The Help [Vanessa]

[Anton]

A N • E A R L Y • M O R N I N G

Ash 1, 121 Age of Steel

It was not yet dawn when Anton awoke, the blind lord making ready for the day ahead. In his youth he would have listlessly permitted his servants to prepare him, but today was a mantling of responsibility. Not to mention the sheltered scion had begun to feel self conscious after certain conversations with those who lacked his advantages. Still, despite his insistence upon self reliance a horde of servants lingered, ready to make suggestions to their lord lest he arrange an ensemble for himself that seemed fine to his strange sight but which presented such a clash of colors it would have violated technically never repealed sumptuary laws. But more importantly, they looked impossibly tacky.

Across the city, within the Knob, a group of men had woken even earlier than the lordling on a mission to return the favor to another. Rough men lacking sigil or livery but nonetheless well known to the target of their wake-up call. After all, she had hired most of them, either in this life or her prior. Given a far less glamorous time of things, Vanessa Quill was swiftly forced into wakefulness and something resembling propriety. She had an appointment to meet, after all.

Standing at ease within the servant's entrance of his family's ancestral estate, General Michaelis waited silently as the plans he had put into motion unfolded. His son may now be a man, but he was still young, to say nothing of his unique vulnerability. If he were to survive within the streets of Zaichaer without the aid of his cursed gift, he would need assistance. And after the oddities at Anton's introduction to society, it was clear that the Rune could not be trusted or used freely. Someone trustworthy would need to see for him. Someone who wouldn't betray his secret.

[Vanessa Quill]

T O O • D A M N • E A R L Y

Vanessa was, by some miracle, not hung over. That did not mean she enjoyed the morning. Even less when it began with men slamming their fists against her door and sounding an awful lot like the sort of attention she didn't want. The fear of her past having caught up with her faded when one of the men identified himself, and she merely groaned and rolled out of bed rather than making a lunge for her cutlass. The tired woman rose and stretched her limbs like a predatory cat and sighed wearily. She at least had the foresight to wash her clothing the night before, though the clothes still lay unfolded on a pile on her chair. She dressed quickly and applied a strong perfume based from sandalwood. She intentionally applied more than was necessary, thinking Anton could use every advantage he could get. Finally, she stepped over to her liquor cabinet and took a messy gulp from one of the bottles without looking. She stopped short of wiping her mouth with her sleeve, though she did simply use her blanket instead.

Vanessa took a carriage most of the way to the estate, though she stopped off a few blocks back and walked the final stretch. Even so many years removed from her prior life, Vanessa still occasionally looked over her shoulder to ensure she wasn't being followed, and her hand twitched towards her cutlass reflexively whenever anyone stepped too close, though most of the bluebloods of the West End seemed more than happy to give her as much space as her grim stare demanded. Finally she reached the entryway of the estate, and she still managed to be on time! Will wonders never cease?

She crossed the threshold, and nodded towards Anton's father. She had never truly learned to get along with him despite remaining unfailingly loyal to him and his family. "Mornin'." She said, sleep still weighing heavily in her voice Vanessa rubbed sleep from her eyes, then nodded towards Anton's bedroom. "He in there, or the study?" She asked, knowing full well where the young lord had spent most of his youth.

[Anton]

"Good morning, Ms. Quill. You are on time," Franz replied, leaving unspoken for once. He addressed her as stiffly as he had when he had first hired the woman so many years ago, the man having stubbornly resisted the slightest encroachment of sentimentality. It was nothing personal, but the old soldier knew well just who he was speaking to, and a measure of distance was always necessary between a lord and a disposable asset. His composure slipped into the slightest hint of a frown as he realized that the woman was far from disposable now, but none else could be entrusted with so vital a task as she was being set upon. He recovered admirably, as was expected of one of his rank and breeding, turning the drip in his expression to a shake of his head. "Anton awaits you in the reception hall."

That was new. The two of them knew well that 'reception hall' was a euphemism for an audience chamber, one of the oldest rooms within the entire estate. Here the Dukes of Windrock had held court for long centuries, the ancient lords residing within the city that was their charge more often than their distant ducal seat. But there were no longer any dukes, nor noble seats, nor feudal audience chambers, so the lie was told that it was a reception hall. While the Michaelis were known for their preference for the old, a habit only exacerbated after the General's marriage to his Imperial wife, this felt like something different.

