[Closed] Old Shells, New Residents

The Ainu family welcomes an old friend into their home.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Palis Ainu
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Race: Galdor
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Thu Mar 21, 2019 4:47 pm

The Ainu Household | Ophus 16

How Palis despised the cold weather that crawled its way under the window panes and into every room. He perched now on the stiff and unfriendly red bench that sat beside the roaring fireplace of the parlor, and beside him, the great, long-haired, grey cat curled into a ball the way it had always done in Palis' childhood, the way it had before Palis' father, Kilapu, had had it stuffed. Subconsciously he had reached down and pet it, and consciously he had retracted his hand as he felt the hard, hollow interior beneath the dusty fur. Had he simply glanced into the room bathed in various shades of red, gold, and brown like autumn leaves, Palis would have thought he had stumbled back into childhood. Yet, the hour or so he had been childishly ordered to sit in the parlor out of the way to wait for dinner, Palis had become painfully aware of the minute differences his father had made since he had left. The great grandfather clock that stared at him from across the room had had its once copper hands replaced with thin gold ones, and they moved without the stepping stone rigidness of their predecessors. The carpet of that rolled itself out under the feet of the furniture had been replaced by one of the same pattern, but this new imposter forgot to match his muse's stains and fade. Here the pillows had been replaced, there the broken bricks of the fireplace had been mended, and there, beside Palis, even Polo, the old cat, had been modified. The room felt like it was pretending to be childhood, the way a nightmare is often just enough different from reality to make you even more scared for what may greet you.

All day the two servants, Edwin, the passive butler, and Zephyr, the mute human groundskeeper buzzed around the house, tending every small detail as Kilapu beetled after them with an endless library of orders spewing from his mouth.

"Any minute!" Kilapu's shout rang excitedly from the upper level of the house as the clock's hands edged towards the evening hour. "Any minute!"

In the vast boredom of it all, Palis unfolded himself and stood, glancing out the window to the snowy street once more before leaving Polo to his eternal slumber beside the fire. He moved to the kitchen and through the great swinging door into the sudden warmth that swelled there. Lydia, the human cook who had only recently been hired as Edwin's age made it hard for him to read the metal measuring cups, was busy among the steam and smells that danced around her as she prepared a four-course meal for the galdori that would soon dine, as well as for herself, Edwin, and Zephyr. The memory of eating the extra food Edwin had purposefully overcompensated for in the back of the kitchen while his father had guests was a pleasant memory in Palis' mind. He had been parented by Edwin, befriended by Zephyr, and their work had been judged by Kilapu.

Palis stood back as Lydia cooked, wrapped up in the warmth and home of the smell of meat and rosemary. She was dressing the partridges with one hand, sprinkling dried herbs over them, and , with her other hand, she stirred her purple, fingerling potatoes to a soft boil.

"Hallo, Master Palis," she greeted in her robust voice. She was a large, motherly woman somewhere in her early 40s.

"Good evening, Lydia. The food smells delicious," he smiled, and he swept through the kitchen and into the dining room beyond. It had always been one of his favorite rooms of the house. It was full of a bright life from the large, amiable lamps that, despite the phosphor that lit the rest of the house, burned with a warm, dancing flame. The room was narrow, and every inch of it, table, chairs, floor, ceiling, and walls, was a rich, cocoa-coloured wood. The center of the table, typically a long table that spanned the room and sat sixteen people, had been removed temporarily to allow a comfortable conversation space for three people, and three place settings awaited them.

"Master Ainu, your guest arrives," Edwin's low vibrato rumbled from the foyer and into the dining room. Before Palis could act, Kilapu was already shouting his excitable orders like a better yelling for his speeding horse to win on the track.

"Palis! Come, boy. He's here!" Palis took long strides into the foyer, brushing his hair back with his hand to ensure it was in place as he remembered exactly what his father had made him rehearse a hundred times that morning alone. He stood just off the shoulder of Kilapu, a ginger-salt-and-peppered man merely a wink taller than him, the complimentary suits they wore (Palis' a dusty blush colour and Kilapu's a deep rosewood) picked and pressed by Palis' own hand. Everything was in place. Edwin opened the door, and Kilapu sprung into action.

