Session 100 - Ain't No Party Like A Cardia Party 'Cause A Cardia Party Don't Start
With the Heist of the Century finally, finally in the record books (and said books locked away so no one can ask Bast about it ever again), the time has come for a new challenge.
Whereas the heist called for Bast to demonstrate cunning and quick thinking in equal measure, this will test his courage far beyond any previous encounters.
Whereas the heist called for Linnet to hold the team together through her emotional grit and brazen optimism, this will draw steel against her sincerity.
Whereas the heist called for Yves to serve as a spellslinger and act as artillery, this will call upon his quick wit and his grasp of presence.
Whereas the heist called for Orrey to stick to a plan and keep his attention centered, this will demand his perfect concentration and the stilling of his tongue.
Whereas the heist called for Isa to serve as the tip of the spear and the dash out the door, this will demand that Isa weather the storm of every aggression and the slings and arrows of those who cannot be killed in a way that matters.
Whereas the heist called for the party at their absolute best…
…the birthday celebration for Myrta Osler requires the party to be at Isa’s best.
**
The command staff arrived in Platzhalter in mid-morning, and sent the Starfall and its crew off to their negotiated shore leave at Isa's mountain chalet. From then, until early evening, they have been ensconced in Isa's apartments at the Osler manor house. Time enough to recover from travel, freshen up, and put on their party best.
"You're going to be introduced to a whole lot of people," Isa says into a mirror as she adjusts the lapels of a severe dress jacket, grey with red piping. "Assume they're important, but you're all foreigners so they're not going to be too offended if you don't know exactly how important." Bast checks the fit of his suit for the seventh time - dark blue, an elaborate cut largely bare of decoration beyond some lighter accents - and tugs at his sleeves yet again, convinced that something is wrong with them, with his arms, or with this whole situation. "Anyone in particular we need not to piss off?"
"Should I assume they're all more important than us? I mean, I expect that they'll think they are, and expect us to know at least that much? Or am I overthinking it?" asks Yves, who is definitely overthinking it. He has brought out all his best ear jewelry, which, combined with lop ears, means that he had better not walk too close to anyone with a lot of buckles. It's probably for the best that no chandeliers are likely to reach that low, too. Beyond that, he has found his best jacket (black with black and silver embroidery) to go with... well, just assume that it's all black. Black on black. The boots are glossy black, the vest is muted black. He has a theme.
"Yves, you're overthinking it. Gravitas and extremely polite small talk. I think we can handle that." Linnet shoves her hair sticks back into place - two gold-plated batons the length of her hand are doing a heroic amount of work to hold her braid in a complex knot. The dark red of her high-necked, slit-to-the-knee sleeveless gown doesn't quite match Isa's piping, but it doesn't clash.
"Besides my mother? I don't know if any of the other Counts are going to be here in person; that'd be a strong statement if they were and I don't know if they're ready to make it. Watch the room and see who defers to who." Isa nods to Yves. "You're our guests, so you've got some standing, but it's best to be aware."
"And if anyone starts asking about" - Bast waves his hand vaguely, then twitches that sleeve back with visible irritation - "opera?"
"How much residual bullshit have you picked up from the actors?" Linnet grins and tugs on the straps of her sandals.
Isa's expression becomes suddenly, upsettingly interested. "Oh, I understand what they're trying to accomplish, but I'm not sure that the modern touches are necessary."
"...actual opera, or are we euphemizing about crime when we say 'opera'?" Yves asks.
Orrey settles his hat on his somewhat tamed hair, checking himself in a large standing mirror. He adjusts his necklace with the symbols of the Twelve and refolds his pocket square with the Alyon purple and green showing. "I feel like I'm missing something." He looks over his dark grey suit one last time and sighs.
"Although using opera as a code word for crime would probably cause a lot of confusion in a situation like this," Yves says, mostly to himself.
"There are two kinds of conversations that are going to happen tonight," Isa explains. "There are the conversations about opera and wine and chocobo breeding, which are there to fill space and move people around, in order to have the second kind of conversation, which is money and power. The chances that you'll be dragged into the second kind is hopefully rare. So prepare for small talk."
Linnet cannot suppress a tiny cackle at the expressions on the faces of Yves and Bast.
"Do you think the wine conversations would appreciate commentary on the chemistry of--" Yves observes Isa's face. "Okay, actually, I'll just prepare for small talk."
