RP:All Work & No Play

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: In the midst of overseeing Vailkrin Castle's restoration, Kasyr & Iintahquohae are visited by Lanlan & Valrae. Surpisingly, the meeting does not immediately degenerate into a problematic encounter. Emphasis on 'immediately'.

Vailkrin Council Room

As the highest point of the castle, this room has the best view of Vailkrin one can achieve without taking flight. With that in mind, the room's walls are panes of stained glass. Through some magical means, the glass doesn't discolor the view for individuals within the room, but it doesn't allow for those that manage to fly up to the windows from the outside to peer in. Similar to the chandelier in the great hall, lanterns float high overhead near the ceiling, their light produced by glowing stones encased within. As is common with many rooms for planning and strategy, the largest and primary table is the focal point of the council room, and a map of Vailkrin with lands beyond it is burned into the surface rather than carved. The markings on the round table are a bit crude, but they're kept up to date by swapping the rounded panel the map is burned into out for a fresh map as needed. In the interest of maintaining clear lines of sight from every wall of windows, the large table doubles as a bookshelf., with the entire stone base of the table doubling as shelving for so many books and paperwork that what don't fit in the shelves are piled neatly either on the table or underneath it. Smaller tables are set at the four cardinal directions, but all seats are pulled to the main table for meetings. Here the sound of music within the castle is clearest, as if the sounds of the City of Undead have traveled and transformed into melodies that can only be heard within the room.

Kasyrs' office is in disarray as per usual, though it's less due to the piles of paperwork (which are still present), and more due to the presence of a number of vampires, undead denizens, and even a chain smoking gargoyle. Having answered the ad set out in the paper- they were not part of a much larger crew implementing repairs and improvements across the castle, both in order to provide jobs to the denizens- as well as a subtle change to the local Iconography. There was just one small problem. "...What do you mean you pried up all the enchanted ice and threw it out the window? Did you even check if there was anyone below." Larry offers an indifferent shrug, tapping his cigar out a window that had yet to have it's stained panes properly set in. "Did you just- I don't even-" He hadn't gotten any injury reports, but that didn't mean he wasn't at any less of a loss. "...I need a drink."

Iintahquohae is tired of messes, but that's sort of the way things are for Vailkrin as a whole now, right? At least it's all inching closer to an organized mess. That's progress, she tells herself. While squeezing past a few of the gathered undead lingering near the door, Inks overhears something about ice being chucked out the window. She grimaces. “Could've melted it first,” she mutters, maybe loud enough for the gargoyle to hear. Without a drink to offer Kasyr or one of the pastries Valrae mailed to her conveniently on hand to shove in the revenant's face to placate him, the seamstress approaches the window to peer out and see who or what the ice might have squished down below. She hasn't really settled into her 'Lady of Vailkrin' role, so she's dressed casually. Grey sweater, black leggings, some headband that keeps her grey curls out of her face. If she still had human ears, she might have tucked a wand behind one of them, but instead she's tucked it beneath the headband, on the side of her head as if she did have ears that didn't belong to a fox. To Kasyr, she calls over, “I don't see anything crushed down there.” She can't even see that far down, but it's fine. Probably. “Don't do that again,” to Larry. “Please.”

Lanlan received Kasyr’s letter with the worst of expectations, but was ultimately surprised. An olive branch, if he ever saw one. Still he wasn’t in a hurry to oblige, and not least because of the state of Vailkrin right now. True, he was Vailkrin’s hero, he saved them. They didn’t make him king. But when he finds out Valrae is about to make her way there, he decides to agree. He needs to be in the room. They arrive by air; floating behind a massive winged manta ray. Its wings do little to explain the momentum it provides, moving gently, gracefully through the windy skies. Light bends and warps around its wings, and its safe to say that gases do too. Or could it be from their driver? The half elf was certainly involved, though her efforts in guiding the strange creature were not apparent, to Lanlan at least. There were no whips or commands as far as he could see. Nearly the instant they cross into the dirty bubble of Vailkrin, Lanlan frowns and snaps his fingers. The smell of death is instantly replaced by lavender. The ride is pleasant, he pretends not to notice the chaos beneath their chariot. It lands with a whisper at the foyer.

Lanlan disembarks the stately carriage, and then offers Valrae his arm in getting down. Is he perhaps an inch taller than usual? Maybe his shoes have hidden heels. But it could be the light. Even in this dark place, they don’t need another source, a particularly soft one is coming from a silver glowing ring hovering just above the top of Lanlan’s head, bobbing along as he steps. A light so soft, that he even slides off his sunglasses, disappearing them into his sleeve. Normally when he wants to look suave, he’d twist his coat inside and out until it darkened the shadows with its chthonic violet shade, but this time he’s opted for a more classic look. A silvery white, to go along with his new crown, and purple trim. It also happens to match his favorite accessory, and he touches his armlet daintily with his white gloved finger, pretending to wipe off a smudge. Yellow chains connect the left side to the right, though they’re purely decorative, and hang slack in dramatic loops in strategic places. His pants match the coat, but his shoes are something else. Their velvety purple is saturated beyond what most colors can ever be, and even without buckles, tend to make other people feel boring. ‘Why don’t I have purple shoes?’ they wonder. Lanlan hears envy in his own mind. “It’s actually nicer than–” he’s cut off. With stunning alacrity, he flicks up his hand. A wand appears in between two fingers, and a plume of ghostfire flies from it, invisibly scorching a sudden hailstorm. “Never mind,” he says, correcting himself with some satisfaction, and they enter the building accompanied by a dramatic mist.