"Anatole. My old friend!"
tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 2699

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Tom Cooke
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Sat Mar 23, 2019 1:29 am



the ainu household
evening on the 16th of Ophus, 2718
I am Anatole Vauquelin. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. He was alone inside the carriage, bundled up against the chill that crept through the thick wool of his coat and soaked into his bones; he had his gloved hands jammed into his pockets and his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and he was trying not to tremble like a freezing weasel. That was what he was thinking, over and over again, a mantra: I am Anatole Vauquelin. Tonight, I am Anatole…

When Ainu’s invitation had found its way onto his desk, he’d entertained the idea of tossing it into the hearth and pretending he hadn’t gotten it. Barring that, he might’ve gotten Cecily to write some nice, pretty bit of vodundun back, something about how his health was still too fragile for something like this. He had more important things to think about than some gods-damned dinner with yet another of Vauquelin’s moony toffin friends. Before she’d left, though, Diana had delivered him an acidic warning: Whether you remember him or not, Kilapu was one of your closest friends at Brunnhold. If you ignore this, Anatole, if you keep making excuses…

Kilapu Ainu was an odd bird, so he’d heard, but he wasn’t without a voice. He was published and people read him. He was a dyed-in-the-wool Conservative – Anatole’s own party – and it’d cause problems if he kept brushing him off. Right now, he needed to be safe, and that meant he needed people to think he was who he looked like he was. Anatole would’ve gone to dinner with Kilapu, so Tom had to.

Worse, he had to put the past two months’ careful practice to the test: he had to pretend to be the man Kilapu knew like the back of his hand.

He brushed back the drapes, peered out the window at the sleet-slick, lantern-lit Uptown streets that whispered by. It’d snowed at the beginning of the week, but now it was clear. Still, the air felt heavy and wet and cold; the damp clung to him and wouldn’t let go. He settled back into his seat with a deep sigh. He was trying to go over what he’d been told about the Ainu family, what he’d tried to find out – about Kilapu and about the son, Palis, who was getting into politics, who’d recently been interned to… Shit. He racked his brain. He’d be at the Ainu house soon, and he still felt scrambled.

Just get this over with, he thought. Tonight, you’re Anatole. You go home after this, you get to be Tom. But right now, you have to be Anatole. Be a man, Cooke. It’s a job like any other.

When they arrived, it seemed to him that barely any time at all had passed. He was out of the carriage and in the cold, swaddled and struggling against the wind; his breath smoked white against the frost-heavy dark. Hunger gnawed at his stomach; he could smell something good, something damn good, and he realized after a moment that it was coming from inside the house.

Cooking meat. Spices. Maybe, in an indirect way, he’d helped facilitate their arrival in Vienda, somewhere down the line – months ago, when life had been a hell of a lot simpler. Funny thought, that.

Suddenly, as if somebody else’s legs had carried him there, he was at the door, and the door had opened, and a wave of warmth hit him in the face. Inside, there were three men he didn’t recognize and could barely parse in the sudden light; he froze in the doorway, gritting his teeth, eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, he stood there, looking stiff and alarmed and confused. He stared at them: the older galdor in red, the lad in that washed-out pink suit, the old passive…

Get a hold of yourself, Anatole. You know these people.

After the elder galdor spoke, he seemed to master himself. He blinked a few times, took a breath – then forced a smile on his face. He’d done it in the mirror a dozen times that morning, done it till it looked right: through and through, it was the incumbent’s tepid smile, one red eyebrow quirked. He dipped low in a deep bow, a proper galdor bow, and when he rose, he kicked himself into motion: he swept into the cheerily-lit foyer, trying to seem like he’d done it a dozen times before.

As he took off his coat, he inclined his head to the elder Ainu. “Kilapu,” he said, trying desperately to infuse his voice with a warmth he didn’t feel. “It’s been so long, my friend. I can’t express how good it is to see you again. And—” He turned to the younger galdor and met his gaze, stifling some surprise at the brown-blue irises. You don’t see that every day. He bent briefly in another, shallower, bow.

“—young master Palis. A pleasure to see you again. A fine young political mind. I’ve heard that your work with, ah, Incumbent—” Sack it, which one? Which one? “—Incumbent Madden is going well.”

He looked at Kilapu. It troubled him that he had to look up; he was roughly Palis’ height, if a little shorter, and Kilapu was just a hair taller. In life, he reckoned he would’ve towered over everybody present. He felt diminutive. His hair was a smidge tousled from the wind, damp with frost, and he was flushed from the stinging cold. He’d chosen one of Anatole’s customary three-piece suits, but being honest, everything in the incumbent’s closet looked the same to him, all deep mahogany-brown and black. All uncomfortable, unfamiliar. They fit him perfectly, of course, but the urge to fidget was still nearly unbearable.