"Probably better than having to dodge questions about where we stand on the current King." Bast doesn't look entirely convinced.
Isa answers in exactly the same tone as she spoke about opera. "Cardia's affairs are its own, of course, but a strong and stable nation is good for everyone in Ducorde."
"Solid." Bast nods. "Everyone remember that one."
"Shall we?" Linnet holds her arm out to Orrey. "Remember that formal escorting-a-lady pose we practiced?"
Orrey holds out his arm and nods to her.
Isa nods to Orrey and Linnet and takes a deep breath. "Alright, then. Into the breach."
There are so many people here.
There are other things to take from this; the sheer opulence of the Osler family deployed like a tactical broadside, the dizzying number of titles and references to land once owned and lost and reclaimed via bluster and treaty, the fierce fighting of fashion houses in providing the attire for any number of nobles, the quality of food shrunken down to a fifth of its normal size to allow anyone wearing a corset to still eat, and still more besides. But the sheer number of people stands out. The Osler name is perhaps not as anathema as it was even six months prior.
Count Osler, resplendent in crimson and silver, welcomed her daughter and the other guests of the Osler family, then monopolized Isa's time almost immediately, casting the other four adrift into the sea of Cardian politics.
It is over by the crimson curtains, far from the light of the (thankfully tall) chandeliers, separated from the crush of Cardia, that Yves discovers that sometimes the shadows hide monsters.
"This must be divine provenance, to meet you again so soon, and at such a fitting occasion! I thought we would have to wait weeks to be reunited once more, but inside these walls, under these lights... why, I can scarcely believe our good fortune, Yves Mjrwin!"
Three weeks ago Linnet made a cake with four times the listed sugar thanks to a Triscuit-caused baking mishap. If that cake had a voice and blonde curls, it would be zeroing in on Yves now.
Yves may also recognize the voice and the cadence from a particular cover identity Isa adopted to examine an airship.
Yves turns towards the voice that calls his name, and freezes up in the sugary headlights. As it were. "...ah!" he says, as if he is entirely clear on what's going on, and just expressing, uh, similar surprise at the good fortune that is descending upon him.
Bast tries to make his stare at this...apparition less obvious by staying in the background with a glass of wine.
"Why, I would almost think you were following me!" she titters exuberantly. "Why, I might outshine Lady Myrta if I am not careful! Oh, Linny would never let me hear the end of it if I did! Now, come, you promised you would tell me all about your most dangerous and thrilling adventures, and I shall hang on your every word just as before."
"Yes, of course, I remember," says Yves, who does not remember but has a pretty good memory for what a particular actor told him about an incident involving someone pretending to be him. He is trying desperately to project genteel confidence and not, say, terror of major social gaffes. "But I'm not entirely sure if dangerous adventures are, well, appropriate for birthday parties? Not having been to one here before, I don't know the...customs."
"Oh, of course they aren't!" She bats at his arm with what should be playful flirtatiousness, but they train everyone good and strong here in Cardia. "That's what makes them so deliciously scandalous." She follows this with a squeak that shifts into an inaudible register halfway through.
Yves, simultaneously terrorized by that titter and the thought of creating a scene at Isa's sister's party with Isa's mother present, reaches valiantly for a compromise position. "I suppose if we can find a place where no one would overhear, I could tell you about the time we investigated a series of mysterious airship disappearances and had to negotiate with their attacker, an enormous--ah, well, we should probably find a quieter place first?"
"Oh, I would love to hear all about your encounter with anything enormous, and then perhaps..." She leads Yves off into the distant halls for more tall tales.
Linnet barely resists a spit-take as Yves initiates his social capture by this obnoxious creature. Ah well. Poor bun's gotta learn sometime. And at least it's white wine, so any splutters wouldn't show on her dress.
"Are we dividing and conquering, or should we stick together?" Orrey asks Bast and Linnet. "We're two down already..."
"You can handle it." Linnet gives Orrey a very gentle shove in the direction of the banquet table.
As Orrey nears the banquet table, the crowd splits off into the small House-affiliated groups Orrey could not have known they were part of, leaving him alone with a man he has never seen before, one that he definitely would not have forgotten.