Valrae || As they were set to arrive in Vailkrin for official means, Valrae made great efforts with her appearance. She’d carefully chosen jewelry with the motif of Vaalane in a waxing crescent, dripping with tumbled lace agate from dainty gold chains on her ears and neck. Her golden hair was braided intricately at her temples, a basket weaving pattern between two braids amid the rest that she left long and free to wave down her shoulders and back. The triple moon diadem rested gently atop her brow. Her eyes were lined sharply and her lips glossed. The dress, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, was woven with threads of fine silk that gleamed like Vaalane’s light on a tranquil lake. The flowing silhouette mirrored the movements of a stream, gently swaying with any small movement from the witch. Each fold and drape of the fabric appeared as if it held the secrets of hidden currents, endless tides and the mysteries of the deep.Yet, it was the illusions skillfully threaded into the fabric that transformed the dress into a spectacle. As Valrae moved, the shimmering illusions danced upon the surface, mimicking the ebb and flow of water in a captivating display. Crystal-clear droplets seemed to glide down the dress, sparkling and reflecting the surrounding light, as if capturing the very essence of a pristine waterfall. She hadn’t arrived empty handed. Along with her large bag, the Mayor of Cenril had brought with her a gift basket wrapped in shimmering clear paper and sealed with Cenril’s golden crest. It held blood wine, a number of treats from Khitti’s bakery along with more savory cured meats, cheeses and native Cenril olives, and finally a very nice set of crystal drinkware.

Valrae took Lanlan’s offered arm as she stepped down. As the witch stepped outside of the carriage, the gentle awareness of divinity that she’d felt from the moment they’d entered the Darklands brushed over her skin like a whisper. She could almost hear a lyrical voice in her ear saying, ‘Welcome, Little Bird.’ and an unnamed emotion had tears welling in her eyes. It was only the Arch Mage’s quick thinking that saved them both from the strange hail storm. It ended just as abruptly as it appeared. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was aimed at us.” She comments to Lan, though her tone was one of amusement and not conspiracy. As they entered the refurbished, or currently in the process of being refurbished, castle they were greeted by some sort of official escort and taken to Kasyr’s office. The witch noticed Iintahquohae and made a small, feminine sound in her throat as she stepped quickly toward her and, after pushing the large gift basket into Lanlan’s arms, offered her own out for an embrace. “It’s so good to see you!” She chirps.

Kasyr has, by this point, stepped over to peer out the window alongside the seamstress- squinting down at the distance. Perhaps this had been a creative way to try and make more work- or maybe that was giving them too much credit. Whatever the case, he doesn't have too long to contemplate the matter- as a servant, seperate from the one accompanying Lanlan & Valrae, has ushered forward, "Emissaries from Cenril & Xalious have arrived." Kasyr isn't entirely surprised by this development- beyond the fact that it meant the Xalian response was notably quick. There's a tired smile offered to the seamstress, along with a slight adjustment to her headband- more to adjust the wand so it's a bit more discreet than anything else. It always helped to look a bit more disarming. ..Which left himself. And the Kensai is a bit of a problem- because while he is wearing a pleasent enough combination of formal white shirt, paired with a Carmine dinner vest . . . he just looks a bit disheveled. Even if he doesn't necessarily need to sleep, there's something a touch haggard about him- whether it's the conspicuous ink stains on his fingers, or his tousled hair. And he knows better than to try and run his fingers through them- given there's still a splotch there from when he last tried to correct things. "Prepare some coffee & tea, would you. For -living- guests."

Kasyr shoos the emissary off, and then begins to brusquely motion towards the builders in the room, "Can you give us a few moments? I know for a fact there's another wing that needs to be worked on. Je m'excuse." Still, it's more than apt that it's only after Lanlan and Valrae are stepping through the door that the last of them step out. Leaving him to extend what he hopes is an adequately fond grin to the pair, "Evening to you both." It's always evening in Vailkrin, "I hope it wasn't too much of a problem to reach the castle."

