With Lady Sylvia manuevered out the door, and it locked behind her, Alyssana allowed herself to indulge in a moment of relief. She'd never liked the woman, and was glad to have her gone. But only a moment before she turned her attention to Walter, trying his best to speak over the uncomfortably mushy expounding of Finnegan. If she didn't know about the perfume she might have wondered what had gotten into him, for while he was a flirt this was far beyond his usual affectionate banter. As things stood, the more he said, the harder it was for Alys -- both the needle-sharp twinge of guilt and simple embarrassment on his behalf.

"If Finnegan knows the most, then I suppose we'll have to wait until he's feeling more like himself," she declared, speaking over Finny with the ease of a teacher who'd faced her share of intractable students. "No, there's no need to knock him out, Walter. ...Let me try to speak with him."

And so Alyssana settled herself again in the chair across from Finnegan. "What do I need to understand, Finnegan?" she asked, tone gentler, more patient. She'd already braced herself for the awkwardness of his answer, but if hearing him out would allow them to move forward with other matters, she felt obligated to endure it.

𝓦alter sighed with relief, “If you think that will help...” He was not about to knock his brother out, but the offer was still standing as some sort of show. He hated to lie like that, but he so desperately wanted neither of the two to be so... And, he knew so much about his brother's truest intentions. There were things he'd rather not hear his brother say. Then again, if Lady Alyssana wanted to go through with it.

Secretly, he held his breath for several moments.

“Understand?” Finnegan stared at Lady Alyssana with whimsical eyes that slowly wandered as he tried to catch his words to match her gentle tone, “I... I am desperately in love with you.” He paused with teeth brushing over his tongue as he tried to quiet himself to better express what he was saying, except a sleepiness fell over him. He would not allow it, though. He wanted to keep this conversation going, now that he finally had her attention, “D-desperately. D-did I say desperately? No, I meant madly. Or s-something.”

Yes, there it was. The potion talking -- would he believe that? It was worth a try, Alyssana supposed. "Finny, do you remember earlier, in the lab? You got doused with one of your perfumes. The same one you used on Miss Evelyn." She tried to keep the thread of accusation out of her voice -- this was more than punishment enough for his misdeeds in that situation, even if Alys hadn't quite forgiven him for it. "Among its effects are severe infatuation."

“𝓝o, no...” Finnegan shook his head, “No, shhh. You, no you...” There was determination in him to speak this more eloquently than the gibberish that had caught his voice beforehand. His head shook once more as a hand was, against raised with a finger extended, wagging at her. She was not going to lecture him as she knew to do at the Institute. Now was not the time for such things. He had something more important to implore. There was never a better time for him to explain to Lady Alyssana his feelings. This he knew (as the reader has already understood of him) for moments too many, “You know too little, Alyssa.” His shoulders relaxed and dropped as he looked at her longingly.

Again, he was caught trying to fish for the proper words to tell her. She was standing right there in front of him, giving him her full attention. Nothing he was saying was getting through to her.

The basics. Start with the basics.

What was the question, again?

His hand lowered, “I love you, Alyssana, no... Wait.” He shook his head, yet, again, “Allow me to start over.” He cleared his throat to the best of his ability, denying anything could possibly have altered his thinking, “I have an immunity to my own potions. Why would I not? I have a nose sharper than any dogs, and I dare say that if I were to not have a tolerance, I would be intoxicated all the time... Like,” his head turned to Walter momentarily (who had taken only a breath or two during this conversation) but quickly turned back to Lady Alyssana, “Do you understand?”

He pressed his feelings together the best he could, hoping she would understand him. He had so much more he wanted to tell her, but as a rule of thumb:

"I am unwilling to conceed the point, but very well. Assuming you were immune...only a week ago you were singing Lady Sylvia's praises." Alys couldn't help the note of disdain that crept into her tone. "Last month it was Miss Evelyn. How is this different?"

