Post by Alferron Blackbriar on Nov 11, 2024 17:32:09 GMT
Written with the delightfully devilish Erica
Zaspar strides into the Gilded Mirror, a beret resting lopsidedly on his new and unplanned buzzcut - consequence of an adventure gone awry. He is here to apologise to Leocanto for missing his pop-up event. Missing that was truly a bane - not only did he miss out on, presumably, some quality time with his crush, but the adventure he did go on literally burned his hair off. At least Bwop! was nice.
Alferron, though, was another matter. A noble that the Arthiars had not heard of was rather suspicious. He had gone home and asked his Father about this so-called Baron, to receive just a confused head shake in return.
As he walks past the poker tables, his eyes fall onto a half elf having lunch. Lo and behold, it was the object of his confusion - one Alferron Blackbriar. Zaspar rolls his eyes and decides to go and figure out what's going on with this apparent Noble. He walks over, pulling up a chair next to Alferron, and offering his hand for a handshake.
"Alferron. How curious to meet you twice in one week, after never before," he begins, hand outstretched and waiting.
Today was Oyster Day. Back in Alferron's lands in Cormyr, the distance from the coast made any sort of seafood a rarity, let alone these beautiful gems that Alferron had gotten a taste for. The fresh taste of the ocean was simply unparalleled and he wondered how he ever went without.
Every day was Steak Day for Delenarr. Despite being a physical manifestation of the spirit locked in the Delaunay Stone and therefore not requiring actual sustenance, that didn't stop him from demanding it. As such Alferron's pockets were running increasingly dry off of the escalating numbers of t-bone steaks he had to order for him. It'd almost be fine if it wasn't for his horrendous table manners.
One of the things that Alferron enjoyed most about oysters was the ritual that accompanied them. He found it served well to calm the mind. A little lemon, the slightest touch of hot sauce, run the knife underneath to detach it, bring it to the lips and-
A voice called out and a hand entered his vision, breaking his flow entirely. Okay, who on earth-
Ah. This one. The toad.
It was really the only word that came to mind when he first heard Zaspar speak. A word that he previously reserved for his lord brother François. But at least François, for all his toadyness had some air of wit and charm around him. He could organise a social gathering out of nothing and while not the most gifted in physicality still found himself surrounded by a frustrating amount of women. This Zaspar though? Where did he get off being so utterly abrasive to everyone and everything? Was it that he wasn't taught manners or that he was taught incorrectly as a joke? If intrigue was a game, this punk didn't know the rules.
And yet here he stood, right in the middle of Oyster Day. Well, if Alferron was going to tolerate the interruption he might as well learn as much about this House Arthiar as he can. He quickly adjusted his face into a smile and grasped the hand.
"Lord Zaspar, how fortuitous that we should meet again so soon! Hold on, one second-" he quickly slurped up his oyster still held in his hand, humming in delight as he placed the shell down. "And why should it be so curious, then?"
Alferron hadn't assumed that Zaspar had it in him to be curious about anything but it didn't hurt to entertain the thought at least.
Zaspar grasped the hand a bit more tightly than was necessary, something he'd recently learned from the OCF Paladins. He tried not to visibly cringe at Alferron's ludicrous display with the oysters but was doubtless he succeeded. Has this man truly no decorum, to be slurping his food in public?
"Recently, we spent a while finding out who all the Nobles in Kantas are. I threw a ball at the estate, you see? Everyone was there. The von Walds, Baron Luxemforth, the di Florias - even some nobility from the Summer Court were in attendance." He begins, finally letting go of Alferron's hand, and reaching over to sample an oyster. He quietly tipped his head and the oyster back. He almost shuddered upon swallowing. "Really, I have three chefs at home, and this does not come close to any of their cooking," he admonished. "You are welcome to visit, if you are ever in need of real food," he offered, rather genuinely in fact, as he felt sorry for those who struggled for good food, which Alferron clearly must be if he was moaning over this low quality oyster.
"Now, where was I. Ah yes, my ball. You see, we moved here to Kantas only a couple months ago. Father and I have spent a lot of time making connections with the Council, with merchants, with every Noble worth knowing. Yet not once did we hear of a 'Blackbriar' family!" He exclaims, slapping Alferron's back with a bit too much force to be a truly friendly interaction. "And then here you are, introducing yourself as a Baron. So, I was curious. What's your story? I will happily tell you mine, if you regale me with yours. It will be fascinating, I'm sure." Zaspar nods once at Alferron and calls a waiter over, ordering two bottles of their most expensive Champagne on his Father's tab.
Ow. Okay.
So this is what he was doing. The handshake, the backslaps, the taking of the oysters that Alferron would have offered him begrudgingly if he'd only asked. Fine. Alferron decided to stoop, not to his level, but just a touch. He wasn't going to try and match his grip strength. Alferron was built for agility, not strength. But he had an idea. He shot a quick glance over at Delenarr who immediately picked up the message. The drake slammed a foreleg down on the table, giving a glowering stare over to Zaspar.
"Now Delenarr..." Alferron said knowingly. "Where are your table manners?"
"[Heh. Sorry.]" Delenarr rumbled sarcastically, maw cutting effortlessly through the meat in front of him down to the bone which he proceeded to grind and crush between his teeth, eyes fixed on Zaspar as he did so.
"Do excuse my companion. Decorum is not his strong point."
Now to the matter at hand. Putting aside the barbs regarding his diet and him not being a noble worth knowing aside (although the possibility of there being even better oysters out there that Alferron had somehow missed was tantalising), he knew these questions would come at some point. How to play this? Invent a cover or give a partial truth? Being evasive might cause him to dig deeper off his own effort, which might make things inconvenient. No, Alferron had to control the narrative here. Besides, his lord brothers were going to find out that he was here at some point; if Zaspar's loose lips would lead to that, so be it.
"Your questions are only well founded as if you look for a Blackbriar household you will be left wanting. I'm afraid I may have inadvertently misled you. Blackbriar is a name of mine but not the name of my house proper, that being Delaunay. Our house controls three counties in Cormyr, and I am here on a sabbatical of sorts, seeking opportunities for commerce for the benefit of our house."
A lie infused into the truth. Hopefully this will be enough to satisfy the curious toad.
Alferron found he was getting increasingly frustrated with Zaspar's references to his house. Clearly he was awash with resources. Resources that Alferron no doubt could use far better. Immaterial for this discussion, put it aside.
"And I do believe you stated that you would tell your story. Do entertain me."
Zaspar grins at Alferron's revelations, satisfied to have cracked this riddle so quickly. It was not surprising, of course, for someone of his intellect.
"Fascinating. A false name for commerce?" he muses, tilting his head slightly. A part of him briefly thinks of his fiancée, but he quickly shakes off the thought. "Are you dealing in illegal goods, Alferron? Now that would be extraordinarily interesting." Zaspar winks at the half-elf, a sly smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat, clearly enjoying the teasing.
The waiter arrives with the two bottles of champagne. "Thank you. And take one for yourself too, on Father's tab, I insist," Zaspar insists, waving off any protest. The waiter, clearly flustered, blushes and quickly leaves, no doubt planning to pocket a little extra from House Arthiar’s generosity.
