneath his chin and brings it forward. He repeats the gesture more quickly as part of a second sign, then does a very similar sign to the one that Wobby interpreted as 'appropriate' earlier.
"Lord Cecil wishes to indicate that he would not find your questions impolite," Wobby says.
Ozzy fidgets. "But Mr. Cardassus might," she says very quietly, directly to Cecil. "He's a proper sort. And maybe then your family wouldn't think I was proper to talk to anymore."
Cecil leans closer to hear her. He smiles wryly - he can't contradict that - and puts one hand up flat and facing sideways while making an L with his pointer finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers closed in a loose fist. He touches his thumb to his other palm and rotates the L-hand, indicative of the turning of a clock.
"Later," Mr. Cardassus translates.
"And I give you my word that I will not be a judgmental chaperone," Merelda adds. "I may look away if you would like to speak with hands and pictures, of course. I would seek to preserve propriety only, not to set bounds on a friendly discourse."
Ozzy seems a bit disgruntled by the whole topic, but she finally just does a sort of baby-talk version of the Later sign. Then continues finishing her tea as rapidly as possible.
Cecil takes a couple more sips of tea, but he does not seem to feel obligated to finish the cup. "Darkmoon," Cecil signs to Ozzy, and then, "Horse?" with a questioning look. He does not sign the question mark - that seems to be reserved for talking about questions themselves, not for actually asking them.
"I would be much obliged to you if you would arrange for a carriage for me, Lady Merelda," Mr. Cardassus says.
Ozzy meets Cecil's eyes and gives him a mysterious smile. Then she looks to Mr. Cardassus.
"The three of us can meet you there," she suggests. "As the carriage will probably move at a different speed."
"Naturally," Merelda says, setting her half-finished tea aside and rising. "I'll go see to the carriage, and meet the three of you down in the foyer? It won't be long."
Ozzy gives an excited little bounce that is not strictly ladylike.
Merelda nods politely in farewell, and exits the room.
Ashlynn settled the flower a while back and left, I totally didn't forget she was there.
"Of course," Mr. Cardassus says. "The carriage will give me an opportunity to dress more appropriately for the faire."
Cecil scribbles on the pad of paper: Wobby wants to win a big hat. He draws a tiny gnome with a whimsical top hat as tall as another gnome.
Ozzy covers another giggle.
"I'll change before we go too," Ozzy says, so absolutely deadpan that it would be very easy to miss the double meaning. "Once we see you to your carriage. You should have lots of time to work on winning your prize." She gives the gnome a (hopefully) winning smile.
Mr. Cardassus smiles back at Ozzy, very wrinkled. "Don't you worry, Miss Gravehowl, I do understand wanting to spend time with friends your age. Lord Cecil has said he'll be comfortable at the faire without his bodyguard."
"Bodyguard!" Ozzy repeats delightedly. "Do you fight?" She suddenly seems way more interested in him.
Mr. Cardassus lets out a huff of amusement. "Do I fight?" He forms his hands into fists so Oslynn can see his knuckle tattoos: GDF 025. "I was a proud member of the Gnomeregan Defense Force in my time. I'm Lord Cecil's bodyguard, personal trainer, interpreter, valet…"
Cecil makes a quick gesture with his pointer fingers, hooking them together and then rotating his hands to hook them together again.
"And friend," Wobby says kindly.
Ozzy claps her hands delightedly. "Love the ink," she says. "That's bada— that is most…" she flounders. "Impressive," she settles. "He is very lucky to have you."
"I wholly agree, if I do say so myself," Wobby says. He hops down from his stool. "Shall we head to the foyer, then?"
Cecil takes one last sip of tea and then rises.
Time Passes
Wobby Cardassus has been packed off safely into a carriage, leaving the others behind.
Merelda turns to Ozzy and Cecil with an amused smile. "Shall we see to our own travel needs now?"
"Yeah!" Ozzy says excitedly. "Cmon outside, Lord Cecil, and I'll introduce you to your mount. You'll love 'er. She's beautiful an' clever an' will take real good care of you." She is beaming with pride - and amusement.