“𝓘 would beg to kiss the top of your hand right now, my dear Lady Alyssana,” his head lowered in a shameful manner, now with his eyes searching the wooden flooring for the script that he was supposed to read to make all of his wrongdoings better. He had been quite dreaful and awful to the other women — and most of all, to his sudden drugged horror, to Lady Alyssana. She had watched him pompously flounce around with other women and not even take any respect of her own delights or disdain for his behavior.

“You over estimate me,” his eyes glanced up at her, in an act of pity that was then taken by her beauty, he dare not look away, even with the sudden shuffle of Walter's feet, uncomfortable in his own shoes as he bore witness to the scene playing in front of him.

The younger man wished it to stop immediately, but no matter how hard he wished, it never came true. It was times like these that he would feel feverish, and with that, he made a small motion to sit in the long legged chair by the table, as he collapsed his head, “Do not mind me...” he managed in a displeased wisp of a voice.

And, Finnegan obeyed the man's command by ignoring him and his brown curly hair propped in the folded sleeves of his jacket.

“How could I have been so thoughtless, so cruel...?” He drew in several breaths, trying to remain in his balanced position lest he end up as good as his younger, less intoxicated (or so the reader has been lead to believe this far) younger brother, “I cannot bare to think that I have done this to you, to us...” His body lowered onto one knee, reaching out for Lady Alyssana's hand pleadingly. There was a tearfulness in his eyes with flushed cheeks of something yearning to be honest.

“I see you so differently, Alyssa. You are above the rest. How dare I, Lord Finnegan Oaks, get anywhere near a lady of such beautiful caliber? You are something so much more precious, rare, and to think the conquest — no, the honor of having danced with you in the library for the first time,” he was trying pathetically to read the emotionless expression on her face with his own eyes, bashful with memories, “Shall any woman be good enough to fair against you? How many of them shall I date to only realize that all the women in the world could not come close to the beauties of Lady Alyssana.”

His words were meant to be articulate, but alas, they slurred awkwardly. The poor man was on one knee, pleading in a voice that was less than gentlemanly as a listless woman stood before him, unforgiving. He could feel his heart breaking in two, and yet still, he had hope. The poor man still had hope. “Words are escaping me, Alyssa. My dear, dear Alyssa. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

And Walter let out a small moan from the corner of the Satyr legged table.

It took all her control not to snap at Finnegan as he used, repeatedly, the one nickname she could never stand. Christopher alone used it, and more often he used the childish form of "Lyssa". Without even thinking, she pulled her hand away. Perhaps Finnegan had truly realized his thoughtlessness, but would that even last beyond the duration of the perfume's effects?

He called their first dance a conquest, and that was the final straw. The expression in her grey eyes turned cool, her lips thinned to a flat line. "You should know better than to call me that," she said once he'd finished with more "Alyssa"s, her voice distant. She didn't say a word of forgiveness. "Walter...I need to leave. You have my apologies." She grabbed the folded metal form of her wings from where they lay near her chair and held them near her back long enough for her control of them to take over and lock them into their sockets.

Finnegan rose to stop her, but in his current state it was easy enough to dodge around him and make it to her jacket, and then the door and beyond to freedom. Outside Alyssana spread her wings and leaped skyward, and she did not look back. The hated nickname still rang in her ears, and it took some time of the cool wind rushing past before the sound faded from mind. She knew she'd responded too harshly, but she'd also done her best to stay calm. She'd apologize once Finnegan was sober.

𝓟erhaps it would be better to forget

𝓣hat sometimes love dissolves and disappears.

“𝓝o... No...” Finnegan was in a sudden burst of sobs over having just poured fourth his entire heart to the love of his life. The younger brother, Walter, was sure that the older brother, Finnegan, was indeed heartbroken — and for good cause. He felt himself a to be pale in the face as he watched with flustering ability while his beloved Finny cried into his chest over Lady Alyssana.

The site was completely unmanly and perhaps even uncalled for, but all he could do was play the wet nurse (which was not something, I shall have you, as the dear reader know that the young gentleman had in mind nor would have ever dream for his afternoon... as per usual). “I have not seen you like this since Lady Madeline...” He let out a small pip of a voice for consoling, but other than that, he was at his wits end trying to explain to his brother that his entire speech was all too similar to the one he had given Lady Madeline.