Zaspar pops the cork of one bottle and deftly pours glasses for both of them. He raises his in a toast, eyes gleaming. "To friendship," he declares, smiling easily at Alferron. He takes a sip and sets the glass down before continuing, settling into the rhythm of his tale. "My story is just beginning. I am the eldest son of Celeste and Cassius Arthiar. I took the name Zaspar upon reaching 100 years of age last year. It means The Holy Fist in Elvish. I'm not sure if you speak the language, so I thought better to translate." He pauses for a moment, watching Alferron’s reaction, then shrugs lightly. "Father wanted to stretch his influence beyond Faerun, so here we are, in Kantas. I suppose I am also on a 'sabbatical' of sorts, having a few adventures before I inherit the house and become Count Arthiar."
Zaspar leans back, taking another sip of champagne, clearly enjoying the theatrics of his own story. "I’ve been trained in fencing and music since I was a child, excelling at both - no doubt you were dazzled by my skill when we faced that Behir together," he adds with clear amusement in his eyes.
By the divines, he's an idiot.
Did he just take the first assumption that came into his head and roll with it? Well at the very least it saved him explaining why a baron from a majority human country would be using his elven name. Alferron decided to be glad that the Holy Fist wanted to talk about himself more than inquire about the Child of Fortune. Still, the assumption that he didn't even speak the language stung a little. A bastard on one side, a biir* on the other. But then again, he couldn't expect poor Zaspar to know any better, could he? He was, after all, an idiot.
"[To your health.]" He replied in perfect Elvish as he returned the toast. "Interesting that both yourself and your lord father are both here together. Are you helping with stretching his influence then, or just helping to stretch his money thin?"
He chuckled at the joke, only took glad to be partaking in free champagne. A thousand blessings to Count Arthiar for raising such a fine young lad who truly knows how to use your fortune!
"And yes, that truly was quite a display of swordsmanship and artistry in perfect concert, truly you are a polymath of combat! Although I do recall that you did get precariously close to falling off of this mortal coil, if my memory isn't failing me. And I was the one to pick you back up with my own magic."
In truth, Zaspar's combat prowess seemed... ordinary. He probably was a better fencer than lord brother François but Pierre would likely obliterate the young elf lord in any duel. Francois himself was a bard in his own right as well, and while he couldn't conjure objects out of thin air, that flute was still deceptively dangerous. So Zaspar was decent. But nothing special.
"Nice touch with the Elvish," he smiles, "but you still haven't answered my question. What is a Noble doing trading under a false name? Your House's name would give you so much more prestige, no?"
He is skilled at talking around issues, and can see clearly that Alferron has this talent too, with all the distraction about his fighting skills. He will come back to the quip about his magic later. His ego is not so small that he cannot thank another for helping him. But for now he wants to know why Alferron is using a false identity - perhaps he, too, is involved in the Hekrati. Perhaps the entire continent is, at this point.
An ember of anger blazed in Alferron's mind for just a moment. A false name? The one his mother gave him? If anything Alferron Blackbriar was the truth and Alphonse Delaunay was the lie. But there was no way Zaspar could know that. And there was no need for him to know either. Knowing that Alferron had taken an active step away from the family would only provide Zaspar ammunition to use against him. His status as a bastard even more so. It might even encourage him to seek out communication with his lord brothers. Most importantly, Zaspar didn't deserve the explanation. What could this pampered figurehead ever possibly understand about being born to be a scapegoat, a sacrifice at the altar of a house's ambitions? No, it was time to construct another narrative. It was time to showboat.
"But of course it would give me prestige, but then it would be too easy, wouldn't it? You see, I mean to test my own abilities of enterprise and statecraft. I want to see how far I can go without leaning on my title. And just think; if I can make it work without the backing of my house, just imagine how far I could go with it. You understand, right? Although I would never begrudge you for accepting your father's support, my boy. You take all the help you need, I get it."
He took another sip of champagne. Yes, that should do.
Zaspar smiles gently at the other man. "How truly bold of you," he begins, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully. The challenge in Alferron's words is obvious, but the half elf will have to do better to get a rise out of the first son of Cassius Arthiar.
"Let's assume you are telling the truth," Zaspar continues, tone light and conversational. "A few questions come to mind. Firstly, what are you selling? And secondly, is your Patriarch truly happy with you trading outside of the family name, keeping the profits for yourself?" He pauses, trying to find the right nerve to hit. "Rather than you being a bigger man and helping repay your family? After all, it is not as though you learned those skills yourself. I know what a noble education is like, my friend."
For the briefest of moments Alferron considered launching a dart into Zaspar's neck but quickly banished the thought. He liked living in the Gilded Mirror. Moreover he liked living as a free man. Shame. The insinuation that the bare minimum education to not embarrass the family warranted payback was almost laughable. Almost.
In any case, even this infuriating specimen could be useful. Hm. Actually, now that he thought about it, Zaspar had given Alferron the perfect opportunity to embroil him into Operation Liability. Now, to pitch this lightly. It hinged on the threat of a leak. Tell too much and Alferron would lose his edge in the matter and have two drow houses seeking his neck. Gently now.
"Well..." Alferron began, pensive in thought. "I don't know about Patriarch, but I will have plenty of opportunity to pay back my lord brother Pierre in full. We aren't people without means; the family will do more than survive without my earnings, so don't fret. As to what I'm selling... I'll ask you to keep this a clandestine matter, the situation is somewhat precarious but surely I can trust a gentleman such as yourself to keep a secret, hm?"
Of course Alferron didn't. That was the point.
"Thanks to a certain business colleague in Aeschira I have come into a windfall. Drowic silk spiders. I now have the means to undercut the silk market from both Aeschira and overseas in Faerun. A little bit of market knowledge, a little expedition, and I am now sitting on a fortune in progress. This is just the beginning of my enterprises but you have to agree that this is something special, no?"
Zaspar bursts out laughing. “The spiders! That was you? Oh god. I should have known.” He shakes his head and slaps Alferron on the shoulder. “I’ve heard a lot about these spiders. I even heard your crew thought about storing them in my manor, hmm?”
“You want me to keep secret what has already been told to me by several different people? Sure thing.”
"Aha, well, in that case I suppose the discretion is unnecessary! Tell me, who have you been hearing all this from?"
Him knowing isn't the problem, it's how much he knows and from who. If he's already aware of Zola Rhomdaen's involvement then his ploy to get her out of the business contract is already compromised. The leak needs to be shut down, fast.
Zaspar just grins at him. "Like I said, multiple people. I am rather well connected, if you haven't noticed, Alferron." He pauses for a second, trying to remember some of the other things his Father has said at business meetings. "My associates keep me abreast of things that go on in the city. You will notice that if I do not have 'friends' in every circle, I at least have informants." That felt right. This was something his Father often said. Zaspar was rather enjoying this discussion, in fact. It felt like a less-serious role play of what it'd be like to be Count Arthiar. He gets the feeling that Alferron is perhaps not enjoying it as much, though - which honestly just makes him feel even better. "I am a powerful man."
