faderift | [ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

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[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

WHO: Herian, Anders, Issana, Velanna, Pam, Malcolm
WHAT: A series of disappearances in the Orlesian countryside has culminated in the vanishment of some of the Inquisition's own scouts. A team has been sent to investigate the estate of one Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney.
WHEN: Over the span of 4 days in the 2nd week of Harvestmere.
WHERE: Estate of Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney
NOTES: Trauma, gore, dark themes, homicide, pretentious wine usage, other things not labeled as to avoid spoilers.

Welcome to the Estate

It is a terrible misfortune, all these disappearances- but with a civil war on and all this strange Venatori and Red Templar activity- with the rifts in the countryside? People simply not appearing where they ought is a sad reality. Nothing to be done for it. That such an esteemed noblewoman has found herself unjustly accused simply due to her wealth and prosperity? Cannot stand. Comtesse de Veloney invited the Inquisition herself to investigate her manor and put the matter to rest- they are to be afforded all the cooperation and respect imaginable.

Even the mages. Even the elves.

They are met at the gate by a veritable delegation of footmen led by the Gardener and Tanner to see them inside and out of the stormy, dreary weather. Packs are secreted off to rooms (a lovely set of suites in the east wing if the Steward does say so herself), baths drawn (The Comtesse insists, it's been just dreadful and they've come all this way), and a lavish banquet prepared.

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"My mother hand sore, stiff hands, always. She would make a tea for it; I could give you the recipe, if you'd like? It tastes like leaves, I'm sorry to say." Pamelia gives a little chuckle. "I didn't much care for it as a child, but it does help."

The poor woman looks like she needs a stiff drink and a long bath. "Have you worked for her since childhood?"

"Tasting poorly means it's truly medicinal- my mother would say." The smile becomes slightly less wobbly, the set of her shoulders less tense. "As long as I can remember, yes. My mother was her Valet before me. Sort of inherited the role when she passed. I already knew everything that The Comtesse expected, it worked out."

"An unfortunate truth. Thankfully, honey does a little to help the taste." Pamelia clasps her hands in front of her, looking towards her feet. "I imagine it must be nice, in some ways, to be here. Everything is so self-contained." She looks up and sighs. "Stressful in others, though."

"I would appreciate the recipe." If it'd help at all- Clara flexes her fingers, frowning down at her gloves. It might be easier without them but she's more comfortable with them on. "It wasn't always. That we've gotten to this point has taken time and work- having our own little island in Orlais is...I'm very fortunate."

The Comtesse is kind. "But when it is only this place- sometimes there are arguments among the staff. Silly things, you know? Nothing important. But they seem like the end of the world."

"Of course." Pamelia nods. The gloves are odd - the comments about her hands considering her apparent age are odd - she wonders, suddenly, if the woman is allergic to aconitum flowers.

Alternatively she's jumping at shadows on frosted glass.

"What was it like before?" It seems like such a smooth, clean operation. Pamelia opens the bag she always carries with her, pulls out a pen, a loose sheaf of paper, and begins writing in smooth, clean lines. White willow. Dandelion. Nothing magical, just everyday plants. "It is difficult to imagine it has ever been anything other than this.

Ah." She finishes writing and gives Clara the paper. "I know what that is like. Everyone starts to bicker and it gets blown up, out of proportion."

Edited 2016-10-20 05:12 (UTC)

"A little wobbly. The Comtesse hadn't run an estate before- even with the Comte he doted upon her so, she didn't spend as much time running the household. Having to learn that while grieving him was difficult but- she found people to help. Me and Valery and the Cook." Between them they managed to help get the estate on it's feet, get things working properly. "Most everyone here was trained up or hired on by people who were here under the Comte. Friends they knew needed a job."

Clara accepts the recipe with a faint smile, mouthing the words of the plants involved under her breath. "I'll speak to Roland later, see where he's got these. I'm certain we've everything on here."

Fairly.

"It'll be tense for a few days and it'll go blow over. It always does."

"Between the four of you, you've created something quite amazing in this household." She sees no reason for the other woman not to feel proud for what hand she had in that.

"So you've been here the longest, with the Cook," who doesn't get a name, fancy that, "and Valery?" Pamelia poses it as a question, since she's met everyone thus far by title, not name. "I should meet Roland. The gardens are so beautiful."

Things are tense, or have been; this woman is, at the least. Pamelia moves to sit across from Clara. "Is it because we're here? That things are tense?"

"We have, haven't we?" She perks up a little, more of that tension easing. "It wasn't easy but it's worthwhile- everyone is paid well, we live comfortably, we're safe from the war..."

It is something to be proud of. She's done right, is continuing to do right. "The Steward, she minds the household for the Comtesse and is in charge of the Housemaids. Valery worked for the estate under the Comte's family with her sister before he married the Comtesse. The Cook came down with her from the North."

Needlework set aside she sets her hands in her lap, fidgeting. "Ah- a little. Special guests mean more work all around- but it is the accusations that have people worried. The Comtesse she's- independent. Mysterious. Foreign. Trying to send people against her to take her property- well they'd call it a part of their Grand Game and ruin everything, wouldn't they?"

Still the Cook. There might be some quiet animosity there. Or not so quiet; Pamelia will have to ask one of the others about that. "Does Valery's sister still stay on here?"

To Clara's worries Pamelia looks at her own hands, in her lap, before bringing her eyes back to the Valet's. "Those who guide the Inquisition are more well-versed in the Game than I will ever be, that much is certain. If you are worried, though, that these are the political machinations of the Comtesse's neighbors...

We are here only to discover the truth of the missing persons. There is no desire or intention to steal the Comtesse's property, her livelihood from her."

