RP:The Manservant and the Madam Songstress

Part of the The Seven Sins of Sagittae Arc

Summary: Seteth and Raphaline gather intelligence on Lord Andor Sprague's upcoming ball in Larket, the thief disguising himself as a simple servant for the Madam Songstress. Seteth confirms the location of the first of seven fabled crystals his true masters have dispatched him to Lithrydel in order to pilfer whilst Raphaline plays her role to a tee.

The Manor of Lord Andor Sprague; Larket

Seteth || The bell-shaped magic lamps adorning Andor Sprague’s cobblestone mansion were evenly spaced a meter or so apart and extended around its entire perimeter. They were fastened to the tips of steel stakes and shone a vivid orange light. The light draped Sprague’s lawn in an eerie glow, casting odd shadows upon the perfectly-trimmed hedge grass. Seteth wasn’t certain where the wealthy businessman had acquired the lamps, but he thought they looked suspiciously similar to the warding lights used in religious ceremonies across the Demon Archipelago. ‘Not that the fool would know the first thing about all that,’ the thief thought in silence. He was surprised by his own bitterness. Since when did he care about a thing like cross-cultural respect? Maybe it was simply a side effect of the intentional tightness of the midnight blue suede suit he had chosen to wear for tonight’s bit of spycraft. He and the bard, Raphaline, had traveled here together so that the woman could work her charms on Sprague and gain formal invitation to the businessman’s soonest flashy private ball. For Seteth’s part, he was going to behave the part of Raphaline’s doting personal assistant; after all, any bard worth her voice in gold had at least one overly attached devotee by her side. And that devotee needed to be reasonably well-dressed, too, lest it appear that the bard had merely attracted the dedication of a street urchin. ‘The sort of street urchin I really am,’ Seteth thought. There was that bitterness again, bubbling to the surface. The pair approached the large oaken double doors and Seteth knocked for his “lady’s favor.” He waited, chewing at his bottom lip impatiently. When the doors swung open, a butler in his senior years with a ridiculously pointed beard appeared to greet them. “To whom does this simple servant owe the pleasure?” He addressed Raphaline and Raphaline alone. ‘Good,’ Seteth’s silent thoughts continued. ‘We’ve made the proper presentation.’

Raphaline has been a busy woman. After her performance at the ball she has been booked pretty solidly with gigs both big and small. At the moment she is working on something for later this month per request of another party planner, but it is a special surprise. So when she had kindly inquired after by message to join a certain thief in a bit of spying, she was quite happy to oblige. From his message she had discerned that the place and time would need an air of refinery but not overly zealous in display. So rather than choose something extravagant to catch the eye of this Andor in question, she wears something of a fine middle. Her dress is flirtatious in material, given that the skirt is made solely of embroidered layers of silver and black chiffon. The pattern of tiny stitching is a lovely swirl of deep blues and gold, almost as if the design looks like stars dancing across a reflected pool of water. The top part of the dress is solid black taffeta with a sweetheart neckline that gives a suggestive hint to her figure but nothing that could ever be considered lewd. She had found the thief easily enough once she had reached Larket, mostly because it was a new sight for her to see. Maybe she had grown used to his more casual presentation that the suit threw her for a loop for a moment. Grinning, she strolled up to him, took him by the arm and whispered for him to lead on. The house that they are standing before does nothing to charm or awe the bard; she sees it for it’s show of opulence. Instead, dawning her famous smile, she follows up to the door. Without missing a beat she dips into a small curtsy before answering in her melodious tone. “Raphaline,” she says, letting her official name roll off her tongue. “I am here to see Sir Andor.” She leaves everything else up to her reputation as a bard of these lands, and the business she might be here to inquire about.