He hadn’t realized it, but he was aching with hunger. “That smells marvelous, Kilapu,” he said with a soft, practiced laugh. “I must admit I’m famished.”
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Palis Ainu
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Fri Apr 19, 2019 11:08 pm

The Ainu Household | Ophus 16

Palis stepped back and observed the man as his father greeted him, bowing back to him when prompted. Anatole was a figure remembered vaguely from many moments of childhood. To his credit, Palis also remembered that he was one of the few men who stuck around after his mother died, and one of the few men who still insisted on being a part of Kilapu’s life when he tried to push everyone away. He had been kind enough to Palis, always pulling a candy out of his coat and presenting to the boy, always asking him how his studies were going as he aged. Palis distinctly remembered that it was Anatole and his family that had presented Palis with the long-haired Polo for his eighth birthday, and could remember playing in the sun with his children in the yard. As Palis stayed away from home, he too saw less of Anatole by both his absence and his father’s increasing isolation. Palis guessed he hadn’t seen Anatole since he was fourteen, some six years before. He had grown since then, now level with the other man. He only hoped his childhood respect hadn’t been misplaced.

It has been far too long, Anatole, and for that I must apologize,” Kilapu greeted with a happiness so genuine that Palis couldn’t help the eyebrow that ascended his forehead. His father, happy. Certainly a rare sight for Palis to see.

Incumbent Siordanti,” Palis filled in the blanks in Anatole’s memory, but Kilapu waved him off. Palis rolled his eyes. He was touched by Anatole’s attention, more than his father ever gave him. “Edwin, grab his coat, would you?” And Edwin, the passive butler, complied to Palis, gingerly lifting Anatole’s heavy coat away from him and stalking away to retire it for the evening until it’d be needed to brave the cold again.

It’s wonderful to see you regaining your health and strength, sir,” Palis smiled politely.

Mm. Heard they found you all out of sorts and wandering about in the snow in the Dives not too long ago,” Kilapu scrutinized, and Palis nearly shriveled in embarrassment.

Perhaps we can let our guest through the front door before we interrogate him, Father,” Palis suggested dryly. He moved down the hall, then turned back to motion along the two of them. “Come along this way, sir. It’s much warmer in the dining room, and Lydia is nearly done preparing the partridges. I’m sure it’ll satisfy your personal famine.

Father’s redone the dining room in your absence,” he added, knowing his father’s pride would approve of the interest in his home renovations. Kilapu burrowed forward like the beetle of a man he was at the mention of his home, ready to brag on his flooring and chandeliers and new heating system under the floor as Palis held open the swinging dining room doors for the two old men.

It was going to be an exhilaratingly tedious night under Kilapu’s loquacious tongue. Palis would do his best to combat the worst of it and protect Anatole. The poor man was hardly ready for such scrutiny as Kilapu Ainu provided, especially after his episode. From what Palis had heard whispered in government sessions, Anatole had been seized by disease at the opera, then bed-ridden for some time. When the man’s health returned to him, however, he disappeared, and the hallways discussed madness, a kidnapping, and the possibility of him simply going off to die like some sad animal. He’d been spotted here and there- most prominently in the Dives by two Seventen, as Kilapu had so wonderfully mentioned. Yet, he returned home after some time as if nothing had happened. Now Anatole was here, and Palis moved to sit at the table before his father scared Anatole back into madness.
tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 2699
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Tom Cooke
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Thu May 09, 2019 3:33 pm

the ainu household 🙫 uptown
during the evening of the 16th of ophus, 2718
Siord— Siordanti,” Tom attempted, smiling at Palis. “Yes. Of course. My mistake.”

His right eye gave a subtle, fluttering twitch as he glanced from son to father, and then to the passive butler that Palis had called Edwin. He knew better by now, but as he’d come through the door, habit had made him look around covertly for someplace to hang his coat; Edwin met a little resistance in taking it out of his hands, as if he weren’t quite ready to give it up. Empty-handed, Tom felt vaguely defenseless.

He didn’t have much time to reflect on it, though. When the elder Ainu spoke again, one of his eyebrows shot up. Bold for a toffin, ain’t he? Tom blinked, bland smile twitching – briefly – into something like bemusement. He exchanged a quick glance with Palis. Unexpectedly, he found himself on familiar ground. Some things were the same, he reckoned, no matter where you went: this wouldn’t be the first moony old man he’d ever seen embarrassing his lad. He wondered whether Anatole’d ever particularly liked him, or just gritted his teeth and put up with it. They must’ve got on, though, elsewise he wouldn’t’ve been compelled to come to dinner.