"Also, something I learned as a child. If you don't have somewhere to store your goods, maybe don't procure them. I haven't told Father about the 'spider plot' yet, but it would not bode well for you if I did." He nods at that, remembering a discussion his Father had with some dwarves about ores or something boring. He gets why Father enjoys the role of Count so much, though. It is quite fun to say things like that, even if the business itself is lame. "Though you did say yourself it was rather precarious. I am glad your wisdom stretches that far, at least." He sat back and nodded, folding his arms.
This was really fun! Maybe inheriting the house won't be as boring as he thought.
"Ah yes, your informants, quite... Do rest assured that the idea of taking the spiders to your manse was an insipid idea suggested by one of my associates that I quickly quashed. I have secured provisions in that regard so it is certainly nothing you need to bother your lord father about."
What informants? Clearly it was either Matches or Safire. Elarris didn't seem interested enough and Zola and Jaezred aren't stupid enough to implicate themselves. Clearly words were going to be needed.
But this was fine. Everything was always fine. At the very least Zaspar didn't seem to know about the Rhomdaen involvement. Operation Liability was still viable. So Alferron was content to let the 'powerful man' prattle about his oh-so-sage advice, as if he'd achieved anything of worth. In fact...
"My good man, it does occur to me that we've spent an awful lot of time talking about my exploits and while I certainly don't mind, I don't want to be overbearing. So tell me. What have you achieved in your time in the Dawnlands thus far? What enterprises, beyond entertaining yourself in conversation and diverting yourself with adventures? Surely you have achieved much more than me and my silly little spiders? You are a powerful man after all."
Alferron sat expectantly. There was no way this little lord yet unlanded, basking in the glow of his house had achieved anything of worth. If he was going to sit here and be frustrated he might as well be entertained in equal measure.
“I think it was a rather brilliant idea, Alferron. Each spider could have had a room to themselves at my house.”
Subtlety whilst bragging was not Zaspar’s strong suit. “The Drow who have visited quite like the aesthetics, too,” he adds, an attempt to show his influence spreads across the various races of Kantas.
“I have been here only a few weeks, Alferron. What I have focused on in that time is connecting with people. I threw a grand ball which all the important nobles of Kantas attended.” Emphasis on Important, implication on Alferron not being there. “Including the di Florias, de Walds and more. I have a strong relationship with the progenitor, Eroshira. I have spent time with Jean Auber, had a party thrown in my honour by the High Priestess of the H-“ he catches himself. “By a High Priestess. A different archwyrm performed a pyrotechnic display for myself and some clients on a yacht party, completely for free and as a personal favour. I have even tutored a man whose magical ability is so impressive that he is now a Doctor.”
He sits back in his seat and Alferron can notice he is now fidgeting with a ring on his finger. “I am also engaged, Alferron, to one of the most beautiful, powerful, successful merchants in all of the Dawnlands. In fact, her business associates have tried multiple times to recruit me into spearheading their ‘shipping’ operations.” He chuckles at this, and the overlap it has with what Alferron has just said to him.
“Sure, I have performed some great deeds. To me that all falters in comparison to the importance of personal connection.” He leans forward, taking his champagne again, and sipping slowly as he waits for Alferron’s response.
He does not care much what the other ‘noble’ thinks of him. He is far more interested in figuring out what this half elf’s story is.
A lot to break down. The simplest was the engagement; clearly she was using him for his personal connections. It's certainly what Alferron would do if he was a wealthy but unlanded burgher lady. The other possibility was that she, somehow, in some borderline perverse way actually enjoyed Zaspar's company and character. So no. He was being used. It has happened to greater men.
Alferron put aside his own relationship status for a while and pondered the other things. The drow in his house, the Archwyrms, the ball, the connection with Jean. All glossed over, no specifics. Alferron was no stranger to lying by omission. Questions, questions...
"[Let me hear about these Archwyrms.] Delenarr rumbled.
"[We'll get to it.]" Alferron hissed in return, before turning back to Zaspar. "A thousand blessings on your imminent wedding. I would have assumed you'd want to spend such a fine day with your betrothed, but I imagine you have more than enough plans in that regard. Clearly you are taking your time to cultivate connections in these lands, which in itself is a laudable prospect. Tell me, to what end is it that you do so? Obviously one can never have too many conversation partners but surely one needs to have business of interest to speak of before the fact, no?"
Zaspar gives him a strange look. “Do you have friends, Alferron? Not every conversation needs to be about business.”
This was rather hypocritical from Zaspar, the boy who had not experienced friendship before Kantas. Alferron doesn’t need to know that though.
“Perhaps I just like meeting with people, talking to them, as we are doing now. Not every conversation must be in the service of something greater.” He sighs. The conversation wasn’t revealing anything about Alferron, and the other man did not seem to trust him enough to reveal anything either. But he didn’t want to give his Fathers secrets away so easily. Perhaps he will use some of the tactics Dee and Kem taught him to steer this conversation.
“We should get to know eachother first before I tell you my secrets, Alferron.”
Subtle insults weren't quite so fun when your target had all the linguistic nous of an average barn owl. Actually, Alferron had spoken to a couple in the past who were surprisingly adept conversationalists. Clearly, or at least, clearly to Alferron, he didn't mean business in a literal sense but 'business' as in what one does with their lives. The entire point was to imply he wasn't interesting enough, but well, he couldn't rely on him to pick up on subtext when it seemed he was only just about comfortable with text.
And the matter with friends. Alferron has a friend. The best of friends that one could ever possibly hope for. And she was engaged to his lord brother. There were days that he wondered if the correct word was had. There were days still that he wondered whether she ever considered him anything other than a distraction.
Enough. Thinking about Fleur hurt, and Alferron could feel his dissatisfaction creeping along his face. He drew it back into his usual capricious smile and pressed forward.
"Well I didn't expect I was touching on secrets but very well. How about hobbies? When you aren't hobnobbing with anyone who's anyone or interrupting gentlemen in the midst of their afternoon meals, how do you entertain yourself?"
Zaspar stares blankly at Alferron. This wasn’t the first time he had watched the man flit between facial expressions, and it was rather offputting in a conversation partner. He had been straightforward with Alferron, and was clearly not getting the same treatment back.
So, he stands up. The conversation is going nowhere - they had already discussed what Zaspar gets up to - and Alferron noted he had been ‘interrupted’ by Zaspar’s presence. There are plenty of people who will willingly spend time with him now, so he will seek them out, and leave Alferron to sulk on his own again.
He doesn’t buy Alferrons fake name story - what kind of idiot would choose not to use the bonus that comes with a prestigious family name, when starting mercantile endeavours? Obviously there was a scandal somewhere here, waiting to be uncovered. But Zaspar doesn’t care enough to be the one to uncover it.
“You must excuse me. I just realised I’m late to see Leo.” He places his hand gently on the half elf’s shoulder and squeezes it, in a somewhat friendlier gesture than he’d displayed all afternoon so far. “Take care, Alfie.”
He does wait for the other man to speak before he leaves though. In case he decides to reveal something interesting. Or, in case he decides to say goodbye. Basic etiquette, after all. Plus, the nickname is funny, he thinks. He is also unhappy at Alferron’s earlier implication that he is neglecting to spend time with his fiancée. What would this man know about romance? Perhaps he has forgotten that Zaspar watched him fail to seduce a doppelganger of all things - someone pretending to be Sergeant Buttons. How was that even possible?
