54th Roalis, 2714
After Dawn - Vienda Jail
The Belleverie. That spoke volumes, though they were volumes perhaps best not spoken aloud: not if he didn't want a first-hand experience of what conversational capabilities the Seventen had fallen foul of last night.
Between the dress, well-made despite the manner in which it had been treated, the Belleverie, her general attitude and demeanour, and the cacophany of interesting names that seemed to surround her - names like Ibutatu and Rochambeaux - Arion was beginning to get a definise sense of his client, and the kind of woman that she was when she wasn't busily defending herself against the uninvited advances of galdori intent on abusing their social status. She was a woman who, despite the circumstances, seemed to think highly of herself, a belief that her attire and accommodations seemed to corroborate. She thought herself capable too, and seemingly was, if last night's events were anything to go by. Yet she wasn't someone with the kind of connections that might make a case like this mysteriously disappear before the night was through, nor was she someone familiar enough with the inside of a jail cell that it became blasé. True, her accent marked her as Bastian, but still, even the common nation of origin that he and Ms. Ibutatu shared had some semblance of laws, and he doubted that a Bastian jail was all that different from an Anaxi one. Confident, but not untouchable. Wealthy, but not connected. Capable. Foreign. International, even.
In a word, interesting.
Arion gave her an appraising look as he reflected on that assessment, though given Ms. Ibutatu's last words, it might have seemed more judgemental and superficial than it actually was. "Yes," he mused, "That's probably wise."
His eyes narrowed as Arion turned his attention towards the pavement beyond Ms. Ibutatu, peering into the middle distance as he contemplated their options. He was, of course, required by law to ensure that his client was delivered to her court hearing, and there would be penalties and reprimands if he failed to do so. But, said hearing was several hours from now, based on the time that the highly competent example of Vienda's finest working behind the jail's front desk had provided, and the protocols on what happened in the meantime were somewhat flexible. Typically, a defendant was presumed to have returned to their address of record in the hours before their healing: this was not required, it just made sense, as most would want the opportunity to go home and freshen up - or at least, back to the place where their clothes, baths, and belongings were. Ms. Ibutatu had already - wisely - ruled out that option; but just as she was hardly in a state to go anywhere. Had it been a different season, Arion might have arrived with outerwear that he could have loned to the Bastian, for the sake of her modesty - or at least, her discretion - but today's jacket would do little to obscure the state that Ms. Ibutatu found herself in, and he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of wandering through the early morning streets looking as if the two of them had returned from the worst kind of night out. At best, he might seem like a gentleman lending a jacket to a young associate. At worst, he might find himself reading about the two of them in the pages of the Kingsway Post.
"This way." The decision was made in an instant, and Arion was already in motion, an expectant look thrown at Ms. Ibutatu until she decided to follow along. "It's not far," he added, the only concession to informing Ms. Ibutatu of where they were going that he was willing to make. True, he could have explained that they were headed towards the apartment in Uptown that doubled as Arion's home and office, but somehow, Let's go back to my place had not seemed like a shrewd thing to go and say under the circumstances, and if by the time he'd managed to construct a suitable alternative choice of words, they could have been halfway there already. As it was, the apartment wasn't far: above a tailor's boutique on the Kingsway itself, mere minutes from the courthouse and the jailhouse, comfortably proximate to everywhere Arion's work required him to be.
At this hour, the tailor was hours from being open, blessedly sparing Arion from any unpleasantries with the owner of the boutique. There was a certain animosity between the two of them, utterly of the tailor's creation of course. There had been a - baseless - expectation that, upon taking residence, Arion Lux would somehow be beneficial to the tailor's business, whether through recommendations as a source of formal attire for clients standing trial, or at the very least as a customer himself. Arion had, quite fairly and politely, in his opinion, pointed out that anyone who was paying for his particular services likely didn't have the spare coin to purchase clothes from an establishment as upscale as this one; and Arion himself was a creature of habit, preferring to buy his clothes from the same boutique he always had. There was, he had explained, a special relationship between a man, and the man measuring his inseam, and that was a covenant that Arion had not been prepared to break. The tailor had not been convinced by Arion's noble stance which, frankly, Arion saw as a negative mark against his character.
