Better Angels

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Threnn
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Better Angels

Postby Threnn » Thu Aug 16, 2012 3:40 pm

At Pestle’s, two serving-women are gossiping as they wait in line. Anna always keeps half an ear cocked toward such things. You never know when idle chatter might prove useful later on -- at society parties, in the thick of a Merchant’s Guild meeting, while trying to charm a lordling out of his fortune.

The women work their way through the scandals from the Campbells’ last ball, most of which Anna’s heard weeks before. Yet, when they reach the counter, the older woman asks Pestle for icecap and -- in hushed, almost comically secretive tones -- bloodthistle.

“Lord Bernard’s still ailing, is he?” asks her companion.

“He’s barely gotten out of bed since the spring,” says the first. She glances around to see who might be eavesdropping, but by the time she turns her head, Annalea has her nose in the jar of peppermint sticks. No one else pays them any mind. “The thistle’s a terrible thing,” she says, righteous as the Archbishop, “but it eases the pain.”

“That poor family. It’s almost as though they’re cursed.”

They move on to other topics, while Annalea tallies up all the Lords Bernard she can recall in Stormwind. She comes up with five, and another three whose names are variations thereof, but only one noble house whose servants wear red-and-gold livery like the woman in line ahead of her.

House Fairfax.

Not my business, not my business, not my business.

She thinks it all the way home, all the way up the steps to her apartment. She chants it aloud as she clears off her worktable, displacing poisons and salves alike to smooth out the obituaries and clippings she’d saved months ago. She says it as she pulls out a book of ailments, to see what might call for icecap and bloodthistle as treatments.

The obituaries have aged and yellowed, become brittle like fall leaves before the snows come. Annalea knows why she kept them, and yet again she doesn’t, rational thought warring with some foolish inkling, some foolish notion in the back of her damned foolish head. She rereads them, her brow furrowing.

Addam Fairfax, killed in a fall from his horse while hunting.

Not six months on, his wife Abigail (of the Windham Street Davenports) and his young sons, killed in a fire that burned hot and fast and left little enough behind. They say the wife did it, that Abigail started the blaze herself, unable to contain her grief any longer.

But Annalea had stood in the ruins, had let the ash swirl around her ankles and mar the hem of her dress. Whatever the fire had been meant to destroy, it couldn’t burn away the velvety feel of its creator’s magic. The Firebug had done it, same as she’d destroyed the rooming house where Kyraine had been staying.

The question was, why? What dealings would the eldest Fairfax have had with the Lotus Crew’s goon squad? What secrets survived him that they’d felt the need to murder his wife and sons? She can’t figure it, can’t square it in her mind without knowing more.

It shouldn’t matter, anyway; the Riders are done asserting their claim on Old Town, and whatever tangles a bunch of nobs get themselves bound up in is none of her concern.

Perhaps Bernard is simply sick. It happens sometimes, even to men only a few years her senior. If the family did have ties to the Angel and his flower-selling crew, wouldn’t Bernard be easing his pain with Lotus rather than bloodthistle? Wouldn’t that make sense?

She should let it go. She’s been to this brink before, and wisely backed away. She’d gone so far as to set up a meeting with Danyll, the youngest of the brothers. Tarquin had offered to go with her. But Danyll had sent a note needing to cancel -- needing to reschedule, if she was being accurate -- and she’d said no, nevermind, it wasn’t important.

Maybe it’s curiosity; maybe it’s some kind of cruel desire to be a witness to misery (she’d certainly have the right); maybe it’s the need to show him, Look. I survived. I survived, and because I’m not like you, I will help you.

But why? Why, when it’s better left alone? When there’s no business angle to it, and nothing at all she stands to gain personally. She sinks into the chair and stares at the obituaries, at the book of remedies and ailments, out the window towards Elwynn and the Fairfax estates. She turns the questions over in her mind, seeking answers that refuse to come.

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Threnn
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Re: Better Angels

Postby Threnn » Mon Aug 20, 2012 12:14 pm

((Upstairs in the Pig, later that day. Annalea and Tarquin have been trying to convince Lore that vacations involving boats are a terrible idea.))

Annalea peers at newspaper at Tarquin's elbow.
Annalea says: Is that the Dailies?

Lorelli says: So next team instead of a volcano... giant squid?

Tarquin glances down.
Tarquin says: Aye. No' worth the ink they printed it wi', but yeh ken. It amuses.

Annalea says: I'm not sure I'd wish a giant squid death on anyone, Lore.
Annalea says: Did you see the society pages?

Tarquin says: Wis jus' gettin' thra thim afore creepy shewed up. Yeh ken that Neddy van Rosen's still alive? Thought he'day been et by somethin' a long time back...

Lorelli says: You can't be in the business of offin' folks and being picky about how ya do it.. Just sayin

Annalea says: I'm not so much convinced Neddy's alive as someone might be pumping a corpse with formaldehyde and propping it up.