Anton sat within, dressed in the richest raiment bestowed upon him - vestments of fine silk and golden filigree the likes of which were worn perhaps once in a year save among the wealthiest of families. And he sat enthroned, the heir awaiting Vanessa upon a seat of unadorned marble which legend held had been cleft from the Windrock itself in the days of the World That Was. Upon his lap sat a sword, its blade blunt and dulled by centuries of age but still shining keen, and upon his face sat... a look of utter boredom.

[Vanessa Quill]

"You thought I'd miss this? Break his heart and make him think even a murderer can't be seen with him? I'm a criminal, Franz, not heartless." She said with an exaggerated sanctimonious tone that broke into a loud laugh. She kept a professional distance between herself and Franz as well, though she achieved it by treating him like any other lowlife on the street. His rank meant little to her in the best of circumstances, and she'd never been able to read any of the communications he'd sent by letter. Even thought she knew she was seen as an embarrassing employee at best and disposable at worst, Franz's watchful eyes had never managed to catch her attempting to skip town or sell her information off to the highest bidder. She knew he watched her, of course. It was oddly admirable, the way he so stalwartly defended his family at such great personal risk. She knew he'd thought of killing her before. He must have. She certainly would have if she were in his position, especially considering the insults she'd thrown at him all those years ago. She had keelhauled men across the rocks for less.

Ah, but those days were so far behind her now. For years now she had a proper job, and today she would finally have responsibility as well!

"The reception hall?" Vanessa said, giving General Michaelis an incredulous look. "For me?" she asked, trying to figure out the rationale, and then a wave of realization washed over her, eyes going wide. "Nah, for him, right? Salt and Storms, he's probably dressed up like a cunt and has no clue." And she took off down the hall. She pushed open the double doors with a hasty shove, and slid inside the room before they groaned back closed again.

"I heard they were torturing you in here. Had to come see for myself. " She said, striding over to him with her hands on her waist. She walked with such confidence, like she belonged anywhere that she happened to be. Even now when surrounded by a place carved from myth, Vanessa spoke as though she was the most interesting person within it. "See you've got a sword now. Makes a gal wonder what the fuck I'm here for then, aye?" Her tone was light, and a smirk tugged at her cheek. "So, you want to just pretend we did whatever official horseshit ritual your dad had planned, or are we humoring him?"

[Anton]

The last words General Michaelis spoke to Vanessa still rung in her ears as she approached hall's massive doors, a simple, "On your way, Ms. Quill," chasing after her. There was a level of respect for her, the kind that a rough man with a comfortable bed feels towards rougher men without the same. Those who ordered the killing and the dying tended to appreciate those who actually did it, though high rank was never a guarantee of such. Still, Franz knew ability when he saw it, and was willing to overlook much for its presence.

Within the great hall itself, an invisible surge of power raced through the body of the sitting lordling as soon as he heard the doors open, a sight that was not sight cascading over his mundane senses. The ancient walls and ducal seat at once came alive, their shapes outlined by low and stately notes from bass and oboe. But as majestic as they were, they did not draw his attention, that honor instead going to the cacophony of flutes and fiddles sauntering towards him, her entire body held tense by a single high strung string ready to be strummed. Her aura was unmistakable, for as secluded as he was this most confidential of servants had made herself known in his life time and time again.

But never had she felt able to speak so freely - at least to him, her tongue typically reserved for his father or a more respectable servant. Perhaps on any other day he would've thought little of it, Anton having been well prepared for her irreverence, but this was not any other day. The confusing memories of a prior, less formal, meeting still sitting unsettled in his mind, he realized with a dawning dread that he might actually like it.

"Vanessa," he said, letting a long silence develop between them as his thoughts raced. "My apologies, you reminded me of someone else for a moment," he finally added, in a stiffer voice than she had ever hear him speak in before. At least focusing on his father and the duty assigned to him served as ample distraction for whatever peculiarities he was dealing with. "We still care for the old ways, even if the rest of the city does not," he continued as reply to her question, somehow sounding less stiff after having lapsed into formalities. "You have accepted our coin, but now you are asked to accept our oath."

[Vanessa Quill]

"Anton, good to see you." Vanessa replied warmly to his greeting. Compared to the others in his house, Anton received the least of her jabs, and generally the ones she did aim at him were meant in good spirits. "You're not dressed up as poorly as I thought. Looks good on you. You'll have to take my word for it." Still she made the blind jokes, and still how she laughed at them. She then clapped him on the shoulder. "Your party went well, I heard! Well, at least they didn't drag you out by your feet to the nearest pyre so, close as we can hope for, eh?"