From his pocket, Arion produced a set of keys, sliding one into the doorway that stood waiting to the side of the boutique's vast glass window. It was the service entrance to the establishment: a door immediately to the left led into the boutique itself, and a corridor continued onwards towards the back of the building. Arion had presumed there were backrooms, storerooms, or something along those lines down the unlit blue-grey corridor, but frankly had lacked the requisite curiosity to ever find out. Of more interest was the stairway, leading upwards and into the first of the upstairs rooms. This was, according to the lease, part of the space in the building that Arion had rented, even though it existed in advance of the doorway that led into the apartment proper. It was this space that had been the primary draw of these apartments, however, a waiting area segregated from the rest of Arion's domain as if it existed outside the battlements: somewhere for clients to wait until he was good and ready to deal with them.
The decor thus far had been muted and blue, the carpeted floors faded to the point of uninteresting, heavy velvet drapes hanging almost ceiling-to-floor either side of the windows, front and back of the reception space, the walls decorated with heavy paper in broad blue and white stripes for their lower half, divided from an expanse above a dark wood chair rail that might have been white or pale blue, depending on which angle you viewed it from. Arion's furniture choices were chosen to match the wood of the bannister rail, something that superficially resembled a deep mahogany but was most likely a far cheaper wood treated with stain. The scattering of furniture, enough for two clients and whatever associates and loved ones they might have seen fit to bring, toed a careful line: fancy enough to convince less wealthy clients that they had arrived to hire an advocate of quality, but poor enough that the genuinely wealthy clients would be forced to stand rather than sully themselves upon the same furnishings that had also accommodated the posteriors of their social lessers.
The exterior spaces may have been muted, but the interior was an entirely different story. The blue-grey of the carpets transitioned into a plush royal blue, the blue and white stripes below the chair rail exchanged for a deep, rich patterned paper in subtly different blue shades, divided from a more light and intricate paper of white and gold above. The drapes followed the carpet's example, the dominant blue and white of the room broken by furniture in warm wooden shades that seemed to draw out the gold filigree. The entire room had the sense of lapis lazuli, of deep blue flecked with gold and white, of something rare, precious, and luxurious. It was then, naturally, absolutely nothing to do with Arion Lux at all, and was merely what had remained after the apartment's previous tenant had moved on.
Arion advanced across the room, which seemed to be serving as both an office for his work, and a study for after hours. Arriving at his desk, he rummaged briefly through a draw, retrieving a letter opener: not the silvered example waiting on the desk itself, but a more garish example that was kept hidden away, a gift from a previous client if he had to guess. The far wall was dominated by a fireplace, but alcoves either side held doorways that lead into spaces beyond: one to the kitchen, and the stairway that led up to the bedroom in the attic space; the other to the bathroom, both reliant on access to the far side of the same chimney. It was at this same door that Arion stopped, dropping to a knee, carefully using the garish letter opener to detach the doorknob from the outside, turning the currently open door into a one way portal that could only be opened from within.
Returning to his feet, Arion crossed the room back to Ms. Ibutatu, presenting her with the detatched doorknob as if it was some strange relic. "The bathroom is through there. Towels, water, everything you need." He explained it all with a gesture, and then hesitated, trying to muster the words to explain his odd actions. His voice changed a little, the faintest hint of softness and consideration creeping into his words. "Under the circumstances, I thought you might feel a little more comfortable knowing the room would be completely secure."
Almost as if he was uncomfortable with the very notion of having done something considerate, Arion pushed past it quickly. "I will leave you to your -" He trailed off, a hand waving vaguely in Ms. Ibutatu's direction, as if that explained everything. "- devices, while I go send word to your friend, Ms. Rochambeaux. I'll have her collect a change of clothes and whatever womanly items you might require from the Belleverie, have them bring them here, and then, well -"
The shrug that Arion offered was almost undignified, made worse by the fact that his hands had disappeared protectively into his pockets. "We'll get started on sorting this whole unfortunate business out, and you and I can bring an end to our endurance of each other's company as swiftly as possible."