“Hu?” His voice cracked as he looked with damp, red eyes at Walter. It was no use explaining to the man over how rehearsed and disingenuous he sounded, upon one knee. His stereotypical charlatan ways had significantly gotten the better of him this time. The best Walter could do was let the man be a buffoon for his emotions as he waited for the potion to eventually reach its limits.



It was evening when the love potion finally wore off, complete with Finnegan moaning and groaning about some chest pain that he would not have been bothered to mention had his head not been throbbing, as well, “Water, Walter...”

Walter already had a glass ready, as this was not the first time in the past half hour that the man had asked for something to alleviate the pain. Unfortunately, he refused to go anywhere near herbs as the shear thought of them triggered his pain. Of course, Walter could not help himself and kindly mentioned Lady Alyssana, “She needs a formal apology. I think you frightened her quite a bit.”

“I doubt I frightened her... She does not scare so, so... easily,” Finnegan said with a slight bombastic pedantry that was vainly trying to hide his memories of what had happened between them, “We should let her be until tomorrow. Blast you two, anyhow. What even is the first rule of the my dear, dear perfumery?”

Walter stared blankly at his brother and held his breath. He had broken more than just one when Lady Alyssana prompted him like so. He still felt Finnegan should not have done that to Lady Evelyn, especially since it resulted in a headache afterwards. What a terrible thing for him to have done, and yet he still felt for his brother, as usual. The feelings of empathy would never pass from him, and with that, he took a wet cloth and placed it over the lounging brother's forehead, “We should probably call Lady Alyssana. She ought to be told that you are in the right mind, again...” His voice protested lightly with a glance that not dare look at his brother in the eyes.

“Fine!” Finnegan suddenly shot upwards, “We'll, we'll call her- ahhh....” His hand spread and pressed his fingers to his forehead, “Fiddles, heaven forbid I have a day go smoothly for once. This pain is agonizing.” He spoke through the list of reasons why he wanted to fall backwards into the velvet cushion and have nothing more to do with the world as he tried to forget how awful he felt about Lady Alyssana running out on him.

His eyes closed as he took in a deep breath for relief:
It's nothing. She knows I was dowsed. Completely dowsed.

“Call her at once, and tell the servants to get the dining room ready.”

And with a drawing breath and several words of agreement, Walter did just that. The murders were of more importance at this point in time. He was glad that Finnegan had finally began regaining his senses.

𝓡ather than...

𝓣hat the pride of the heart may fail.

𝓣hat the lust of the eye may be quench'd.

Initially Alyssana wasn't sure she wished to join the Oaks for dinner, whether Finnegan was himself again or not. There was something in the younger man's voice, however, that made her think perhaps he would be glad of additional company. "I'll drag Chris away from his work and bring him with me, Walter. If that's alright with you, of course." Walter approved, and it was perhaps forty-five minutes later when the pair alighted from a carriage in front of the Oaks' residence, Christopher hurrying up the path with Alyssana pausing to pay the driver and proceeding at a calmer pace.

Chris had no sooner removed his coat and handed it over to a servant than he made a beeline for Walter, chattering excitedly about his latest experiment in technical terminology. His language was nearly always precise, though he didn't mind the interjection of questions, and was in fact quite used to it. That left Alyssana to regard Finnegan warily.

Although she'd tried to put the entire afternoon behind her, seeing Finny was a reminder of what she'd done -- but she couldn't be the first to bring it up, not after that mess. She had to be sure for herself that Finnegan was back to normal. "Good evening, Finnegan." Though her tone was coolly polite, it hid an edge of concern. She was done being angry, at least.

𝓘 broke her heart.

𝓗er father merely broke her life.

Two servants dressed the dining room with silver wear and other pretty things like artistically folded napkins and a table decoration, which hinted of fresh flowers from the garden and oddities that shimmered around some imported, hand carved fox set family; each fox had its own unique visage complete not only with individually carved hairs but amber eyes that saw you from any point in the room. The room was quite a spectacle, even if hastily thrown together.