She hops up, despite having implied a change of clothes first, and scampers straight to the front door.
Merelda seems unconcerned, and follows at a more sedate stride.
Cecil follows Ozzy curiously outside. He has not brought anything else to wear, but if he's riding bareback, maybe he doesn't need to worry about proper riding boots.
The moment Ozzy steps outside, she transforms into a magnificent silver…. stag?? She has antlers anyway. It might be rude to check the other bits. Her hide is marked with lavender swirls, almost like tattoos, and she wears a thick, decorative leather band around her neck.
"Tada!!" she announces.
Cecil looks astonished. Not only can she be a deer but she can also talk? "Not horse," he signs with a big grin, the thumb under his chin and moving outwards for 'not'. He points at Ozzy and mimics the antlers with his thumbs touching his forehead and his fingers spread: deer.
"This is the newest form I learned," she says, "But I'm real good at it. Isn't it pretty? My prettiest form, though I loike the cat, too. Easiest way to learn this kind of riding yeah? 'Cause I can just tell you wot to do. For starters you're gonna want to sit back on your bum bones a bit, so you're not takin' impact on any… delicate bits when I bounce around. Sure glad I don't 'ave to say that in front of your friend." She makes a little bleating sound that… might be a laugh?
"And… if you don't mind…" Merelda says, "I will accompany you as a deer as well."
There is a little bit of a mismatch between the polite tone and the absurdity of the words themselves.
"Easiest way to match pace," Ozzy agrees. "An' you could use the practice."
Cecil points at Ozzy and then moves his hand in front of his face in a circular motion with a little flourish, like he's gesturing to or showing off his face. He smiles and nods to Merelda. He has not gotten on yet.
Merelda doesn't seem insulted by the reminder. "I have found it easiest to slip in and out of moonkin form, but that is of little help for pace. Lord Cecil would you like assistance before I change?"
Cecil doesn't seem to understand what he might need assistance for. Getting on to a deer's back? He stands next to Ozzy, takes a small handful of fur at the base of the deer's neck, and swings himself onto her back with ease, like someone who is accustomed to mounting horses without the aid of a mounting block.
Merelda takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then her own form melts down into that of a similarly patterned deer, sans antlers. It's one way to tell them apart.
"Noice job!" Ozzy says to Cecil. "You're gonna be real good at this. So remember it's all about balance and movin' wif me, rather than 'angin on tight. If you're balanced roight you don't gotta do much grippin'. You can use the collar around me neck or a grip on the withers to angle yourself better if you start slippin', but the idea is always to be on top of the motion so you don't gotta be 'angin' onto anyfing."
"Oh!" she says. "Slap me shoulder once for yes an' twice for no, since I can't see ya. Pull back on the collar if you need me to slow down, give me a little squeeze with your legs if you want me to go faster. Yeah?"
Cecil gets situated with his left hand buried in the fur on the back of her neck, nods possibly for his own sake, and slaps her shoulder lightly.
Merelda trots over to Ozzy's side and says quietly, "I wonder if she could feel some signs, through her shoulders."
Cecil shrugs. He's been given everything he needs to communicate for the purposes of riding except maybe 'turn in a direction', and that probably won't be necessary given Ozzy's intelligence.
"Noice!" she says. "Now one last bit of advice before I get movin'. Do remember to tilt your 'ips forward more than you're used to in the saddle. Saddles is made to protect your bits, so wifout it you gotta do the protectin yourself. Some men wear particular underfings that keep fings out of the way easier but it ain't really necessary. If anyfing starts hurtin though just slow me down so you can adjust."
Yes, Lord Cecil, a deer is talking frankly with you about adjusting your balls. Welcome to Ozzytown.
Cecil makes sure he is settled and comfortable before slapping Ozzy's shoulder one more time for yes.
Off she goes, starting at a walk, but once she can sense that his balance is good she breaks into a light trot. "That okay?" she checks, head turning slightly back toward him but keeping her gaze mostly on the pathway ahead.
