*Is* this how it happens?

[for_tradition]

There's a woman in the Bar proper. She's commandeered a medium-ish sized table and covered it with things: books, pieces of parchment, notes. There's a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea. She has one pair of glasses tucked on her shining brown hair, and she's wearing another, and she's humming to herself.

She is also, as a certain cavalier might say, mega-dead... but she doesn't seem at all perturbed by it.

Comments

[hinotfuckingdead]

The man approaching her table should probably quiver in shame and turn around and leave, but he doesn't, because he's the worst man in the universe and doesn't feel things like shame.

He is medium height, medium build, brown skin, dark hair, eyes of blackest night. He wears an Cohort uniform without signifiers, and a iridescent robe, and a crown of laurel and baby's fingers.

There was a picture of him in Abigail Pent's childhood bedroom and he looked exactly like this.

"Lady of the Fifth House," he says, placing his hands on a chair at the table. "I was deeply grieved to hear of your passing."

[for_tradition]

Abigail Pent is a seasoned necromancer of the Fifth House and a woman of immense self-possession besides; she rises with surprise but no panic, and curtseys deeply.

"Lord, I thank you for your grief," she says, head bowed. "I have failed you; failed to become your hand. Forgive me."

[hinotfuckingdead]

"You must not apologize to me, having died in my service," he says gently. "Please, sit." He draws out a chair himself.

"I confess, I had high hopes for you. I believe you know as much about the early days of the Post-Resurrection era as anyone--" now living, is how that platitude ends. "Who was not there."

"How do matters stand in my House? I have had only the most confused reports."

[for_tradition]

She sits and arranges her skirts: rich brown silk, delicately picked over in gold.

(Being dead is no reason not to present smartly.)

"Something is deeply awry," she says, calm. "It was my understanding – I do not wish to presume, Lord, but my research certainly indicated that the Lyctoral trials would prevail upon our courage, our intelligence, and the strength of our cavaliers. Simply put, I expected to study, to reason, to puzzle, and, I had hoped, to arrive at the final conclusion.

"Lord, my husband and I were summarily killed upon our return from completing a trial. I have to admit, I did not expect it."

[hinotfuckingdead]

"And rightly so," he says quietly. "Your understanding was correct, Lady Pent. Abigail."

"There are dreadful risks in the trials, and a stern price to be paid for Lyctoral power. But it was my intention that those selected would have the opportunity to, as you say, study and understand exactly what they were undertaking."

"This is devastating news. Not only because of the loss of yourself and your husband, but because it means the whole matter is in peril."

[for_tradition]

"Someone is murdering your necromancers and their cavaliers, Lord," Abigail says, and reaches for the tea service to pour a cup for him. She places a ginger biscuit on the side of the saucer and serves it to him with perfect manners.

As she pours a second cup for herself, her brown eyes grow dark with sorrow. "I regret to inform you that Baron Isaac Tettares and Sir Jeannemary Chatur of the Fourth have likewise – violently – perished."

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Dreadful," he murmurs. "I must return. I cannot enter the system, but we can send down the Cohort. I hate to interrupt the trial, but it appears, regretfully, to have been interrupted regardless."

"I tell you in confidence, Abigail, we can scarce afford another crisis."

[for_tradition]

"Oh! Lord," she says, smiling a little: "Who could I tell?"

With her murder, after all, Canaan House now lacks a speaker to the dead. She puts down her cup and leans on the table, studying her God, the Kindly Prince, the Emperor Undying, with clear interest.

"What has happened?"

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Eighteen thousand killed," he says, and he looks furious. "A cowardly suicide attack on troop transports. Nuclear. Blood of Eden is stirring."

"And other enemies as well, foes only the Lyctors can manage."

[acrookedpath]

As it turns out, Abigail has not cornered the market on being a mega-dead spirit adept prone to scattering things all over a table!

Granted, Wei Wuxian has left most of his things upstairs today: the portfolio Harrow gave him has proved incredibly useful in consolidating his work. There is still the problem of organizing it after, of course, but: baby steps. As he passes Abigail's table on his way to fetch another bottle of wine, his steps slow, avid curiosity lighting his eyes.

"What is all this?"

[for_tradition]

The more, the merrier, in Abigail's opinion!

"Hello," she says, warmly, smiling up at him. She's a little myopic; a result of having her nose in some quite small text and forgetting to put on either pair of her glasses.

"Would you believe a continuation of my research? I wish this door would open onto my old study – I'm sure I'm duplicating work."

She says this as if duplicating work were the single greatest thing she could be doing with her time. Abigail is a huge nerd.

[acrookedpath]

Nerd recognizes nerd: Wei Wuxian grins, bright with understanding. "Ah, that is a feeling I know well," he says. "Even in the notes I have taken here, I fear I will duplicate something within my own work -- there is so much to learn, and there are so many papers I need to gather!"

He wiggles the small black portfolio in demonstration.

