An Introductory Note from the Author: After careful consideration and in response to reader comments, for the sake of clarity I have reverted all characters' names to their cannon versions/spellings regardless of whether that name was historically/geographically common at the time. (For those interested, the originally-conceived tweakings are on my Tumblr account.) The gents tend to refer to one another by surname. Hope this helps!
'Flowers' revealed: Iris - Ymir; Peony - Mikasa; Lily - Historia; Poppy - Sasha; Crocus - Annie; Orchid - Mercedes [OC].
Chapter 10: Shared Interests
(Armin Arlert)
Arlert peered up at the clock – entirely too small and with too ornate of a face to be practical for the imbibed to possibly read – and was anxious to discover that it was approaching Three o'clock in the morning. How long had they been here? Who knew.
The other guests of the Carousel had almost gone. Devoid of most of its occupants – patrons and entertainers alike – the lingering notes of music and the lights and colors seemed like multiple filaments in a large light bulb, every so often glowing or sparking to remind his senses that he was awake. However, his companions still had not emerged and he was inclined to suspect that they were the ones dreaming.
"Do…people stay here overnight?" Arlert cast his voice out to the distant figure of Annie; she seemed to have just finished cutting off the gentlemen who had been propping up the bar ever since Arlert arrived. He trundled away and the two of them were left alone.
"Not patrons typically, no," she called.
I have to do something, he thought. It's one thing to have come here to begin with, but another completely to not be home for the night. Yet…
He looked at Annie, how she finally loosened her tie and gathered up the rags she'd used over the course of the night, tossing them in a pile on the floor and moving on to scrape the colorful and bruised remains of various fruit into a pail. He'd enjoyed talking to her; could probably talk for another few hours had this been different. He wished there was another way for them to continue their conversations that didn't require him coming down here. Did the women who worked here ever leave? Were there dormitories of sorts beneath the elaborate engineering that supported this place?
But if he was the only sober one left, it was up to him to rally them and get them home. Arlert stood.
"It's time, I suppose," Annie mused. He thought he detected a hint of regret in her voice, buried underneath the tiredness.
"I enjoyed our conversation, though," he offered, venturing down the bar to be closer to where she stood. "I hope I didn't bore you."
"On the contrary," she said and turned to him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and sipped from the same spot on her water glass. She didn't look at him as she set it down and continued, "You should collect your friends. I suppose we won't see each other again – not unless you were to come back here, at any rate."
"We don't know that for sure," he attempted a smile.
But rather than agree or disagree, she looked at him levelly before saying, "Goodbye, Mr Arlert." Her voice was somewhat warm, even if her face did not betray it.
He nodded and stepped away. He decided the best course of action would be to find help for the rallying – no doubt the poor drivers were still waiting.
"In answer to your question," Annie called out surprisingly loudly and hurriedly, making him look over his shoulder, "yes – from the same spot, every time." She lowered her gaze under his own. "I didn't think anyone would notice."
He thought of the coral half-moon on the rim of her glass. "Well, someone did," he smiled more broadly and turned again.
It didn't take long for the coatgirl to retrieve his hat, and Arlert made his way up the curve of the stairs, casting an eye down at the pale figure of Annie below. He would have to find some other way to talk to her again.
The entrance door at the top of the landing was wordlessly opened for him and Arlert stepped out into the orderly, calm sanctum of the burgundy-carpeted corridor. The door closed behind him and the lack of stimulation was blissful – silent, fairly scentless, evenly- and blandly-lit. He paused and breathed in deeply in relief. If he had been a less responsible individual he might have left the others – this familiar interior, however small and purposeless it was, reminded him how much strain he'd been under for much of the night and how dearly he wanted to be gone from it.
Shortly, though, the wonderful quiet was broken by footsteps coming down the wooden stairs – at least two pairs, he gathered – and then voices. One, the loudest, was a woman's. Arlert stood to one side and waited curiously. What was a woman doing down here, much less at Three in the morning?
"Lady Collingston, please," came a softer but pleading male voice.
Lady Collingston? Arlert felt an unidentified sense of dread and confusion bloom in his chest and he struggled to recall where he'd heard that title so recently.
"Oh come now Moblit, you think I don't know what I'm doing!" the woman's voice replied gaily.
"Respectfully, no, my Lady, I do not."