A lace of wooden vine was articulately sculpted-seeming around the large, trunkish leg of the round cedar table. It stood prominently in the middle of the room, and like all ordinary dining rooms was the center of attention. However, the curation of the dining room itself was less than ordinary when compared to say one that you are probably used to seeing. For time's sake, the narrator will not go into further detail outside of gently pushing the backdrop through the various scenes depicted onward.

The meal (to keep with the times) will be in five courses, and already, the soup of the second course has been giving a charming scent of warmth underneath the floral, wooden decor. The scent did nothing to sway Walter, who was nervous, as always, and his face had been growing paler for no other reason than that his mind and body had nothing better to do than to make him feel faint, as pertaining to the plot. Murder was something that Walter tried to dissuade from his attention, as it was something his brother dabbled with more than often. Unfortunately, these particular murders were holding such importance, the build up of suspense had caused him great anxiety. As well, his older brother was in no shape for proper camaraderie.

He thought to give himself rest when Lady Alyssana arrived, in which he thought as to not just give himself a break but to also give the two older ones some privacy over the matter that had happened earlier. Alas, one of his favorite persons arrived, and with all due respect to the man who had arrived, Walter could not help but feel enlightened and in the mood for engagement. He listened as the other man rattled off so many things, and they were of so many good and solid notes that he no longer felt the forlorn plague of his own heartbreak. Walter was now very intrigued with everything of which Lord Christopher Grey had to offer.

As for Finnegan, he had a new pair of trousers and blouse upon himself. He looked better than before Lady Alyssana had left, but his coloring was still flushed (in a similar manner to Walter's prior to Lord Christopher's arrival if any gentle reader was curious). His head was also still pained, and for this reason, he had his fingers gently pressed to his forehead when Lady Alyssana greeted him. He immediately withdrew them and stood at a more attentive posture when she spoke.

It was not her voice alone that struck a cord with Finnegan; although, if truth be told, her voice alone might as well have been due to the cutting prominence and pronunciation of she worded her introduction. She smelled as if she had a bone to pick. This was not an usual smell for her to wear, but the scent caused Finnegan to forget his rehearsed lines of apology. By all means, he meant to be sincere about it, despite the fact that the apology would have been a lie all in and of itself. Quickly, he made a twitch of a smile with his lips pressed together and then entertained the woman with a small, bright smile, “Lovely as always, Lady Alyssana.” Finnegan pressed his feet together and stood up at once, with one arm folded behind his back, and the other outstretched for his usual remark as he made his way to her.

“Your presence is always welcome here,” he began and bowed to offer his formal acknowledgement of her feelings. He did not wish to make her run away, again, “And, as you are aware,” he spoke in reference to the first dance they shared in the library. Whether she picked the cue or not was of no importance to him at the moment. It was more or less the prospect of him believing her, “I never wish to scare you. I care deeply about you.” As he began his apology, marks were made on a speech he could barely remember making. If he ever was to confess his love to her, he would have to do it in a fashion less than so flamboyant. As the woman was dressed, she was not one for her compliments to be served on the fanciest of crockery. No, she deserved only the most natural type of love. The rest was lust and stardust, and Lady Alyssana in all her courage and fears deserved nothing so fake and charlatan. He had to shake off his very own rust if he wanted to continue.

Alyssana accepted Finnegan's extended hand and let him kiss it. She didn't have the heart to deny him that, not after earlier. "You didn't scare me, Finny," she told him. "I was concerned at your condition, and angry about some of the things you said, but hardly frightened." She paused, looking up at him. "For what it's worth, you are also owed an apology for my role in that disaster. I am sorry for the trouble I caused you." Knowing he was likely to just brush her words off, Alyssana then disengaged, glancing after the younger men instead. Upon seeing them deep in conversation, she returned her attention to Finnegan.

"So. Walter mentioned some sort of mystery. A murder, yes? Why don't you tell me what you know."