Merelda keeps by her side, almost like a deer bodyguard herself.
Cecil slaps Ozzy-deer's shoulder. He is watching for pedestrians.
Ozzy keeps at a brisk trot through the cobbled streets of Old Town, needing no direction to get them to the city gates. The group gets a few odd looks, but there are no collisions or calamities; Ozzy seems very alert to her surroundings. One little girl points and says loudly , "That man's riding a deer!" in a tone that you just know is about to lead to questions about why she can't have a deer, but Ozzy is out of hearing range before her unfortunate father's reply can be heard.
As they approach the city gates, Ozzy turns her head back slightly without breaking stride and says, "Ready to go faster?"
Cecil has easily memorized his instructions; he squeezes the deer's sides with his legs. He's ready to go faster. Merelda can see him smiling, even if Ozzy doesn't quite have the angle for it.
Merelda even trots a little in place, anticipating a pleasing canter.
Ozzy breaks into a rocking lope, a bit bouncier than the respective gait of a horse, but not impossible to sit through for a man with good balance training. Every muscle of her deer-body practically vibrates with joy at the freedom of letting her long silver legs eat up the dirt road toward Elwynn, leaving little cloven hoofprints in her wake.
Merelda prances alongside, then falls behind, then canters up to the other side, all with a joy in freedom that no one has likely ever detected in the restrained noblewoman in the proper little townhouse. Or perhaps no one but Ozzy.
Merelda gallops ahead in a springy gait, leading the way to the Faire entrance in Goldshire.
Cecil does have to hold onto the collar at first as he finds his balance with the movement, but he returns his grip to the fur so she doesn't mistake it for a request to slow down.
As Merelda passes Ozzy in the road, something irresistible kicks in and Ozzy shifts gait once again, her stride smoothing out and speeding up. Balancing is actually easier at a gallop, as the rocking is exchanged for a focused forward dash, but that perfect center part in Cecil's hair may be getting a bit mussed now.
Merelda makes a sound that might be the deer equivalent of a laugh, and presses faster, not letting Ozzy reclaim the lead.
Cecil laughs as the speed picks up even further. He's enjoying this.
"No fair!" Ozzy yells after Merelda, trying to overtake her despite the extra weight she's carrying. In the distance, a mounted patrol of Stormwind guards sees the approaching chaos and quickly reins their horses to the side of the road.
Lord Cecil smiles politely at the patrol. This is all perfectly normal, nothing to see here.
Merelda prances to the side as they pass the patrol, giving them a wide berth to soothe frayed equine nerves. Goldshire is just ahead!
"I see it, I see it!" cries the galloping silver "stag" as the Darkmoon portal staging area comes into view. With some reluctance, Oslynn slows to a canter, then a trot as there is a bit more foot traffic ahead. She can't resist a little prance of excitement, though, despite the endangerment to Cecil's balance.
As the deer approach the foot traffic, Merelda slows, and something of the careful, proper noblewoman begins to return to her steps, even in this form.
"Perhaps we should change back," she says in a low voice, not to startle the townsfolk with talking deer. They're going to a magical faire, though, after all. The townsfolk might be less surprised than she'd imagine.
Cecil grabs the collar again and pulls gently back, the signal for Oslynn to slow down. He would like to get off now, it seems.
Although she snorted rebelliously at Merelda's suggestion, Ozzy obediently slows to a stop when Cecil signals her. Once he has dismounted, she shifts back into her human form - lacy dress and all.
"To the Faire!" she says with a grin, pointing toward the staging area.
Cecil brushes himself off and straightens, still grinning. Palm flat, he touches his fingers to his lips and then extends his hand outwards towards Ozzy. Then he offers her his arm in escort like a proper gentleman. To the Faire!
Time Passes
The Darkmoon Faire is as full of fun and mystery as always. There are games to be played, mechanical rides to be ridden, snacks to be had, fortunes to be told, music to be heard, and unusual creatures to be gawked at. Cecil, Ozzy and Merelda have been enjoying what the Faire has to offer, and now it is time for a little bit of rest, out of the bustle of fairgoers.