Soon enough, he found himself being swept off to the dining room. As Kilapu scuttled through his house like a beetle in its den, Tom tried to keep up with the pace of the conversation, tried not to stop and gawk at every bit of needless jinga he clapped his eyes on. He’d no damn clue how they kept it so warm in here, but he was grateful for it; he was still rubbing his hands together to try and coax life back into the numb fingers. These days, he was like a moth to a flame, and he had to admit that he’d rather be here than some tenement in the Dives. His aching joints were thanking the Ainus for whatever this vodundun was, even if the lights and the carpeting and all that glass struck him as a little excessive.

By the Lady, if he’d been himself, all the shit he could’ve made off with – but it was best not to think about that.

He couldn’t help letting out a little laugh of admiration as he and Kilapu passed into the long, narrow dining room. He cast about for Palis, who’d politely held the door and who was now moving toward a seat at the table. “Why, he has, hasn’t he? What a – fine job.” Not that I’d fucking know, he thought, but look at all this. Pretty as a godsdamn picture. The close quarters and the wood paneling made the room feel warmer, somehow, cheerier.

Cautiously, Tom moved to pull out a polished wooden chair and seat himself. Being honest, this was the part that scared the hell out of him. He wasn’t ready for a dozen forks and a wine from gods-knew-how-long ago that he couldn’t tell from Low Tide. Anxiety knotted in his stomach. Swallowing bile, he smiled again at Palis, then at Kilapu.

“Er – well – I hear you’ve kept busy,” he started, clearing his throat. “I’ve been occupied with my recovery, so I’ve been sadly unable to, uh – keep up with the publications. But I heard your most recent article was – controversial.” Shit, was it? Who knows?

The smell of partridge and potatoes and gods knew what else good was loud in here. Once the food came and he figured out which bit of silverware to use without humiliating himself, Tom reckoned he could focus on stuffing his face full of seasoned fowl and let Kilapu do the talking. And let young Palis here do the damage control, he thought.
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Palis Ainu
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Sun May 26, 2019 7:54 pm

The Ainu Household | Ophus 16

Palis exhaled a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief when Anatole and Kilapu finally sat down. He had previously schemed with Edwin to have the servant slowly close in and subliminally push them towards the dining table, but, this time, it was not necessary. Palis smiled as Anatole sat across from him, and Kilapu sat at the head of the table. The space between them was a little large for talking space, forcing one to speak up in an uncomfortably loud voice to ensure they were heard, but it was only tradition, only politeness, only expected. Every scolding for eating too soon, every slap on the wrist for using the incorrect utensil, every glare shot when a voice was too quiet or too loud had crafted Palis into a persnickety man of manners, a man who always looked up to ensure that his father approved, or, rather, didn't disapprove. He had become an impeccable host, rivaled by no other his age, and had applied the careful planning, the owl-eyed observation to his life. He was a successful host and a successful young man, but he always lived in fear of the moment that the clockwork of his perfect plan, both in this party and projected onto his life, tripped.

Now, however, he kept up the ticking of the clockwork, nodding to Edwin as Kilapu and Anatole sat. Edwin nodded back, turning on heel to return to the kitchen and call on Lydia for the meal. He sat rigidly, perched straight-backed on the edge of the chair as he scooted it in, careful to lift it just above the floor to avoid the scraping of wood and the impolite sound that could interrupt conversation.

"Controversial," Kilapu jeered, shaking his ginger head. "Nowadays the damned truth is controversial." Palis bit his tongue, ready to stop his father before he went too far.

"Been doing some investigative reporting, I have," he leaned in conspiratorially, glancing back at Palis as Edwin reentered the room with a bottle and three crystal wine glasses. He moved to serve Anatole first on his right. "Found out that Siordanti bloke Palis' in cahoots with and a bunch of other incumbents are trying to help old Hawke's hand in our government, the bloody wick, or at least are doing their best to ignore that it's there. Got all kinds of spending records and witness accounts and the likes to stir up the pot."

"Father!" Palis gasped. He had, for so long, completely ignored his father's articles, each a crazy conspiracy about this or that. This, however, was dangerous. Any whisper of Silas Hawke's- or some of the more prominent incumbents'- name was a danger for a galdor of substantial influential power.

"Father," he pleaded. "You've put a target on your back." And on mine, he thought to himself, imagining himself returning to Siordanti's office to find the man steaming with his father's article in hand, citing Kilapu's "anonymous" witnesses.

