Legend of Ransera

Darus was only too happy to take facts that Aurin knew from actually visiting Solunarium and knowing people in the know there and embellish them for storytelling purposes. The pleased Gertie and her coterie, and he enjoyed subverting the official narrative here and there, no matter who the officials were—Imperial, Kalzasern, whatever. He did take copious mental notes about those he met; he would make profitable turns out of them all if possible—for the Golden Peacock Theater, for Portions for Foxes, Zaichaer's Institute, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. He was good at sussing out what people wanted to hear and saying it, balancing all sorts of half-lies like some kind of circus freak.

But he didn't go seeking out Frederick's attention; they had a meeting set up, sort of, and so he played it cool, unlike all the other fawning fops and such. But when Frederick took him in hand, he was pleased to change lanes.

"Ah, people are people, and I can find a good time almost anywhere," he assured him. "Some of them are droll, others mind-numbingly not droll. But I haven't drunk myself to distraction, so apparently they were droll enough." Darus smiled. And he smiled at the predatory look, similar, he supposed, to how he often looked. Quietly, without fanfare, he erected a bubble against eavesdropping around them. People might still read lips, but he was deft at turning, gesturing, and taking sips enough to disrupt that for the most part. If Frederick noticed, well, he would know that Darus of Haqs was a man who knew how to keep things secret.

"I agree with many of the people here," he began, "that taxes are too high. But that is a matter of course... as a merchant, I always find taxes too high. Most of the time, I can make the customers eat that, but sometimes, the taxes are so egregious that I am forced to eat some of it myself. After all, I look to my bottom line, but if I act the pirate to maximize profit in the short-term, I will surely suffer in the long-term. My bottom line keeps me... hm... well, relatively honest, anyway." He managed to make his smirk self-aware.

"I was neither born nor raised in any sort of empire, so it does seem strange to me that Dardouen should owe allegiance to an imperial throne so far away which, it seems, doesn't repay that allegiance and those taxes in what one might consider commensurate. Now, I am not screaming revolution, even though war can prove quite profitable. But it seems to me that your emperor ought to... hm, eat some of it, the same way I do, if he wants to maintain his bottom line with regard to power in the long term."

Darus had an adaptable palate. When Frederick poured himself a bourbon, it seemed like just the right sort of drink for discussing things at the tail end of a party. He poured himself one and regarded the firelight as well.

"Oh, to be sure, in an empire this large, the government can get up to all sorts of mischief without the emperor's awareness or approval," he said. To his mind, the man merely acted like a rational animal, doing whatever would keep power in his possession. Such was the nature of man.

"Ahh..." The glib and amusing veneer withered away and he just looked tired, as if all the schmoozing had drained him. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed again. "No, I don't imagine the arms or alms trickled down as they ought to've done. At least the duke has enough shame not to show his face."

Darus considered.

"I have been fortunate enough to be able to afford capable guards and managed to secure enough illumite to keep them effective against voidspawn, thank all the Gods, but I have never expected anyone to care about the sanctity of my skin... Presumably you have found a work-round for the deadbeat duke or you would not still be here. The sustainability of that course begs several questions: first being, do the powers that be care enough to risk their own security to do right by the people under their stewardship?"

Darus didn't believe they did care down at the bottom of it or, if anything, they were the political version of the fair-weather friend. Perhaps there was some fancy phrase for that, but he didn't know it. Then again, Kathalan wasn't his native tongue.

He took a sip of bourbon and glanced sidelong at Frederick, curious.

"Oh..." he said quietly, decidedly, as though he were taking in something profound.

"I know I pass myself off as a fop, but it is largely to seem ineffectual, to give other traders the idea that I'm easy to manipulate, to make people like Gertie think I'm harmless fun, but... I hear you. I see you."

He raised his glass to honor whatever character Frederick was purporting to be, from the character, Darus of Haqs, that Aurin was purporting to be. Darus was of a mind with Frederick. Aurin understood the sentiment, but disagreed with the methods. And anyway, he was working with Valentin Valentin.

