hide behind my pride

fighting off the vignette
tunnels cave, visions fade
swallowed by the vignette

Murrough is up to his ears in paperwork—hypothetically, of course. It's exceptionally difficult for paper to provide any benefit to a blind man, but he is bogged down by bureaucracy and more ravens from Castle Stuart than he ever could have wanted in his life. At least he has more control now, rather than fighting to communicate with the much greater distance to Yorkshire. It's both a blessing and a curse that Malachi had been apprehended so far from their palatial home.

His latest bird, however, has not gone to the court system. Instead, it had flown to a manor he's visited on many occasions to call the youngest Vincenza to his vineyard with a promise that he would make the trip worth her while. It's been some time since their rounds had brought Murrough and Malachi to her family estate, but he's fond of Alessandra's fiery personality, and it had taken little thought to know that she was the one he needed to call upon—especially if he wants Malachi to come home promptly.

The cooling air on the nape of his neck as Murrough tames an unruly vine tells him that the sun has all but sunk over the horizon line when the sound of footfalls reach his sensitive ears. His head swings up and around, nose quivering until it catches the familiar scent. A slight smile tips up Murrough's lips, but he waits until the lawyer is closer to greet her, moving to intercept her path as he heads towards the front of the house. "Alessa, I'm glad you're here," he says, inclining his head to indicate that she should follow. "I need your help."

It's rare, extremely rare, for Murrough to ask anyone for help. It has little to do with pride and very much to do with trust—or lack of it, really, in anyone other than Malachi. Malachi, who has been ripped from his side and left Murrough to flounder, and he can't even be mad, because he knows it happened for his sake. Holding back a sigh, he leads Alessandra into the oversized entrance hall that's hosted more parties than he can count, making his surefooted way to the ostentatious bar. Making quick work of preparing drinks for both of them, Murrough slides a glass across the counter towards Alessandra and then settles his glassy stare in the direction of her face, "Malachi is being held in Rionna. For attempted murder."

code

they're circling above
smirking at fresh blood
but this is not enough

"Miss Vincenza ther--"two faces snapped to the woman in unison, mismatched hues of slate and gold rolled from the woman, to her sister and then back to Vittoria, the woman that called the girls' attention. Alessa only looked back to her sister and gave a snorty laugh at the funny little mishap, and she waved off Vittoria's flustered self and urged her to speak once more. "Alessa, dear, there's been a--" she was cut off once more as the behemoth of the estate meandered in, his booming voice intercepting whatever it was Vittoria was trying to convey to her. "A.. friend of the family is seeking your assistance, my little diamond. You'll set off for Edinburgh immediately, your brother Enzo has all the details you'll need to aid you and our friend."She shot up, a tinge of anger boiled and heated in her cheeks- he intercepted a message meant for her, what the fuck. But the anger was subdued just as easily as she was excited, jumping to her paws and leaving Arabella by her lonesome on the outdoor patio. She paid little thought to her father sticking his nose in her business- but her business was this family's business, Luciano has always made that clear, and he was likely part of this arrangement in some capacity. She pranced to Luciano, a crown dipping to rest under his chin. He smelled of cinnamon and a rich vanilla, always such a warming sensation when he was near. Where she lacked a mother's warm embrace, Luciano does his best to take her place- so long as it's convenient of course. "Are you coming along with me, Papà?" a soft wag of her tail would sway to a stop as she heard his soft sigh- so that was a no, she already knew. Her ears would draw back her face seemed a touch gloomy before her father's eyes picked her attention back up and he gestured to Enzo and Matteo waiting in the hallway behind him. "Not this time, but your brothers and sister are coming along with you, try not to stray too far from them, mi diamante prezioso". He left her with one last embrace and a peck on the top of her head, Luciano called for Arabella and shouted a few reminders to the boys- but Alessa was already zooming past them all, collecting her belongings and beating her siblings to the path that would lead them from their fortress and off towards Ediburgh.
-----
Rose gold kissed the path she and her siblings strode down, it's well kept walkway brought them to the grandure entrance that framed the vineyard of a one Mr. Murrough Halloran and Malachi Mercer. It was promised that this trip would be more than worth while- though Alessa being the one you handle a matter for her father was worth while alone. All but Enzo left her side when she arrived, he was the one who delved information to her every step of the way, what was important, what wasn't. But he made it clear that the info he supplied her was to be kept under lock and key within her own mind, let Murrough pour out the details first and go from there.

All in one swift event, Enzo stations himself outside of the estate, Murrough is welcoming her in to his home and she is effortlessly following him, her strides never faltering and her brain ever racing. She settles in to a spot by the bar where she collects the offering and indulges slowly, no words yet to come from her lips- until she swallows the bit of liquid left in her mouth.