A human male in his late fifties or early sixties, he stands well over six feet tall and seemingly just as broad in the shoulders, with a once-red beard faded almost entirely to gray, a lit cigar in his mouth, a long black coat with purple and gold designs along the sleeves -- left sleeve as expected, right sleeve hanging loose at his side. A zweihander sits strapped to his back, the only weapon visible in the hall.
He takes the cigar out of his mouth with his one arm as he glances down at Orrey, the only other person around now. "I don't think I've seen you around before," he says casually.
Orrey takes in the giant with the massive sword. "You'd remember me if you had."
He throws his head back and laughs. "Good answer, kid."
"Ah! Captain!" The last time Bast saw Viscount Nils Osler, he was in an occupied Osler lab, prisoner of the Albarea family. "Terribly glad to see you, terribly sorry you're been saddled with this desert of social interaction."
"Nils," the tall viera man by his side chides him. "Are you trying to never get invited to these events again?"
Bast shrugs, complementing the gesture with his mostly-empty glass. "It's a different side of Cardia than I've seen before. I'm glad to see you in better circumstances." The slight rise in his tone towards the end could, should one prefer, be interpreted as a question. "If I am successful, of course not, perish the thought, I love my family. Between you and me, though?" He winks at Bast. "My husband, Kjier. Kjier, this is Captain Bast Noname, one of Isaline's new friends. Somewhere trying very hard to not know us is our son, Sjrl, likely trying to look old enough to get some of the wine."
"A pleasure to meet you." Bast moves the glass to his left and holds out his right hand for Kjier to shake. "Are all of the Oslers gathered here tonight?"
"Oh, maybe," Nils says cheerfully. "Elina and Andrin are the perfect hosts, Myrta will be making her appearance later, as well she should, the whole party's for her. I might have seen Elias earlier, but that's not anywhere near as interesting as, say, bluespirit ore. I don't know if you share my interest in that ore, but if you were ever to come into the possession of any, Kjier and I have been doing further tests with it, and let me tell you, it is even more exciting than we initially thought."
"Oh?" There's a spark of genuine interest in Bast's eye. "What sort of excitement are we talking about? I'm hardly an expert, but I've heard interesting things about it."
"When it's used on its own, as you know, it is an incredibly volatile ore," Kjier says, stepping to Bast's other side. "However, when used as an alloy with manganese ore, it shifts to more of an enhancing-type ore, easily aspected with elemental types to create something wholly original... and I can see that Nils is the one who wants to say this next phrase, so I will be generous."
Bast drains the rest of his glass, looks around for a plausible servant to hand it off to, utterly fails to locate one near enough to stay in the conversation, and ends up awkwardly holding on to it as he waits for the Viscount to proceed.
"Lightning flamethrower," Nils says with a broad smile on his face.
"But..." Bast frowns. "Are you talking about fuel taking on the ore's aspect as it passes over it, some sort of suspension, powder with some sort of blower assembly or cartridge payload?"
The uncles Osler amble off with Bast, discussing rate of fire, temperature of fire, conductivity of fire, and other interesting facts, some of which aren't about fire (but likely will be related to fire in the future).
"Baron Claussell," the smoking man says to Orrey. "Now, you came in with the second Osler child." His manner of speech is far more relaxed and unrefined than the nobility making up the rest of the guest list.
Orrey nods politely. "You seem to have come awfully heavily armed for a birthday party. Or is there something about Osler soirees that I'm unaware of?"
"Oh, I'm here on business," he says. After enjoying a moment with his cigar, he looks back down at Orrey. "How is that business with the Avengers and the Hallowed going? Have they figured things out yet?"
"If they had, I doubt anyone outside of Saron would know about it." Orrey says, snatching a glass of something off of a passing tray and taking a careful sip.
"So long as they don't, things will remain interesting." He claps Orrey on the back as he leaves, talking around the cigar between his teeth. "Safe travels, kid. Tell the Osler daughter the Palatinate Gospel will be on hand."
Orrey raises an eyebrow, then pulls out a tiny notebook from a pocket on the inside of his jacket and writes that down. Left to her own devices, Linnet has gravitated toward the food, as the chances of being pulled into a long conversation without any hope of escape is much lower when people are often coming by to get things with olives in them.
After two conversations about opera and one brief aside about "children these days" from a woman at least thirty years older than Linnet, there is a moment's peace.
