#Vallory Malakhov

[maxparkhurst]

Audience

DRUSTVAR, KUL’TIRAS

His nerves grew more frayed as the minutes ticked past. Alone in the parlor, the Kaldorei felt small beneath the dense layer of opulence. Only the finest chattels - cherry wood molding, crystal chandelier, marbled mantle, and velvet curtains the color of Blood Nettle- furnished the room. All gorged in a thin layer of dust’s antiquated beauty. Even the downy chair he perched on threatened to swallow him whole. Acting on comeuppance for the folder that weighed heavily in his lap. Inside it was little secrets held together by two meager staples. He swallowed hard and turned his expectant gaze to the faint sound of footsteps.

Click. Click. Click.

The soft hush of heels echoed in the cavernous room. Swallowed in the niches of a high, sconced ceiling until only muffled silence remained. And when it grew too deafening, stretching nerves thin, the grand oak door opened. Through it stepped a stunning river of maroon fabric, cascading over a generous frame and rippling above the toes of crimson dipped heels.

“Hyleass.”

Her voice traveled free through the air, heralding her sweeping hem across the parlor. She made his name sound so sweet-  as if it were made of honey itself. Rewarded his company with a handcrafted smile.

Hyleass couldn’t ebb the wave of delight that swelled in his chest. With the slight curve of his lips, he rose to meet the manor’s mistress.

“Lady Malakhov,” he mused, drawing her offered hand into his own, “A radiant sight as ever, Kal’dris.”

He placed a chaste kiss upon the backs of her knuckles. And she replied in turn - “Please, Hyleass. Just Vallory”-  with a radiance cast upon him by the air of unrequited laughter. Hyleass might’ve basked in those rays a moment longer if not for the menacing shadows they threw, and the shade which lurked within them. His gaze flicked to the gentleman who followed at the Lady’s hem. A bald-pated man who wore an iron-faced mask. Deepened by slate-grey eyes that sat heavy in his skull, whose gaze pierced through Hyleass’s paper-thin pleasantries. The only thing darker than the man’s dower countenance were the rumors laced with his name- Abel Eloi. Otherwise known as the Black Dog.

“Master Eloi,” he remarked, dipping his head to the notorious shade.

Abel spared the sparsest of smiles as he returned the gesture. “High Alchemist.”

The tension, thick and heavy in the air, seemed to bore the Lady. She dismissed Abel’s curt introduction with a subtle brush of jeweled fingers along his jaw. “Is that any way to greet our esteemed guest, dove?” Her question begged no answer, and she appeared pleased to have been met with respectful silence. She tapped her finger to his chin, “Now. Be a doll and fetch us a bottle of Shal’dorei red.”

“As it pleases you, m’lady.”

Hyleass watched Abel slip from the room, quiet as the shadows on which he drifted in. The space left behind cold and insatiable. “He is,” the elder Alchemist began, seeking refuge within the cushion’s over-bearing embrace, “Still under your employment, I see.”

“Oh yes,” Vallory purred. She circled the parlor floor, hem carried on an unhurried wind, until she drifted into the chase adjacent to his chair. Painted nails drew idle, spiraling patterns into the tufted fabric. “It’s hard to find someone as charming as him.” Her lips curled in a sly smirk. Silk dress drifted as she sprawled herself across the chase, black locks spilling over the side. “He serves me well.”

“Loyalty that knows no bounds cultivates lifelong servitude, dora’dor.” Hyleass arched a brow, fingers curling rivets into the folder. “One may consider that dependency. Surely you must’ve gleaned something from that fox.”

A tired sigh spilled from Vallory’s lips. “You’re speaking in riddles again.” She held her hand to the dim light, inspecting scarlet nails with an air of nonchalance. “And it’s boring. I don’t cater to guests who bore me.” She pointed at his lap.

And Hyleass followed it down to the folder.

“Speak to me plainly,” -a demand rather than a question- “Why have you sought an audience?”

And so it was time.

Hyleass straightened his posture and prepared himself to throw his cast. “I’ve brought news,” - he extended the folder out to the Lady- “From Stormwind--  Of the Parkhurst siblings.”

There- the first fissure in her well-manicured facade manifested by the curve of her lips. Hylaess caught the Lady’s attention, and welcomed her curious gaze as she freed him of his burden. She slid upright, slender leg folding over the other, and plucked the folder. Idle moments spent leafing through the papers and photos within. Something in particular piqued her curiosity. She rapped a nail upon the page before peering over its lip to Hyleass.

“What is all of this?”

The Kaldorei leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on adjacent knees, and nodded to the papers. “Records of the youngest’s petition. He sought certification, and the Board denied him advancement.”

She breathed a hum. Plucking a photo from the cluster, she turned absently between her fingers. Hyleass only caught the briefest glimpses of the young man’s beaming smile. “Poor apprentice,” she lamented, tutting with the shake of her head, “Trapped for another year in his sister’s shadow.”  A laugh touched her lips. The photo tossed back into the pile—Tell-tales signs of her waning interest.