The three of them are sitting on benches in a little area near the zoo, where stately giraffes move their long necks, and a three-headed beast snoozes peacefully. Merelda is sipping on an iced berry slush, smiling with quiet contentment at how the day has gone so far.
Cecil has been rapidly sketching the animals in the zoo, and occasionally he shows Ozzy whenever he's drawn something that he thinks might make her laugh: a turtle operating a tonk, a giraffe with its long neck tied in a knot and looking very indignant about it. He has not bought any food or refreshments for himself, though, and at some point he flips to a new page and writes, 'I don't talk because most of my tongue is gone. That's also why I don't eat food in public.'
Ozzy, who is only just recovering from a paroxysm of laughter about the giraffe drawing - the sort of laughter that comes in waves and aftershocks even when it seems she might be done - reads the latest message and frowns, her expression doing one of the rapid 180 degree turns Cecil is probably getting used to by now.
"Wot 'appened to it?" she says, her eyes flickering between sympathy and is-there-someone-I-need-to-kill.
Merelda sits nearby, but she's examining a distant basilisk, deliberately allowing some amount of privacy for her chaperoned charges' conversation.
'Trolls cut it out for voodoo,' Cecil writes. His demeanor is calm, matter of fact: this has been his lived reality for long enough that he doesn't seem to be having any trouble sharing.
"OH MY GOD!" Ozzy blurts loudly enough, and in a tone of such distress, that a chaperone might be concerned. Then she claps both hands over her mouth.
She glances at Merelda, peels her hands away from her mouth, and says toward her, "Sorry, sorry, it's foine, oi'm foine," her accent slippage giving the lie to the statement. They are still sitting an appropriate distance apart though, and her body language is still subtly leaning toward him, so it doesn't seem that he has offended her or directly caused her distress in any way.
She turns back to Cecil, trying to compose her expression, but her eyes are filling with tears. It's obvious that she can very vividly see and empathize with the experience. She seems, for a moment, not to know what to say.
"I got scars from me da," she says then in a confessional whisper, "but 'e ain't never — he never took any bits off me. He's dead now. What happened to the troll?" She's got her accent mostly under control now, but she can't stop her eyes from spilling over.
Merelda does look over then, concerned, and makes half a gesture like she might comfort one or the other of them. Then she steels herself, and nods to the two of them with a smoothly practiced smile. "If you're not, please do tell me. Either of you."
Then she turns back to the animals.
Cecil forms a fist and moves it in a circle over his chest, now looking upset on Ozzy's behalf. He does, however, carry a handkerchief like a proper gentleman, and he offers it out to her.
Ozzy stares at the handkerchief for a moment like she isn't sure what it is, but then visibly figures it out and takes it from him, dabbing at her eyes with an awkward attempt at delicacy.
"Don't mind me," she says in her best accent. "Not your fault. I bet you was - you were pretty upset at the time too. And it's new to me, so. I'll be okay! But I do need to know if someone got that troll."
'I don't know,' Cecil writes. 'I don't know if I would recognize the two that held me down. There were three of them.'
"Oh my God," Ozzy says again, but whispers it this time. "I'm so mad no one killed them. I want to kill everything that moves just thinking about it." That was a really weird sentence for her to get the upper class accent perfect on. "How long ago was it? How did they get you? Sorry for all the questions."
Merelda glances briefly over at the whispering and writing pair. Surely they're not talking about killing everything that moves, or anything like that. How well they're getting along!
Cecil smiles suddenly at Ozzy's reaction. But wait, Merelda is still nearby. He rips the page out of his notepad, folds it into a tiny little paper plane, and tosses it Merelda's way. He does not wait to see her reaction. "Thank you," he signs to Ozzy, touching his fingers to his lips and then extending his hand outward.
Then he starts writing again:
'I'm sorry your Da hurt you and I hope him being dead is a good thing. I was young and went off alone.'
