Like sands through the hourglass...
Players: Lord Berrigan (Bailie), Lord Mitali (Sefton).
Synopsis: On Sefton's behalf, Lord Mitali approaches Lord Berrigan in order to secure a betrothal for his nephew.
Approx time: Month 11, Turn 200, 6th Interval.
Autumn is a bit more temperate in Fort than at High Reaches, and this fine day sees only the barest hint of a breeze on the crisp air. Rukbat's rays lazily beam through the large open-shuttered windows in Lord Berrigan's office; the Lord is at the large meeting table, his Lady attending other matters at her own desk in the corner. A bottle of brandy serves as Berrigan's paperweight, and a mug of warm ale rests next to his current pile of work. The room is decked luxuriously in Fort's colours, velvets and silks set off by the warm wood of the furniture. Slowly, Berrigan is pacing a path only four steps wide, as though he waits for something, or someone.
A knock sounds, and the door is pushed open. The man outside makes his announcement as the visitor enters: "Lord Mitali, m'L'ord." Temperate or otherwise, Mitali wears a heavy jacket to venture away from Southern Boll's heat. He's pulling one hand out of his pocket as he enters, and extends it to Berrigan with a grin. "Berrigan." A glance over the other man's shoulder, and Kaile's presence is registered. "And Kaile, you look well."
Perhaps a bit louder than is necessary, Berrigan beckons his visitor in congenially. "Mitali, old friend, come in!" Fort crosses the room in a hurry, taking the offered hand and pulling Mitali towards him for an embrace. As she's addressed, Kaile stands and bows her head. "Thank-you, Mitali, as are you. Wonderful to see you again - I do hope you'll join us for dinner this eve - but if you'll excuse me for the moment..." There's a pointed look for her Lord, and Kaile exits. "Sit, man, and have a drink with me! Don't mind the Lady, she's a littler tired. Bloody Vellen's in the infirmary, scraped his leg up bad." Seats are offered, both already set with glasses at the ready.
Mitali thumps Berrigan on the back, managing a nod over his shoulder to Kaile as she departs -- that causes him a moment's hesitation. "Of course, pour me a drink." His response isn't quite as loud, but just as enthusiastic as he drops into a seat, stretching out long legs. "You know I've nothing but respect for your family, but you can't take your eyes off that boy, can you? Turn your back and he finds a way to put himself out of action."
Berrigan shifts his ale and his work to the side (no doubt he'll come back to both later), and sets about filling the glasses with brandy. The short man coughs a little, having pressed his potbelly into the table a little too hard when sliding Mitali's drink across; a hand rubs at his salt'n'pepper beard, which nicely muffles the roar of his laughter. "Bloody oath; the lad's as bad as that swag of nephews of yours used to be, if not worse!" He plops down comfortably into his chair, lifting his glass immediately.
Mitali reaches for his glass, lifting it up to inspect the colour against the light. "Half of them are still that bad, but I've got more. Lose one or two here or there, I've still got plenty left. You need to take care of your two." He raises his glass, teeth white against olive skin as he grins. "To the whole pack of them, then, and one in particular." A long mouthful, before he sets his glass down with an appreciative sound. "That's good stuff."
"Pish posh, what doesn't kill the boy'll only make him tougher!" Berrigan doesn't bother inspecting his brandy, simply raising it and knocking back a good part of it in one large swig. His own teeth are creamy against the slight jaundice of his face, his beard ruffling with his own grin and lines creasing around his eyes. "Aye, it's an odd vintage. Hard to get, had to have it imported from Telgar." His smile starts to wane on one side, leaving one eye narrowed and the other not. "One in particular, eh? By the way, how's Serri?" Glass is set down in favour of scratching at his thinning grey hair.
"Serri's very well." Mitali's grin turns indulgent, always guaranteed at the mention of his wife. "Very well, thank you." Another slow sip, and with his glass almost empty, he pushes it across the table. "Fill me up again, Berrigan." And fill your own empty glass. Keep on drinking. "One in particular that I want to talk to you about, yes."