"Oh, going so soon-"
And then again with the shoulder. And finally the distortion of his name. Enoughenoughenoughenough-
The first knives on Alferron's person lay inside the cuffs of his sleeve, just against his wrists. They were held in place by a fabric binding that was just snug enough to hold them in place normally but could slide out with enough traction. So when Alferron clasped his hand over Zaspar's as he stood from his chair, he curled his wrist and pushed the knives forward just enough that the tips lightly touched Zaspar's hand.
"It's Alferron to you." He stated, looking Zaspar dead in the eyes, all humour gone from his face, all levity gone from his voice. He held the stare with furrowed eyebrows for a brief moment.
Shit. Alferron thought as he caught himself. How had he allowed this... this toad to rile him up so much? The smile returned as he withdrew his hand and the knives alongside. No blood shed, good. Now, to recover.
"Well then, doubtless we will meet again, so don't be a stranger. And do send my well wishes to your lord father. Fare thee well, friend."
Zaspar looked down at his hand, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Well, well," he murmured with a grin, maintaining eye contact with Alferron just a moment longer. "Finally, an honest action from you." Advantage to Zaspar.
He flexed his hand, wincing dramatically, his voice suddenly carrying louder than before. “You really hurt me,” he declared, loudly, holding his hand up to the light with a grimace, ensuring the room’s attention shifted toward them. Patrons begin to look, curious about the scene unfolding.
Zaspar leaned in, lowering his voice for Alferron’s ears alone. “I'll consider letting this slide... if you tell me who you really are.” His gaze sharpened, lingering with a hint of threat. “Or, I could report this incident. You see, I'm on good terms with Ser Baine of the OCF,” he added lightly. “And the City Watch loves hearing about assaults against noble heirs.”
He flexed his hand again with a hissed breath, managing a look of genuine pain. Raising his voice once more, he scanned the room with a mock-helpless expression. “My goodness! Did anyone else see what just happened?”
Zaspar’s flair for drama is present as always, but with a newfound edge. The influence of his new Kantas friends has made him bolder, perhaps a bit more cunning, more aware of the power well-placed words can have.
Here is a young Lord using his social status as a weapon.
It’s thrilling, a little unnerving, and totally unusual, to feel so fully in control of a social situation. This moment in the Gilded Mirror feels like a rite of passage, a glimpse of what Zaspar could become. How would Robin take this side of him? Would she be impressed, that he has learned some manipulation techniques?
...Should he be impressed?
Debates for later, he supposes.
Alferron wasn't having a good day. This he knew. He certainly wasn't at his sparkling best. But even his worst days were still good days. Because bad days brought problems, and problems were to be solved.
A smile appeared on Alferron's face. Not the usual smile, that was for pleasantries and small talk. This one was wide, wild and genuine. And he laughed.
"Goodness me, did I squeeze too hard? My, for a master fencer, your wrists are far too weak! Friend, you simply must come climbing with me, builds your grip strength like nothing else!"
With laughter still on his lips he looked around at the room. Not convincing. He didn't care. This lordling tried to call his bluff. And Alferron had been at far too many card tables for that. He threw his arm around Zaspar's shoulders and pulled him in.
"You're a damn good actor, Zaspar," Alferron began in a conspiratorial whisper, smile still on his face. "But what did you prove? That your wrist hurts? Poor you. Did anyone see what happened? Well did they? All they saw was me grasp your hand. My knives are still hidden and I don't make it a habit to show them around here. Aren't the OCF too busy with fiends from the Hells or whatever the fuck to deal with little us? And the Watch? Yeah, we both know how highly Thundercog thinks of you. And even with the people here. Sure, they know something's up with me, but that's not the point. It's not about who they believe but who they want to believe. And who will they go for? Me, the long term resident here, the affably eccentric lord who, aside for his strange affinity for exotic pets has been nothing but pleasant to all here, a permanent smile and always a good word; or you, who walks in with his awful manners, flaunts his wealth excessively, insults the quality of the food here and makes a ruckus over something so trifling as a hurt wrist? But go on, call the OCF if you want. The Watch too. It's your word against mine. And trust me, that isn't a gamble that you want to make.
I haven't told you a single lie. My name is Alferron Blackbriar. My official name, according to the Kingdom of Cormyr is Alphonse Delaunay. That much is no secret. The reason I use my elven name is a personal matter that doesn't warrant further interrogation, especially from you. I am engaging in affairs mercantile to increase my influence, and as far as I can tell that's no crime. And that is who I am. At the very least, that's as much as you need to know. Wasn't it you who suggested we get to know each other before we share secrets? Don't try and rush things now."
Alferron unslung his arm from Zaspar's shoulder and clasped his hand again.
"So next week, yes? I'll meet you in the Angelbark, we'll start with trees first and we'll have you up on the cliffs before long!"
And just like that, the jovial lilt in his voice and his mischievous smile returned.
Zaspar smiled, placing his “injured” wrist squarely on Alferron’s chest. Physical touch didn’t bother him in the slightest, and he had a feeling this would only unsettle Alferron further.
“Oh, Alfie, a date with you sounds positively delightful. Perhaps you can even help me recover!” Zaspar’s tone was bright as he gave Alferron a light, almost affectionate tap on the chest. Patrons glanced over briefly before turning away - this scene was clearly too odd for anyone to linger on during the Oyster Day Lunch Deal.
Zaspar stepped back, tilting his head with an almost patronizing air as he looked Alferron over. “You consider yourself pleasant? Every word you say reeks of hollow flattery. I can't imagine how you expect to make it as a businessman when you can’t even pretend to like people properly.”
Perhaps Alphonse Delaunay was a name of some note. Perhaps his unhinged behaviour would intrigue someone enough to look into it.
But it would not be Zaspar. He had had enough of these types - double-crossers, saying one thing when they mean three, playing false friends to gain status. Maybe I do need to deal with the Robin situation, he thought. Even here, in the midst of what could have been an interesting conversation, his mind was just wandering to her. How she would have handled this situation. The paralells between some things they had said. He shook his head quickly.
“I’m off to meet my dear Leocanto now. You should try finding some friends yourself, Alferron. For all your time here, it seems you’re still just… alone. You claim people will take your side? There are people in my corner who will choose me every time. Wish that you could say the same. I doubt there is even one being besides Delanarr who would stand for you. And from the limited Draconic I know - I'm not sure he would even choose you, either.”
With that, Zaspar turned and headed for the Gilded Mirror's offices.
Which left Alferron alone. But that was fine. Alferron had always been alone, since the day his mother died. It only took so long to realise. And friends in his corner? Really now? The same adventurers who joined Alferron with only the slightest notion of coin at the end of the road? Funny. It was all transactions. Everything. The only discerning factor is knowing whether you're trading and what you're trading. Zaspar trades money and status to get some vague notion of companionship. Fleur exchanged time, platitudes and the notion that he might be worthy of love in exchange for an entertaining, flattering talking lapdog in Alferron to be used and discarded as she saw fit. His father gave him faith and purpose in exchange for the sacrifice needed to unite his two brothers. Alferron could now see the transactions for what they were. And now he knew what he wanted to buy and what he had to sell. The rest was execution.