Ozzy giggles in delight at the paper airplane. She does a little pout, reading his message, but luckily there are no fresh tears. She nods and sighs.
"Yeah, it's good Da's dead. He ran off to try to kill my sister, an, my sister's army captain got between them. He's a warlock. The captain, not Da. A fancy lord, maybe you know of him? Tyrrell? Anyway he says he made it hurt, that he made him afraid. I shouldn't be glad about that, but I am. Turnabout and all. Still, I kinda stay away from Lord Tyrrell because he seems like a bad person to make mad, and I make people mad pretty easy."
Merelda reaches up and unerringly catches the airplane. It's those worgen reflexes. She does turn to the other two at that last, as she unfolds the paper, and adds mildly, "He is also my cousin. I see some of my mother's temperament in him, which I think means you're unlikely to evoke genuine wrath, Ozzy. It's true that you might annoy him — I'm certain I do, but I don't let it stop me."
Merelda reads the paper, and then looks up in alarm at Cecil. "Oh… Oh, Light, that's why Ozzy…" Merelda trails off, and then tries again. "I only thought… I wouldn't pry, if the two of you wanted to speak alone — I know a chaperone can be burdensome sometimes," Merelda speaks from experience, "But I am sorry to hear that, Lord Cecil. I hope you are quite healed."
Cecil nods - he does know of Lord Tyrrell. He signs, "Thank you," to Merelda, smiling warmly at her.
To Ozzy, he writes, 'You do?'
Ozzy nods. "I get into trouble a lot. And I'm bad at remembering rules. And even when I remember, sometimes I just don't care." She shrugs, then gives a lopsided grin. "You don't seem to mind much. At least not yet. I'm sure I'll pi– uh, anger you at some point."
Cecil gives her an amused, considering look. He writes: 'Maybe, but that's just life.' He doesn't seem to mind much. 'Do you want to learn some signs? If you get them wrong and say something offensive I'll laugh with you, not at you, I promise.'
Ozzy's eyes light up. "Yeah! That'd be great! I say enough offensive stuff with regular talk, so this will be no different." She giggles. "I guess I should practice 'sorry' first, yeah? Seems like I'll need it. I already forgot how you did that one, but I knew what you meant."
Cecil grins at her. He makes the fist first, his thumb resting gently on top of his pointer finger and not tucked into his hand, showing it to her so that she can imitate him. "Sorry," he signs. His face looks apologetic, but once he's done demonstrating, he smiles again.
Ozzy practices it a few times, including the expression, then smiles. "There! Now we're set for any mistakes I make going forward." She giggles.
Merelda, looking over, makes the same gesture, quietly expanding her own language skills.
Cecil gives Oslynn a thumbs-up. She's got it. He flips to a new page and writes, 'Thank you. This is a directional sign, you aim it towards the person you're thanking.' He demonstrates 'thank you' for Ozzy, touching his lips and then bending his arm forward at the elbow. Then he turns and signs, "Thank you," to Merelda as well. He shows her the notepad so she knows what it means.
Merelda peers at the notepad and repeats the gesture, saying aloud, "Thank you for teaching us, Lord Cecil. It is a language I'm unfamiliar with, I admit."
"I probably have a terrible accent in this one too," Ozzy says wryly as she does the thank you gesture a few times. She seems to be thanking the nearby giraffe.
Cecil smiles courteously at Merelda and gives her a thumbs-up, then chuckles quietly at Ozzy. He writes: 'I could draw the alphabet out for you. It's a lot to remember at first. Many signs involve making a specific letter's handshape as part of the sign.'
"I can barely do the letter shapes on paper," Ozzy admits. "That's why I always have Merry write my letters. I'm working on it, though, hard as I can." It's possible that as hard as Ozzy can work is not very hard.
Cecil smiles encouragingly at her. He makes two fists, sticks his thumbs out, and touches them together, moving his hands slightly out and back. He then writes, 'That's "continue" or "keep going". You can do it!'
