A/N: I've gotten a couple requests for older starlets, so I'm going to try to mix in some of their adult adventures while keeping with the family and Whouffaldi themes. This doesn't even mention the fact I've had this chapter mostly written for a long time.

Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 71, Clara at 52, a new character(!) at 27, Lena at 21, Astra at 19, Sterling at 15, and although they don't have much to say, Maglina is 13 and Seren is 8. Tara is also 19, but is off cutting Dalek bitches as she was always meant to.

Twenty-Eight: The Accountant and the Merchant (I)

As he heard the request, the Marquis nearly choked on his drink in surprise. The family was sitting down to dinner, the soup having just finished, when the patriarch's feathers were ruffled.

"You want to what?!" he coughed, thumping his chest with his fist to clear out the remaining liquid in his lungs. Astra slumped slightly in her seat, unconsciously trying to seem smaller.

"I wanted to know if you think I should start an audit of the local guilds, to make sure the books are compliant, in winter while trade with people outside the march is down," she said, almost demurely. "It would only be for a few days."

"Yes, but staying at the guilds as well?! There's no way!"

"Astra isn't the one people have memorized, Papa—it's me," Lena protested. "I think it's a good idea, and if she stays at the guilds' lodging while she works, then she won't have to walk along the streets when it's dark."

"I can use Tara's surname when I go out, and give the story that she did in the Academy!" Astra added. Her eyes went wide; she was beginning to panic. "It won't be lying and I can see what it's like in the guilds themselves! I've thought this through, Papa! I'll take every precaution!"

"I can go with her, if you want," Sterling offered. "I'm not a bodyguard, but it's always safer in numbers, especially in unfamiliar places."

"No," the Marquis stated. "The snows should fly soon and, if the predictions are correct, once that happens, whoever is stuck in the lodging over whichever guild you start with will be apt to going stir-crazy. It's too dangerous."

"Johan, do you recall a conversation we had a little over fifteen years ago at this point?" the Marchioness asked. The entire table looked at her as she carefully served herself some roast from the plate a footman was holding close to her.

"We've had many conversations," her husband replied cautiously. "Which one in particular are we referring to?"

"I was carrying Sterling at the time and was away at the border for a couple weeks. When I came back I found my darling daughters, barely of schooling age mind you, being taught how to thrust a sword in an opponent's midsection." Her voice became bitter and she shot the Marquis a sour glare. "You had Astra taught how to defend herself; now make good on it and let her out within the city of her forebears without an escort."

"…but Clara!"

"Don't 'but Clara' your way out of this one," she said resolutely. "Astra can not only run at full speed in heeled shoes, but she can wield a sword in them as well. She's not Tara, but she's not helpless. A knife and her wits is all the protection she needs."

"What good of a father am I if I don't fear for my daughter?" the Marquis posed.

"What good of a father are you if you can't let your daughter out of your sight for more than five minutes?" his wife retorted. "She is going—it's a simple matter." She then turned towards Astra and gave her a smile, one that was meant to be cheerful, yet came off as eerie. "Which guild were you thinking of going through first?"

Astra straightened up in her seat and shrugged. "Going by the records, I'd say the merchant's guild. The records we have for them had been damaged by fire, and I want to make sure it was just an accident by candlelight and not something that needs looking-into. The most recent of the undamaged accounts only go back to early in your time here, Mama, and there are some from even before then that got caught up in whatever happened."

"Then by all means we should have them be the first stop," the Marchioness agreed. "We shall see if one of the maids is willing to pop into the charity shop on her way home in our stead so you can have a couple dresses that are common, but not rags. Most of what you own now I think would be a tad over-the-top for a simple accountant."

"Thanks, Mama," Astra squeaked. She knew it was a little thing, but a great victory overall.

Olivier took his hat off as he entered the building and looked around. Guilds in the north were said to always some of the busier places to visit on rounds, and this trip was no exception. People bustled back and forth in the high-ceilinged atrium, haggling and arguing and discussing their trades. Weaving his way through the crowd, the visitor ascended the stairs to the second floor loft, where he found the clerk's desk and cleared his throat, causing the clerk to glance up.

"Complaint, registration, payment of dues, or other?"

"Payment of dues, please." Digging into his cloak pocket, Olivier pulled out a few coins and placed them on the desk. "Peladon Shipping and Freight; it should be under Antoine Peladon. That should cover the first half of next year too."

The clerk took a large book from a shelf behind him and allowed it to thud to the table. He slowly tabbed through it as he tried to find the account. As he was flipping the pages, a young woman—early twenties if he had to venture a guess—came out of an office down the way and approached the clerk's desk. She opened the door and went into the booth, upsetting the clerk in the process.

"Stay out of here, child!" he snapped.