"I'm old. Doesn't matter too much," Kilapu shrugged, taking his wine glass as Edwin poured it and pressing it to his lips. Palis shook his head with wide-eyes, running his fingers absentmindedly through his hair.

"My apologies, Anatole,"" Palis apologized after a moment, remembering his guest. "I did not mean to get worked up. Shall we drink to your health?" Palis asked, holding up his glass as the crimson ribbon inside jumped onto the side of the glass. He smiled at the red interior, centering himself on a happier memory.

I met Aurelien over spilled red wine, he thought, but was broken off by Kilapu.

"I'll drink to that," he said gruffly, though Palis knew he'd drink either way. On queue, Lydia wheeled in her white-fabric cart with a shy Zephyr, the mute gardener drug in to help, stood and awaited some direction. Riding the wind of her cart came the smell of savory partridge meat, made rich by melted butter, sweet by roasted potatoes, and mouth-watering by rosemary and lemon. Three small dishes sat on her cart, and she moved around the table to Anatole first. Steam danced around her in the candlelight.

"Plate's a bit hot, mister," she said, handing Zephyr a plate for Kilapu. She wheeled her cart farther.

"Lydia, do you mind summarizing the meal for us," Palis prompted her politely, and she stopped her cart, folding her hands politely in her white apron, an apron used for presentation, not cooking.

"Oh, sure, Pal- Master Palis," she caught herself with a wink to him. He smiled, his face reddening in embarrassment for her. "Tonight, we's got partridges that've been roasting soft all day in butter, rosemary, garlic, lemon, n'pepper. On the side there, yuv got some real nice purple potatoes that'll mush up real nice, they're so soft n'sweet. 'Course, we got dessert, too, but ya's got to wait for that'un," Lydia winked, moving back to grab Palis' plate from the cart and hand it to him.

"Wonderful as usual, Lydia. We are sure to enjoy it," Palis smiled, and Lydia shrugged.

"Hopeso," she muttered, then pulled Zephyr along with her back into the kitchen. Manners, he made a note. Must work on Lydia's table manners. He glanced down at his food, realizing then how absolutely starved he was, and he picked up the outermost fork gingerly, glancing up to ensure his company was eating before he started.

"Still got the pretty wife?" Kilapu began to go off again, speech unhindered by food. Yet, it was only Palis that recognized the lost look on Anatole's face as he looked at his food, at his utensils. Palis coughed lightly for his attention, and, if he would look, Palis would point him to the outermost fork, remembering the dining rule of always working from the out in. Yet, he'd barely question the reason that a galdor wouldn't know, instead chalking it up to the man being gone from the galdor world for so long mentally and physically.
tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 2699
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Tom Cooke
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Sat Jun 01, 2019 4:43 pm

the ainu household 🙫 uptown
during the evening of the 16th of ophus, 2718
Controversial, Tom reckoned, wasn’t half of what “the truth” was. He was stifling a snort when the passive butler swept back in with the wine; he wondered what the batty old man’d have to say if he knew who was really sitting at his dining table, enjoying his— whatever this is, thought Tom, watching the dark red liquid glug gently into the bulb, glistening in the warm, wavering light. Try as he might, he couldn’t differentiate between reds. Whatever it was, his fingers were itching for the stem of that fancy glass, though he supposed he oughtn’t drink until his host had.

Still, he knew that gollies loved to talk about their cellars, and he’d just opened his mouth to ask about the vintage – anything to delay whatever the hell “investigative reporting” was leading up to – when the name of Tom’s employer crawled out from the head of the table and into the space between them.

You couldn’t have grabbed his attention like that with anything short of murder (save maybe food, at this point in the evening). He glanced up at Kilapu, eyes hardening. He’d gotten fair good at hiding his feelings behind Anatole’s face, but for a moment – a good, long moment – something dangerous came into his expression, something like you’d have gotten if you insulted his ma to his face. Then he smiled a genuine, bemused smile.

Have you?” he asked. Thankfully, he wasn’t used to the sea of space among the three of them; his voice was too soft to carry, especially over Palis’ startled protests. He blinked at the mention of a toast, a nerve jumping around his left eye.

More loudly, he said, “You needn’t worry. My thanks,” and snatched his glass up.

(A little too loudly, he thought, wincing slightly. Damn, but whose idea’d it been to put the seats this far apart? Can’t a man sit close to the men he’s trying to talk to? What the hell was wrong with these gollies?)