There was an unmistakable sense of sincerity from Vanessa though, and sure as sunrise it showed on her aura that yet was only visible to Anton. There were no layers or hidden meanings. No tricks or duplicity. Her aura blazed with everything that she was, and with only the cloistered or craven to compare it to, she was positively radiant.

"Now who else could I remind you of? I'll need to meet them to see if they measure up." The question was largely rhetorical, though she wasn't sure Anton had spoken to enough people in his life to grasp the concept. Then she saw him slip back into his formalities, and she sighed quietly. She could tell that this was making him more comfortable, and so she did her best not to prod him too much over what he must have known was a foolish display.

"Am I meant to kneel? I feel like I ought to be kneeling." and so Vanessa took to one knee, though she did grumble under her breath. "Saints and Martyrs..." She felt like a fool, and didn't hide it with any degree of skill.

"Ready when you are, Boss man. You'll have to take the lead since I ah-" She shrugged. "Don't quite know the words." Another bark of laughter. "Come on, son. Let's get this going. We both know you've had my sword for five years come tomorrow. We're just finally gettin' around to the paperwork. Besides, we've got planning to do after this, so don't take so long my leg falls asleep."

[Anton]

For the second time within five days, Anton was taken entirely off guard. Vanessa in particular had a way of it, the only person he had ever met who reacted to his blindness with jokes of all things. Even that strange Lysanrin had been more confused by it than finding it a source of amusement. The fact that he could look upon her aura and know there was no mockery in the joke, that she had simply told it because she had found it funny, flustered him all the more. And that was before she clasped him on the shoulder.

"You were invited," he said weakly as she knelt before him, his entire script having been thrown out. Just like last time. What was going on? Wasn't he supposed to be upset about things like this? "I believe you will meet him shortly, we have business to attend to with his." Anton suddenly stopped, as he was still uncertain what the relationship between the Private and the Commander actually was. "His superior," he finished, though he wondered just how accurate that word was. "But before that, our own business," he continued, attempting to regain his composure by focusing anew on the duty that had brought them both here.

Rising from his seat, he picked the sword up in his hand, the blade far lighter than it seemed. It had always been a ceremonial piece, one that lords far younger than he had grasped in ages past. Fake, he realized, like this ceremony itself was. The line of Dukes had fallen so far that the title itself was only used in the most formal or nostalgic of company, their rights and privileges stripped away with this new age. Yet they had, somehow, retained their pride, and so indulged in displays that were as real as the blade in his hand. Pretty to look at, and formidable seeming if one did not know the truth, but ultimately nothing more than petty self-aggrandizement. But if they were going to be trapped in the past, they would at least do so correctly.

"You have knelt as Vanessa Quill," he began, placing the flat of the blade upon her left shoulder. "Repeat after me. I swear, before the sight of gods and of men, to provide true and faithful service to the line of Saint Michael and all his heirs. To place my life before theirs, to consider their honor my own, to be their sword and their shield, from now, until the end of my life." He paused between each sentence to give Vanessa time to repeat them, and paused for even longer as she finished. The next words he would say were the most important, and he had thought about them for a great deal of time. It was a meaningless ceremony conferring a meaningless title, but somehow that seemed to only make him care more about bestowing the correct one.

After several seconds passed he lifted the sword from her shoulder and placed it upon her right, and only then spoke again. "You arise as Dame Vanessa Quill, Knight of the Bloody Tower."

[Vanessa Quill]

Her cheeks burned hot when he said she had been invited, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. Suddenly that hand delivered letter complete with a wax seal from the Michaelis estate made far more sense. Though she couldn't read any of the correspondence she received from Anton's father, this letter had looked more important and interesting than the others. She had wanted so badly to know what it had said, but couldn't stomach the thought of asking someone to read it to her. What if it had contained private information about Anton's condition, or worse yet his magic? Still, she recovered from the fumble quickly, and shook her head. "Didn't want to ruin your big day. A woman like me as an honored guest? Imagine what people would say. You've got enough troubles as it is." It was true at least that she did keep Anton's best interests in mind, even if her perspective was warped on what those interests ought to be.


Vanessa then followed along with the ceremony. Even she could see that this was a farce. She hated such displays of unearned or non-existent power, so why did she find herself offering no such resistance here? She repeated the words he spoke, and delivered them without an ounce of bile or sarcasm. She had placed her life before Anton's many times before, and each time had her iron heart shattered for her trouble. Still she endured, and still she would endure until she took her last breath in service to House Michaelis.