Berrigan's grin returns in full force, lighting up his face again as lines crease and eyes narrow merrily. He nods, enthusiastically. "Bloody good to hear, Mitali. Bloody good." Perhaps Lord Fort is already somewhat intoxicated; his nose is certainly red enough, but his aim is still perfect as he refills the glasses. Sliiiide. "Which one, eh, and what's he gone an' done, then?"
Mitali takes up his glass again, nursing it rather than lifting it to his lips. One hand comes up to rake his hair back from his eyes, and his long face turns thoughtful. "Sefton's his name. You've seen him more than the rest of them, he's the really big one. Second oldest of my mob." A slow sip now, words chosen carefully. "I hear you're thinking of matching that girl of yours up with one of Benden's."
"I know the one, Mitali." Berrigan muses, rubbing thoughtfully at his beard as he swirls the contents of his glass. Yes, suddenly Fort's holder is a little more somber. "There've been hints to it on both Benden and my parts - my oath, word travels fast. I've had Tillek and Ruatha in here the last sevenday, too!" He laughs, and knocks back his glass again, draining it. "Benden's second, if you must know, Mitali. I want to keep her here."
"She's a good girl, I can see why you want her here." Mitali's more thoughtful still, and doesn't bother to hide it. He matches his companion's effort with another slow sip, leaning back in his chair. "You're looking for a better option than one of your boys, aren't you?" The question is quiet, one hand coming up to scratch at his stubble as he mirrors the other man's movement.
Berrigan doesn't hesitate filling his glass again, now that his appetite for the liquor is whetted. He's suitably introspective for a long moment as he contemplates his glass again. Berrigan leans forward, takes a sip, and rests his elbows up on the tabletop. It's with some dismay that he admits, "Frankly, Boll, I am." He empties his glass.
Mitali nods, not bothering to contradict the need for someone more savvy than Balien or Vellen to stand next in line. Instead, he slowly rolls a mouthful of his drink around, before tilting back his head to allow it to trickle down his throat. It's only then that he speaks. "I want to give you one, then. Benden's boys are well enough, but what do we know about them? Can you guarantee he'll do the right thing by your Hold? Or by your daughter? I know you'd like to see her happy if you can."
"Oho!" Berrigan starts, straightening his posture. He leans back, and sets his hands clasped atop his belly. "Benden's son is a pushover. Come, Mitali... you've seen my girl. She's a handful and half and then some - why do you think I sent her to that damn Caucus business? She's headstrong, and she wants my seat for her bloody self." He pauses, for effect. "At least if I give her to Benden's boy, Fort'll still have a hand in Fort's running."
"Benden's son /is/ a pushover." Mitali agrees easily, raising his glass to that effect. "You know you'll never give her your seat. It'll be Benden's boy sitting there at Conclave, pushing over for anyone who puts pressure on him. How does that help Fort run well?" He's relaxed still, making his points quietly, sipping slowly. "Why not pair her off with someone who'll take on Fort's interests as his own." His own pause, now, for effect. "And with someone who's already proven himself willing to listen to her opinions."
Berrigan draws a deep breath, and feels the need to fill his glass again. He rubs anxiously at his forehead, and offers the bottle over Mitali's way. "What's this? Already proven himself, Mitali?" Rather than angry, Berrigan sounds curious as he studies the other Lord over the top of the brandy bottle.
Mitali reaches for the bottle, his movements as slow and deliberate as his words. "As honourably as you'd hope, Berrigan, don't worry. They're fond of each other, is all. Sefton knows far better than to be foolish." He tops up his glass a little, and sets the bottle down. "But fond enough that he asked me to speak to you. I thought on that, and I reflected on the choices you currently have available to you. I'd have gladly had her at Boll, but it occurs to me that you might have a use for him yourself."