Peace never lasts.
"Hors d'ouerve? Crumpet? Sconce? Tea biscuit? Uh, some sort of... tiny lemon thing? It's a little tough and that might be pepperoni in there too, but I certainly wouldn't put pepperoni with lemon. I'm not a monster. Would they serve pepperoni here? That doesn't seem like something they would do."
The last time Linnet saw Wedge of the Arbiters of Truth, the Triad-based underground newspaper, he definitely wasn't wearing the vest and bow tie marking him as a servant of House Osler. He also wasn't wearing long pants or sleeves, so this must be very difficult for him.
"Hello, Linnet! How are you on this fine, fine evening?"
"Better than you, apparently. It's pronounced 'scone,' and let me taste that?" Linnet takes a pepperoni-with-lemon thing and samples it. "That's sundried tomato. Not quite as weird with lemon, but still overbaked. Don't mention that part." (She's barely holding back a fit of the giggles.) "And how should I be addressing you this evening?"
"Lemoneroni. It's a new word! It's our new word. I will remember this day for as long as we both shall live, Linnet." He wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh, don't address the help! We do not exist. We are merely here to serve! Mostly it's lemoneroni. But sometimes when we deliver tiny little glasses of wine and these little balls that taste like soap, we hear things that are interesting."
Linnet's straight face crumbles like the lemoneroni in her mouth. "Ah, Wedge, never change. And what fascinating tidbits have you encountered this evening, besides far too much talk about the opera and some really elaborate names for chocobos?"
"Apple Barry Crumplebottom, which is... brrrr." Wedge squares his shoulders so he doesn't look like he's getting too familiar with a guest. His shirt does not know how to handle his pectorals. "I have heard that Her Grace will be doing some traveling at the conclusion of this party, visiting other houses in the weeks to come. I have heard that Cardia has been stockpiling fuel. I have heard that a particular invisigoth is entertaining a niece of the Albarea family in flagrante delicto, which I don't think tastes like soap or pepperoni but lemon may be involved."
"I'm pretty sure he's not in flagrante anything, but I can't speak for her. And I am not going to go rescue him from that, because he needs to learn sometime." Linnet glances in the direction she last saw Yves and doesn't see anyone rushing around in scandalized uproar, so things are probably fine? "Anyone else with you?"
"Just me! Biggs is on the Triad beat, and Jessie is off yelling at people until they cry big blubbery tears, or whatever it is she does when she's not yelling at us." He covers his mouth, which does nothing to his volume. "She's a literal demon in human form." Then, in a much grander voice, he declares, "Have a wonderful night at the party, madam," and then shoulders off to go eavesdrop on other people with soap balls.
Linnet inclines her head gracefully and is left wondering who thought the lemoneroni biscuits were a good idea. Count Osler steps out onto the balcony. The wind is bitingly cold this evening, though nothing in her demeanor reveals any opinion she may have on it. "Isaline, I have a very important task for you," she says without turning around.
Isa has a glass of wine, because going into battle unarmored is a fool's gambit. She has the same stance re: wind as she looks out into the night. "For me, for my ship, or for my reputation?" she asks.
"For my daughter," the Count replies.
Isa nods.
There is a long pause.
"You will understand the delicacy of this request," she says. She is not searching for words, because she knows the words. The words are difficult nonetheless.
"I need you to retrieve your spear."
Isa does not drop her wine. "Do you remember Art Covus?" she asks.
There is a tilt of the head. "Yes," she says, waiting for the rest of the sentence.
"A few months back, he came to me with a plan to steal it. It's...why I left the city when I did."
"Did he."
Isa sighs. "He said it was too great an injustice to ignore, or some such. He also might be in love with me," she adds as if were a character flaw. "Whatever his plan was it was not successful, he does not have the spear."
"Then I need you to succeed where Art Covus has failed," Count Osler says simply. "The King is modifying the spears."
Isa doesn't say anything for a few breaths, then, "Modifying them how?"
"A crystalline injection. What it does, we do not know." The Count turns. "The insult to our family was great enough when your spear would be given to another academy student. The thought of it being modified is an affront to all of Cardia."
Isa takes a deep breath, sets her wine down, and turns to face her mother. "There are three things I have to tell you," she says, in a tone that politely but firmly requests that they be told face-to-face.