Ozzy smiles crookedly and looks away, her cheeks slowly turning pink. "You sure 'ave a lot of faith in me for someone who's only ever seen me turn into weird stuff and run around all crazy. Oh, and dance, I guess. I must be some dancer!" She laughs.
She's an okay dancer. Adequate. Little sloppy on form, but quick and light on her feet.
Cecil smiles softly and looks down at the little notepad. He flips to a new page, making sure there's nothing on the back. After some consideration, he writes:
'Forgive me if this assumption is incorrect, but you seem like the sort of person who is inspired to prove others wrong when they say that you shouldn't, or can't, do something. I admire that.' He looks up at her, his expression questioning - did he get it right?
It takes Ozzy a little while to read the message; her lips move silently as she gets to 'assumption' and 'incorrect' and 'inspired.' Then it takes her another moment to process what she read. When she does, she laughs.
"You admire it?" she says, shooting him a pleased but skeptical glance. "Most people find it annoying. I guess it's a good thing I met you, huh. And maybe likewise?" Another glance, this one hesitant. "At the gala you - you seemed kinda lonely. I guess most bluebloods like chatty types, huh? So they don't pay you much mind?"
Cecil nods, looking very sincere. He writes: 'I am chatty. Just not in a way they understand. Most people don't have the patience, or don't try.'
"Well, I like different things," Ozzy says. "You know, things that are different. Talking with your hands, for example." She gives him a lopsided smile. "And I need practice reading; it's dead useful, it is. Reading your notes is more fun than reading the newspapers. And you have real nice writing. I like how it looks better than the way I been practicing."
She seems to think of something. She ponders a moment, then taps his notebook assertively with a finger a few times. Rat-tat-tat.
"Maybe you could send me pages sometime with all the letters how you write 'em. Lots of 'The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog,' so it has all the letters. Big and little ones. With space lines in between, for me to copy. It'd be fun to learn to write like you." She giggles. "It's more fun if I pretend it's forgery."
Cecil grins at her and gives her a thumbs-up. He tears the little notepad page out, folds it up, and gives it to her.
Then he writes, 'You said you might explain why you were pretending to be a lady in person.'
Ozzy reads his latest message, then makes a scrunchy face. "Ugh," she says. "Stupid of me. It's just…"
She tries to run a hand back through her hair, forgetting she has it pinned up, and tears a few more strands loose in the process.
"Was just a dumb idea I got in my head. I'd always sort of wished I were a princess, that my real dad would come rescue me, you know? But it kinda clicked into a plan when I was helpin' out this bloke who was cursed, and he had this noble girl, see, and she was a right cunt, but— oh sorry. Um, she wasn't a real nice lady, but everyone stood up when she entered the room and treated her like she was something. And then another friend of mine was coachin' me on what not to say so as not to upset this other nobleman, and I thought, no one has ever given a rat's ars— has ever cared how what they said made me feel, and I thought - what if I became a lady meself, then everyone would treat me like I wanted. But… I dunno. I think I'd get tired. Bein' a lady is a lot, and most of it's stupid."
Merelda glances over at this explanation, her brow drawing down slightly in concern, but she doesn't say anything.
Cecil forms his right hand into what Ozzy will eventually learn is the P handshape - first two fingers out and thumb tucked between them, oriented downwards. He taps his left shoulder shoulder, then his right, then his hip in a quick sign. He moves his hands in a backwards motion like they're rounding over a hill (or perhaps, in this case, a burial mound), then presses his hands together and opens them like sound is coming out. He did a one-handed version of the two latter signs before: Gravehowl.
'Princess Gravehowl,' Cecil writes, and bows his head courteously to her. His face is serious, but his eyes shine with warmth.
Ozzy giggles. "You know I thought I was the Gravehowl princess, for the longest time. Thought Lord Graves, our pack leader, was me real da. See, someone 'ad been sendin' money, once Da the shoemaker got murdered. It was Tyrrell, because I was Keiley's family, but I didn't know that. I was sure some nobleman was me real da', and then here comes this nobleman Graves, takin' care of me an' keepin' me safe like I was 'is own. But I guess I'm not, no more than any of 'em are."
