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The low roar of conversation swells and grows as you return to the main part of the estate, and the tiresome crowds filling it. The party seems to have continued without change in your absence, your departure unnoticed by all save for your few close companions. You pause for a moment at the balcony, even as Alex lingers uneasily behind you, just to look out across the masses once more. You’re not sure what it is that you’re looking for, though eventually your gaze falls on an unfamiliar young man. He’s a few years younger than you are, you’d judge, but his eyes are already cold and jaded.
“Who is that?” you ask Alex, discretely pointing towards the young man, “I don’t recognise him.”
“He arrived with Master Teilhard. I believe the announcer said his name was Erwin,” Alex answers, “One of the bright new stars of the family. He’s quite highly spoken of.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s having much fun.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Alex agrees, “Do you want me to check on him?”
You consider this for a moment, then shake your head. “No, leave him be,” you decide, “Anyway, we’ve left our guests waiting quite long enough.”
Alex, always tactful, says nothing.
-
There’s a conspiratorial air in the drawing room when you arrive, an ill mood that makes you think of dark secrets and drawn daggers. Somehow, it makes the room feel much smaller than it actually is, as if you were all crammed together for space. Master Teilhard, Sakhalin, Cato and Elle sit around a low table, evidently waiting for your arrival.
“My apologies for the delay, I was unavoidable detained,” you begin, taking a seat, “I’m here now, you can get started.”
“Very gracious of you, Isambard,” Cato remarks, the faintest hint of a smile passing across his face.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Master Teilhard announces in a hard voice, “The attempts on Saint Lucille’s life have got the people on edge. As you all know, the mood in the nation has been unsettled for some time already, and this latest incident is like a spark on tinder. There is a fear that if something is not done, and fast, there may be greater unrest. We are making plans to move against House Tomoe.”
“Hold on,” you interrupt, looking to Cato, “The Tomoe weren’t involved in Amaryllis. You know that, Cato. This is pointless.”
“We have read the reports from Amaryllis, yes,” Sakhalin counters, his voice low and level, “You are basing this off the words of a prisoner, this Facilitator, and nothing more. He may very well have been covering for his true masters.”
“This is just political. You’re looking for a scapegoat,” you mutter, your words growing louder and louder as you go on, “The people want blood, and you’re more than happy to give it to them. The last thing we need right now is more bloodshed. By seeking to avoid this “unrest”, you all risk dragging us into a far greater calamity!”
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