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"Would you excuse us for a moment please?" Mister Lori padded his forehead with a handkerchief and gave Lureene a wan smile. At least she'd finally gotten the gleeful redhead's attention. "Please, take..." He swallowed and bowed, "...your time, Lady Ourson." With that, he exited the chamber to sit in a large wing chair not far from where Amhranai had stretched out upon a long couch. Had he somehow wronged the Princess to deserve such abuse? Only time would tell...
"That would be–" The sound of Sasha running her hands along the keys filled the manse with its chords. Managing a wan smile, he continued, "–a grand piano. Shall I show you the formal dining room and the upstairs, Lady Ourson?" Yes, this was no doubt turning into a long afternoon for Mr. Lori... MAP: Villa Hithraen, (Music Room)
Mister Lori waved his hand, to dismiss the matter. "There is no need for apologies. If your entrance into the city was any indication, a woman of your station is no doubt pressed by more urgent duties than sight-seeing."
"Aaah..." Basilio sighed as Sasha hopped up to run her hand across the harp-strings. "I see, you are referring to the tragic events surrounding Governor Taurion's assassination. Forgive me, I had not thought to couch the event as mere vandalism. Your euphemism caught me off-guard." "At any rate, the events to which you refer took place at the opposite end of the Empyrean Arcade by Trade Street. Marshal Gilthar and a squad of his men lost their lives and Master Angrem his place of business when felons destroyed the Porters' Guild. While it was a tragic event all around, we were fortunate in that the arcade itself received only superficial damage long-since repaired."
Artwork: Sitting Room "I–" Mister Lori gave the redhead a cock-eyed look, shaking his head slightly at the remark, "Please believe me, Ms. Nevah, there has been no vandalism to this estate, I assure you." Turning, he gestured to a large sitting room to the west, inviting everyone to enter. "As you can see, Lady Ourson, the villa is fully furnished and at over ten thousand square feet, quite spacious as well." MAP: Villa Hithraen, (Sitting Room)
It was about a ten minute walk from Basilio's office thru the arcade to its south-western end. As the three women and the four members of the royal guard followed Mr. Lori, it became apparent that many of the offices and shops lining the elegant 3-story structure were available for lease — a sign that the difficult economic times had affected even the upper echelon of Dafar's society. Even still, the balmy breeze and indirect lighting from both above and from side streets allowed one to walk in greater comfort than in the open streets elsewhere. For the whole of the distance, the eight walked along the broad mezzanine overhanging the sidewalks below, carriages and pedestrians bustling about below while others chose to relax at tables dotting the balconies. Upon drawing close to the far end, sunlight poured into the great arch overlooking Central Avenue below. There, leading across that thoroughfare, was a wrought iron bridge covered by a white trellis festooned with ivy, the far side ending at a large patio on which well-dressed individuals took their afternoon cocktails in the shade of potted palms — Victor's. "Ah, here we are," Basilio said, gesturing to an edifice that was set back some 20-feet from the mezzanine, a covered porch facing the walkway, "the west villa!"
"Vandalism?" Basilio's brow furrowed slightly at what apparently struck him as a non sequitur. "Rest assured, your Ladyship, we employ sufficient security to safeguard against such vulgar behavior." Turning his head slightly, he tugged on the lapel of his jacket and spoke into small silver pin, "Vanessa, please hold my appointments. Lady Ourson has requested a tour of the west villa."
Basilio rested his tumbler on the broad arm of his couch and leaned back. With his right heel crossed atop his left knee, he steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips before shaking his head. "Not at all. A saloon has graced the corner of Trade and Central for as long as I recall, 'Victor's' is simply its present moniker." "No, it was rather a new addition to the Arcade that disenfranchised the prior occupant. You see, we recently completed construction of a new skybridge that spans the Central Avenue mezzanine to the saloon's terrace lounge. Evidently, the popularity of that extension was less than universal. Still," he disentwined his fingers to reach for his glass, "one man's loss is another man's gain. Could I interest you in a tour?"
Basilio noted Amhranai's abstinence with a nod as he combined two parts of an Estorian whiskey cream with one part of a clear, sweet herbal liqueur with a vivid yellow hue. "As your Ladyship is recently arrived, let me say that the Empyrean Arcade boasts the finest boutiques in the whole of Dafar." With a cordial smile, he stirred the liqueurs together before pouring the creamy yellow mixture into a trio of crystal tumblers filled with chilled soapstones. After carrying them on a silver serving tray to the table at which they say, he offered glasses first to Lureene and then Sasha before claiming the last for himself, sipping the cool, vanilla and anise-flavored cocktail with his guests. "As it so happens, I do have an exquisite apartment to let. It is a good deal more spacious than a penthouse as it is a two-story affair. Ironically, whereas your man, Arion, specifically requested lodging in close proximity to Mister Moretti's establishment, it was for that very reason the prior tenant broke their lease."
Whether or not Sasha's distress was lost on the foppish landlord, Basilio met the gaze of the three women and gestured to the bar. "Might I offer a constitutional before we get underway?"
"Please, pardon my interruption, Lady Ourson," Basilio began, holding up a hand as she began to rattle off the details of Arion's request. "Mister Moretti, Master Rochmir, my apologies. Out of respect to our royal envoy's confidentiality, let us reconvene at a later time. Vanessa shall schedule it to suit your convenience."
Within, the canvas awnings covering the front windows kept the interior dark, the smell of well-burnished hardwoods, aged leather, and pipe-smoke lingering in the air. Further to the back, past the tall counter of an attractive, middle-aged receptionist, the wood-paneled hallway opened onto a gentleman's solar. Here, tall windows shaded by lattice, offered an unobstructed view of the plantation beyond the city walls. There were leather armchairs and sofas enough to seat everyone comfortably, though the guards remained at attention outside, and a well-stocked bar was built into the wall left of the door. A massive billiards table divided the room, its legs carved to resemble those of a great beast, and facing towards it, from the right-hand side of the parlor, was an expansive desk, behind which sat an aging gentleman with thinning brown hair and a round face. Were it not for the fact that he was of average height, his ornate, golden brocade coat, bright-green vest, bountiful white collar, and gold chain of office might have brought to mind a fanciful gnome. Dark eyebrows rising even as he rose from his high-backed chair, he gave a nod to Angrem and said, in a tone reminiscent of Lord Poe, "Ah, Master Rochmir, only you could find yourself in the company of such extraordinary beauty. Yet I gather this is not our usual social call, is it?" Stepping out from his officious desk, he approached and bowed, holding out his hand with a flourish. "Lady Ourson, I presume?" |