“𝒪f course...” Finnegan drew in a breath through his nose, nodded with his face still a little pale from the early afternoon debacle. Lady Alyssana smelled as if she meant what she said, which was nothing unusual from her. The truth always smelled brilliant to Finnegan, and thus, he associated this smell largely with Lady Alyssana, even if the bitterest traces of her own prejudice (that genuinely he believed to be had against herself more than anyone) often times danced lingeringly upon her skin -- such as now.

He could smell it more now that she was inquiring about something of mystery, and he could not help but enjoy it, “There has been a series of murders of certain persons,” he began, his lips parting at a less than adequate rate at would have a man who was not hungover, “Excuse me, please, have a seat,” he motioned towards a florally decorated chair with a concave back and overstuffed cushion. It was cerulean in color with brass designs.

Finnegan took his own seat in something a little more traditional than cabriolet and drew in another breath. He propped himself upwards with his own arm and the help of the chair's arm. His hand leaned on a fist, and then, following his movement, a leg plucked itself over the other. The hint of silk under his pants could be seen. “Hardly any of which seem to have been reported in the paper.” His eyes glanced towards the exit of the door and then quickly came to study Lady Alyssaana (perhaps, sitting, now), once more, “And, before you say anything.” Finnegan straightened his body and drew in another breath through his nostrils. A finger raised to silence the air and all its aromas, “Madame Sophronia has summoned me into this.” Swallowing something out of nervousness, he withdrew his placement from the arm of the chair, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and from which, plucked a folded piece of paper;

Alyssana took the proffered paper and looked it over. The paper itself lacked a watermark, and the hand seemed to be a lady's -- probably the mentioned Madam Sophronia. The rhyme was the only notable thing she could discern, and she said as much. "It's based on Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," she added, smoothing the creases from the paper, "which brings to mind an observatory or somewhere with a good view of the sky, but the changes seem to indicate music and dancing. As a clue, it probably refers to a location." Alyssana frowned, passing the paper back. "There's really not much to go on here. It could be referring to the monarch butterflies and their yearly migration, for all the indication it gives." She looked at Finnegan. "What about you, Finny, what do you make of it?"

𝓦atching as Lady Alyssana did not take a seat, Finnegan admired the woman's bodice as she read the paper. There were things about her that he found absolutely ridiculous. By ridiculous he meant in all good-humour as the upper class would say when frowning upon the lower-class as, people who believe that one husband ought to live with the one wife whom he has lawfully married; that a girl should be innocent, a woman modest, and a man, manly, self-controlled... Ah, the great authors and their wisdom. They shamed him as he smiled uncontrollably at the woman. He would have more self-control if perhaps the two of his cherished friends had not dowsed him with one of his lovely potions.

Never he mind such thoughts, now. The woman spoke with a straight charm. It was not the kind that fancied with bells and chimed up and down the human instrument. It was the kind that was frank but still lovely with sound. It was low yet with the ability to maintain the ability to remain open for some sort of male attention, if perhaps, the man were sharp enough to hear through the eye of a needle. Finnegan yearned to be such a man, if not for the sake of the chase but out of self-control.

“Your sharp attention is every admirable,” he smiled at her, looking up to her with light eyes of a dark-needed yearning all too focused on her outer physique than anything, “As always,” he concluded his first line and continued, “A dance around the world takes me to either the Moon or some flying creature or contraption. Still, there is little lead from those three vague clues. You are quite correct about the jingle being to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Perhaps, though, if I may,” Finnegan shifted weight, uncurling his fingers as if secretly pushing some invisible script from his face before placing his attention on Lady Alyssana, “The actual tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is not just similar to the ABCs or Baa Baa Black Sheep. Ah vous dirais-je, Maman by none other than Mozart himself. Again, we are left with three more vague leads. Whether they are true to the conclusion or not, I would only assume so much, anyhow.” His hand waved in the air again, and landed on the cushion of the chair. His head tilted back, curls a little damp, pressing into the rich fabric, “I wonder, which of these is the shyest?” Light, bright eyes still admiring the Lady through a boyish haze.