From inside, a voice booms an introduction. "Lady Myrta Osler!"
"It will have to wait," the Count says. "Let us go see your sister."
Whereas the heist called for Bast to demonstrate cunning and quick thinking in equal measure, this will test his courage far beyond any previous encounters.
Whereas the heist called for Linnet to hold the team together through her emotional grit and brazen optimism, this will draw steel against her sincerity.
Whereas the heist called for Yves to serve as a spellslinger and act as artillery, this will call upon his quick wit and his grasp of presence.
Whereas the heist called for Orrey to stick to a plan and keep his attention centered, this will demand his perfect concentration and the stilling of his tongue.
Whereas the heist called for Isa to serve as the tip of the spear and the dash out the door, this will demand that Isa weather the storm of every aggression and the slings and arrows of those who cannot be killed in a way that matters.
Whereas the heist called for the party at their absolute best…
…the birthday celebration for Myrta Osler requires the party to be at Isa’s best.
**
The command staff arrived in Platzhalter in mid-morning, and sent the Starfall and its crew off to their negotiated shore leave at Isa's mountain chalet. From then, until early evening, they have been ensconced in Isa's apartments at the Osler manor house. Time enough to recover from travel, freshen up, and put on their party best.
"You're going to be introduced to a whole lot of people," Isa says into a mirror as she adjusts the lapels of a severe dress jacket, grey with red piping. "Assume they're important, but you're all foreigners so they're not going to be too offended if you don't know exactly how important." Bast checks the fit of his suit for the seventh time - dark blue, an elaborate cut largely bare of decoration beyond some lighter accents - and tugs at his sleeves yet again, convinced that something is wrong with them, with his arms, or with this whole situation. "Anyone in particular we need not to piss off?"
"Should I assume they're all more important than us? I mean, I expect that they'll think they are, and expect us to know at least that much? Or am I overthinking it?" asks Yves, who is definitely overthinking it. He has brought out all his best ear jewelry, which, combined with lop ears, means that he had better not walk too close to anyone with a lot of buckles. It's probably for the best that no chandeliers are likely to reach that low, too. Beyond that, he has found his best jacket (black with black and silver embroidery) to go with... well, just assume that it's all black. Black on black. The boots are glossy black, the vest is muted black. He has a theme.
"Yves, you're overthinking it. Gravitas and extremely polite small talk. I think we can handle that." Linnet shoves her hair sticks back into place - two gold-plated batons the length of her hand are doing a heroic amount of work to hold her braid in a complex knot. The dark red of her high-necked, slit-to-the-knee sleeveless gown doesn't quite match Isa's piping, but it doesn't clash.
"Besides my mother? I don't know if any of the other Counts are going to be here in person; that'd be a strong statement if they were and I don't know if they're ready to make it. Watch the room and see who defers to who." Isa nods to Yves. "You're our guests, so you've got some standing, but it's best to be aware."
"And if anyone starts asking about" - Bast waves his hand vaguely, then twitches that sleeve back with visible irritation - "opera?"
"How much residual bullshit have you picked up from the actors?" Linnet grins and tugs on the straps of her sandals.
Isa's expression becomes suddenly, upsettingly interested. "Oh, I understand what they're trying to accomplish, but I'm not sure that the modern touches are necessary."
"...actual opera, or are we euphemizing about crime when we say 'opera'?" Yves asks.
Orrey settles his hat on his somewhat tamed hair, checking himself in a large standing mirror. He adjusts his necklace with the symbols of the Twelve and refolds his pocket square with the Alyon purple and green showing. "I feel like I'm missing something." He looks over his dark grey suit one last time and sighs.
"Although using opera as a code word for crime would probably cause a lot of confusion in a situation like this," Yves says, mostly to himself.
"There are two kinds of conversations that are going to happen tonight," Isa explains. "There are the conversations about opera and wine and chocobo breeding, which are there to fill space and move people around, in order to have the second kind of conversation, which is money and power. The chances that you'll be dragged into the second kind is hopefully rare. So prepare for small talk."
Linnet cannot suppress a tiny cackle at the expressions on the faces of Yves and Bast.
"Do you think the wine conversations would appreciate commentary on the chemistry of--" Yves observes Isa's face. "Okay, actually, I'll just prepare for small talk."