Zaspar strides into the Gilded Mirror, a beret resting lopsidedly on his new and unplanned buzzcut - consequence of an adventure gone awry. He is here to apologise to Leocanto for missing his pop-up event. Missing that was truly a bane - not only did he miss out on, presumably, some quality time with his crush, but the adventure he did go on literally burned his hair off. At least Bwop! was nice.
Alferron, though, was another matter. A noble that the Arthiars had not heard of was rather suspicious. He had gone home and asked his Father about this so-called Baron, to receive just a confused head shake in return.
As he walks past the poker tables, his eyes fall onto a half elf having lunch. Lo and behold, it was the object of his confusion - one Alferron Blackbriar. Zaspar rolls his eyes and decides to go and figure out what's going on with this apparent Noble. He walks over, pulling up a chair next to Alferron, and offering his hand for a handshake.
"Alferron. How curious to meet you twice in one week, after never before," he begins, hand outstretched and waiting.
Today was Oyster Day. Back in Alferron's lands in Cormyr, the distance from the coast made any sort of seafood a rarity, let alone these beautiful gems that Alferron had gotten a taste for. The fresh taste of the ocean was simply unparalleled and he wondered how he ever went without.
Every day was Steak Day for Delenarr. Despite being a physical manifestation of the spirit locked in the Delaunay Stone and therefore not requiring actual sustenance, that didn't stop him from demanding it. As such Alferron's pockets were running increasingly dry off of the escalating numbers of t-bone steaks he had to order for him. It'd almost be fine if it wasn't for his horrendous table manners.
One of the things that Alferron enjoyed most about oysters was the ritual that accompanied them. He found it served well to calm the mind. A little lemon, the slightest touch of hot sauce, run the knife underneath to detach it, bring it to the lips and-
A voice called out and a hand entered his vision, breaking his flow entirely. Okay, who on earth-
Ah. This one. The toad.
It was really the only word that came to mind when he first heard Zaspar speak. A word that he previously reserved for his lord brother François. But at least François, for all his toadyness had some air of wit and charm around him. He could organise a social gathering out of nothing and while not the most gifted in physicality still found himself surrounded by a frustrating amount of women. This Zaspar though? Where did he get off being so utterly abrasive to everyone and everything? Was it that he wasn't taught manners or that he was taught incorrectly as a joke? If intrigue was a game, this punk didn't know the rules.
And yet here he stood, right in the middle of Oyster Day. Well, if Alferron was going to tolerate the interruption he might as well learn as much about this House Arthiar as he can. He quickly adjusted his face into a smile and grasped the hand.
"Lord Zaspar, how fortuitous that we should meet again so soon! Hold on, one second-" he quickly slurped up his oyster still held in his hand, humming in delight as he placed the shell down. "And why should it be so curious, then?"
Alferron hadn't assumed that Zaspar had it in him to be curious about anything but it didn't hurt to entertain the thought at least.
Zaspar grasped the hand a bit more tightly than was necessary, something he'd recently learned from the OCF Paladins. He tried not to visibly cringe at Alferron's ludicrous display with the oysters but was doubtless he succeeded. Has this man truly no decorum, to be slurping his food in public?
"Recently, we spent a while finding out who all the Nobles in Kantas are. I threw a ball at the estate, you see? Everyone was there. The von Walds, Baron Luxemforth, the di Florias - even some nobility from the Summer Court were in attendance." He begins, finally letting go of Alferron's hand, and reaching over to sample an oyster. He quietly tipped his head and the oyster back. He almost shuddered upon swallowing. "Really, I have three chefs at home, and this does not come close to any of their cooking," he admonished. "You are welcome to visit, if you are ever in need of real food," he offered, rather genuinely in fact, as he felt sorry for those who struggled for good food, which Alferron clearly must be if he was moaning over this low quality oyster.
"Now, where was I. Ah yes, my ball. You see, we moved here to Kantas only a couple months ago. Father and I have spent a lot of time making connections with the Council, with merchants, with every Noble worth knowing. Yet not once did we hear of a 'Blackbriar' family!" He exclaims, slapping Alferron's back with a bit too much force to be a truly friendly interaction. "And then here you are, introducing yourself as a Baron. So, I was curious. What's your story? I will happily tell you mine, if you regale me with yours. It will be fascinating, I'm sure." Zaspar nods once at Alferron and calls a waiter over, ordering two bottles of their most expensive Champagne on his Father's tab.
Ow. Okay.
So this is what he was doing. The handshake, the backslaps, the taking of the oysters that Alferron would have offered him begrudgingly if he'd only asked. Fine. Alferron decided to stoop, not to his level, but just a touch. He wasn't going to try and match his grip strength. Alferron was built for agility, not strength. But he had an idea. He shot a quick glance over at Delenarr who immediately picked up the message. The drake slammed a foreleg down on the table, giving a glowering stare over to Zaspar.
"Now Delenarr..." Alferron said knowingly. "Where are your table manners?"
"[Heh. Sorry.]" Delenarr rumbled sarcastically, maw cutting effortlessly through the meat in front of him down to the bone which he proceeded to grind and crush between his teeth, eyes fixed on Zaspar as he did so.
"Do excuse my companion. Decorum is not his strong point."
Now to the matter at hand. Putting aside the barbs regarding his diet and him not being a noble worth knowing aside (although the possibility of there being even better oysters out there that Alferron had somehow missed was tantalising), he knew these questions would come at some point. How to play this? Invent a cover or give a partial truth? Being evasive might cause him to dig deeper off his own effort, which might make things inconvenient. No, Alferron had to control the narrative here. Besides, his lord brothers were going to find out that he was here at some point; if Zaspar's loose lips would lead to that, so be it.
"Your questions are only well founded as if you look for a Blackbriar household you will be left wanting. I'm afraid I may have inadvertently misled you. Blackbriar is a name of mine but not the name of my house proper, that being Delaunay. Our house controls three counties in Cormyr, and I am here on a sabbatical of sorts, seeking opportunities for commerce for the benefit of our house."
A lie infused into the truth. Hopefully this will be enough to satisfy the curious toad.
Alferron found he was getting increasingly frustrated with Zaspar's references to his house. Clearly he was awash with resources. Resources that Alferron no doubt could use far better. Immaterial for this discussion, put it aside.
"And I do believe you stated that you would tell your story. Do entertain me."
Zaspar grins at Alferron's revelations, satisfied to have cracked this riddle so quickly. It was not surprising, of course, for someone of his intellect.
"Fascinating. A false name for commerce?" he muses, tilting his head slightly. A part of him briefly thinks of his fiancée, but he quickly shakes off the thought. "Are you dealing in illegal goods, Alferron? Now that would be extraordinarily interesting." Zaspar winks at the half-elf, a sly smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat, clearly enjoying the teasing.
The waiter arrives with the two bottles of champagne. "Thank you. And take one for yourself too, on Father's tab, I insist," Zaspar insists, waving off any protest. The waiter, clearly flustered, blushes and quickly leaves, no doubt planning to pocket a little extra from House Arthiar’s generosity.