"Lo stress non si addice a quel bel viso." (Stress does not suit that handsome face.) She purrs in the familiar tongue of her family, a click of her tongue directs her attention to the man more fully, taking in the man before her. "
"By the time there is even an ounce of evidence, Malachi will already be waltzing around like he was never there to begin with." she spoke plainly, doubt never once settling into her tone and she finished her drink. The sound of empty glass meeting the counter top was subtle, but easily drowned out as she leaned back with a soft sigh. "They're too busy planning fish eating contests and frolicking around like fools to pay much attention to anyone sitting down there in those cells, anyways. A little money, some evidence to shove back in their faces and the case is dismissed rapida. Have you had any luck in identifying who their witnesses may be? Other than, well, you know."
She gives a short sigh of a laugh at the obvious there, and pays closer attention to gaze that she knows really isn't able to study the look on her face in the moment.


"speech"

code

fighting off the vignette
tunnels cave, visions fade
swallowed by the vignette

The wine merchant doesn't speak Alessa's native tongue, but he's plenty smart enough to pick up on a few familiar words—namely 'stress' and 'face', and his head tips in response, a slight smile flashing across the edges of his inky lips. "I hope that was a compliment," he drawls. "My ego is quite sensitive, you know." Murrough's tone is light in obvious jest; truthfully, most things roll off of him like water off a duck's feathers, and even if her intent had been to insult—which he highly doubts—it wouldn't have bothered him.

Alessandra doesn't even skip a beat about his revelation, and Murrough allows himself to relax in the face of her confidence, leaning back on his hip as he sips on his wine. "Waltzing, huh? I'd pay good money to see that," he interjects with another simper and a huff of amusement. Technically, he'd pay good money to see a lot of things these days, but the euphemism is a difficult one to rid himself of.

No matter how soft the clink of her empty glass on the counter is, Murrough notices it with the flick of one ear, and moves to refill it as the lawyer continues, every bit as brazen and sharp as she's been any other time he's talked to her. He's always liked that about her—it makes Alessa easy to talk to, especially when he incenses her ranting. He finds himself nodding along out of habit, his thoughts racing as he considers everything she's saying, and her certainty that Malachi will be free to return home soon. Murrough is hardly useless without his (business) partner, but he takes very little enjoyment in the time alone; it feels as though a part of him is locked up right alongside his friend, and he hates the void that Malachi's absence leaves in him.

A short shake of his head answers Alessa's next question, his lips slightly pursed. "No witnesses, I've been told—" unsurprising, considering what his intention had been— "but the victim's injuries and the blood on Malachi's paws was enough for him to be brought into custody. He insists that it was just a street brawl, and the guy swung first, but he's calling for blood. Swears Malachi was trying to kill him." Murrough's nostrils flare slightly; the topic isn't an easy one for him to discuss, especially when it hits so close to home. Because the truth is that Malachi had been trying to kill the man for what he'd done to Murrough. His friend might never admit it, even to him, but Murrough knows. There's no other reason that Malachi would have taken a risk so great.

"Whatever you need from me, Alessa, you have it," he states firmly as he refills his own now-empty glass. He would gladly drain his coffers if it was the way to Malachi's freedom. His eyes, despite the glassy consistency, are uncharacteristically hard when they latch back onto Alessandra's face, as though he might see into the very marrow of her. "I just need him home."

code

they're circling above
smirking at fresh blood
but this is not enough

"Waltzing, huh? I'd pay good money to see that," unfortunately for her company, she doesn't need booze to provide her with a care-free tongue. It clicks the roof of her mouth twice, a soft hum lightly vibrating her lips. "Maybe invest in the science to make that achievement come to life first." It's part jest and honesty that's sugar coated with a soft laugh. Her gaze followed the beginning of impurities in the man's once perfect face; perhaps even now his face was still near perfect, the blemishes adding a dramatic aesthetic to him. She remembers him prior to the.. incident. He was a beautiful man, without a doubt. One she only ever saw in a twirling pass as they danced on floors of her own estate and his, or when she was peering into rooms from the halls as he and her father made whatever business trasactions they made when they visited one another.

Her attention is drawn back as she watches her most generous host collect her glass and refill it once more. As she speaks once more it's as if he's away, alone in a room that she will likely never walk into. She quietly and quickly clears her throat as he brings her class back, at some point he remade the connection to himself in this room and she parted her lips, unsure of what was to come out, but Murrough began speaking before she could breath any of her words to life.