"I'm telling you, Cyrus sent word," she said implicitly. "Meaning it's time, and I'm not out of bounds. I'm just here for business."
A pair of women's lace-up boots and the hem of a dark brown mink coat, followed by the tiers of a navy daydress, descended into the light; then came a leather-gloved hand with a drawstring purse dangling from a wrist. Finally a lowered head of chestnut hair – perhaps elegantly and precisely coiffed earlier in the day but more disheveled now – that lifted once the woman was in the corridor proper. She readjusted her glasses when she saw him, and her face broke out into a grin as wide as her arms lifted.
She laughed, "Aha! Mr Arlert! What timing! I see you're the only one who appears to have survived."
Arlert looked back in horror, and then tried to give a nervous laugh. It was Smith's fiancée. "Lady Collingston – this – this is quite the surprise…" What on Earth was she doing down here?
His face must still have betrayed him, for she grabbed his wrist and shook it, "You musn't panic. I'm sure this looks very strange."
Arlert looked helplessly at the tall, mousy-haired young man who came into the hall after her, whom he now recognized as Lady Collingston's chauffeur. Deciding that Lady Collingston being out unaccompanied with her chauffeur late at night was the least of his troubles, he returned his attention to her. She held both his shoulders with a strong grip.
"Smith is expecting me," she said, taming her grin into an assured smile.
"He – he is?"
"Very much. And yes, I'm aware of his visits here and what 'here' is."
"I don't understand, Lady Collingston, forgive me."
Her warm brown eyes sparkled. "Then I see you're unfamiliar with the establishment of marriage." After observing his unalleviated confusion for a moment longer, she continued, "You can't be under any illusion that the engagement between myself and Lord Stohess is because of mutual adoration, surely? With our rank, who could afford such a complication?" One of her hands absentmindedly drifted to her chin, "I suppose that's rather ironic, come to think of it. The one thing we can't afford," she mused. Her cheer returned, "Anyhow – this means the best we can hope for is a partnership based on mutual respect, and shared interests."
Arlert fingered the brim of his hat. "Of course I'm aware of societal demands in this day and age, Lady Collingston," he said indulgently.
It was her turn to look confused. "Then pray tell what is it that's not understood?"
"I do not see how this place contains a 'shared interest'."
Her already-large eyes grew larger. "Oh," she said.
Moblit's gloved fingertips hovered over Lady Collingston's arm and he spoke lowly to her, "My Lady, it's just turned Three o'clock."
She jumped a little in surprise, "Oh! Well then yes," she waved him toward the entrance to the Carousel, "go fetch my prospective husband and," she turned to Arlert, "how many of you were there? Eight?"
"Yes?" he frowned.
She turned back to Moblit, "And the other seven of his bachelor party." Moblit hurried to comply but when he reached the door, Lady Collingston called out again, "Oh! And may as well give this to Master Cyrus should you see him." She fished out a thick trifold of papers with a wax seal and handed it to him. Yet again he headed for the door. "Oh!" He froze, his hand dropping from the door handle. "And if you do see Cyrus, make sure the girls don't see you seeing him!" Moblit assented tiredly and turned the handle, opening the door a crack. "Oh!" The door was pulled to. "And make sure a signed copy comes back to me!" Lady Collingston smiled, "That's all," she said sweetly. Moblit finally disappeared into the Carousel.
"He's going to bring them all himself?" Arlert checked.
Lady Collingston waved a hand, "I'm sure Cyrus has enough waitstaff to help. And fear not, there are carriages enough." There was a rare moment of silence, and then she turned on her heel a little. "I wonder if you might escort me back topside?" she suggested.
"Of course," Arlert said and offered his arm, gratefully going first up the stairs so that he could help her up after him. Each step seemed to bring him closer to a waking life.
"I would tell you," she said between steps, "what it is that Lord Stohess and I share an interest in, but I suspect he would much rather tell you himself. Might I suggest luncheon in a couple of days' time?"
Arlert would have preferred answers now, but it didn't seem as though he was going to get them. She was right, he conceded – no doubt Smith would like to explain himself, and there were things Arlert wished to say that were not suitable for Lady Collingston, no matter how involved she appeared to be.
A(nother) Note from the Author: Though I hope it'd be obvious, Lady Collingston is intended to be Hanji Zoe. :) Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read and review! It means the world!