Iintahquohae is debating whether or not she should actually take a leap down and assess the damage when Kasyr moves alongside her. “Bet I could make it there and back up real fast,” she murmurs. It's been a while since the seamstress just carelessly leapt off of something real high up in the air or anything generally chaotic. Image, she reminded herself. The rest of Vailkrin probably wanted to see her and Kasyr as stable, not volatile. “I miss flyi-” the sentence remains incomplete at the announcement of guests arriving, and she blinks confusedly. “Emissaries?” Repeats the seamstress, turning only after Kasyr adjusted her headband. She had half a mind to fix his...well, they didn't have enough time to fix her sire's entire look, did they? He'd need a flashier wardrobe, and she makes note of that in her unending list of duties. She'd need one for herself too, and that realization almost has her giddy. Her foxtail makes a few sweeping wags at least, and she tries to still it. Inks sees Lanlan first, and openly gawks at his jacket. That's her work, and actually seeing it in motion is delightful. Her strained look toward Larry and his smoking and...ice-throwing problem are immediately set aside. “Hello Lan, how goes-” She hears Valrae before seeing her, then double takes when she gets a look at the witch. The noise she makes is near identical to hers. She's a breath of fresh air. Lan is too, with his impressive attire, but Inks is quick to throw her arms around Cenril's Mayor for a tight embrace. She pulls away and immediately starts fawning over Val's dress. “It's so good to see you too but Val, you gotta do a twirl,” she exclaims, eager to get a look at every angle and just marvel at the craftsmanship on display here. “This is immaculate work...” Who needs politics when there's fashion? “Who -made- this?” It certainly wasn't her work. Inks enchanted fabric to work illusions into it, sure, but not to this degree or expertise. At least not yet.

Lanlan was vigilant that danger could be ubiquitous here, but from the fortress? While Valrae was next to him? “No you don’t think…Oh. Ha.” It was enough to pierce a cold shell he had been absently forming around him, bracing him for the uncertainty of a meeting like this. Already he’s loosened up. But in regarding Valrae, he happened to look down his nose long enough to see her marvelous gown, and look at it newly! For now he was seeing what everyone else was seeing. He takes a deep breath in and sighs dramatically. He mumbles, “I should’ve checked in with you to see what you were wearing.” They didn’t clash completely, but they could’ve coordinated better. That wasn’t it though. “I look like a tramp now.” The servant ushers them in, and once he does, Lanlan asserts a quick correction. “That would be: The Archmage Lanlan of Xalious and The High Priest and Mayor of Cenril. For next time, thank you.” He offers a slight and plastic smile, then adds, “And as for the tea…silver duke if you have it. Thank you.” Inevitably, he was prepared for verbal violence, even at the first look. Surely what he wrote in the letter must’ve pained him. “Good evening to you! And this illustrious office, but specifically you,” he says in jest, reminding Kasyr about the letter he’d received. “And no! We came by sky, it was a breeze.” Happily, Iintahquohae is here too, and he’s about to greet her, but he opts to giving the ladies their space. “Hello!” And then he moves up toward the table, nonchalantly looking over the most recent works. While they have their moment about the dress, Lanlan is forced to have a moment alone with the king. “The work’s being done, I see,” he says, offering a small consolation prize, while not being too evocative of any emotion.

Valrae had laughed, the sound light as a bell and echoing in the wide halls of the castle, as Lanlan donned the word ‘tramp’. “Oh, you look perfectly wonderful.” She assures him, patting his shoulder softly. “As always.” But it was time to indulge herself a little in front of Inks. Laughing all the while, she pulls herself from Iintahquohae’s arms to twirl. It was clear by the delight on her face that she was more than happy to oblige as she stopped again in front of the Lady of Vailkrin to preen. “Isn’t it lovely?” She lifts her arms, the fabric moving easily with her though by all appearances it should have run right off of her bare shoulders in a wet pool at her feet. “I’m sure you could have managed something more stunning,” She says with the confidence that only a woman who madly adores another could. “But my Aunt did wonderful work - the enchantment is mine but she’s the seamstress of the family.” After stepping away from Iintahquohae, she turns to level a gaze as cold as Frostmaw’s black ice toward Kasyr as he welcomes them. She almost faltered at his grin. He looked well, familiar and with just an edge of impropriety that came with what she could only imagine was a touch of exhaustion from pulling the shattered pieces of a kingdom back together. “King Azakhaer,” The witch addresses him formally, dipping into a dramatically low curtsey. The illusioned silk of her gown pools around her feet so that she appeared as an overly formal nymph rising from a spring. “I trust with your many new responsibilities you wouldn’t have time to pencil in another harrowing death for yourself this evening,” She had not had the time to rake him over the coals for throwing his life down in front of her the last time he’d appeared. Never mind he’d been saving her life, or that she’d used the lyre given to her by Daedria herself to pull him back to the land of the living by a bit of divine force. By the time she rose again she was smiling, though there was still a bit of hurt sparkling in her dark eyes. Well, what's a bit of trauma between friends? She’d probably let him off the hook after this private and prissy jab. It was more satisfying than throwing a punch.