“He’s quite unlike his sister,” Hyleass added earnestly, “Optimistic. Trusting. Naïve. ”

Vallory’s chin fell into an open palm. The paint upon her nails glistened as she drummed fingers along her jaw. “So I’ve noted. She’s adept at sheltering him. This is nothing new.”

“Yes. But now?” He reached for the folder in silent askance. She waved him on. And so, he leafed through the procured papers until he found the right image. The photo was held between them, though Hyleass could only see the Lady’s bemused expression. How her sly smirk deflated into a contemplative pout, and her shaped brows dipped in a sudden furrow. A shiver of titillation danced down his spine when her fingers brushed against his own, accepting the photograph with tentative stupor.

She licked her lips. Spoke after a moment’s silence, voice vacant of its usual warmth. “She is…”

“ - Distracted.” Hyleass settled back. Felt, for the first time, the cushion’s embrace to be welcoming. “Yes. Her attention diverted from her beloved apprentice. He’s taken that as an opportunity to enact a bit of independence. Found alone more often than not these days. Perhaps there is tension between the two….” The statement was left to simmer in the air.

It sat for seconds that drew into minutes—thickened by the sudden quiet which befell the Lady. Hyleass shifted in his seat. Callused hands working warmth in his fingers as he flexed them. He almost spoke again when the oak door opened. His gaze immediately found Abel’s as the shade drifted in with burdened tray in hand.

“M’lady,” - Abel offered her a maroon-filled glass- “Vintage. As to your liking.”

Vallory accepted with a soft hum and said nothing more. The wine stained her lips a deeper red as she took a thoughtful sip. Her gaze trained on the ripples inside crystal glass.

Hyleass ignored the indignation Abel’s gaze burned into his head. Instead, he beckoned for Vallory’s attention by ways of an uplifted hand. “Does this,” - he canted his head, ears flicking with newly set nerves- “Please you?”

Her lips lingered over the stained glass. Her gaze slow to find Hyleass from its distant contemplation. She rewarded his patience with a handcrafted smile, placing her hand into his palm. “Yes,” she purred, setting her glass upon Abel’s tray, “It pleases me greatly.”

Relief filled Hyleass’s chest. He all but melted beneath Vallory’s warm touch, drawing her fingers to his lips once more. Though, he did not receive another taste. No, she was quick to withdraw her hand. Paired it with its partner in folded pleasantry upon her lap. His palm remiss over the cold left in her wake.

“Though…” she mused, inclining her head, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, Kal’dris.”

She hummed. Smooth and rich, it floated through the air with ease. And settled warm in Hyleass’s ears. He smiled despite hearing her request- he already decided he’d accept.

“Take the boy under your tutelage,” - she settled back into her nest of opulence- “Earn his trust. His confidence. And then?” Sharp like a dagger’s point, her grin grew. “See what he knows.”

[Prelude]

[maxparkhurst]

what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

"Your smile…" 

Vallory's voice broke through the comfortable quiet, dancing across the dinner table to prompt Max's curious gaze. The subtlest of grins tugged at Max's lips and revealed a thin flash of teeth. She returned her attention momentarily to her meal. Took a tentative slurp of soup before canting her head. 

The Lady Malakhov sat at the table's head, peering over the lip of aged red wine. Unlike her companion, who wolfed down her meal, she left her food untouched and only took careful sips. The stain of wine still lingered on her lips as she creased them in a cordial smile. It did little to honey the curt tone which fell from them. 

"Fix it." 

O' happy dagger lined with venom; how it chilled the warmth settling in Max's stomach when it slid between her ribs. Her grin faded from view. Gaze dropped to the floor. The goosed flesh crawling up her arm found by her hand, nails picking and picking and picking. She could feel the weight of silence pressing on her shoulders, crushing the breath from her lungs. A moment drew into several until she managed to choke out, "What's wrong with it?"

 From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her Lady's gold-trimmed hem as it swept across the floor. The soft clop of Vallory's heels answered her question. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click. Max swallowed hard. 

Vallory coaxed Max's chin up. Forced their eyes to meet as she hitched a thumb in the corner of Max's lips. "Smile,"- her thumb jerked- "As you normally would." 

And Max did. She smiled in a way she hadn't in so many years. Her whole face contorted under its weight. Her lips pulled past teeth and reached her eyes; all the while feeling as empty and ethereal as an old, forgotten memory. 

Her reward was an approving nod. 

"See," Vallory mused, turning Max's attention to her reflection cast in the windowpane, "Look at that oafish grin. Very unpleasant. Highly unattractive. Tell me, dove, do you know what kind of girls have this smile?" 

"No…" 

Vallory found Max's eyes through the reflection- "Stupid ones"- as she brushed aside a lock of errant hair. "And you, dove, are not stupid. Are you?" 

Max shook her head. 

"No…" Vallory circled Max's chair, hands gliding over her shoulders until they lingered at the collar bone. "You are a clever girl. So, let's fix that oafish smile of yours." 

Thanks for the ask, @terranlloyd!