"Probably better than having to dodge questions about where we stand on the current King." Bast doesn't look entirely convinced.
Isa answers in exactly the same tone as she spoke about opera. "Cardia's affairs are its own, of course, but a strong and stable nation is good for everyone in Ducorde."
"Solid." Bast nods. "Everyone remember that one."
"Shall we?" Linnet holds her arm out to Orrey. "Remember that formal escorting-a-lady pose we practiced?"
Orrey holds out his arm and nods to her.
Isa nods to Orrey and Linnet and takes a deep breath. "Alright, then. Into the breach."
There are so many people here.
There are other things to take from this; the sheer opulence of the Osler family deployed like a tactical broadside, the dizzying number of titles and references to land once owned and lost and reclaimed via bluster and treaty, the fierce fighting of fashion houses in providing the attire for any number of nobles, the quality of food shrunken down to a fifth of its normal size to allow anyone wearing a corset to still eat, and still more besides. But the sheer number of people stands out. The Osler name is perhaps not as anathema as it was even six months prior.
Count Osler, resplendent in crimson and silver, welcomed her daughter and the other guests of the Osler family, then monopolized Isa's time almost immediately, casting the other four adrift into the sea of Cardian politics.
It is over by the crimson curtains, far from the light of the (thankfully tall) chandeliers, separated from the crush of Cardia, that Yves discovers that sometimes the shadows hide monsters.
"This must be divine provenance, to meet you again so soon, and at such a fitting occasion! I thought we would have to wait weeks to be reunited once more, but inside these walls, under these lights... why, I can scarcely believe our good fortune, Yves Mjrwin!"
Three weeks ago Linnet made a cake with four times the listed sugar thanks to a Triscuit-caused baking mishap. If that cake had a voice and blonde curls, it would be zeroing in on Yves now.
Yves may also recognize the voice and the cadence from a particular cover identity Isa adopted to examine an airship.
Yves turns towards the voice that calls his name, and freezes up in the sugary headlights. As it were. "...ah!" he says, as if he is entirely clear on what's going on, and just expressing, uh, similar surprise at the good fortune that is descending upon him.
Bast tries to make his stare at this...apparition less obvious by staying in the background with a glass of wine.
"Why, I would almost think you were following me!" she titters exuberantly. "Why, I might outshine Lady Myrta if I am not careful! Oh, Linny would never let me hear the end of it if I did! Now, come, you promised you would tell me all about your most dangerous and thrilling adventures, and I shall hang on your every word just as before."
"Yes, of course, I remember," says Yves, who does not remember but has a pretty good memory for what a particular actor told him about an incident involving someone pretending to be him. He is trying desperately to project genteel confidence and not, say, terror of major social gaffes. "But I'm not entirely sure if dangerous adventures are, well, appropriate for birthday parties? Not having been to one here before, I don't know the...customs."
"Oh, of course they aren't!" She bats at his arm with what should be playful flirtatiousness, but they train everyone good and strong here in Cardia. "That's what makes them so deliciously scandalous." She follows this with a squeak that shifts into an inaudible register halfway through.
Yves, simultaneously terrorized by that titter and the thought of creating a scene at Isa's sister's party with Isa's mother present, reaches valiantly for a compromise position. "I suppose if we can find a place where no one would overhear, I could tell you about the time we investigated a series of mysterious airship disappearances and had to negotiate with their attacker, an enormous--ah, well, we should probably find a quieter place first?"
"Oh, I would love to hear all about your encounter with anything enormous, and then perhaps..." She leads Yves off into the distant halls for more tall tales.
Linnet barely resists a spit-take as Yves initiates his social capture by this obnoxious creature. Ah well. Poor bun's gotta learn sometime. And at least it's white wine, so any splutters wouldn't show on her dress.
"Are we dividing and conquering, or should we stick together?" Orrey asks Bast and Linnet. "We're two down already..."
"You can handle it." Linnet gives Orrey a very gentle shove in the direction of the banquet table.
As Orrey nears the banquet table, the crowd splits off into the small House-affiliated groups Orrey could not have known they were part of, leaving him alone with a man he has never seen before, one that he definitely would not have forgotten.
A human male in his late fifties or early sixties, he stands well over six feet tall and seemingly just as broad in the shoulders, with a once-red beard faded almost entirely to gray, a lit cigar in his mouth, a long black coat with purple and gold designs along the sleeves -- left sleeve as expected, right sleeve hanging loose at his side. A zweihander sits strapped to his back, the only weapon visible in the hall.