Zaspar pops the cork of one bottle and deftly pours glasses for both of them. He raises his in a toast, eyes gleaming. "To friendship," he declares, smiling easily at Alferron. He takes a sip and sets the glass down before continuing, settling into the rhythm of his tale. "My story is just beginning. I am the eldest son of Celeste and Cassius Arthiar. I took the name Zaspar upon reaching 100 years of age last year. It means The Holy Fist in Elvish. I'm not sure if you speak the language, so I thought better to translate." He pauses for a moment, watching Alferron’s reaction, then shrugs lightly. "Father wanted to stretch his influence beyond Faerun, so here we are, in Kantas. I suppose I am also on a 'sabbatical' of sorts, having a few adventures before I inherit the house and become Count Arthiar."
Zaspar leans back, taking another sip of champagne, clearly enjoying the theatrics of his own story. "I’ve been trained in fencing and music since I was a child, excelling at both - no doubt you were dazzled by my skill when we faced that Behir together," he adds with clear amusement in his eyes.
By the divines, he's an idiot.
Did he just take the first assumption that came into his head and roll with it? Well at the very least it saved him explaining why a baron from a majority human country would be using his elven name. Alferron decided to be glad that the Holy Fist wanted to talk about himself more than inquire about the Child of Fortune. Still, the assumption that he didn't even speak the language stung a little. A bastard on one side, a biir* on the other. But then again, he couldn't expect poor Zaspar to know any better, could he? He was, after all, an idiot.
"[To your health.]" He replied in perfect Elvish as he returned the toast. "Interesting that both yourself and your lord father are both here together. Are you helping with stretching his influence then, or just helping to stretch his money thin?"
He chuckled at the joke, only took glad to be partaking in free champagne. A thousand blessings to Count Arthiar for raising such a fine young lad who truly knows how to use your fortune!
"And yes, that truly was quite a display of swordsmanship and artistry in perfect concert, truly you are a polymath of combat! Although I do recall that you did get precariously close to falling off of this mortal coil, if my memory isn't failing me. And I was the one to pick you back up with my own magic."
In truth, Zaspar's combat prowess seemed... ordinary. He probably was a better fencer than lord brother François but Pierre would likely obliterate the young elf lord in any duel. Francois himself was a bard in his own right as well, and while he couldn't conjure objects out of thin air, that flute was still deceptively dangerous. So Zaspar was decent. But nothing special.
"Nice touch with the Elvish," he smiles, "but you still haven't answered my question. What is a Noble doing trading under a false name? Your House's name would give you so much more prestige, no?"
He is skilled at talking around issues, and can see clearly that Alferron has this talent too, with all the distraction about his fighting skills. He will come back to the quip about his magic later. His ego is not so small that he cannot thank another for helping him. But for now he wants to know why Alferron is using a false identity - perhaps he, too, is involved in the Hekrati. Perhaps the entire continent is, at this point.
An ember of anger blazed in Alferron's mind for just a moment. A false name? The one his mother gave him? If anything Alferron Blackbriar was the truth and Alphonse Delaunay was the lie. But there was no way Zaspar could know that. And there was no need for him to know either. Knowing that Alferron had taken an active step away from the family would only provide Zaspar ammunition to use against him. His status as a bastard even more so. It might even encourage him to seek out communication with his lord brothers. Most importantly, Zaspar didn't deserve the explanation. What could this pampered figurehead ever possibly understand about being born to be a scapegoat, a sacrifice at the altar of a house's ambitions? No, it was time to construct another narrative. It was time to showboat.
"But of course it would give me prestige, but then it would be too easy, wouldn't it? You see, I mean to test my own abilities of enterprise and statecraft. I want to see how far I can go without leaning on my title. And just think; if I can make it work without the backing of my house, just imagine how far I could go with it. You understand, right? Although I would never begrudge you for accepting your father's support, my boy. You take all the help you need, I get it."
He took another sip of champagne. Yes, that should do.
Zaspar smiles gently at the other man. "How truly bold of you," he begins, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully. The challenge in Alferron's words is obvious, but the half elf will have to do better to get a rise out of the first son of Cassius Arthiar.
"Let's assume you are telling the truth," Zaspar continues, tone light and conversational. "A few questions come to mind. Firstly, what are you selling? And secondly, is your Patriarch truly happy with you trading outside of the family name, keeping the profits for yourself?" He pauses, trying to find the right nerve to hit. "Rather than you being a bigger man and helping repay your family? After all, it is not as though you learned those skills yourself. I know what a noble education is like, my friend."
For the briefest of moments Alferron considered launching a dart into Zaspar's neck but quickly banished the thought. He liked living in the Gilded Mirror. Moreover he liked living as a free man. Shame. The insinuation that the bare minimum education to not embarrass the family warranted payback was almost laughable. Almost.
In any case, even this infuriating specimen could be useful. Hm. Actually, now that he thought about it, Zaspar had given Alferron the perfect opportunity to embroil him into Operation Liability. Now, to pitch this lightly. It hinged on the threat of a leak. Tell too much and Alferron would lose his edge in the matter and have two drow houses seeking his neck. Gently now.
"Well..." Alferron began, pensive in thought. "I don't know about Patriarch, but I will have plenty of opportunity to pay back my lord brother Pierre in full. We aren't people without means; the family will do more than survive without my earnings, so don't fret. As to what I'm selling... I'll ask you to keep this a clandestine matter, the situation is somewhat precarious but surely I can trust a gentleman such as yourself to keep a secret, hm?"
Of course Alferron didn't. That was the point.
"Thanks to a certain business colleague in Aeschira I have come into a windfall. Drowic silk spiders. I now have the means to undercut the silk market from both Aeschira and overseas in Faerun. A little bit of market knowledge, a little expedition, and I am now sitting on a fortune in progress. This is just the beginning of my enterprises but you have to agree that this is something special, no?"
Zaspar bursts out laughing. “The spiders! That was you? Oh god. I should have known.” He shakes his head and slaps Alferron on the shoulder. “I’ve heard a lot about these spiders. I even heard your crew thought about storing them in my manor, hmm?”
“You want me to keep secret what has already been told to me by several different people? Sure thing.”
"Aha, well, in that case I suppose the discretion is unnecessary! Tell me, who have you been hearing all this from?"
Him knowing isn't the problem, it's how much he knows and from who. If he's already aware of Zola Rhomdaen's involvement then his ploy to get her out of the business contract is already compromised. The leak needs to be shut down, fast.
Zaspar just grins at him. "Like I said, multiple people. I am rather well connected, if you haven't noticed, Alferron." He pauses for a second, trying to remember some of the other things his Father has said at business meetings. "My associates keep me abreast of things that go on in the city. You will notice that if I do not have 'friends' in every circle, I at least have informants." That felt right. This was something his Father often said. Zaspar was rather enjoying this discussion, in fact. It felt like a less-serious role play of what it'd be like to be Count Arthiar. He gets the feeling that Alferron is perhaps not enjoying it as much, though - which honestly just makes him feel even better. "I am a powerful man."