Iintahquohae can't resist clapping with near childish glee as Valrae turns, but she is taking in every bit of detail of the witch's gown as she moves. “I have to meet your aunt,” she eventually says, awestruck. Without actually having the gown in her hands to examine, she can only guess at how it's all pieced together and it's extraordinary. “I just love the way it's draped!”And the color, and the fabric, and everything - Inks would gush about Val's gown for longer if she could, but once she's stepped away the seamstress tries to suppress a frown. No breaks from work, huh. Val's remark to Kas is enough to raise eyebrows, and her eyes bounce from the pair to Lanlan. She can connect some very presumptuous dots, but maybe they're the wrong dots. Inks believes she was understandably upset with Kasyr's absence, but the way Valrae phrased it was particularly cutting. Did he do something to her before dying again? She'll keep an ear open and make her way over to Lanlan instead, because naturally he's gotta do a little twirl and show off his attire too. “Lookin' good, Lan! If I had known you both were coming, I would have made a better effort.” She did dig her cozy attire though. At least in private. “I'm so underdressed,” and terrible at small talk, but while admiring Lan's clothes, she can't help smiling as much as she did at Val and her gown. “How've you been?”

Kasyr , as distracted as he's been due to the rigours of duty, wasn't quite expecting the first barb to come from Valrae- nor the brief intensity of her gaze. Then again, its' not like the comment was undue- though it doesn't stop him from casually adding, "You never know. The stress might eventually get to me." Whatever the case, the rest of her courtesies are genuine- and so, he simply offers a slightly tighter smile, before redirecting his attention to Lanlan, "I can assure you, the office es the only illustrious thing here." Realizing the remark came out dryly, he carefully adds, "What can I say, it helps to have my obessiveness directed on something other than cults et false gods." Still, they have a moment where they aren't exchanging barbs, and so, he carefully adds, "But, we can address work in a moment. I believe you have a new student to address, n'est ce pas?" He sidles off to the side, making room for Inks to slip over into his place- in turn taking a spot adjacent to Valrae. Like night and day- or more appropriately, like a tramp and a princess, by sheer virtue of the dichotomy. He needed a smoke. "So. How's cenril been?"

Lanlan sighs again at Valrae, just as dramatically. She was always such a graceful victor. At about this time, the servant arrives with the tea on a tray and sets it down. He’s the first to snag a cup, dropping two small cubes of sugar into it to disguise a subtle spell he casts with just a flickering of his eyebrows. He wouldn’t be poisoned tonight… Then he draws in a hearty whiff, exhaling some mild disappointment. “Oh, my good man,” he says to the servant. “If it isn’t too much trouble, do you think there might be a fresher selection? I believe this one’s gone stale.” He keeps his current cup just in case the servant returns with a placebo. A welcome interruption, but Lanlan didn’t miss the bite in Valrae’s words for Kasyr. It caused him to recoil a bit, involuntarily. It was the loss of Kasyr that pains her, something that Lanlan could yet easily abide. Somewhat surprisingly, he comes to his defense. “He did what needed to be done, and he’s back. Let’s put that to rest now.” He quickly moves on, as fast as he can in fact. “There are other issue to discuss that are far more pressing. Caluss is dead and gone, but his remains are scattered throughout Tristoth and of course, Vailkrin.” Finally Inks comes to congratulate him on his outfit. “Ahh, yes you haven’t seen this side of it yet, have you? I haven’t unlocked all of its little nuances yet.” He stretches out an arm, turns one way, and then repeats for the opposite side. “And no! This is your home isn’t it?” He actually isn’t sure. “Is it? You can dress as you like in your own space and always be appropriate. That’s a rule. Things are good where I’m from Inks.” He wouldn’t say just how amazing they are, not in front of all…this. "Just glad to have you both back of course…Though I see you’ll be far too busy for your studies at the Mage’s Guild with all there is to do here. The library will have to wait I suppose…”

Valrae || The last of the witch’s frost melted like late spring snow in the sun, gone as quickly as it appeared, and she laughed. The kind of laugh that filled the room and bounced around it a little. “Well, if you decide to develop a softer constitution, do wait until I’m well on my way back toward the mountains if you would be so gracious.” Valrae tosses the mass of her golden hair over her shoulder, slanting a long look toward Lanlan through sooty lashes as she wrinkled her nose at him. She’ll jab as she pleases, as she knows he’ll do the same. And besides, it was over now. The poison is out of her system. “Cenril is well. We’re reforming the navy,” She adds conversationally, adding a touch of mock drama that carries an undercurrent of true worry as she continues, “My Guard Captain is retiring and we’re searching for a replacement.” She watches as Iintahquohae and Lanlan make small talk and he fusses, probably unduly, over the tea from the corner of her eye. But his question did lead to more official matters. “I’ve been writing Iintahquohae,” She pauses to throw a sunny smile the seamstresses way, “And I made mention of aid… We’ve healthy coffers from the influx of tourism as of late, and plenty by way of able bodied men and women - I know that you have your hands full rebuilding the city. It would be nothing to offer Vailkrin aid as a show of good faith for more peaceful relations. I’ve already set my cabinet on reworking the trade sanctions and agreements. I suspect you’ll both have a proper proposal on your desks within a fortnight or so...” She pauses here, to watch Lanlan again. “I know that there are… Echoes of Caluss’s influences yet. The lingering undeath. I suppose Vailkrin and Trist’oth suffer the most from this?” She was surprised he would want to speak to Kasyr about this, given all he had yet to do with cleaning his own streets.