"I'd bloody well hope so, Mitali!" Berrigan all but roars, downing his next glassful with wide eyes. "Strooth, if he's so much as laid a finger on my girl, I'll personally organize him a one-way trip between!" His glass slams down on the table, and Berrigan hunches over it to recover, a sure sign of his increasingly inebriated state. "Sefton... Sefton..." Lord Fort's fingers click, as something familiar about the name plays on his mind. "Isn't he meant to be your first pick? Why're you givin' him up so easy?"
Turns of experience have rendered Mitali thoroughly unflustered by Berrigan's tendancy to roar, and he rides out the other man's outburst with a slow shrug. "I've told you he hasn't. You think I'd recommend him to you if he were that indiscreet?" Another sip, and he continues, voice still low, words drawn out in his native drawl. "I'm not giving him up easy, take my word on that. I'm thinking about the region. Fort's our closest neighbour, and you know I'm speaking of more than geography. I've got a gang of nephews. You've got Balien and Vallen, if you'll forgive me. We've an interest in seeing Fort prosper."
"Mitali, you're a slimy man, you are." Berrigan twists the words into a compliment somehow, cracking an uneven grin at his fellow Lord. "Bloody Carlin's expecting her contract within the sevenday, and you still come to my table with your proposition - no, the proposition of one of your cad nephews, who no doubt is smitten with my beautiful girl!" His eyebrows lift, as though prompting Mitali to agree. Berrigan sighs, drawing the motion out as drunks are often prone to.
Mitali raises his glass, acknowledging the accusation as the compliment he takes it to be. "Carlin's offering you second best, and you know it. Put his son in your chair, and after you're gone Fort'll concede every vote to Benden, or anyone else who shouts loudly enough. You've seen enough of Sefton to know he'll take Fort on as his own. I doubt my successor will wrangle a thing out of him you wouldn't give away yourself." A long pause there, and again a slow smile. "Perhaps your beautiful girl is smitten too, had you thought of it? I know you'd rather make her happy, if you can do so while serving Fort."
Berrigan's giant red nose wrinkles as Mitali's truths hit home; he hangs his head for a moment, sighing again. "Mitali, Mitali, Mitali..." With each syllable, his head sways a little. And finally, Berrigan lifts his head to fix the other Lord with a wide (slightly drunken) stony stare. "She's not bloody smitten with Benden's boy, I'll concede that!" Again, his voice booms. "For the sweet love of-" Thinking better of finishing that oath, Berrigan lifts his empty glass again to look inside it - and then sets it back, rim-down, on the table. "Talk business with me then, Boll. She's already enrolled in that foul school up at the 'Reaches; you'd have me bring her home for him?"
"Would you take one of Benden's brood?" Mitali's own answer to the question is implicit in his tone. But his slow smile is still in place as he gazes down at the drink he's still nursing in both hands. "All right. Leave her at school, she might learn something useful. Being pretty and headstrong will get her so far with men like you and I, but she can do more than that if she sets her mind to it, no doubt. Sefton's there too. He's teaching. Announce it now, and he can marry her when she's ready to finish her education."
Berrigan winces, a hand still firmly pressing down his overturned glass onto the table. "Announce... announce it now? Bloody 'eck, Mitali... announcing it now means another fardling /party/. Do you know how bloody wound up those things make Kaile lately?" His hand moves from his glass to wipe some imagined wet from the underside of his nose. Berrigan sniffs. "Wait... jays, y'bloody genius, Mitali!" He leaves that last unexplained for the time being.
"Loose Sefton on Kaile for an hour or two, he'll charm her into throwing the thing herself." Mitali's reassurance comes with a grin, and he reaches out to push the bottle a few inches towards Berrigan, in an unspoken suggestion the other man refill his glass. "I won't argue, but may I know why?"