"Also, something I learned as a child. If you don't have somewhere to store your goods, maybe don't procure them. I haven't told Father about the 'spider plot' yet, but it would not bode well for you if I did." He nods at that, remembering a discussion his Father had with some dwarves about ores or something boring. He gets why Father enjoys the role of Count so much, though. It is quite fun to say things like that, even if the business itself is lame. "Though you did say yourself it was rather precarious. I am glad your wisdom stretches that far, at least." He sat back and nodded, folding his arms.
This was really fun! Maybe inheriting the house won't be as boring as he thought.
"Ah yes, your informants, quite... Do rest assured that the idea of taking the spiders to your manse was an insipid idea suggested by one of my associates that I quickly quashed. I have secured provisions in that regard so it is certainly nothing you need to bother your lord father about."
What informants? Clearly it was either Matches or Safire. Elarris didn't seem interested enough and Zola and Jaezred aren't stupid enough to implicate themselves. Clearly words were going to be needed.
But this was fine. Everything was always fine. At the very least Zaspar didn't seem to know about the Rhomdaen involvement. Operation Liability was still viable. So Alferron was content to let the 'powerful man' prattle about his oh-so-sage advice, as if he'd achieved anything of worth. In fact...
"My good man, it does occur to me that we've spent an awful lot of time talking about my exploits and while I certainly don't mind, I don't want to be overbearing. So tell me. What have you achieved in your time in the Dawnlands thus far? What enterprises, beyond entertaining yourself in conversation and diverting yourself with adventures? Surely you have achieved much more than me and my silly little spiders? You are a powerful man after all."
Alferron sat expectantly. There was no way this little lord yet unlanded, basking in the glow of his house had achieved anything of worth. If he was going to sit here and be frustrated he might as well be entertained in equal measure.
“I think it was a rather brilliant idea, Alferron. Each spider could have had a room to themselves at my house.”
Subtlety whilst bragging was not Zaspar’s strong suit. “The Drow who have visited quite like the aesthetics, too,” he adds, an attempt to show his influence spreads across the various races of Kantas.
“I have been here only a few weeks, Alferron. What I have focused on in that time is connecting with people. I threw a grand ball which all the important nobles of Kantas attended.” Emphasis on Important, implication on Alferron not being there. “Including the di Florias, de Walds and more. I have a strong relationship with the progenitor, Eroshira. I have spent time with Jean Auber, had a party thrown in my honour by the High Priestess of the H-“ he catches himself. “By a High Priestess. A different archwyrm performed a pyrotechnic display for myself and some clients on a yacht party, completely for free and as a personal favour. I have even tutored a man whose magical ability is so impressive that he is now a Doctor.”
He sits back in his seat and Alferron can notice he is now fidgeting with a ring on his finger. “I am also engaged, Alferron, to one of the most beautiful, powerful, successful merchants in all of the Dawnlands. In fact, her business associates have tried multiple times to recruit me into spearheading their ‘shipping’ operations.” He chuckles at this, and the overlap it has with what Alferron has just said to him.
“Sure, I have performed some great deeds. To me that all falters in comparison to the importance of personal connection.” He leans forward, taking his champagne again, and sipping slowly as he waits for Alferron’s response.
He does not care much what the other ‘noble’ thinks of him. He is far more interested in figuring out what this half elf’s story is.
A lot to break down. The simplest was the engagement; clearly she was using him for his personal connections. It's certainly what Alferron would do if he was a wealthy but unlanded burgher lady. The other possibility was that she, somehow, in some borderline perverse way actually enjoyed Zaspar's company and character. So no. He was being used. It has happened to greater men.
Alferron put aside his own relationship status for a while and pondered the other things. The drow in his house, the Archwyrms, the ball, the connection with Jean. All glossed over, no specifics. Alferron was no stranger to lying by omission. Questions, questions...
"[Let me hear about these Archwyrms.] Delenarr rumbled.
"[We'll get to it.]" Alferron hissed in return, before turning back to Zaspar. "A thousand blessings on your imminent wedding. I would have assumed you'd want to spend such a fine day with your betrothed, but I imagine you have more than enough plans in that regard. Clearly you are taking your time to cultivate connections in these lands, which in itself is a laudable prospect. Tell me, to what end is it that you do so? Obviously one can never have too many conversation partners but surely one needs to have business of interest to speak of before the fact, no?"
Zaspar gives him a strange look. “Do you have friends, Alferron? Not every conversation needs to be about business.”
This was rather hypocritical from Zaspar, the boy who had not experienced friendship before Kantas. Alferron doesn’t need to know that though.
“Perhaps I just like meeting with people, talking to them, as we are doing now. Not every conversation must be in the service of something greater.” He sighs. The conversation wasn’t revealing anything about Alferron, and the other man did not seem to trust him enough to reveal anything either. But he didn’t want to give his Fathers secrets away so easily. Perhaps he will use some of the tactics Dee and Kem taught him to steer this conversation.
“We should get to know eachother first before I tell you my secrets, Alferron.”
Subtle insults weren't quite so fun when your target had all the linguistic nous of an average barn owl. Actually, Alferron had spoken to a couple in the past who were surprisingly adept conversationalists. Clearly, or at least, clearly to Alferron, he didn't mean business in a literal sense but 'business' as in what one does with their lives. The entire point was to imply he wasn't interesting enough, but well, he couldn't rely on him to pick up on subtext when it seemed he was only just about comfortable with text.
And the matter with friends. Alferron has a friend. The best of friends that one could ever possibly hope for. And she was engaged to his lord brother. There were days that he wondered if the correct word was had. There were days still that he wondered whether she ever considered him anything other than a distraction.
Enough. Thinking about Fleur hurt, and Alferron could feel his dissatisfaction creeping along his face. He drew it back into his usual capricious smile and pressed forward.
"Well I didn't expect I was touching on secrets but very well. How about hobbies? When you aren't hobnobbing with anyone who's anyone or interrupting gentlemen in the midst of their afternoon meals, how do you entertain yourself?"
Zaspar stares blankly at Alferron. This wasn’t the first time he had watched the man flit between facial expressions, and it was rather offputting in a conversation partner. He had been straightforward with Alferron, and was clearly not getting the same treatment back.
So, he stands up. The conversation is going nowhere - they had already discussed what Zaspar gets up to - and Alferron noted he had been ‘interrupted’ by Zaspar’s presence. There are plenty of people who will willingly spend time with him now, so he will seek them out, and leave Alferron to sulk on his own again.
He doesn’t buy Alferrons fake name story - what kind of idiot would choose not to use the bonus that comes with a prestigious family name, when starting mercantile endeavours? Obviously there was a scandal somewhere here, waiting to be uncovered. But Zaspar doesn’t care enough to be the one to uncover it.
“You must excuse me. I just realised I’m late to see Leo.” He places his hand gently on the half elf’s shoulder and squeezes it, in a somewhat friendlier gesture than he’d displayed all afternoon so far. “Take care, Alfie.”
He does wait for the other man to speak before he leaves though. In case he decides to reveal something interesting. Or, in case he decides to say goodbye. Basic etiquette, after all. Plus, the nickname is funny, he thinks. He is also unhappy at Alferron’s earlier implication that he is neglecting to spend time with his fiancée. What would this man know about romance? Perhaps he has forgotten that Zaspar watched him fail to seduce a doppelganger of all things - someone pretending to be Sergeant Buttons. How was that even possible?