Iintahquohae ;; “Kas I swear, if you off yourself again, I'm going to kick -you- across the city whenever you come back.” It's a half jest. Could she even kick him across Vailkrin? The windows don't have their glass yet, and her eyes momentarily settle on one of them as if she's calculating. She isn't but much like the way she's tried to combat the stress of all of this was to inject humor wherever she could. But Lanlan is showing off his coat, and that captures the seamstress's attention immediately and nudges any concerns about her sire disappearing again far to the back of her mind. Abandonment issues? Inks? Preposterous. “I haven't!” Exclaimed to Lanlan, while she examines the coat's sleeve covering his outstretched arm. “If it needs anything extra, you know where to find me.” In her new digs, she guessed. The castle was technically her home now, wasn't it? “I've still got my place above the shop too, but it's a bit cozy.” It's smaller than the room the four of them are standing in. The Guild's Library would have to wait a bit, wouldn't it. The thought elicits a frown, but it was something to look forward to. “I'll try to sneak over when I have the time,” she promises. Mention of Caluss and its remains is something that goes a little over her head, but the seamstress can only blame herself for that. Keeping her nose in a paperwork mountain gave her a tunnel-vision like focus, but Inks does light up at Valrae's mention of writing. Her letters were treasured. “Yes! I still need to know everything about wi-” She stops herself. This isn't really the time for asking about witchcraft. “I mean... Thank you again, for your offer. It means a lot.” More than she could possibly say. Anything related to improving trade for Vailkrin would have House Ventra off of her back.

Kasyr might not have caught Lanlan's subtle spell, but he can pick up on the the subtle paranoia that cropped up as he scrutinized the tea. "I wouldn't use poison. I'm far too much of a brute, remember?" An eyebrow may have quirked up during the delivery, before flattening into something akin to a placating expression, meant for Valrae and Inks alike, "Don't worry, I'm sure there'll be plenty of people lining up to do it for me- If Blackwells' promise of being a future problem es any indication." It's on that note that he finally fetches a mug of coffee for himself- a significantly less dignified drink then the lovely items Valrae had bought, and made all the coarser by the hefty amount of whiskey poured in. He takes a moment to properly process both of their offers, acknowledging it with a smile and a nod, before turning to address Lanlan- partially to avoid him feeling snubbed. "That -es- part of the problem, yes. Figuring out which of the various undead inhabitants are sentient, et which are simply ..vessels for whatever residue es left behind. The problem es- until we have a census finished, and some sort of official representative for the undead quarters, taking any sort of action could be perceived as discrimination. There's little to be done for it, yet, beyond finding the money and workers to make more room in the city for those who are sentient" Valrae is given a slight nod here, before he resumes, " or ascertaining who might- want to return to their original homes, and ensuring they have safe passage." There's a pause here, before he carefully forms the next word, "Non, what I had meant to ask you- was if I could count on your help for the drow who have encamped themselves within the dark forest. Blackwell took the time to paint them as savage murderers et invaders- in a city that es already unwelcoming due to a lack of space. It would do well if someone who had ties to the ruling house could perhaps help them find a safer place." It's at this point that Kasyr turns his full attention to Valrae, "I do appreciate your aid in all this, and the end of the embargo on your part. It will do wonders towards providing supplies to those who need it, et hopefully further alleviating tensions tied to the capability of the administration."

Lanlan didn’t miss Kasyr’s switcheroo. He easily assumes the worst of it, and rolls his eyes. Valrae can wrinkle her nose at him if she wants, he’s grown used to such abuse from his tiny burglar, he’s practically immune now. With an air of indifference, he piles on with Valrae. “Xalious would follow suit shortly, it’s already been announced.” This was true, but it hasn’t translated into action yet. If there is going to be a civil war, it would be wise to be sure where his people’s resources would end up. “And that’s good Inks. If things get ugly here, you have a home in Xalious as well.” Notably, he doesn’t extend this offer to Kasyr, and perhaps he isn’t ready to. Perhaps it isn’t needed for someone who’s death presents only an inconvenience. “If a census taker is what’s needed, then the guild can come up with something. An animated structure with only controlled intelligence that wouldn’t fall victim to any of those feral things. Inks can pick it up when she next visits. Them. There would likely be more than one.” There is a lot of undead out there. To Kasyr assuring him of his safety, he responds amicably, “Oh I don’t doubt that you would do anything within your power to a perceived enemy! It’s just lacking a certain freshness, I thought I’d give myself a placebo.” He even smiles in his eyes this time, and takes a sip. “Ah, it’s perfect now.” That servant never did return with fresh leaves. “With regards to the drow,” he says, placing his cup back in its saucer. “The leadership…D’Artes is gone. We saw them.” His finger swaps like a metronome between himself and Valrae. “What’s more, I have reestablished connections, confirming the leadership issue. They’ve a longer road–without intervention, of course.” Was he suggesting it? Of course not, that isn’t allowed. “The Blackwell Situation. Is that resolved?”