Tarquin says: Nah, he's still vigorous.

Annalea says: Huh. I'm almost afraid to ask you to define vigorous in this instance.

Tarquin says: Killin' things. "Huntin," he calls it. Wis there somethin' notable in here?

Annalea says: Maybe. One of those little throwaway lines, really. The kind where you know the editor must have snipped the rest of the paragraph.

Tarquin says: Hnh.
Tarquin flips through for a bit.
Tarquin says: Well, unless the monthly snubbery at Galahad's is -
Tarquin stops.
Tarquin says: Hnh.
Tarquin looks up at Annalea.
Tarquin says: There another branch ay the Fairfaxes I'm unaware of?

Annalea ducks her head. Guilty.
Annalea says: There's a middle brother. Bernard. The columnist wondered about his wife being out at a ball without him.

Tarquin says: D'yeh think it signifies?

Annalea says: When I add it to something I heard this morning, yeah.

Tarquin says: What'd yeh hear?

Annalea says: Someone from his household staff was at Pestle's this morning. She was buying icecap and bloodthistle for him. The first's for fever. The second's for pain.

Tarquin scratches his chin.
Tarquin says: So he's took sick?

Annalea says: Yeah. He's not even forty yet.

Tarquin says: Huh. Worse luck fir him.

Annalea says: That's assuming it's just shit luck.

Tarquin raises his eyebrow inquisitively at you.
Tarquin says: Yeh think there's somethin'?

Lorelli says: It’s probably safe to go back downstairs if we so choose.

Annalea says: I think it's likely. One branch wiped out, now Bernard taken ill.

Tarquin says: ...huh. Aye, right, Lore - one tick -

Lorelli says: No rush. Take your time, seriously.
Lorelli sneaks her cake box off the table and heads downstairs.

Tarquin says: So awright, what then?
Tarquin leans over the table, one hand absently scratching at his beard.
Tarquin says: Yeh dinna owe that fuck anythin'. Danyll, that is.

Annalea says: No, I don't. Not anything nice, anyway.
Annalea swirls the bourbon around in her glass.

Tarquin says: I mean, if yeh want ta pay a call, kick 'im in the bollocks, an' walk off, I'll hold yir hat fir yeh.

Annalea says: It's a possibility. I don't know. The fire that took Addam's wife and sons, the Firebug set that. I'm sure of it.

Tarquin says: Aye...nivir did get a chance t'ask her oan that. Or anythin' else.

Annalea says: No. She rang my bell pretty thoroughly, then Illi was on her. And I can't figure how this is tied to the Lotus. If he's in pain, he could be smoking that instead of bloodthistle.

Tarquin purses his lips and sighs.
Tarquin says: Fuck. We are goin' ta need ta look at it, aren't we?

Annalea says: We don't have to. It's not our problem. It's not anyone's but theirs.
Annalea sounds like she's been trying to convince herself of that. And failing.

Tarquin nods slowly.
Tarquin says: Aye. Only - if he is oan the lotus... Nah, that canna be right. Why would Angel's hitter be burnin' out Fairfaxes jus' cos' one brither's oan the -
Tarquin bites off his words, grimacing.
Tarquin says: Damnit. Yeh got me thinkin' about it, Annie.

Annalea says: I'm sorry. I can't seem to get away from it.

Tarquin says: S'only ta be expected, Annie. Only- It is bloody interestin', is the problem. Professionally speakin'.

Annalea says: Yeah. And there's probably an angle we could work. I just haven't figured out what it is yet.

Tarquin says: Back after yeh dug up the Firebug burned down wossname's place, the first son-

Annalea says: Addam.

Tarquin says: Aye, right. Yeh thought about payin' a call oan Danyll. Only we found other things t'occupy us.

Annalea says: It seemed a good idea, then a terrible one.

Tarquin says: Aye. Only...well, yeh think he might be next?

Annalea says: I think he might be. If it's magic or poison that's making Bernard ill, then I'd be even more certain.

Tarquin swirls around his bourbon thoughtfully.
Tarquin says: Damnit. S'pose - Annie, I mean - we dinna need the bloke or anythin'. Got plenty other people we kin lean oan. Mair fish in the shea, in how it goes.
Annalea says: I know.

Tarquin says: But we could use 'im. It's yir call.

Annalea plays with the edge of the newspaper.

Tarquin finds his cigarette case.

Annalea says: I feel like I ought to say something. Give him... some kind of chance, I guess.

Tarquin says: Yeh dinna owe him shite, Annie. Less even'n the bare bit yeh owe a stranger.

Annalea balls her hand into a fist and pounds it on the table.
Annalea says: Damn it.

Tarquin cups his hands around Annalea's free hand, guiding a spare cigarette into her grasp.
Tarquin says: If yeh want ta warn him, then warn 'im. I'll come with.

Annalea smiles the barest hint of a smile, and lights the cigarette from a candle.
Annalea says: I want to be better than that. You know? Is that... is it stupid?