"Well this child requires the next set of records," she said in a plain, flat voice. "I do believe I'm on the Twelfth Marquis's first decade of tenure." She waited patiently as the clerk plucked a book from the shelf and handed it to her, which she promptly left with and returned to her office.

"Who is that?" Olivier asked as soon as the office door was shut.

"That's just Miss Smith, don't mind her," the clerk grumbled as he resumed his search. "The castle sent her down to audit our records and as soon as she saw that the past eighty years were not up to her standards, she decided to go through them all. That was two weeks ago and she's not even a third the way through."

"She's an accountant? She barely looks old enough—normally auditors are at least in their thirties."

"She's young, yes, but a rare talent at numbers apparently, or she wouldn't be here." The clerk let out a cough, wet and thin, before continuing on. "Ah, there we are. Peladon Shipping and Freight. Where is Antoine? I have here that usually he comes in person."

"He's tied up at the moment, I'm afraid," Olivier apologized. "Some bloke along the western shores died and there's a scramble to renegotiate contracts with his heir."

"That would explain why we have less traffic than usual; be sure to send our regards involving his new position. Name please?"

Olivier gave the clerk his name and standing and watched as the dues were recorded as being paid. "Thanks; now would you mind telling me if there are still those rooms above the guild's hall for rent my uncle told me about?"

"Payment's on the honor system, though it's not exactly prime housing so it's not that much a bother," the clerk replied. "Don't leave a mess and don't bring in whores—those are usually the two big ones."

"Since I'm not an animal in either sense, I think I'm safe. Thank you," Olivier quipped. He bid the man goodbye and went for the stairs. He nearly took a step down, but turned on his heel and double-backed towards the office with the young accountant. He knocked on the door and opened it slightly, just enough to see part of the inside wall. "Excuse me, but do you have a minute?"

"Not at the moment," she replied, unseen. "Who are you?"

"Olivier Lakertya; I'm a visiting merchant from Rhylls. I only wanted to ask how it is you're the one auditing the books and not some shriveled old prune. It's not every day I see someone so young with so much responsibility."

The desk chair squeaked as Astra stood up and the creaking of the floorboards betrayed her crossing the room. She opened the door a bit more so that she could peer out at the man. Dark hair and olive skin, with the clothing and carry of someone who was one of the higher-ups in his company despite a young face and hard-worked muscle. She looked at him critically and frowned.

"My parents discovered my gift for numbers at an early age, and it has been developed to the point that the marquis wants me as his internal accountant, to help ease the transition for when he passes the marquisate to his daughter in a few years."

"That sounds like a terrible amount of work."

"I manage. If that is all…"

Olivier shook his head. "When do you stop with your books? I'd like to treat you to dinner, if you'll allow it. No catch—I just enjoy intelligent company, and you don't easily find that on the road."

"As long as you can promise me we won't get interrupted by some angry wife or jilted lover. I'm young, but I'm aware of the 'one in every city' stereotype."

"If I had a woman in every city, then I'd never be able to take a holiday in my life," he snorted. A pause settled between them, during which Olivier felt something nudging inside the front part of his brain. He shook his head gently and shrugged it off. "When the clock bells toll six, I'll be waiting at the pub two doors down. If you want to have dinner, join me. If not, then I wish you well Miss Smith." He bowed his head and left, feeling the young woman's eyes on him as he walked down towards the staircase.

"It's been too long, Clara," the Marquis scowled as he stared out the window. He narrowed his glare down upon the city below, bathed in red and dusted in white. "Every time we send a messenger she says that she needs more time. If it weren't for the fact I know her hand well, I'd go and don armor myself and break down the guild door."

"Calm down," the Marchioness said. She was sitting up in bed, reading by lamplight as she went over some figures their daughter had sent them. Spectacles sat perched on the tip of her nose, something she allowed very few to see. "Have you looked over these numbers? The Merchant's Guild is going to be glad she went over this, because now I think we can zero in on why their figures are occasionally off. I just didn't realize it went back this far."

"Out of all the guilds, they've been historically the most shrewd when it comes to their numbers," he replied sourly. "They take care of their own and keep things restrictive to outsiders, both guild-wise and concerning Kasterborous's borders. It wouldn't surprise me if she stumbles upon something big and they kidnap her, thinking she's no more than an upstart young woman, and then we never see her again."

"Stars above, Johan, she can handle it," she sighed. "She keeps on responding to our letters, so as long as she does that, let things happen. She's no longer a child tugging at your cape."

"…but she's still one of my stars," he argued gently. The Marquis walked from the window to the bedside, sitting down next to his wife and picking up her hand to leave tender kisses on the palm. "I shall always worry about them, no matter how old, nor how far-off our owlets fly from the nest."