Valrae aims another of her sun bright smiles toward Iintahquohae, adding a playful wink for good measure. Maybe it wasn’t the time to talk of witchery, which is such a shame, but they would make time for it. Just as she knew the busy seamstress would make time for whatever task with the library Lanlan seemed to have found it fitting to bestow her. There were people who crumbled under pressure and people who thrived there, Inks struck her as the latter. She was pulled away from her contemplation of the seamstress at the mention of Blackwell though, and surprise had her golden brow winging. “She promised trouble, did she?” There was an air of long suffering disappointment laced in her careful tone. The witch recalled her presence in Cenril’s tavern and her request for aid in seeking an associate. So far, Valrae had neglected to write the changeling. It would seem prudent to amend as soon as possible. She’s taken this time to distract herself with worrying about Quintessa to ignore the smaller tension between Kasyr and Lanlan. They weren’t being outright hostile, that was an improvement. She doesn’t comment on what they saw in Trist’oth but a shudder that she fails to suppress moves through her. To Lanlan’s final question she scoffs. “Resolved?” Valrae crosses the room toward where the gift basket she’d brought with her looms. “Anyone else want a snack?” She calls over her shoulder, picking up a letter opener that happened to be handy. It was easy enough to use on the flimsy paper that sealed it. So, out came the blood wine that made her nose wrinkle again. She rifled around until she found a wedge of sharp cheese and a small serving knife. “I think that the webs of destruction surrounding Quintessa are still too tangled to consider resolved.” She continues finally, turning to cross back to a seat. “There is the matter of her place in the guilds,” She begins carefully avoiding looking toward Lanlan. “As I remember it, there is a precedence within the Mage’s Guild for exiling a member who attempts to take another’s life…” She was being provocative, she had no desire to see Tessa thrown from the guild, they’d made their amends privately. Valrae rolls her shoulder in a shrug and brings the small knife down on her thumb. “Damn,” The witch murmurs as a bead of sanguine drops onto her dress.

Iintahquohae figures she may as well take this first round of visiting as an opportunity to observe and maybe stay quiet so she can listen, but it's difficult to not want to just chat with Lan or Val over anything but Lithrydel-wide concerns. “Snacks sound good!” Inks cheerily exclaims, and starts to follow Valrae toward the basket she brought along. “Those scones you sent before were delicious.” The discussion over Blackwell is mostly ignored, apart from her tacking on, “She had a hand in damaging the Xalious Tree, didn't she? That should be grounds too, considering the whole,” Inks waves her finger in a vague circle in the air, “global effect that had until it was fixed.” But that's Lanlan's turf, so the seamstress's input may not be worth noting. Her nostrils flare when the scent of something that very clearly was -not- normal, human snacks reaches her. One would think being in Vailkrin might mean that Inks was regularly drinking blood, but with all the work she and Kasyr were up to, that wasn't the case. Feeding was the last thing on her mind, but now the hunger she tried to suppress surfaced in a way that she couldn't resist. Abruptly her head jerks in the witch's direction, and the rest of her body pivots too. She has some sense to call Val's name, but the suggestion to maybe toss her a bottle of blood wine or to run don't follow like they should. There's an internal battle occurring in those seconds that Inks tries to dig her heels into the floor to keep her rooted. But it wouldn't take much for her to close the distance between herself and Val, would it? Just a few quick steps...And hope Kasyr knocks her out of the way. “KAS.” Maybe out of one of those windows. He has to be fast enough to intervene, because her feet are moving at an unnatural speed, and Inks' hands move to clutch Valrae's hand and bring her wrist to her opened mouth.

Kasyr is doing his best to quell the surprise he's feeling, but there's a genuine sense of gratefulness that creeps into his voice at the offer of help from the guild, "Merci, en fait. While I've been putting out postings so people can find employment- the numbers are vast, and a bit of the arcane might help in figuring out -where- these people originated. At the very least, it could help people confirm if lost loved ones are in fact...well, not dead- but.." He gestures towards the half finished window and the city that stretches out below. Still, the wryness of Lanlan's tone, and the comment about blackwell, begets a bit more clarification, "I tend to honor the laws of hospitality, monsieur. Which es why Shishi et Quintessa were granted every courtesy -despite- the things they've done." He pauses, then adds, "Ironically, I'd initially called on her, to provide her a station of office. Recognition of her work against Caluss, Goodwill, Tentative trust- all that. Only- She just... could -not- wait to plant a dagger in my back, et to try et nudge the city over the edge for her own politics in the same breath." To say that the newly ascended king looks vexed, is a vast understatement. "Speaking of which, " Lanlan is regarded seriously here, "Just watch yourself when you see her next. She seemed...aggrieved that you hadn't told me that things were an.." Did Kasyr just make airquotes with his fingers "Act." The oath hadn't struck her down- but, the sheer scale of what had been done in the past, and the actions until Valrae still stuck in his mind. Speaking of whom, "I'd love one of those. Khitti's goods are always a delight, et frankly- with all the work with the guild, she hasn't had too much time to be here." Given, he'd been delegating work all over the place. It's the sort of thoughts that have the swordsman staring contemplatively at his coffee- at least, until the seamstress blurts out his name in a panic. And for all the world, for every bit of speed he can muster, there's actually a second where he's dumb-founded. Where the gears are turning, but he's not quite sure -why- she's rushing at the witch. But the desperation in the seamstresses voice is real- and so he acts, "Kerrigan." It's a loaded word, sharply spoken- and with the force of an order to wrench her attention towards him. An exertion of authority he can feel himself regretting almost moments after it's said, followed by a quieter, "Stitch." He inclines his head towards his side.