She scoffed at what he answered with. "Whoever truly thought such a case would even make it to a judge and jury are reaching for the unachievable- thats all theyre doing, reaching. But this is all good, Murrough." her reassurance wasn't it's finest as far as kindness goes, but where it lacked compassion for feelings it made up for the confidence she had in the outcome her-- friend? Client?-- was seeking. "What else, Murrough? Blood on his paws? A street brawl? This is short of uncommon in nearly any parts, no matter the town; war brewed for years over a simple hate for another's existence- that hate didnt die with the end of the war- everyone fights, it could have been anyone that tried to take the man's life. she was formally rambling, her brain working faster than what it likely should have been, and she glanced back to Murrough to see if he was following along or was lost in another room she couldn't be apart of. "What do we know about the victim? Any familial ties worthwhile to note? He could have easily had enemies- we all do, really. " she gave a soft chuckle that ended in a giggle of excitement. "We dont need any evidence for Malachi, no. All we need is a tradional crutch that this victim fell on, we all have those, too. And when the prosecutor realizes there's more.. tangible, believable evidence versus a little word of mouth- your friend gets to come home. " she was hinting at the idea of planting evidence, fabricating a small tale of woes and flaws of the victim. It was almost a high merely thinking of it in itself for her to get off on. She gives a quiet shriek of excitement, so as to not completely overwhelm Murroughs ears and she downs her drink. "What I need is your unquestionable faith, another few of these delicious treats, and to call in a few favors when we get to Rionna." she giggles now, her breath quietly reverberating in and back out of the glass at the tip of her lips. She pauses for a moment, recalling her last few words. A brow quirked slightly. "You will come with me back to Rionna, yeah? I can imagine your friend will want to see that handsome face of yours when hes out of that rank dungeon. " her lips curled In disgust just thinking of the dingey place. Mismatched hues followed the features of his face, attempting to gauge his feelings towards such an assumption.

"speech"

code

sun's blood on my hands
some see a pen, i see a harpoon
take this weapon forged in darkness

"Maybe invest in the science to make that achievement come to life first." What's left of Murrough's singed brows arch high in surprise at her brazen comment, and then he snorts a laugh, his lips curling in amusement. "You," he says with another low chuckle, pointing a paw in her direction and shaking his head, "I like you." Most wolves make a point of ignoring Murrough's handicap, or coddling him when he doesn't need it; Alessa's poking fun at him is refreshing, and a welcome change from the norm. He doesn't know much about the spitfire lawyer, and he's quickly coming to learn that he probably shouldn't have overlooked her.

It's a mistake he'll have to rectify once Malachi is back home.

He can't tell if the alcohol he keeps providing for her is making Alessa better or worse at her job, but she's certainly entertaining him. It comes as little surprise for a lawyer to be long-winded, and he feels like he's being given a private show into the inner workings of her mind as she forms a plan right in front of him, put together with the same clinical accuracy as solving a Rubik's Cube. "What do we know about the victim? He could have had enemies..." Murrough smiles a little crookedly at her giggle; she loves this. "I'm sure he does," he agrees noncommittally, shrugging to suggest his lack of knowledge on the topic. Gently, Murrough lays a forepaw over Alessa's, seeking to slow the steamrolling torrent of words pouring from her mouth as he informs her, "I've told you everything I can, but you have my absolute confidence. I only hire the best." This, he accompanies with a hint of tooth and a wink.

Murrough isn't lying when he tells Alessa he can give her nothing more. He makes a point to stay ignorant of the details of Malachi's more...illicit affairs, precisely because of the risk of situations like these. The less he knows, the better. It's a sort of willful ignorance that may make him seem naïve, but Murrough does nothing without great thought, and he's sure that Alessa is smart enough to connect the dots if she thinks about it for a moment.

"Yeah," he agrees easily as he leans over to refill Alessa's drink once more, "I'll come with you." Murrough can't say that Malachi will be overjoyed to see him, but that's not really his style; his affection is more subtle, like...beating the shit out of the guy who maimed his best friend. "So," he says, clearing his throat and offering another one of his winning smiles, "it's your first time here. Would you like a tour?"

code // art

they're circling above
smirking at fresh blood
but this is not enough

Her thoughts stopped being thoughts the second the alcohol began coursing through her, but anything she has fired up ready to go is stifled. You, I like you. The words make her ears perk, and it should be nauseating to anyone normal at how much a little sentence inflates her own head. She doesn't say anything, only gives a smile and a soft, satisfied hmph as her lips meet glass.

She follows his movement that leads a paw of his to be set ontop of one of hers; her own words faded briefly as he assured his own confidence in her—something she devours in the few seconds she allows her lips to be sealed. Confidence in her, not her father, but her. Her confidence is usually sturdy, hardly able to be tore down—unless her father is involved, even the family name was enough to make her waver in her belief that she was capable of doing her job. The alcohol is hiding that from her this evening, hiding the fact that she has a feeling deep in her gut that this was not just a call to her, for her. When she first got the word, she was too wrapped in the stamp of approval her father so easily offered to come here. But Murrough is offering a praise, pair that with the sweet heat of liquor and she forgets about that feeling that lingers in her somewhere deeper.

She let's him pour her another, used to the small routine and so easily falling back into the step of conversation. She gently removes herself from the counter and gives a chirp of excitement. "Good, when we accomplish what we need to there, we can celebrate—" her paw raises up as she consumes her drink and gives a quick twirl around. "Vincenza style, at the estate of course. I suppose I can get you into the party, if you ask nicely." she purrs with a bubbly laugh. When Murrough offers a tour, she gives a soft squeal of approval and prances around the counter, watching her host as she moves to give them both room for one another to correct their movements should she catch him off guard or move too quickly for him to adjust. "I would love a tour, il mio bellissimo ospite." (beautiful host of mine). She waits for his approach, tail giving a soft sway as her mismatched hues glide from Murrough to the room they currently sat in.

"speech"

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