Seteth || Raphaline’s reputation was a valuable weapon, indeed. The butler’s smile widened at her naming and he gave a prolonged bow. Seteth grimaced slightly when the butler’s back made a quiet yet audible crack. Here was a man who was clearly accustomed to pushing his aging bones to the brink in the service of his master. “Lord Andor is as busy a host as ever,” the butler began in a forced proud tone, before returning to the modest and gracious voice he’d used upon the bard’s arrival. “And yet, he has given me the honor of immediately inviting those precious few whose deeds across the land are known as sweetly as honey to a pot.” Seteth gave the butler an appreciative smile, as if to suggest that it gave him great satisfaction to hear his mistress’ exploits were so properly renowned. In his mind, however, were thoughts which forced the thief to stifle an inappropriate chuckle. ‘She’s a honeypot, all right. Here to steal away your so-called lord’s secrets one and all. Too bad for Sprague this guy doesn’t realize how right he is.’ Seteth knew he should exercise impersonal restraint; his goal today was to help Raphaline find her ticket in, and his goal when next they visited this mansion was to steal a crystal. Screwing over Sprague was to be viewed as a byproduct, not an objective. But he couldn’t shake the bitterness. This man, Sprague, had made a living off of keeping the downtrodden true to their term. For that he would pay.

Seteth || “Right this way, Madam Songstress Raphaline,” the butler beckoned. Seteth waited until Raphaline followed, and presuming she did so he kept a respectable distance from her but maintained a protective vigil. ‘Like a good little sycophant,’ he thought. The butler led them through a modest stone entryway and into a huge hall filled with corner-to-corner opulence. The walls were the color of gold, and Seteth supposed it was not entirely unlikely that gold was well and truly what they were made of. Every few meters in every direction, from the entrance all the way to the distant velvet-lined staircase, there stood a marble pedestal which supported some artifact kept safe within glass confines. The skulls of beasts mighty and miniature were held in some. Others contained ancient maps or jewels. A few were filled with exotic weapons from faraway lands -- some even Seteth did not recognize. In the center of it all, just as Seteth’s Larketian contact had claimed, was a shimmering emerald crystal with a brilliance that drew the eye past everything which surrounded it. The Gaian. And directly beside the Gaian stood a hefty man in a kingly red robe and a platinum crown, sucking his fingers for the last of the honey of his lemon cake. “Charmed,” Lord Andor Sprague greeted, moving more swiftly across his elegant hall than his weight suggested possible. His bow was by no means as successful as his butler’s, after which he held out his hand to shake Raphaline’s. “I have heard so much, and yet would you believe that I have never actually heard your sing? We must needs remedy this. Posthaste.”

Raphaline would never allow herself to be seen as one of those ladies who merely turns her nose up at a servant. So when the butler speaks kindly of her, she firstly offers him a warm smile and then offers to help steady the man upright once more. “Your words are like music to my ears, darling. I am always happy to hear others speak well of my performances, no matter who they may be,” she says, settling her welcoming gaze on the man. “Next time you come to a show, be sure to come up and say hi to me.” The bard did love any and all fans, and she tried to present herself as both approachable and lovely. She presses her hand gently to his shoulder before following the man through the door. Her gaze dances over the interior of the mansion for a few moments before taking in the entrances and exits from the place--just in case of trouble. Everything about this place screamed not just money, but someone who wanted everyone around them to know they had money and power enough to keep beautiful, rare treasures locked away where only a spare few might be able to ever see them. The dead animal heads made the bard a bit sad though, she didn’t like trophies. When they finally arrive upon their target, the bard is not surprised by the rather clique appearance of the man. What she had not expected and was not thrilled about was the obvious distribution of saliva onto his fingers. Nothing grosses her out more than having to shake the hand of someone who just licked their fingers. But, she is a professional! Clearly the grin on her lips is sweet and inviting and never falters as she places her elegant, long-fingered hand into his own. “It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Andor Sprague.” She allows her voice to take on a honeyed, musical vibrato when she speaks his name, giving it an air of importance and admiration. As for the suggestion of performance, she brightens; this is her winning point. “Oh, of course! Would you also like me to play the piano as well while I sing?” Best to always show a diverse talent when it comes to performing.