"Come to bed," the Marchioness requested. "We should get some sleep before we lose track of time and our youngest comes over from the nursery to wake us. He's the one that won't forgive you staying up at all hours worrying—Astra understands better than you think, but she also knows she has a job to do."

"As you wish, dearest," he said. He went around to his side of the bed while she put down the papers and her spectacles before snuffing out the lamp. They laid curled up together, with her arms wrapped around him to soothe his troubles. She recited a poem in the ceremonial tongue into his hair, her words halting and accented, calming her husband to sleep.

Astra stepped into the pub and scanned the main room in an attempt to find her dinner partner. She finally found him, sitting in a booth with a tankard of ale in his hand.

"Getting started without me?" she teased as she sat down. The waitress came over and brought Astra her own drink, after which the two patrons ordered their food.

"You sure you can handle that?" Olivier joked as Astra took a sip of ale. She raised her eyebrows in something akin to horror, making him laugh. "No, I'm just messing with you—you're young for an accountant of your standing, but you're not a kid. Even an idiot can tell that." He watched as her brows lowered and she stared into her drink. "So tell me: what do your parents do that allowed them to figure out that you had a gift for numbers? Most people I know that run audits are at least twice your age, but to be so young with so much responsibility… your parents had to have been in the right place at the right time to get you the training."

"They're… servants, up at the castle," she muttered. "It's a bit hard to explain."

"It's okay—my dad was from a long line of footmen, gardeners, cooks, and maids before he met my mum, so I know all about how duties tend to fan out and bleed over. It's nothing to be ashamed of," he assured. "It makes sense though; I take it there's a schoolhouse at the castle for the servants' children or…?"

Their food came, and Astra waited for the waitress to leave before continuing. "No; along with a select few, only the marquis's children are looked over by a tutor. Most servants, if they have kids, send them to the schools in town. No one complains because we do have very good schools here in Gallifrey."

"Then you were one of the lucky ones," Olivier grinned before chomping down on a bite of potato. Astra laughed nervously.

"Yeah, I guess I am." She took a drink of ale as she thought quickly, trying to think up of another topic. "So you… you seem pretty young to be considered a full traveling merchant with a kingdom-wide company and dues. Not a toddler like me, but close enough."

"I work for my uncle," he replied with a chuckle. "He never really had a family of his own, so I tend to do things for him sons normally would, like paying dues and being a company representative. He's brokering a deal right now, so leave it to me to go around the kingdom making sure we're squared away with all the northern guilds before the snows fly. Gallifrey was the last stop."

"That's exciting though, seeing the kingdom, the world, and all the different sights they have to offer," she said. "I've only gone to Blackpoole, to visit my grandfather, and to Braxos and the capital for some business." She ate a forkful of food and smiled kindly. "I imagine it's difficult on your wife, since she obviously doesn't travel with you. Does she stay in one place in order to be a stable routine for the kids, or is it not that time yet?"

"Now you're getting ahead of yourself," Olivier smirked. "I don't have a missus, and not because I prefer a mister. It's the Merchant's Curse to stay single if you come into power within a company before marriage. Considering I've been working for my uncle over ten years now… it's not been a life with much room for romancing."

"Over ten years? Okay, I know we've been joking about how young I am, but…"

"I'm twenty-seven, for the record." He cut some more meat and shoved it in his mouth. "Did you think I was more your age? That would have put the start of my apprenticeship at the start of my teens, and my uncle wanted to make sure I had plenty of formal schooling first before learning the trade."

"Um, Olivier?" Astra wondered, shoving her food around her plate with her fork. "How old do you think I am?"

"Twenty-three or twenty-four; I mean, you have to be certified by the Royal University, yeah?"

She stared at the tabletop, not wanting to look him in the eyes. "I'm certified, that's true, but I was able to take classes early and sit exams before everyone else."

"Astra…? How old are you?" he asked in trepidation.

"Nineteen," she replied quietly. "I turn twenty in the summer."

Olivier watched as blush began to travel up her neck and down her ears. She was a very different Astra than the one that sat down, which made him reach across the table and gently place his hand on hers.

"Hey, that's incredible," he told her gently. She could feel the emotion in his touch; he was genuinely impressed with her and not merely acting. "When'd you sit the certification exams?"

"Last year," she said, "…but…"

"…but this means I think I've made friends with a very clever and mature person for her age," he replied. He took back his hand and continued eating his dinner. "I don't believe there's anything stopping us from being friends is there? It's not every day I have the pleasure to dine with a prodigy. Your family's proud, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they are," she admitted. "I bet your parents are proud of you too, helping out in the family business."

"Mum is, yeah—haven't seen Dad since I was twelve… you know, the type that can't sit still. Always on the move; it's why he left home-service. My uncle's a dad enough, so it's not like it was all that earth-shattering."