Bailie doesn't need to be asked twice, and he slumps forward to reach for his bottle. "Alright, alright already... 'sif I'm not full o' this already, you rogue." After a bit of trouble turning his glass over, Berrigan refills it. "What? Oh... genius, right. Promising her to a teacher, Mitali. Bloody Caucus, I told them a weyr was no place for it, didn't I? Morals out the window. Got me a chance to say 'I told you so' to that bloody G'thon, I do!"
Mitali raises a brow, although he doesn't seem unduly concerned. "Be careful what you suggest about Sefton's morals, Berrigan. He's done nothing but the right thing by her. He tells me he's very fond of her." His eyes flicker away with this observation, a faint hint of unease that's banished in moments. "And he'll keep his hands off her while she's a student, too. Aggravate G'thon or that Headmaster..." A moment's thought supplies a name. "Jerion, and one or the other of them's sent home. Doesn't look good next to your name, or mine."
Berrigan waves a hand, dismissing Mitali's comments in a most merry manner. Leave the drunk to his little amusements! "Don't lecture me, Boll. Not at my table, you don't! Now come, man, and down another drink with me before dinner; we'll get the partricalurs of her contract down tomorrow, and I'll have it run over to Harper Hall for witnessing and signing. And you'd better bring the lad back for a meal with Kaile soon enough, y'hear? I was serious about the parties!"
Mitali inclines his head, as though accepting the reproof, although the smile doesn't fade. Indeed, why would it? His glass is pushed across the table for a refill, and he leans back in his chair. "Why not sign it now? Someone can run it to Harper while we eat. Sefton's brother's off to visit him tomorrow, he can take the news, and a letter to your daughter if you like." No time like the ill-judged and innebriated present.
Berrigan nudges the bottle, judging himself too unsteady to do the pouring. "You're a clever bastard, Mitali, but very well." Almost tiredly, the Fortian Lord presses up from his seat, to retrieve the necessary documents from a random pile on a random shelf. Perhaps his weight is centred well, for he doesn't stumble. He reseats himself, and reaches for something to sign with, from his work pile. "Seffffftonnnn... Baaaaaiiiliiie... and," scribble, scribble, Lord Fort signs away his daughter. Wasn't that easy?
Synopsis: On Sefton's behalf, Lord Mitali approaches Lord Berrigan in order to secure a betrothal for his nephew.
Approx time: Month 11, Turn 200, 6th Interval.
Autumn is a bit more temperate in Fort than at High Reaches, and this fine day sees only the barest hint of a breeze on the crisp air. Rukbat's rays lazily beam through the large open-shuttered windows in Lord Berrigan's office; the Lord is at the large meeting table, his Lady attending other matters at her own desk in the corner. A bottle of brandy serves as Berrigan's paperweight, and a mug of warm ale rests next to his current pile of work. The room is decked luxuriously in Fort's colours, velvets and silks set off by the warm wood of the furniture. Slowly, Berrigan is pacing a path only four steps wide, as though he waits for something, or someone.
A knock sounds, and the door is pushed open. The man outside makes his announcement as the visitor enters: "Lord Mitali, m'L'ord." Temperate or otherwise, Mitali wears a heavy jacket to venture away from Southern Boll's heat. He's pulling one hand out of his pocket as he enters, and extends it to Berrigan with a grin. "Berrigan." A glance over the other man's shoulder, and Kaile's presence is registered. "And Kaile, you look well."
Perhaps a bit louder than is necessary, Berrigan beckons his visitor in congenially. "Mitali, old friend, come in!" Fort crosses the room in a hurry, taking the offered hand and pulling Mitali towards him for an embrace. As she's addressed, Kaile stands and bows her head. "Thank-you, Mitali, as are you. Wonderful to see you again - I do hope you'll join us for dinner this eve - but if you'll excuse me for the moment..." There's a pointed look for her Lord, and Kaile exits. "Sit, man, and have a drink with me! Don't mind the Lady, she's a littler tired. Bloody Vellen's in the infirmary, scraped his leg up bad." Seats are offered, both already set with glasses at the ready.