Seteth || “Manservant,” Sprague briefly addressed Seteth, “pour wine for us.” He wagged his honeyed finger to the far west end of the hall, where bottles of arbor sweet reds were kept upon a fine porcelain table. Six silver goblets sat beside them. “In fact,” Sprague continued, “pour wine for yourself as well. For it is of a vintage so vivid as to be shared even among manservants.” He winked a self-satisfied wink at Raphaline, clearly proud of his feigned display of extensive courtesy. Seteth wasn’t thrilled about missing any part of Raphaline’s dialogue with the lord, but he knew it had to be done. He bowed, clenching his teeth at the stiffness of his suit. High society truly had a way of suffocating its patrons. He walked with his head down low and his green eyes filled with false envy; it was humbleness and quiet jealousy that he had seen on the faces of several who genuinely occupied the station he presently presumed. As he poured the wine into the silver goblets, Andor Sprague made his best efforts to regale the lady hard. “I shall have, unequivocally, the best piano in this realm brought before you — for it is known that the greatest songstresses of all time are like birds trapped in cages unless their talents be set free for all good people to hear.” He grinned. His teeth were far from white. “Now to business. You will be well paid. Of this you have my utmost assurances. Would that you were a hidden gem, I would offer you not just gold but the guarantee of discovery. That is to say, a platform on which to be discovered. But your discovery, Lady Raphaline, took place years ago, did it not? So it is all this simple lord can do to promise that your name shall continue to be mentioned openly in every corner.” He paused. “This ball is held in tribute to the hard-working and underappreciated. In short, my lady, the cleaners.” Something about the way Sprague spoke that final word strongly suggested he didn’t mean housekeeping.

Raphaline just keeps grinning her way through the obvious display of reverence and power. When he tells Seteth to have some wine as well, she gasps in delight and says, “My goodness, you are quite the generous fellow.” Playfully, the bard reaches over and places her hand against Sprague’s shoulder for a brief moment before taking it back and folding them demurely in front of her. Best to give him just enough deference and flirtation, but not anywhere enough to even place heartily in his mind that she would be interested, because yuck. This man was all the things she genuinely disliked about the upper crust, but even more so their lack of genuineness. As for his comment about producing the best piano for her to play, she could hardly doubt it the best musically. Many of those who pay for the arts but never actually experience it, often times buy the instruments with the most gold trimming but none of the loving care, nor originality that an instrument carefully chosen by an actual musician would possess. Also, some of those fancy benches are not comfortable. Something about his comment though about birds and cage causes a small shiver to run down her back and settle very uncomfortably in her stomach.

So self-satisfied was Sprague, that when he offered his toast upon Seteth’s retrieval of the wine, he downed it in a single swoop. “To the finest music from the most beautiful bardess.” His glass clinked with Raphaline’s — a touch too forcefully, but the sturdy goblets held firm. A bit of his wine rolled down his chin. Sensing an opportunity to let loose some much-needed emotion, Seteth surprised the lord by tapping his own glass giddily. “Yes, the honorable Lord Andor Sprague speaks such truths to note my lady’s mighty talents! Oh, but the providence that I, a humble lad of humbler birth, should happen to come into the service of not only she, but of you as well, my lord!” His teeth gritted afterward, but safely behind a rich smile. Downing his wine with aplomb gave Seteth a second’s chance to gaze upon the Gaian. It was beyond gorgeous. Unnervingly so. “Well, my lady, not that a humble lad should speak out of turn, but I must needs remind you of your pressing appointment with yet another most enviable client.” This was Raphaline’s cue to get going. In the span of his visit to the wine table, Seteth had already adequately cased the joint. He had ideas, and he savored the promise of the chance to share them with his singsong ally shortly. For Sprague’s part, he scarcely seemed to notice Seteth’s voice. Not surprising, the thief realized — just one more reason he could hardly wait to embarrass the man’s poor security.