"Will you tell me more of your research? Is it anything I would understand, or are you from a world with flying ships and machines that can instantly do the work of a hundred men?"

[for_tradition]

"I am," she says, smilingly, "but that does not preclude your ability to understand. Please –"

She gestures at an empty seat at the table, and reaches for the teapot with a questioning glance. "Would you like some? I'm not sure how this place does it, but the tea is always excellent and there is much more of it than I could ever drink on my own."

[acrookedpath]

"I would be honored," he says, immediately flopping into the chair and setting the portfolio on the table. "Thank you. Ah, and please forgive me for not introducing myself -- "

He inclines his head in a small bow.

"I am Wei Wuxian. May I ask your name?"

[for_tradition]

"One might think a place of this nature might invest in nametags," Abigail muses. She pours his tea and nestles a ginger biscuit next to the cup on its matching bone china saucer before handing it to him with impeccable manners.

"I am Lady Abigail Pent," she says, "lately of the Koniortos Court and erstwhile heir to the Fifth House. Cream and sugar?"

She proffers both. "As for my studies: this place is an absolute treasure for me; I spent my life researching the boundaries of the River and the liminal spaces between it, the natural world, and the place beyond...and then I happen to pop in here. An island, as it were, existing simultaneously within the River and offering passage back to the living world – there is so much I can learn here!"

[acrookedpath]

"Ah, no thank you," he says, declining the cream and sugar with a polite wave of his hand.

As she continues speaking, the curious light in his eyes only grows. And there is more to it, soon enough: recognition, as the pieces of Fifth House and the River slot together in his mind.

"Pent-laoshi," he says, "are you from the same world as Harrow and Gideon of the Ninth?"

[for_tradition]

Abigail's cheek dimple with her smile. "I certainly am," she confirms. "In fact, I just spoke with another who had seen Gideon the Ninth – but has the Reverend Daughter been here as well?"

Harrow would probably be instantly suspicious of anyone who says Reverend Daughter with the level of delight Abigail assigns to it, but the Fifth scion is absolutely sincere. "Tell me – has she cracked it? Has she become a Lyctor?"

[riddleofthebelow]

All of the things draw Tom over like a magpie to shiny. He's pleased to note the pot of tea - this new person is civilized, as well as studious.

"Hullo," he says. He's just noticed the parchment, and for a moment, he freezes in concern, lest this new patron be from his old world. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

[for_tradition]

The woman looks up, blinking a little myopically, and smiles warmly. "Not at all," she says, all polite amiability. "It seems as though it's been ages since I've been able to sit and chat with someone, I'm positively starved for company."

She extends a hand. "Lady Abigail Pent, lately of Koniortos Court, erstwhile heir to the Fifth House."

[riddleofthebelow]

Thank goodness! No hexes today.

He takes her hand in greeting and replies, “Tom Riddle, Lord Ostium of the House of Arch. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Fifth House, penta meaning five, ah! This pleasant woman is lacking in skeletal adornment, which Tom assumes must be de riguer for the necromantic Houses of Harrow’s world, though, so he won’t ask about connections quite yet.

“Milliways can be an excellent place to work on a research project - or to distracted momentarily from one.”

[for_tradition]

"Delighted, Lord Ostium."

Her handshake is firm but her hands are soft; she is not a woman accustomed to any sort of hard labor. When she releases his hand, she gesture politely at the empty seat across from her own. "Would you care to join me for tea, sir? I've more than enough to share, as you can see."

[riddleofthebelow]

“I should like that very much, Lady Pent,” he says, settling into the proffered chair. His hands are likewise smooth and not work worn.

“Although we don’t usually stand on ceremony here, and you’re welcome to call me Tom.”

[for_tradition]

"Then you must call me Abigail," she says, smiling. The tea set which came with her order is simple and lovely, bone china that would cost a fortune on the Fifth brewing a variety of tea that has not been seen in Dominicus for a myriad. (It's Darjeeling. And delicious.)

She pours him a cup, sets a ginger biscuit on the side of the saucer, and passes it over with a nod for him to help himself to the creamer and sugar bowl. "The House of Arch...oh, and you are Lord Ostium, that's very clever. I take it you know this place well, then? You speak as though you are quite familiar with it."

[riddleofthebelow]

“I do,” he says, thoroughly charmed. He takes his tea without cream or sugar, but the ginger biscuit is just to his taste.

“I’ve been a patron here for many years, although not nearly as frequently in the past years as when I first arrived. Are you newly arrived or have we simply not crossed paths?”

[for_tradition]

"Newly arrived," she tells him, topping off her own cup and delicately breaking a piece off a biscuit of her own. "Although it is a bit difficult to get my bearings on how time works here... still, I should say I arrived only a day ago or so. I think it's absolutely fascinating."

She smiles at him; Abigail Pent is pretty well charmed, herself. What a polite man! "You must have a wealth of stories from your time here. Could I coax one or two favorites from you?"