"Oh, going so soon-"
And then again with the shoulder. And finally the distortion of his name. Enoughenoughenoughenough-
The first knives on Alferron's person lay inside the cuffs of his sleeve, just against his wrists. They were held in place by a fabric binding that was just snug enough to hold them in place normally but could slide out with enough traction. So when Alferron clasped his hand over Zaspar's as he stood from his chair, he curled his wrist and pushed the knives forward just enough that the tips lightly touched Zaspar's hand.
"It's Alferron to you." He stated, looking Zaspar dead in the eyes, all humour gone from his face, all levity gone from his voice. He held the stare with furrowed eyebrows for a brief moment.
Shit. Alferron thought as he caught himself. How had he allowed this... this toad to rile him up so much? The smile returned as he withdrew his hand and the knives alongside. No blood shed, good. Now, to recover.
"Well then, doubtless we will meet again, so don't be a stranger. And do send my well wishes to your lord father. Fare thee well, friend."
Zaspar looked down at his hand, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Well, well," he murmured with a grin, maintaining eye contact with Alferron just a moment longer. "Finally, an honest action from you." Advantage to Zaspar.
He flexed his hand, wincing dramatically, his voice suddenly carrying louder than before. “You really hurt me,” he declared, loudly, holding his hand up to the light with a grimace, ensuring the room’s attention shifted toward them. Patrons begin to look, curious about the scene unfolding.
Zaspar leaned in, lowering his voice for Alferron’s ears alone. “I'll consider letting this slide... if you tell me who you really are.” His gaze sharpened, lingering with a hint of threat. “Or, I could report this incident. You see, I'm on good terms with Ser Baine of the OCF,” he added lightly. “And the City Watch loves hearing about assaults against noble heirs.”
He flexed his hand again with a hissed breath, managing a look of genuine pain. Raising his voice once more, he scanned the room with a mock-helpless expression. “My goodness! Did anyone else see what just happened?”
Zaspar’s flair for drama is present as always, but with a newfound edge. The influence of his new Kantas friends has made him bolder, perhaps a bit more cunning, more aware of the power well-placed words can have.
Here is a young Lord using his social status as a weapon.
It’s thrilling, a little unnerving, and totally unusual, to feel so fully in control of a social situation. This moment in the Gilded Mirror feels like a rite of passage, a glimpse of what Zaspar could become. How would Robin take this side of him? Would she be impressed, that he has learned some manipulation techniques?
...Should he be impressed?
Debates for later, he supposes.
Alferron wasn't having a good day. This he knew. He certainly wasn't at his sparkling best. But even his worst days were still good days. Because bad days brought problems, and problems were to be solved.
A smile appeared on Alferron's face. Not the usual smile, that was for pleasantries and small talk. This one was wide, wild and genuine. And he laughed.
"Goodness me, did I squeeze too hard? My, for a master fencer, your wrists are far too weak! Friend, you simply must come climbing with me, builds your grip strength like nothing else!"
With laughter still on his lips he looked around at the room. Not convincing. He didn't care. This lordling tried to call his bluff. And Alferron had been at far too many card tables for that. He threw his arm around Zaspar's shoulders and pulled him in.
"You're a damn good actor, Zaspar," Alferron began in a conspiratorial whisper, smile still on his face. "But what did you prove? That your wrist hurts? Poor you. Did anyone see what happened? Well did they? All they saw was me grasp your hand. My knives are still hidden and I don't make it a habit to show them around here. Aren't the OCF too busy with fiends from the Hells or whatever the fuck to deal with little us? And the Watch? Yeah, we both know how highly Thundercog thinks of you. And even with the people here. Sure, they know something's up with me, but that's not the point. It's not about who they believe but who they want to believe. And who will they go for? Me, the long term resident here, the affably eccentric lord who, aside for his strange affinity for exotic pets has been nothing but pleasant to all here, a permanent smile and always a good word; or you, who walks in with his awful manners, flaunts his wealth excessively, insults the quality of the food here and makes a ruckus over something so trifling as a hurt wrist? But go on, call the OCF if you want. The Watch too. It's your word against mine. And trust me, that isn't a gamble that you want to make.
I haven't told you a single lie. My name is Alferron Blackbriar. My official name, according to the Kingdom of Cormyr is Alphonse Delaunay. That much is no secret. The reason I use my elven name is a personal matter that doesn't warrant further interrogation, especially from you. I am engaging in affairs mercantile to increase my influence, and as far as I can tell that's no crime. And that is who I am. At the very least, that's as much as you need to know. Wasn't it you who suggested we get to know each other before we share secrets? Don't try and rush things now."
Alferron unslung his arm from Zaspar's shoulder and clasped his hand again.
"So next week, yes? I'll meet you in the Angelbark, we'll start with trees first and we'll have you up on the cliffs before long!"
And just like that, the jovial lilt in his voice and his mischievous smile returned.
Zaspar smiled, placing his “injured” wrist squarely on Alferron’s chest. Physical touch didn’t bother him in the slightest, and he had a feeling this would only unsettle Alferron further.
“Oh, Alfie, a date with you sounds positively delightful. Perhaps you can even help me recover!” Zaspar’s tone was bright as he gave Alferron a light, almost affectionate tap on the chest. Patrons glanced over briefly before turning away - this scene was clearly too odd for anyone to linger on during the Oyster Day Lunch Deal.
Zaspar stepped back, tilting his head with an almost patronizing air as he looked Alferron over. “You consider yourself pleasant? Every word you say reeks of hollow flattery. I can't imagine how you expect to make it as a businessman when you can’t even pretend to like people properly.”
Perhaps Alphonse Delaunay was a name of some note. Perhaps his unhinged behaviour would intrigue someone enough to look into it.
But it would not be Zaspar. He had had enough of these types - double-crossers, saying one thing when they mean three, playing false friends to gain status. Maybe I do need to deal with the Robin situation, he thought. Even here, in the midst of what could have been an interesting conversation, his mind was just wandering to her. How she would have handled this situation. The paralells between some things they had said. He shook his head quickly.
“I’m off to meet my dear Leocanto now. You should try finding some friends yourself, Alferron. For all your time here, it seems you’re still just… alone. You claim people will take your side? There are people in my corner who will choose me every time. Wish that you could say the same. I doubt there is even one being besides Delanarr who would stand for you. And from the limited Draconic I know - I'm not sure he would even choose you, either.”
With that, Zaspar turned and headed for the Gilded Mirror's offices.
Which left Alferron alone. But that was fine. Alferron had always been alone, since the day his mother died. It only took so long to realise. And friends in his corner? Really now? The same adventurers who joined Alferron with only the slightest notion of coin at the end of the road? Funny. It was all transactions. Everything. The only discerning factor is knowing whether you're trading and what you're trading. Zaspar trades money and status to get some vague notion of companionship. Fleur exchanged time, platitudes and the notion that he might be worthy of love in exchange for an entertaining, flattering talking lapdog in Alferron to be used and discarded as she saw fit. His father gave him faith and purpose in exchange for the sacrifice needed to unite his two brothers. Alferron could now see the transactions for what they were. And now he knew what he wanted to buy and what he had to sell. The rest was execution.