Mitali thumps Berrigan on the back, managing a nod over his shoulder to Kaile as she departs -- that causes him a moment's hesitation. "Of course, pour me a drink." His response isn't quite as loud, but just as enthusiastic as he drops into a seat, stretching out long legs. "You know I've nothing but respect for your family, but you can't take your eyes off that boy, can you? Turn your back and he finds a way to put himself out of action."
Berrigan shifts his ale and his work to the side (no doubt he'll come back to both later), and sets about filling the glasses with brandy. The short man coughs a little, having pressed his potbelly into the table a little too hard when sliding Mitali's drink across; a hand rubs at his salt'n'pepper beard, which nicely muffles the roar of his laughter. "Bloody oath; the lad's as bad as that swag of nephews of yours used to be, if not worse!" He plops down comfortably into his chair, lifting his glass immediately.
Mitali reaches for his glass, lifting it up to inspect the colour against the light. "Half of them are still that bad, but I've got more. Lose one or two here or there, I've still got plenty left. You need to take care of your two." He raises his glass, teeth white against olive skin as he grins. "To the whole pack of them, then, and one in particular." A long mouthful, before he sets his glass down with an appreciative sound. "That's good stuff."
"Pish posh, what doesn't kill the boy'll only make him tougher!" Berrigan doesn't bother inspecting his brandy, simply raising it and knocking back a good part of it in one large swig. His own teeth are creamy against the slight jaundice of his face, his beard ruffling with his own grin and lines creasing around his eyes. "Aye, it's an odd vintage. Hard to get, had to have it imported from Telgar." His smile starts to wane on one side, leaving one eye narrowed and the other not. "One in particular, eh? By the way, how's Serri?" Glass is set down in favour of scratching at his thinning grey hair.
"Serri's very well." Mitali's grin turns indulgent, always guaranteed at the mention of his wife. "Very well, thank you." Another slow sip, and with his glass almost empty, he pushes it across the table. "Fill me up again, Berrigan." And fill your own empty glass. Keep on drinking. "One in particular that I want to talk to you about, yes."
Berrigan's grin returns in full force, lighting up his face again as lines crease and eyes narrow merrily. He nods, enthusiastically. "Bloody good to hear, Mitali. Bloody good." Perhaps Lord Fort is already somewhat intoxicated; his nose is certainly red enough, but his aim is still perfect as he refills the glasses. Sliiiide. "Which one, eh, and what's he gone an' done, then?"
Mitali takes up his glass again, nursing it rather than lifting it to his lips. One hand comes up to rake his hair back from his eyes, and his long face turns thoughtful. "Sefton's his name. You've seen him more than the rest of them, he's the really big one. Second oldest of my mob." A slow sip now, words chosen carefully. "I hear you're thinking of matching that girl of yours up with one of Benden's."
"I know the one, Mitali." Berrigan muses, rubbing thoughtfully at his beard as he swirls the contents of his glass. Yes, suddenly Fort's holder is a little more somber. "There've been hints to it on both Benden and my parts - my oath, word travels fast. I've had Tillek and Ruatha in here the last sevenday, too!" He laughs, and knocks back his glass again, draining it. "Benden's second, if you must know, Mitali. I want to keep her here."
"She's a good girl, I can see why you want her here." Mitali's more thoughtful still, and doesn't bother to hide it. He matches his companion's effort with another slow sip, leaning back in his chair. "You're looking for a better option than one of your boys, aren't you?" The question is quiet, one hand coming up to scratch at his stubble as he mirrors the other man's movement.
Berrigan doesn't hesitate filling his glass again, now that his appetite for the liquor is whetted. He's suitably introspective for a long moment as he contemplates his glass again. Berrigan leans forward, takes a sip, and rests his elbows up on the tabletop. It's with some dismay that he admits, "Frankly, Boll, I am." He empties his glass.