Tarquin leans back.
Tarquin says: ...think yir askin' the wrong bloke, darlin'.

Annalea says: I mean, if there's opportunity in it, we should take it, but...

Tarquin says: I'm, ah, I got a bad record wi' this...sort ay thing.

Annalea says: You know what else it is? If I'm honest about it?

Tarquin says: Aye?

Annalea takes a drag, blows out a long stream of smoke.
Annalea says: If I'm right, if he's next on the list. I want him to know he's alive because of me.

Tarquin considers that, tapping out his own cigarette and carefully lighting it.
Tarquin says: Well. Let's do it, then.

Annalea nods.

Tarquin says: Cos' yeh shid get nice things.

Annalea says: It'll be like Winter Veil came early this year.

Tarquin says: Happy holiday, Annie. I got yeh the misery ay some nob fuck-hole. I hope yeh enjoy it.

Annalea says: I can't imagine how I'll be able to top it.

Tarquin puts his hand over Annalea's, a certain warmth in his eyes belying the audible sneer.
Tarquin says: Well, yeh'll get ta make him writhe yirself.

Annalea says: Damn right.
Annalea says: And... thank you.
Annalea turns her hand so she can lace her fingers through Tarquin's.

Tarquin says: 'Course.
Tarquin squeezes, smiling.
Tarquin says: Yeh'll feel better fir havin' this out the wey, an' wha' kens? Maybe there's business in it.

Annalea says: If they let us in the house, take a gander around. Must be inspiration there somewhere.

Tarquin says: Aw. Burglary. Thanks fir thinkin' ay me, Annie.

Annalea says: Burglary or a grift. I like keeping you occupied.

Tarquin says: Sure. Keeps me out ay yir hair while yir tryin' ta get things done. Mind yeh, I'd welcome yir partnership - worked out so virra well last time.

Annalea says: We are pretty brilliant when we collaborate.

Tarquin says: ...sortay started the whole thing, huh?

Annalea says: It did. Best vacation I ever went on.

Tarquin squints.
Tarquin says: ...really?

Annalea says: Fancy parties, gambling and debauchery, tropical weather. Sure. Though the boat to Dalaran after might have trumped the days preceding.

Tarquin says: Yir right. Fair guid time. I-
Tarquin pauses and glances over the balcony, ejecting a dual trail of smoke from his nostrils.

[Beneath them in the Pig’s common room, Bricu is waxing cynical about the upcoming peace summit.]

Annalea follows Tarquin's gaze, frowning.

Tarquin shakes his head.
Tarquin says: We'll call oan Danyll, then. Me an' Tymara got a brief trip ta take - yeh think he'll live out a couple ay days? I mean, wis a few motnhs betwixt the last one an' this.

Annalea nods.
Annalea says: That gives me time to see if I can find out more about his brother's illness.

Tarquin says: Aye, right. Gaun ta be a fair fuckin' gag oan us if he's jus' low with a fever.

Annalea says: I won't try getting into the house, but, there must be a way to get a look.

Tarquin says: Aye - ask the servants, maybe. Fir my part, I'm dinna mind we ought ta make an appointment. Jus' drop oan in an' see the lad when he's home.

Annalea says: Element of surprise.

Tarquin says: Right. Na time ta get his lies straight, or muscle up. ...he's fuck-all in a fight, right?

Annalea says: I'd be amazed if he's ever even been in one.

Tarquin says: Barry. Be fuckin' embarassin' if he smeared me 'cross the floor when I popped in.
Tarquin grins.

Annalea says: Hell, Tarq, he's likely to piss himself when he realizes who you are.

Tarquin winces.
Tarquin says: I'll wear auld boots, then.
Tarquin says: Awright. Yeh want ta get outay here?

Annalea says: Yeah. That's plenty of business for the night.

Tarquin says: Right, then. Yirs tonight?
Tarquin stubs out his cigarette and rises.

Annalea says: Yeah. There's a nice breeze with the windows open.

Tarquin says: ...quiet neighborhood, but, innit?

Annalea says: That's because no one wants to get noticed while they go about their crimes.

Tarquin says: Right. Only wi' the windows open -
Tarquin raises his eyebrow inquisitively at you.

Annalea grins.
Annalea says: Feeling self-conscious?

Tarquin says: Jus' dinna want anyone throwin' bottles thra the window.

Annalea says: I'll pull the curtains across. It'll at least slow them down.

Tarquin says: We'll have warnin' ta move, then.
Tarquin takes Annalea's arm.
Tarquin says: Shall we?

Annalea grins up at him.
Annalea says: Oh, I plan to do plenty of moving.

Tarquin says: Well, then. Let's...be not here.
The two go downstairs, past Bricu and Lore who are deep in conversation at the main table.
Tarquin says: Cheers, yeh twa.

Annalea grins and waves.

Tarquin ticks an airy salute off his brow, sauntering by arm-in-arm with Annalea.


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