He takes the cigar out of his mouth with his one arm as he glances down at Orrey, the only other person around now. "I don't think I've seen you around before," he says casually.
Orrey takes in the giant with the massive sword. "You'd remember me if you had."
He throws his head back and laughs. "Good answer, kid."
"Ah! Captain!" The last time Bast saw Viscount Nils Osler, he was in an occupied Osler lab, prisoner of the Albarea family. "Terribly glad to see you, terribly sorry you're been saddled with this desert of social interaction."
"Nils," the tall viera man by his side chides him. "Are you trying to never get invited to these events again?"
Bast shrugs, complementing the gesture with his mostly-empty glass. "It's a different side of Cardia than I've seen before. I'm glad to see you in better circumstances." The slight rise in his tone towards the end could, should one prefer, be interpreted as a question. "If I am successful, of course not, perish the thought, I love my family. Between you and me, though?" He winks at Bast. "My husband, Kjier. Kjier, this is Captain Bast Noname, one of Isaline's new friends. Somewhere trying very hard to not know us is our son, Sjrl, likely trying to look old enough to get some of the wine."
"A pleasure to meet you." Bast moves the glass to his left and holds out his right hand for Kjier to shake. "Are all of the Oslers gathered here tonight?"
"Oh, maybe," Nils says cheerfully. "Elina and Andrin are the perfect hosts, Myrta will be making her appearance later, as well she should, the whole party's for her. I might have seen Elias earlier, but that's not anywhere near as interesting as, say, bluespirit ore. I don't know if you share my interest in that ore, but if you were ever to come into the possession of any, Kjier and I have been doing further tests with it, and let me tell you, it is even more exciting than we initially thought."
"Oh?" There's a spark of genuine interest in Bast's eye. "What sort of excitement are we talking about? I'm hardly an expert, but I've heard interesting things about it."
"When it's used on its own, as you know, it is an incredibly volatile ore," Kjier says, stepping to Bast's other side. "However, when used as an alloy with manganese ore, it shifts to more of an enhancing-type ore, easily aspected with elemental types to create something wholly original... and I can see that Nils is the one who wants to say this next phrase, so I will be generous."
Bast drains the rest of his glass, looks around for a plausible servant to hand it off to, utterly fails to locate one near enough to stay in the conversation, and ends up awkwardly holding on to it as he waits for the Viscount to proceed.
"Lightning flamethrower," Nils says with a broad smile on his face.
"But..." Bast frowns. "Are you talking about fuel taking on the ore's aspect as it passes over it, some sort of suspension, powder with some sort of blower assembly or cartridge payload?"
The uncles Osler amble off with Bast, discussing rate of fire, temperature of fire, conductivity of fire, and other interesting facts, some of which aren't about fire (but likely will be related to fire in the future).
"Baron Claussell," the smoking man says to Orrey. "Now, you came in with the second Osler child." His manner of speech is far more relaxed and unrefined than the nobility making up the rest of the guest list.
Orrey nods politely. "You seem to have come awfully heavily armed for a birthday party. Or is there something about Osler soirees that I'm unaware of?"
"Oh, I'm here on business," he says. After enjoying a moment with his cigar, he looks back down at Orrey. "How is that business with the Avengers and the Hallowed going? Have they figured things out yet?"
"If they had, I doubt anyone outside of Saron would know about it." Orrey says, snatching a glass of something off of a passing tray and taking a careful sip.
"So long as they don't, things will remain interesting." He claps Orrey on the back as he leaves, talking around the cigar between his teeth. "Safe travels, kid. Tell the Osler daughter the Palatinate Gospel will be on hand."
Orrey raises an eyebrow, then pulls out a tiny notebook from a pocket on the inside of his jacket and writes that down. Left to her own devices, Linnet has gravitated toward the food, as the chances of being pulled into a long conversation without any hope of escape is much lower when people are often coming by to get things with olives in them.
After two conversations about opera and one brief aside about "children these days" from a woman at least thirty years older than Linnet, there is a moment's peace.
Peace never lasts.