"Hmm." Alyssana finally took a seat, settling gracefully the chair next to Finnegan. He'd brought up a good point, that the melody to Twinkle Twinkle was in fact shared by several other songs set to the same tune. "'Ah vous dirais-je, Maman' is not a particularly shy tune. The ABCs are mostly factual. As for 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'," she paused. "I suppose sheep might be seen as shy, but there's no particular reason to think so." She sighed. "Of all these things, I'd think the moon would be the most shy, actually. After all, it's the only one that hides its face regularly -- so to speak. Perhaps a location with 'moon' in the name...but that's still terribly vague."

𝓕innegan made a small hum of a thought, drawing his attention away from Lady Alyssana's moving physique taking towards what she was saying. There was more of a thought for him to try to recall the best smells of Lady Alyssana as she made her distinctions over the letter, “Perhaps, the murderer is not very shy at all. Most certainly, he is using petty poetry to entice his opponents into finding him. He must be bored...” His eyes adverted away from Lady Alyssana. He studied the window and the view outside.

There was still light out, and the steam powered city still seemed to be at a lucrative pace as far as his eyes could venture, “Moon is vague for a location, which could all the more give the murderer a shyer disposition, but I have not the time to go down that venue. Let us stay straight on yours. I happen to wonder if it is something about the night or --,” he looked back to her with shining eyes and a small smile under his carefully mustache. There was still a weakness from his recovery, but he knew well this might have been something, "Do you think the murders have to do with the moon phases?”

"A bored murderer?" Alys said. "Just what we need. Someone who kills people because he doesn't have anything better to do with his time." She sighed. "That will only lead to more killings, I think. Best if we stop him quickly."

Finny brought up a possible connection between phases of the moon and the murders themselves, and Alyssana gave the idea due consideration. "I suppose it's possible," she said at last. "Do we have a timeline of the various murders and an almanac? We could compare the two sets of data."

. . . 𝓐nd therefore, it's dark in my house,

𝓐nd therefore, all of my friends,

𝓛ike sad birds, in the evening aroused,

𝓢ing of love, that was never on land.

“𝓦e do,” Finnegan fell right into line with her words, perpetually looking for an opening to be closer to her and completely missing the part where she -- herself -- allowed it to happen for him. He fiddled with a few nothings on the chair as he made a proper change within his own tone, having noted he had just missed something or another. The gesture deemed itself a bit slow in a strange way as he tried to recall the name of the servant staff on duty. His head was still spinning, but nonetheless, Finnegan stood up and took several steps closer to the embroidered strip of tapestry. It was black and had some Oriental floral design on it. There was something unusual about its display in comparison with the more Victorian and traditionally local styles of his furnishings.

He pulled the string, and the servant bell rang. There was not much a second when a man came through the door. His bald head was shining as he approached the master of the manner, “You rang, Sah?” His accent was a little more relaxed than the other servants, but his quickness seemed to have justified any lazy slip of the tongue, “Lord Walter and Lord Christopher are doing fine, if that is what you are asking. The other servants are seeing to it. They are currently in the yard, examining something or another or some contraption. I can give more specifics as fast you would like, within reason, Sah.”

In a twinkling of a mind's change, Finnegan disregarded everything the servant said, “I need our most recent almanac and if you will, inside my study, on my desk... To the left, there is a book, nicely stacked with a list of dates from newspaper clippings. It is brown coloring of leather with a brass and copper wiring,” his hands remained behind his back, showing not as much flamboyancy when reacting to Lady Alysanna. He turned to the lady and whiffed a bit, “Please, before you leave,” he motioned with his eyes at the butler, “Lady Alyssana, do you wish for anything more?”

The potion had worn off mostly, and Finnegan, alas, felt something more so akin to his regular self,
had the reader noted any difference in the style of writing -- that could frankly be quite it.

𝓦e went out of the stuffy room

𝓞utside, the air languorous and sweet. . .

𝓣he lilac siblings of an indifferent family

𝓦ere staring from the balcony.