Lanlan turns up his hand and quirks a brow at Valrae’s incredulity. “I was asking Kasyr if she still poses a problem for him,” he says curtly. She’s cracking open her own gift, which is so tacky. But just because she disrespected him like this doesn’t mean he’ll mention it. “Of course I don’t want a snack, I want everyone to stay focused.” They didn’t know what he knew anyways, so he could always play dumb. “Are we sure she’s even alive?” This was clearly a question for Kasyr in particular, who made no illusions about his lack of affection. “She was also one of six who saved everyone else. It should matter.” A person should be able to make up for their past offenses shouldn’t they? Even her. Even him. Maybe even Kasyr, some day. However, Kasyr’s account of her actions do track soundly, and it’s easy to believe. “Then you did what you had to. Showed restraint even, but Shishi too? I hadn’t realized they were so closely aligned. We should note their landing then, because of course Valrae is right. Destruction surrounds her.” The apparent threat against his life changes his tone quickly however. Another eye to hold open, perhaps? “She wouldn’t dare, not after I -saved- her from that thing.” But she would dare, he knew it, if she thought she was in the right, no matter how wrong she was in reality. “Oh Valrae, look what you’ve–” There’s a flash from his side, and once again, the reminder of where they stand. In a realm of monsters. Quick as he can, he reacts. His wand is to his fingers, and energy snaps out of it like cracks in glass, and just as quick. A violet streak catches Inks in an aqueous bubble of force that would suspend her movement if it could stop her. Normally he uses it personally to travel quickly, in this case he’d rather float Inks up to the ceiling where she couldn’t harm anyone, or herself. He eyes Kasyr angrily, for having done little more than whisper her name. "Feed her!"

Valrae seems cheered by the distraction of a lighter topic. “I’m so glad you liked them! What part made it to your mother?” She asks teasingly, “I have to admit they were about four scones lighter than what I intended to send you because I’m greedy.” She’d nicked a few before sending them off herself. The conversation turns back to the trees and Valrae keeps her mouth closed. She didn’t want to see Quintessa removed from the guild, not truly, but she hadn’t been able to resist pointing out the unfair treatment when it came to Kasyr. He’d done less and suffered considerably more harsh punishments. She was scowling at the blood on her dress, for a moment thinking nothing beyond the stain it might leave, before her head snapped up at the sound of Iintahquohae’s voice as she called her name. Fear had her heart flipping downward toward her stomach. Suddenly, it was beating too loudly even in her own ears as she remembered where she was, in what castle she sat. Kasyr’s voice cut through the room like a knife, halting the blur of motion just as soon as it began, at least to Valrae’s human eyes. Lanlan had reacted quickly as well, his wand and magic flashing. The silence that followed seemed deafening. On a shaking breath, the witch stands slowly. As Lanlan hurls demands at Kasyr, Valrae’s head turns back quickly and she levels him a cool look. “There was no harm done.” She says softly. She crosses the room to pour Iintahquohae a glass of blood wine first, something she manages without even a tremble. A testament to her herculean will. Once it’s placed in the seamstress’s hand, she meets her eyes unflinchingly. She offers a gentle smile and a whispered, “Think nothing of it.” Next, she’s crossing the room with a small selection of Khitti’s baked goods that Kasyr had asked for. When she crossed the room again she sat closer to Lanlan than before and echoed his sentiments. “Quintessa would know better than to blame Lanlan for how things turned out.” She said this with more confidence than she felt, the only indication of this was the way her eyes turned to the arch mage for a heartbeat in worry. “After all we’ve been through recently, I would hope that we’ve all had our fill of drama for at least a century.” The witch was pressing her thumb against a kerchief produced from her bottomless purse. “Oh, I’m afraid this won't do…” She begins, “I think, perhaps, we’ve intruded quite enough.” She looks to Lanlan to confirm. Even though it felt as if they’d brushed a number of topics and come to an agreement upon none of them, it didn’t feel overly kind to linger. Her eyes find Iintahquohae again, this time the look she levels is one of reassurance. “We should return to Xalious, but I’ll be in touch. I still owe you a letter.”