He drank a little too deeply before he set the glass down. He was thinking what to say next, half-wanting to goad Kilapu into sticking his foot further into his mouth where Hawke was concerned; he’d just opened his mouth when the servants swept in, serenaded by the low rattle of a cart. Older, pleasant-looking lady and a big, quiet kov, this time. He wondered why Lydia had to summarize the meal, as Palis’d put it: Tom reckoned they could all see the partridges and potatoes plain as day, and what they couldn’t see, they could smell. That smell made Tom feel downright faint, and he was grateful when Lydia put his plate in front of him.

Less grateful when he realized he’d have to figure out which utensil to use. After an uncomfortable glance over his silverware, he watched the servants leave with something akin to a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d caught that little hopeso, smiled faintly at the talk of dessert. She seemed like somebody he could’ve known in the Rose. It was all he could do to keep from joking around, calling, Don’t keep us waitin’ too long, rosh, easy, human-to-human.

He looked over and caught Palis’ eye briefly. Floodin’ hell, he thought, and offered him a subtle, grateful little secret of a smile. By the time he took up the outermost fork, Kilapu’d spoken again, and he turned his attention toward the elder galdor.

“Diana’s well, thank you,” he replied, trying to sound teasing, “and pretty as ever, of course. And y—?” He broke off suddenly, fork hovering over a bit of potato. He swallowed. Despite the wine, his throat felt dry suddenly; perhaps because of the wine, the taste in his mouth felt too rich, cloying. “Your staff. I haven’t seen, ah, Lydia in some time; they’re looking well.” Taking another bite of potato, he thought about what to say next. Gods damn it.

Tom turned to Palis, then, smiling. “Enough old men’s talk, eh? I’m afraid we’re boring the young master. How are your studies? Are you finding the political world of Vienda – to your tastes?”

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Palis Ainu
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Thu Jun 20, 2019 9:08 pm

The Ainu Household | Ophus 16

Lydia leaned over Palis to set down his plate, a smudge of flour or confectioners sugar dusting her cheek like a proper lady’s ivory face powder just beginning to be applied. She took advantage of the closeness to speak just to Palis over Kilapu’s obnoxious voice that assaulted the timid corners of the room that shook under the covers of darkness.

Look at you, all grown up, Palis,” she whispered at a level she had practiced and mastered in her years as a servant, a level she knew only Palis could hear. Her lips barely moved, and her eyes and face did not move from the focus of her assigned task. “I’d reckon your mother would be right proud to see how well you’ve grown up. I’ll be proud for her for now.” She pulled back from the table and smiled politely at him with the motherly warmth that had not faded even in memory and had not fell victim to the over-ripening of nostalgia and disappointment of present reality. She bowed to the table with Zephyr, then turned to quickly leave the room. Palis, too, had business to return to. He was ready to jump in, ready to jump in and pick up the broken pieces of conversation his father left behind every question and try to put it back together.

But, perhaps it was Anatole who needed his help. Though he caught himself, Anatole’s verbal path still caught in both Palis and Kilapu’s minds. Palis’s attention shot to his father at the thought of his mother. For perhaps the first time that night, Kilapu closed his mouth. Thirteen years had not made it any better easier on Kilapu. He stayed home to avoid the streets of her blood, had needed a week of convincing to hire Lydia, who merely reminded Kilapu of the maidservant that always answered the door when Kilapu called on Anka. Kilapu did not want to accept that the world turned without the woman who his world revolved around. He would grieve until he died for a woman he didn’t know he truly loved until she was dead.

Palis opened and closed his mouth, tiptoeing in and out of the conversation’s doorway that now gaped open with Kilapu and Anatole stared at each other from each side. He needed to say something, needed to help both his father and Anatole as their conversation lost all energy and skidded to a halt of friction. Deciding to change the subject, Palis inhaled to speak, but Kilapu raised his eyes to halt him with a look only a parent could give. Kilapu was a man of social expectations, and grief was not among these. They were not to dessert yet; he could not run away. Physically, Palis watched him wrestle the cold emotion that threatened to pulse through his mouth down with a deep inhale.

I’m glad to hear Diana’s well. I had Lydia send over a few meals when you disappeared; I always remembered Anka spoke so highly of her,” he spoke in a soft, hurried professionalism now, not lifting his eyes from his plate. Palis was shocked to even hear his mother’s name on his father’s tongue. Palis knew this to be the social game of any proper galdori, but his father was never one of these, at least he hadn’t been since he’d gone and isolated himself.