"Hors d'ouerve? Crumpet? Sconce? Tea biscuit? Uh, some sort of... tiny lemon thing? It's a little tough and that might be pepperoni in there too, but I certainly wouldn't put pepperoni with lemon. I'm not a monster. Would they serve pepperoni here? That doesn't seem like something they would do."
The last time Linnet saw Wedge of the Arbiters of Truth, the Triad-based underground newspaper, he definitely wasn't wearing the vest and bow tie marking him as a servant of House Osler. He also wasn't wearing long pants or sleeves, so this must be very difficult for him.
"Hello, Linnet! How are you on this fine, fine evening?"
"Better than you, apparently. It's pronounced 'scone,' and let me taste that?" Linnet takes a pepperoni-with-lemon thing and samples it. "That's sundried tomato. Not quite as weird with lemon, but still overbaked. Don't mention that part." (She's barely holding back a fit of the giggles.) "And how should I be addressing you this evening?"
"Lemoneroni. It's a new word! It's our new word. I will remember this day for as long as we both shall live, Linnet." He wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh, don't address the help! We do not exist. We are merely here to serve! Mostly it's lemoneroni. But sometimes when we deliver tiny little glasses of wine and these little balls that taste like soap, we hear things that are interesting."
Linnet's straight face crumbles like the lemoneroni in her mouth. "Ah, Wedge, never change. And what fascinating tidbits have you encountered this evening, besides far too much talk about the opera and some really elaborate names for chocobos?"
"Apple Barry Crumplebottom, which is... brrrr." Wedge squares his shoulders so he doesn't look like he's getting too familiar with a guest. His shirt does not know how to handle his pectorals. "I have heard that Her Grace will be doing some traveling at the conclusion of this party, visiting other houses in the weeks to come. I have heard that Cardia has been stockpiling fuel. I have heard that a particular invisigoth is entertaining a niece of the Albarea family in flagrante delicto, which I don't think tastes like soap or pepperoni but lemon may be involved."
"I'm pretty sure he's not in flagrante anything, but I can't speak for her. And I am not going to go rescue him from that, because he needs to learn sometime." Linnet glances in the direction she last saw Yves and doesn't see anyone rushing around in scandalized uproar, so things are probably fine? "Anyone else with you?"
"Just me! Biggs is on the Triad beat, and Jessie is off yelling at people until they cry big blubbery tears, or whatever it is she does when she's not yelling at us." He covers his mouth, which does nothing to his volume. "She's a literal demon in human form." Then, in a much grander voice, he declares, "Have a wonderful night at the party, madam," and then shoulders off to go eavesdrop on other people with soap balls.
Linnet inclines her head gracefully and is left wondering who thought the lemoneroni biscuits were a good idea. Count Osler steps out onto the balcony. The wind is bitingly cold this evening, though nothing in her demeanor reveals any opinion she may have on it. "Isaline, I have a very important task for you," she says without turning around.
Isa has a glass of wine, because going into battle unarmored is a fool's gambit. She has the same stance re: wind as she looks out into the night. "For me, for my ship, or for my reputation?" she asks.
"For my daughter," the Count replies.
Isa nods.
There is a long pause.
"You will understand the delicacy of this request," she says. She is not searching for words, because she knows the words. The words are difficult nonetheless.
"I need you to retrieve your spear."
Isa does not drop her wine. "Do you remember Art Covus?" she asks.
There is a tilt of the head. "Yes," she says, waiting for the rest of the sentence.
"A few months back, he came to me with a plan to steal it. It's...why I left the city when I did."
"Did he."
Isa sighs. "He said it was too great an injustice to ignore, or some such. He also might be in love with me," she adds as if were a character flaw. "Whatever his plan was it was not successful, he does not have the spear."
"Then I need you to succeed where Art Covus has failed," Count Osler says simply. "The King is modifying the spears."
Isa doesn't say anything for a few breaths, then, "Modifying them how?"
"A crystalline injection. What it does, we do not know." The Count turns. "The insult to our family was great enough when your spear would be given to another academy student. The thought of it being modified is an affront to all of Cardia."
Isa takes a deep breath, sets her wine down, and turns to face her mother. "There are three things I have to tell you," she says, in a tone that politely but firmly requests that they be told face-to-face.
From inside, a voice booms an introduction. "Lady Myrta Osler!"
"It will have to wait," the Count says. "Let us go see your sister."
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