[Closed] The Path Forward

[caporushes]

32 of Hamis, 2719 - Office Hours
The Offices of Shrikeweed, Wensbrooke, and Kenge

Ana closed her eyes, gathering both her emotions and her field close to her. To others, perhaps, her outward expression had not been much of a slip. Lilliana had always prided herself on her control; even a small slip was more than she preferred to allow. It was the thought of her sister, alone and unguided in a place that didn't care for her, not really, that broke her. Who would love her, if not Ana? She took a deep breath in, held it, and slowly released. All of this took the span of less than a minute; when she opened her eyes again, they were bright but clear. Shining gold in a porcelain face.

Ana turned to Mr. Shrikeweed once more, considering what he had told her. He smiled at her, and she thought that he must find her unreasonable. Ana was strong-willed, it was true, but the elder Steerpike knew when to be flexible. This seemed one of those times. Laughable as she found the concern for Brunnhold's institutional dignity-- and what did she care for the dignity of the University, in the face of her quest to bring her baby sister home to her? --she knew that the lawyer was, of course, correct. It was no small thing, to want to go against tradition, legal precedent, and the deep resources of an entire University. Ana did not frown, but she let a small defeated sigh escape her.

"If you think, Mr. Shrikeweed, that such an argument could prove valuable... You are right, and I would be foolish to discount it. All that matters is the result. I shall... I shall bow to your expertise, sir. But please," she added, a sincere entreaty, "let us save it as a measure of last resort." She did not like the way she had to ask it, as if it was a favor--but indeed, it could be regarded so. However it rankled at her pride to have make such a concession, such a request, if something as foolish as this stood between her and her heart's desire, she would do away with it.

"I am the last of our family. It is indeed only my permission you need." Ana's tone was businesslike and matter-of-fact. Very little of the emotion that had crept through into her voice and her demeanor when she spoke of her sister was present now, in speaking of her late parents. "I shall arrange to have the full documents of Aurelie's transfer sent by courier."

At that, she glanced to the clock. While she had arrived early for her appointment, she had lingered long enough. Other obligations pressed on her for that day. Ana gathered her attache case and the contents, leaving the articles--just in case. She also left a card with her information on it, for Mr. Shrikeweed's reference. The card was a crisp and understated cotton linen, her name and address printed in an elegant hand.

"I thank you for your time and attention on this matter, Mr. Shrikeweed. I am afraid I do have other appointments that I must be seeing to--unless you need anything further from me at this point...?" Ana stood, raising her eyebrows as she waited.

[Runcible Spoon]

Vienda- The Offices of Shrikeweed, Wensbrooke, and Kenge
The 32nd Day of Hamis, 2019, the forenoon

O

ther appointments. Yes, no doubt the elegant Miss Steerpike had any number of appointments, social and otherwise. For how long? If she pressed her case, if he managed to see it through to a successful conclusion, then the vibrant and brash young lady would be forced to dim her fire, to retreat into some quiet retirement. Her friends and associates would desert her, the law would hesitate to offer her protections. No priest would tend to the needs of her soul. She would have to become a non-entity. If she managed to un-gate her sister, she would gate herself. It seemed a poor trade.

“Miss Steerpike, I must continue to council that we arrive as a successful conclusion by skillful means. An imputation that your sister is mad cannot harm the girl’s reputation. She already is stripped of that.” But then, it is not the girl’s reputation you are thinking of is it. It is not yours you are thinking of either. It is an indulgence in pride, in utter surety. Has no one ever told you ‘no’ Miss Steerpike? He thought not. It would be a late lesson for her to learn. And a necessary one. [color=#947c54“I will, however, try other, more technical paths first. The documents from your Mr Agnew will be a good start. It may be some little while before I can advise you further. This is a complex matter and we must tread carefully.” [/color] Like walking upon the edge of a knife. Well, it had been years since he took that stroll, yet he remembered well enough how to tread.

“One last thing Miss Steerpike. I will need to provide you with progress reports as I work though matters. I will require your assent to certain, rather delicate, lines of inquiry.” Those were inevitable, even if they seemed murky now. Old laws that had not been cited in centuries, precedents culled from dissents. Gods-damned counterfactuals. Perhaps he might need Basil after all. “I may require the services of one or more consultants in untangling matters. They will be discreet, of course, but they may be outside the strict bonds of legal ethics. I will require your assent at each step to consult these experts.” He left the matter hanging in the air, another mote of dust among so many.

“And, Miss Steerpike, please know that you may consult me as needed. As of today, I am your attorney in this matter.” It still sat ill with him, this matter. The implications, the consequences. It would be twice as difficult to mitigate the damage. “Good morning Miss Steerpike." He rose and extended his hand. Old, gnarled, somewhat arthritic. His hands would ache from drafting briefs and writing formal letters. He had secretaries, of course. He would not use them. Damn the aches and pains. The ink on this matter would flow from his own pen. "I believe I have all I need to begin my work.”