The servants are well. We’ve just hired Lydia. Cooks better than Edwin, you might remember,” he chuckled hollowly, but the like slowly got Kilapu back into spirit. A silence of heavy curtains was lifted slowly from the room, and the panic slowly dissipated from Palis’ heart.

The attention turned to Palis, and he welcomed it. In his peripherals, Palis watched his father deflate, but Palis still have his attention solely to Anatole.

I’ve been working for Siordanti for three years come Yaris,” Palis started. “Though, this has been my first year actually in the capitol, and my first year I’d consider myself an assistant more than an intern. I’m more invested in research, scheduling, statistics, and networking for both Siordanti and my future.” He thought of his research, three months of newspapers, books, and records abandoned on his desk in his own apartment, and itched to be back.

I’m currently leading an investigative research project with several other interns on the patterns and scale of the Resistance to present to the incumbents who don’t believe it a threat,” he mentioned. It was all truly just to build a foundational platform for his own campaign. He set down his fork gingerly, then picked up his wine.

You, sir, do you have an political plots brewing? I know much of our party is working on further isolationist policy with Mugroba in order to better contain the plague,” he inquired, his mind perking as the conversation turned to his passion, rather than his father’s criticism of him. As they spoke, Palis would call for more wine, and the dinner plates would slowly disappear from the table at the smoothness of Lydia’s hand, preparing them for another glass of wine before dessert.
tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 2699
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Tom Cooke
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Fri Jun 21, 2019 12:33 pm

the ainu household 🙫 uptown
during the evening of the 16th of ophus, 2718
Tom knew his little slip of the tongue had made a mess of things. For a moment, beyond all logic, he thought he’d given himself away. A familiar anxiety pressed at his temples, aching through his skull; his throat tightened. He knew – remembered in a crack like thunder what Diana’d told him, sharply, under her breath – what’d happened to the late Mrs. Ainu. He knew why it’d happened, and he knew who’d done it. He didn’t dare break eye contact with old Kilapu, even though his fingers were itching for the stem of his wine glass, even though he wanted to crawl off home in his borrowed skin and burrow into his borrowed blankets and drink his borrowed liquor.

I’m human, he got the moony urge to blurt. His fork hovered over a bit of potato. I’m human, ye chen? There’s a human sittin’ at your table, pretendin’ to be your friend.

Wasn’t Kilapu that Tom expected to smooth things over. After his mung raving about Hawke, that hushed rush of words was barely recognizable. The name Anka gave Tom’s eyelid a flutter, and he inclined his head. “We’re grateful,” he managed to say, shocked at the smoothness of Anatole’s voice; with how tight his throat was, he’d expected it to come out in a trembling croak. “We have both been so deeply grateful for your and your family’s friendship, Kilapu.”

Tom paused, then speared a bit of partridge with his fork, unable to look the old man in the eye anymore. He felt mung; his head was in a godsdamn turmoil. What shocked him most of all was that his voice had found the warmth he’d been searching for, and he didn’t know why. He hated Kilapu – hated this house, hated Palis, hated the partridges and potatoes and the heating and the macha wood paneling an’ all – but, paradoxically, he didn’t. Anatole’d never met Lydia, but Kilapu had skimmed right over what he’d said with such unexpected grace and—

Kindness. Kilapu and Palis Ainu were both being kind to him.

He washed a bite of partridge down with another sip of wine, a little surprised at how much he’d eaten. Surprised he wasn’t too sick at his stomach for it, either. Palis had started talking, and he was talking fair toffin, now, Brunnhold-talk or politician-talk, summarizing his qalqa like he was turning in some kind of report. Tom raised his eyebrows. Took another sip of wine, covering his faint twitch of a smile at networking for both Siordanti and my future. Still, the mood had lightened, and he felt inclined to put forth an effort. They were putting forth an effort for him, after all.

“I look forward to seeing your research on the Resistance,” he put in, doing his damnedest to lend the word – Resistance – a weight he didn’t feel. “Important work, whatever the others have to say. What with the Symvoulio turning over, Anaxas is vulnerable. Good to keep your eyes peeled.” Being honest, he wasn’t sure how much of a threat a ragtag handful of human terrorists posed to the galdor yoke. The Resistance had always seemed to him like idealistic rubbish; fighting back as such, to Tom, had always seemed like idealistic rubbish. Isolated incidents, when the real power was in money. Trade. The Vein.