Iintahquohae feels her body try to resist Kasyr's demand to approach him, struck with shock by the use of her married name. The nickname that follows causes her head to jerk toward him. Her lanky frame seizes in an uncomfortable twist that's caught between mid-lunge at Valrae and trying to turn toward fully her sire. It's a battle that she ultimately loses, thank the gods, and she makes the most shameful walk toward Kasyr. This is the second time that she's done this to the witch, and this time was far too close. In a blink she's airborne through some means unknown to her, and as the seamstress tries to right herself in the air like she might during flying drills with the Eyrie, it's a struggle. She notices Lan's wand when she does manage to get a good look at the floor below. This must be his doing. At least from this embarrassing (for her) and very safe vantage point (for Valrae), Inks can begin a string of apologies. “Val, I'm so sorry – I,” but Inks can still smell her blood, even if she is floating in the air now. She had a very ridiculous method of masking the smell that wasn't foolproof with her heightened senses, but she used it anyway. Freeing a handkerchief soaked in perfume from her pocket she pinches it over her nose and keeps it there. Her feet eventually find the floor again, and she practically glues herself to Kasyr's side. “T-thanks,” she murmurs to the trio. Once Valrae approaches her with the glass of blood wine, the seamstress visibly flinches. Usually she possessed so much confidence, but after that complete loss of control, she can't help but be awash with worry. Nevertheless, a trembling hand reaches to accept the glass from Valrae. The scent of her blood still lingered, far stronger than the bloodwine in that glass. She can't help shuddering. “I'm sorry,” she repeats again, even after the witch's whispered assurance. She'll definitely be thinking of it, but in the sense that she must prevent it from happening again. That's strike two. The glass of wine is downed immediately, and while it dulls some of the seamstress's edge, she doesn't trust herself to step forward to do something, anything to remedy the mood she's certain she's killed. “Y-you do?” They were still going to write to each other?! If Valrae knew just how much that meant to her. Her typically dull, expressionless eyes actually capture a little bit of a shimmer. Are they tearing up? “I - I can't wait to hear from you."

Kasyr doesn't seem to rise to any of Lanlan's provocations, whether they were before or after Inks' mad dash. If anything, they serve to ground him- to provide an edge to his features that had briefly softened towards his fledgeling. On a certain level, he can't even blame him for his ire- though less at the perceived lack of control, and more at her hunger. They'd both been neglecting themselves, what they needed, and for how long? "Like I said, you're under my protection. Et my authority es a bit harder to ignore here." Though his gaze flicks over towards Valrae, he places a reassuring hand over the seamstresses arm- meant to steady her in the aftermath, "I apologize. I'll be more cautious in future." There's a genuineness to the conciliatory tone, and a faint awkwardness he tries to suppress at the abrutpness of her departure. One which is apt to soon be mirrored by Lanlan. And to a certain degree, he could almost feel himself bothered- if only due to the overall civility of the situation. Still, "I would not keep either of you, if you both have business to attend to. Just know that you are -both- welcome here." His attention flicks back over to Lanlan, his expression slightly more severe, "Spite is her currency. So I felt it prudent to warn you, c'est tout. if you -can- have faith in her, so much the better. I simply don't, anymore." Inks' arm is given a faint squeeze, more for his own reassurance in that moment- a reminder that even as the rest of the Coterie vanished, she was still there.

Lanlan is already lowering Inks’ bubble back down if it needs to be, seeing that the situation is resolved. He cools his temper down just as soon as Valrae speaks. “You’re right, surprisingly. Usually much harm comes from these meetings.” Even though his bubble is dissipated, he hasn’t replaced his wand, in case someone has a misguided attempt toward fatherly retribution. “Inks,” he says sternly, and then sighs. “You need to take far better care of yourself.” He’s not sure what to say, so he takes Valrae’s lead on this. If she’s fine, he’s fine. Still, he wasn’t sure how she was returning to normalcy so quickly. Maybe she didn’t see how close she was to getting hurt. “Use a bandage,” he says to Valrae, producing a thin pink strip of silk from his wand. It drifts daintily over to her and slithers around her finger. Then his wand is gone. “Okay. It’s okay, nothing happened here today.” He means it in the most amicable way possible.” We should meet again soon, and further discuss the plans we’ve made today. Begun to make. In the meantime, I’ll make sure the census taker reaches you as soon as it can.” He can sense the awkwardness of the departure as well, and determines to take it upon himself. “Of course it was my mistake. I’ve put upon you two and also my Councillor Amorelly, who’s far above the station of driver. Yet we needed her. Still, I shouldn’t make her wait much longer, so we must go.” Lanlan sighs and addresses Kasyr once more. “Of course I do appreciate and heed the warning, and I don’t discount it; rather I think I’ve got the measure of her. My faith in her is to act as she always has.” With that, they take their leave.