Then she heard her new title, and managed to stifle a chuckle in her throat. Were there a woman less deserving of the title of knight, Vanessa had not yet met them. She partook in so many vices and knew so little of chivalry it was preposterous to think of herself as such. She had to admit that the name did have its own appeal, though. Far better than any other names people had called Vanessa over the years. Did Anton actually view her worthy of such a name, or was that too just a part of the performance, the lie between them that he deserved a slayer of men as his personal companion?

With the ceremony finished, she pushed herself back up to her feet. She did so slowly, unsure if she was still waiting for something. When she rose, she stood just a bit taller, shoulders squared and jaw set. She would never have admitted it, but this ceremony had filled her with no small amount of pride.

"Knight of the Bloody Tower, eh? Wonder what my crest will look like. The name's so vague it could really be anything!" Vanessa then moved beside him and placed an arm over his shoulder and drawing him in close to her side. "Now, that's our official business out of the way, let's move on to more important things, like my birthday! It's tomorrow, so a bit late to get me a gift. Good news though, you can repay me by keeping my company as I drink my way through half the bars in The Knob. You in?" Vanessa had of course assumed he hadn't gotten her anything for her birthday, people rarely did. Though she second guessed herself now that she knew he had invited her to his impressive party for socialites having known full well that she would not have fit in well among the guests. Did he actually like her? Poor lad. He needed to get out more.

[Anton]

"Perhaps that was wise, but unfortunately the day was bizarre enough that you would've been far from the strangest person in attendance. Granted, I was not aware of this until I had entered the receiving line," he said with a shrug after setting the ancient and blunt blade aside with a reverence a part of him now wondered if it deserved. "What's done is done, you shall be by my side often enough to make up for missing one."

He sat silently for a moment as he considered her aura, the flood of emotions coursing through her ill fitting for her personal orchestra. At least until the lone note of a triumphant horn sounded, a more powerful sound than expected for her jaunty self-assuredness, but one that he considered appropriate in its divergence. Moreso at least than the downturned woodwinds of earlier. And then she clasped his shoulder again, and any attempt at thought or examination was swept away.

He almost didn't believe her at first, his sightless eyes widening in surprise at the bold declaration. But she spoke only the truth, or had gotten extremely good at lying extremely quickly, and that was in many ways a surprise of its own. Staring up, he first attempted to regain his composure with self effacement, but before he spoke he knew it wouldn't be enough.

"I would offer to sketch it for you, but, well..." he joked, but it was clear from his voice that his mind was elsewhere. It only took a few seconds for him to finally break and speak those thoughts into being. "You intend to take me to the Knob? For your birthday?" Anton had barely left his home, let alone the West End of Zaichaer, and he had certainly never been to the Knob. But he already knew no wouldn't be accepted as an answer.

"I'll need new clothes."

[Vanessa Quill]

"Glad you're so forgiving, m'lord." She said, putting an over-emphasis on his title "My groveling isn't what it used to be, so I fear I'd just embarrass the both of us if I had to do it." She said mirthfully and gave Anton a playful jostle.

He reacted to her request better than she had anticipated, truly. Vanessa certainly could say damn near anything with confidence, but she wasn't so foolish as to think everything that came from her mouth was gold. "Yes, the Knob, for my birthday. With you, Anton." She repeated, over-enunciating each word as though the issue were that the young man was deaf as well as blind. The fact that his only (voiced) protest was his attire was fortunate for Vanessa. That at least was something she could help with.

"We can go and get you some rags right now, if you're keen. Or I could raid your closet and toss some your old clothes into the dirt. Give 'em a few good stomps and you'll blend right in. Though I think your ma would have my head on a spike for that." Vanessa didn't actually know if that were true. She rarely spoke to Mrs. Michaelis, but the truth mattered remarkably little to Vanessa when it came to cracking jokes.

"Wait, have you ever purchased your own clothes, Anton? I mean like, really done it. Not chose between three shirts your servants brought in." The realization struck Vanessa suddenly, and immediately she knew what must be done. Anton had lost 18 years of his life, and it was Vanessa's job to make him appear normal. Part of that, she reasoned, was introducing him to the world of the everyman. She had initially been intending only to show him drinking and whoring to start, but now she realizing just how wide a hole he had in regards to lived experiences.

"Oh this'll be fun."