"Amelie? Yes. She works in the kitchens, with the cook." Still the Cook. Always The Cook. Ignatia is not a name that passes Clara's lips if she can help it. More fidgeting of her hands, tugging on her sleeves. The cuffs line up neatly with her gloves, making the transition from satin to leather as seamless as possible. "I just want what's best for the Estate. That's all any of us want."

Well.

"All most of us want. Some people are more selfish than others."

"That's always the case, I think. Someone wants more than what's fair for everyone."

Is it the Cook? Pamelia will bet a silver piece it is the Cook who is selfish. To someone. Possibly Anders.

"Do you think any of them are plotting with one of the neighboring lords?"

"What? No! They would never- even if they want more pay or better quarters they wouldn't-" She laces her gloved fingers, squeezing them tightly, forcing a wince out of herself. "They wouldn't. We are all grateful to the Comtesse. She's done so much for us."

"Oh! Please, don't'..." Hurt yourself, or whatever this woman is doing, and to that extent Pamelia reaches out and covers Clara's clasped, gloved hands with her own. She doesn't squeeze, but she does feel the odd pleating at the wrist, and the thinness of the leather. "I don't mean to cause distress, or worry, I just wish to know if the Comtesse is in some sort of danger. It's really all right."

Clara hisses between clenched teeth but goes still, the tension in her wrists locked in tight. Three pleats at her sleeves- and not empty. Something thin and firm, unyielding, like metal rest inside each slim pocket. Under the embroidered leather her joints are faintly swollen, her skin textured.

Burn scars, most likely, which are odd for someone this far from the Kitchens.

"They wouldn't. If they did I would know, and if I knew it wouldn't continue. She can't keep untrustworthy people in the Estate. Not when she's finally doing so well."

What. The. Void.

Pamelia lets go of Clara's hands, gently. Continues smiling, even as her mind is racing. Does she comment? Ask what happened? No.

She's honestly worried, now, that there are knives up this woman's sleeves. Literally.

"I believe you." No. "Do you know anything about the missing people?" Inquisition. Others. "Or where I should start asking?"

"Loupe mentioned seeing them at the edges of the estate, beyond the boundary hedge, some time ago. He thought they'd gone past to investigate one of the rifts in the woods or whatever is out there- they didn't come to us." Speaking directly to her own wrists, voice tense but even. Measured carefully. "If you want to know more of what he saw, ask him. But I think it is as he said. They skirted around and slipped off into the woods."

At first Pamelia considered the metal to be knives but on second thought; they are too thin, tapered, and she does not want to be in this room with this strange, possibly ageless woman any longer. "I shall. Thank you so much, for tolerating my questions. I hope the tea helps you, my dear."

Pamelia gathers up her skirts and makes her way out of the room, heart racing.

Clara says nothing at Pam's swift exit, attention still focused on the clench of her laced fingers.

Outside the Steward starts a bit when Pam comes about and grazes past her- there's an undignified little yelp before she claps a hand over her mouth. A moment more of quiet fear before it melts into self depreciating laughter. "I- beg pardon. Are you looking for your suite- or perhaps one of your fellows?"

Out of the fire and into the frying pan, it would seem; Pamelia keeps her smile affixed when she turns toward the Steward, even as her heart continues to pound in her ears.

"Valery, is it? Hello, again." Taking a breath, she shakes her heat, a veritable riot of curls. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with you."

No she wasn't, but she'll make it work. And she'll loop her arm through yours Valery, obviously you wouldn't mind would you?

"Yes, hello dear." Valery blinks a bit at the arm looped through hers- but the Comtesse did say to cooperate and this isn't hurting anyone. Gently as possible she pats Pamelia's hand, offering a warm smile. "I dare say I startled you as much as you startled me. How may I help you?"

A tour? A few questions? An excuse to walk away from Clara and her embroidery?

All the excuses; walk Pamelia does manage, and her smile loses a bit of it's nervous edge. "Well, I had two questions. I was hoping for the name of the young lady from dinner."

She'll wait to offer up the second question until they're further down the hall.

"The blonde elf that served you tea?" It takes Valery a moment to put a name to the face before she nods. "Ah, that'd be Liddy. Did you wish to ask her some questions? The Scullery Maids are where all the gossip tends to end up."

Whether or not that's to their benefit is up in the air. Valery walks Pam along, taking the first right, back to better staffed areas of the estate.

"Liddy." Pamelia lets her face relax into something less stressed all around, once they're closer to civilization, as it were. "I think that would be good, yes, but I also wished to ask you about the state of things here - the neighboring Lords, new additions to the staff, things of that nature."

"Yes. She's quite...spirited." And talkative. And peculiar to Valery, but then so too are most of the Scullery maids. "The Neighboring estates are as they have always been- not as profitable, not as well kept, not as charming. It makes them jealous of what the Comtesse has built for herself and those under her roof. The newest addition to the staff would be- well. Edgar, some five years past. Selling the suet and lard from the pigs wasn't profitable enough on it's own I suppose. Everyone else has been here at least eight years save for our House Maids- the newest of them would be Margret, from three years ago."

She has a sharp memory of these- it's her job to recall it all. "Or- well the refugee girls that come and go as they stay or leave but for the most part it is difficult to keep track. Some seem like they're settling in for a long while and sometimes they're gone with their family the next day."

Pamelia can appreciate Valery's mind for details; she nods as they walk along, committing the names to memory. "Is Edgar the butcher?" She really should've asked for some sort of staff list.

At the mention of refugee girls Pamelia nods. That makes sense, but that doesn't mean she won't pry. "Do you remember when the last group of them came or went?"

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