Mitali nods, not bothering to contradict the need for someone more savvy than Balien or Vellen to stand next in line. Instead, he slowly rolls a mouthful of his drink around, before tilting back his head to allow it to trickle down his throat. It's only then that he speaks. "I want to give you one, then. Benden's boys are well enough, but what do we know about them? Can you guarantee he'll do the right thing by your Hold? Or by your daughter? I know you'd like to see her happy if you can."
"Oho!" Berrigan starts, straightening his posture. He leans back, and sets his hands clasped atop his belly. "Benden's son is a pushover. Come, Mitali... you've seen my girl. She's a handful and half and then some - why do you think I sent her to that damn Caucus business? She's headstrong, and she wants my seat for her bloody self." He pauses, for effect. "At least if I give her to Benden's boy, Fort'll still have a hand in Fort's running."
"Benden's son /is/ a pushover." Mitali agrees easily, raising his glass to that effect. "You know you'll never give her your seat. It'll be Benden's boy sitting there at Conclave, pushing over for anyone who puts pressure on him. How does that help Fort run well?" He's relaxed still, making his points quietly, sipping slowly. "Why not pair her off with someone who'll take on Fort's interests as his own." His own pause, now, for effect. "And with someone who's already proven himself willing to listen to her opinions."
Berrigan draws a deep breath, and feels the need to fill his glass again. He rubs anxiously at his forehead, and offers the bottle over Mitali's way. "What's this? Already proven himself, Mitali?" Rather than angry, Berrigan sounds curious as he studies the other Lord over the top of the brandy bottle.
Mitali reaches for the bottle, his movements as slow and deliberate as his words. "As honourably as you'd hope, Berrigan, don't worry. They're fond of each other, is all. Sefton knows far better than to be foolish." He tops up his glass a little, and sets the bottle down. "But fond enough that he asked me to speak to you. I thought on that, and I reflected on the choices you currently have available to you. I'd have gladly had her at Boll, but it occurs to me that you might have a use for him yourself."
"I'd bloody well hope so, Mitali!" Berrigan all but roars, downing his next glassful with wide eyes. "Strooth, if he's so much as laid a finger on my girl, I'll personally organize him a one-way trip between!" His glass slams down on the table, and Berrigan hunches over it to recover, a sure sign of his increasingly inebriated state. "Sefton... Sefton..." Lord Fort's fingers click, as something familiar about the name plays on his mind. "Isn't he meant to be your first pick? Why're you givin' him up so easy?"
Turns of experience have rendered Mitali thoroughly unflustered by Berrigan's tendancy to roar, and he rides out the other man's outburst with a slow shrug. "I've told you he hasn't. You think I'd recommend him to you if he were that indiscreet?" Another sip, and he continues, voice still low, words drawn out in his native drawl. "I'm not giving him up easy, take my word on that. I'm thinking about the region. Fort's our closest neighbour, and you know I'm speaking of more than geography. I've got a gang of nephews. You've got Balien and Vallen, if you'll forgive me. We've an interest in seeing Fort prosper."
"Mitali, you're a slimy man, you are." Berrigan twists the words into a compliment somehow, cracking an uneven grin at his fellow Lord. "Bloody Carlin's expecting her contract within the sevenday, and you still come to my table with your proposition - no, the proposition of one of your cad nephews, who no doubt is smitten with my beautiful girl!" His eyebrows lift, as though prompting Mitali to agree. Berrigan sighs, drawing the motion out as drunks are often prone to.
Mitali raises his glass, acknowledging the accusation as the compliment he takes it to be. "Carlin's offering you second best, and you know it. Put his son in your chair, and after you're gone Fort'll concede every vote to Benden, or anyone else who shouts loudly enough. You've seen enough of Sefton to know he'll take Fort on as his own. I doubt my successor will wrangle a thing out of him you wouldn't give away yourself." A long pause there, and again a slow smile. "Perhaps your beautiful girl is smitten too, had you thought of it? I know you'd rather make her happy, if you can do so while serving Fort."