When Palis asked him a question, a faint look of consternation flickered across his face. At first, he had trouble parsing the words. “Isolationist policy” didn’t make much sense to him, not rightaway, but as he processed the rest of the question, he took the word apart: isolationist. Isolation. Cut off. Contain the plague. The plague? Since when was there a plague?

He thought about it, draining the last of his wine and tilting his head. “An isolationist policy? With Mugroba? Tom lifted both his eyebrows, glance flicking to Kilapu and then back to Palis. “Plague, or no plague, I’m not sure I see the – well – being honest – without Mugroba, good luck getting your silk and spices. Hesse’s all well and good, but they’re still holding a grudge, and they’re not our link to Hox, n— either.” He’d nearly said neither; he hoped it hadn’t come out that way. “And it’s been like hell getting Hox to cooperate. See—”

Tom paused, running his thumb over his fork, glancing away for a moment. Studying the wood paneling, the low candlelight. When he turned back to Palis, he looked a little apologetic.

“I may differ with the rest of our party” – those two words tasted a mant manna strange in his mouth, but he pressed on – “but Anaxas’ blood is warm because of the Vein. The last thing she needs right now, with all this fear and unrest, is a tourniquet.”
Last edited by Tom Cooke on Thu Jun 27, 2019 7:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Palis Ainu
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Thu Jun 27, 2019 11:45 am

Viendan Uptown | Ophus 16, 2718

Palis listened in near awe to Anatole's words. He tuned out the whirring storm of the servants as they deftly removed dinnerware from the table, as if no one had sat in their musuem-preserved dining room. Rarely had he been given the opportunity to speak with another incumbent without the grace of Siordanti's nod to encourage Palis to go on on a subject, or the slightest upward flick of an eyebrow to divert Palis' path before he made a fool of himself. Though the controlling hand of a successful wiseman was helpful in Palis' beginning days as he drowned in the political sea of scowls and had given him much of the success he was just starting to experience in his own tentative pursuits, he now felt too coddled to exhale in the presence of his senior incumbent. Yet, now, an opinion was before him, and he could take it as it was, not at the expression of Siordanti's wrinkled face, not at the wary ear of gossiping lower interns.

"Forgive me if this belies the perfect politician," he started with conspiratorial seriousness. "But I am so grateful to hear another opinion on the subject." And a smile of pure passion for his work- not for the check like many of his well-paid elders- bloomed across his rosy face. The energy of his painstaking posture drained slightly, and he relaxed noticeably for just a second. Yet, his eyes quickly darted to his father, expecting some reprimand for his posture, expecting some look of disapproval--

But it didn't happen. Kilapu whispered to Lydia as she refilled his glass with crimson wine, then drank deeply as she handed it to him, and Palis relaxed again, slower this time, watching Kilapu as he slouched. He turned to Anatole, and his smile returned accompanied by a questioning brow.

"So, sir, I understand your concerns with Mugroba. It's true that we depend on them, and, mutually, they depend on us. I personally want to see both of our countries thrive, and we do so on each other, but, well, in continuing to work with Mugroba, we run the risk of contracting the plague that has destroyed small villages and wick tribes in mere days," Palis began, concern riddling his young face as his voice dropped its young bounce. He knew, too, that many an incumbent would be shaking their head at him; as an intern, his opinions were not important enough to be heard.

"What do you propose Vienda does instead?" he asked, truly excited to listen. Just as he turned to anticipate the answer, the swinging doors between dining room and kitchen opened again, and Lydia swept in with Zephyr behind, the two easily giants in the room of galdori. Zephyr pushed a small wood cart that squealed its quiet joy as it entered, and she held a large serving knife in her hand. She motioned Zephyr to the one side of the quadrilateral table at which no one sat for them to marvel at the presentation of the pretty little cake that perched from atop the cart.

"Dessert, sirs," she started, making sure everyone had a chance to first marvel at the round cake, a fence of ladyfingers holding back a flood of red fruit preserves. "S'much better in the summer when the fruit is fresh, but I was hopin' t' pull in some warm weather with a nod to Roalis." She spoke as she cut between the fence slats and pulled out the first piece of the Charlotte, all layers of pale cream and fruit kept strictly in line.

"First, yours," she smiled at Anatole, then handed the cake to Zephyr for him to transport around the table and set gently below the horizontal dessert spoon. She served Palis and Kilapu in turn, then exited out of the room with an over-the-shoulder 'ope you enjoy.

Almost through, Palis thought to himself gratefully as he pulled his last course towards himself, then turned his ear and curiosity back onto Anatole's mind and voice.
tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 2699
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