She looks away, eyes sad for a moment, then puts on a smile.
"You can call me Princess if you like, though," she says. "Show me the sign again for it?"
"Princess," Cecil signs again, making sure to show her the handshape and then tap each of the three locations much more slowly.
Ozzy copies him, repeating the sign a few times. Then she points to herself and does the sign again, and giggles.
Cecil grins. There she is, there's Princess Gravehowl. He begins to draw underneath where he has written Princess Gravehowl on the pad: the head of a majestic horned deer - Ozzy's form from earlier. He gives the deer an ornamental circlet.
Ozzy giggles. "Can you draw me one to keep?" she asks. Immediately after the sentence she seems to hear herself and leans back a little, almost a flinch. She gazes at a nearby basilisk, her expression tense. "Never mind," she says. "I dunno where I'd keep it. I dunno where I'm going next."
Cecil gestures towards Merelda. He places his hands together, flattened out, and moves them like he's drawing a little pointed roof and two walls with them. Then he nods to Ozzy.
Merelda looks over. "Are you going somewhere? You don't have to."
Ozzy shakes her head, frustration creeping into her expression. "There's a war on," she says, "and I promised a friend I'd go with him. I'm - not going to fight in the war. I'm bad luck to wars, I've sussed out. But he was - on a ledge, like. Not literally. Just… mentally. So I promised him. I gotta stay nearby so he can talk to me if he needs to. He's going through some stuff and his other friends… they just don't get it. Once I know he's okay, I can come back."
She glances at Cecil, something wary in her expression. She looks like a half-tamed cat that's ready to bolt at the slightest movement.
"But even then - I don't really live with Merry. Lately I use that address, since we started this lady stuff, so I'd look proper, but I … mostly I've been living in a tree. A tree on another tree, in Darnassus. Mostly. Or just… sleeping wherever." She flashes Cecil another look, half challenging, half pleading. "I'm used to that," she says. "That girl you met at the gala - that's all a lie. I'm just… I'm just a vagrant, really. A stray animal people try to take care of."
Merelda looks almost ready to burst in with an argument, but she holds. Maybe there's something in Ozzy's manner that warns her. She leaves it to Cecil to consider, adding no mitigation or explanation to Ozzy's statements.
"Deer princess," Cecil signs to her, and points, once again, to the drawing. He tears that page out and passes it over, looking quietly concerned.
On a clean page of his notepad, he writes: 'Do you like being a stray? Or do you want a home?'
"I don't know," Ozzy says quietly. She doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I've… gotten by a long time without really thinking about what I wanted. Because… it never mattered. Wanting things just… hurts." She winces, then gives a strange laugh. "Sorry, this… isn't really carnival conversation, yeah?" She gives him a sudden smile. "What do you suppose your little friend is up to? Should we check on him?"
"Sorry," Cecil signs. He glances over at Merelda with an apologetic look. He flips back in his notepad to the picture of the gnome with the enormous hat, taps it once, and rises smoothly to his feet. "Princess," he signs, and formally offers her his arm to escort her.
Ozzy's smile warms a little with something like relief, and she adopts a playfully haughty expression and posture as she takes his arm.
"Thank you, Lord Cecil," she says, her accent impeccable. "I should very much enjoy a stroll!"
Merelda rises as well, moving smoothly to walk nearby. "Let's go find Mr. Cardassus, then. We shall have to make sure he's seen the giraffes."
"So are all gnomes' hands like that?" Ozzy whispers, possibly a bit too loudly, as a passing faire-goer (human, thank the gods) gives her a Look. Ozzy holds up her hands toward Cecil with the pinkies folded down, in case he didn't know what she meant. "I never really looked at 'em before. We didn't have gnomes in Gilneas, and the Cenarion Circle don't have 'em either."
Cecil nods - all gnomes' hands are like that. His notepad gets tucked back into a pocket - he is now limited in his means of communication once more, until they find Mr. Cardassus. To the prize booth!