Berrigan's giant red nose wrinkles as Mitali's truths hit home; he hangs his head for a moment, sighing again. "Mitali, Mitali, Mitali..." With each syllable, his head sways a little. And finally, Berrigan lifts his head to fix the other Lord with a wide (slightly drunken) stony stare. "She's not bloody smitten with Benden's boy, I'll concede that!" Again, his voice booms. "For the sweet love of-" Thinking better of finishing that oath, Berrigan lifts his empty glass again to look inside it - and then sets it back, rim-down, on the table. "Talk business with me then, Boll. She's already enrolled in that foul school up at the 'Reaches; you'd have me bring her home for him?"
"Would you take one of Benden's brood?" Mitali's own answer to the question is implicit in his tone. But his slow smile is still in place as he gazes down at the drink he's still nursing in both hands. "All right. Leave her at school, she might learn something useful. Being pretty and headstrong will get her so far with men like you and I, but she can do more than that if she sets her mind to it, no doubt. Sefton's there too. He's teaching. Announce it now, and he can marry her when she's ready to finish her education."
Berrigan winces, a hand still firmly pressing down his overturned glass onto the table. "Announce... announce it now? Bloody 'eck, Mitali... announcing it now means another fardling /party/. Do you know how bloody wound up those things make Kaile lately?" His hand moves from his glass to wipe some imagined wet from the underside of his nose. Berrigan sniffs. "Wait... jays, y'bloody genius, Mitali!" He leaves that last unexplained for the time being.
"Loose Sefton on Kaile for an hour or two, he'll charm her into throwing the thing herself." Mitali's reassurance comes with a grin, and he reaches out to push the bottle a few inches towards Berrigan, in an unspoken suggestion the other man refill his glass. "I won't argue, but may I know why?"
Bailie doesn't need to be asked twice, and he slumps forward to reach for his bottle. "Alright, alright already... 'sif I'm not full o' this already, you rogue." After a bit of trouble turning his glass over, Berrigan refills it. "What? Oh... genius, right. Promising her to a teacher, Mitali. Bloody Caucus, I told them a weyr was no place for it, didn't I? Morals out the window. Got me a chance to say 'I told you so' to that bloody G'thon, I do!"
Mitali raises a brow, although he doesn't seem unduly concerned. "Be careful what you suggest about Sefton's morals, Berrigan. He's done nothing but the right thing by her. He tells me he's very fond of her." His eyes flicker away with this observation, a faint hint of unease that's banished in moments. "And he'll keep his hands off her while she's a student, too. Aggravate G'thon or that Headmaster..." A moment's thought supplies a name. "Jerion, and one or the other of them's sent home. Doesn't look good next to your name, or mine."
Berrigan waves a hand, dismissing Mitali's comments in a most merry manner. Leave the drunk to his little amusements! "Don't lecture me, Boll. Not at my table, you don't! Now come, man, and down another drink with me before dinner; we'll get the partricalurs of her contract down tomorrow, and I'll have it run over to Harper Hall for witnessing and signing. And you'd better bring the lad back for a meal with Kaile soon enough, y'hear? I was serious about the parties!"
Mitali inclines his head, as though accepting the reproof, although the smile doesn't fade. Indeed, why would it? His glass is pushed across the table for a refill, and he leans back in his chair. "Why not sign it now? Someone can run it to Harper while we eat. Sefton's brother's off to visit him tomorrow, he can take the news, and a letter to your daughter if you like." No time like the ill-judged and innebriated present.
Berrigan nudges the bottle, judging himself too unsteady to do the pouring. "You're a clever bastard, Mitali, but very well." Almost tiredly, the Fortian Lord presses up from his seat, to retrieve the necessary documents from a random pile on a random shelf. Perhaps his weight is centred well, for he doesn't stumble. He reseats himself, and reaches for something to sign with, from his work pile. "Seffffftonnnn... Baaaaaiiiliiie... and," scribble, scribble, Lord Fort signs away his daughter. Wasn't that easy?