"'Tis like the proverb of the frog in the pot of boiling water: throw a frog in a pot of boiling water and it will jump out; put a frog in a pot of water and slowly bring it to a boil and it will die without trying to save itself."

He sighed, took a sip of his spirits, and then opened his mouth as if to say more, but then thought better of it and shut his mouth. It was entirely possible Frederick was trying to suss out enemies to the empire. Darus didn't consider himself one, but it was the Emperor who made those delineations, and the Emperor who could send his Kathar legion to spank Darus for misspeaking, even when in his cups at the end of a party.

Darus daren't speak full treason even if his citizenship was not of the Imperium. All the same, he could say some things that were decisive enough.

"Dardouen demands a duke whose dignity and mettle can stand among the luminaries of the Imperium."

Aurin wasn't explicitly spying upon Valentin, but given a Window into his home and a window into his soul, he certainly took advantage of it. With Darus' face in a bemused smile, it might have looked as though he was admiring the man. Once noticed, his smile turned into a smirk more suited for Aurin's own face and he pushed off the door jamb to approach the window in his mirror.

He smiled into Valentin's coldness, still retaining a bit of Darus' lightness.

"Oh, Freddie...?" He yawned, stretched. "We chatted, certainly. A would-be Duke of Dardouen if someone made it the path of least resistance for him. He doesn't seem to be preparing the necessary infrastructure for a rebellion, but I wouldn't put a little murder past him, especially if he didn't have to get his hands dirty."

Then he dropped the act and Valentin got a window into how his mind worked. He gave a report on the evening, chronologically for ease of communication, but he cut through the fluff with the amoral eye of a vivisection. Valentin was treated to a cogent analysis not only of Frederick Allstead, but several major and minor players in the local scene.

"So, maestro... how do you want to proceed? I can make headway soft selling while Darus' mercantile distress is resolved, or I can do a little breaking and entering." He shrugged as if it didn't matter to him either way, though it did, of course. He was considering waiting until he knew Frederick would be elsewhere, then, wearing his guise now that he had spent enough time up close and personal to prepare a foolproof glamour and play up his personal tics, vault into his home and poke around as if he owned the place.

Aurin didn't really want this to drag on forever, and it didn't seem as though Valentin was made of patience either, but they were partners so he awaited input.

"...the fuck is wrong with this place?" he asked, surprised and disgusted. He hadn't been given much opportunity for education, so much of the Imperium's history was not within his contextual knowledge of the world. But he was a survivor and he recovered quickly. "All right, have some tea or something. Valentin Valentin has never met Darus of Haqs. There's a reason I have only ever been Darus here, don't let my glamours drop even in the bath tub—" or balls deep in Gertie, but now was not the time to shock and horrify his patron, "—and I can look like someone else when I sneak into his home, execute him, gather evidence, store it in a junction, and fall blissfully asleep."

He paused.

"Be right back."

Thankfully, while there was a great deal of magic in Gel'Grandal, Dardouen itself wasn't entirely saturated in it. And so, the Railrunner was able to appear in some shadows of Allstead's demesne, wearing an entirely different face, form, clothing, and the like. He got in, and he did what he hadn't done in a while: a swift, silent assassination. He left no roses as he had for Overmann or Strauss, bronze and black, respectively. This wasn't Myshalarai business, nor a contract conceived within the Menagerie.

It was efficient, giving him time to peruse documents on and in his desk, and to break into his personal safe for the good stuff. He made a mess, of course, to hide what had been taken. He stole, as well, both because it might make people think it had been burglary more than a search for information, and because he liked pretty things he could sell for money or favors. His semblance had his aura inverted the whole time, leaving nothing of himself to be traced, at least not by local authorities, and nothing viable would remain by the time someone who had a chance of following some trail of his could get there.

Only an hour or so had passed before he blinked back into his rooms. He was Darus again when he peeked into the mirror to see if Valentin was still there.