"That's still sad," she said.

"I came to terms with it a long time ago," he told her. "Now I just know how to act for if I do get married, since I grew up watching what happens otherwise."

"If you get married?" Astra wondered, genuinely surprised. "I'm shocked you're not married already."

"That's a bit difficult to explain," Olivier said.

"I've got time," she replied. He watched the playfulness return to her eyes and he figured he might as well.

"If you must know, I do go out on dates—mostly old school mates and a woman that might catch my eye during my travels, but for the most part it's dinner and drinks, like we're doing now," he said. "I have to wander around a lot, if you haven't guessed, and although I'm not gone from home nearly as much as I could be, it does make me feel guilty about potentially cooping someone up while I still have to travel the kingdom."

"Ever think about dating another merchant, or a woman from a merchant family? They'd understand that way of life, and might even be able to help, going out for you on an occasion or two." Astra thought of her parents, sitting up in the castle, wondering if it would be her mother or father that would finally march down to the merchant's guild to take her back home.

"Tried that—most of them are after company mergers and the rest don't have anything to do with their family's business for a reason." He tapped the side of his head and rolled his eyes. "I want someone who would be there for me, not my uncle's company, and that I can have a conversation with. Genuine love isn't always a thing we find, though it would be nice."

"If it helps any, by talking to you I can at least tell you're the marrying type, so at least you don't have the 'one in every city' thing going for you," she said, voice very matter-of-fact. "My sister is not the marrying type, and there's a difference. Trust me."

"What, is she a nun?"

Astra almost choked on her drink. "No! Oh, that's a funny one though!" She wiped her face with her napkin before continuing. "We're twins, you see, and because we're not the same, we have to be nearly the opposite. She's in the Kasterborsian Border Forces, helping to hammer back foreign soldiers that attempt to invade."

"Your poor mum and dad: one daughter given to the marquis's service at home and the other in his service in some ditch fighting Daleks. They must be beside themselves."

"There's six of us, so if one or two of us never marry, it won't affect their getting grandchildren, only the number."

Olivier's eyebrow quirked in suspicion. "Six? Not many servants I know of have the time to birth and rear six children."

"My father was an old retainer by the time my mother came into his life," she replied without missing a beat. "The marquisate allows old and loyal retainers to receive special privileges, you know."

"…like having their daughter given an advanced education in numbers," he smirked.

"Exactly," she chuckled back. Astra adverted her eyes for a moment, staring off at a point just beyond the edge of the table. "I know we agreed no catch, but this does feel an awful lot like a date anyways."

"At least we're both aware then," Olivier said solemnly. "Enough about that—tell me about this old retainer father of yours and his young love who had no issues bearing his children despite his advanced age."

"He mostly does clerical work, but he's not that terribly old. One of the first memories I have is me in one arm, my sister in another, and our elder sister atop his shoulders…"

They talked for a while yet, Astra craftily dodging whole truths about her family and Olivier regaling stories of his travels. By the time the pub man had to turn them out it was late into the night. A light snow was beginning to fall, leaving a crust upon the street as they walked along.

"Does the sky always look like this?" Olivier asked as he looked up at the mauve-grey clouds. "It looks so red."

"Then you've never been this far north?" Astra wondered. He shook his head. "We have an atmospheric condition that allows the sky to turn red at night. It's purple in the evening and red after dark, and the Festival of the Violet Sky is soon, when the twilight dominates most of the daylight hours, which is a beautiful sight. I've heard that further north beyond the borders the sky keeps the reddish tint even in the daytime."

"Who told you that?"

"The castle tutor—he was a captive of the Cybera Kingdom for over three years." She stopped in front of the guild hall. "I'm afraid this is where I leave you; pretty boring, huh?"

"You're not going home?"

"Not until I'm done with the audit—until then I've got one of the rooms above the hall."

"…I have one of the rooms above the hall," he replied. He paused and cleared his throat. "I was thinking about going for a walk anyhow; take in some of the architecture before I leave tomorrow, so you can go up first if you want."

"Are you sure?" Astra asked, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"I'm sure," Olivier said. He bent down and kissed his date on the cheek. "Maybe I'll see you again another time."

"I'd like that," she blushed. She watched him as he walked off, making sure he turned the corner before she dashed into the guild hall and up to the floor with the rooms. Once she got to hers at the end of the corridor she locked herself in and only then could she allow herself to breathe.

A/N: I usually don't do the whole "face claim" thing, mainly because I just don't know about all the various actors/actresses that other people seem to, but Olivier (pronounced the French o-liv-EE-ay, instead of the British ol-IH-ver) Lakertya has always looked like Luke Pasqualino in my head, so it's like D'Artagnan just treated a tall, willowy 19yo Clara Oswald to dinner and there's something about that which seems interesting.