Conversation long overdue.

[Cinnabar]

Addressed in the neat copperplate recognisable to various of the scribes and functionaries of Myrken's government, a letter makes its way to the Meetinghouse a day or two after the Governor's speech.

To Glenn Burnie, Governor of Myrken Wood

Governor Burnie

First of all, my congratulations on your new title - if there was ever a man I'd trust with the responsibilities of the role, it would be yourself. I have every confidence that you will continue to safeguard the interests of Myrken Wood and her people, as you have for longer than has been generally recognised.

My thanks also for the kind words in your recent speech, which are likely more than I deserve given how remiss I have been in carrying out the more public duties expected of me. I am sorry that I was not there when needed, and that my absence placed such a burden on your own shoulders.

In any case, it happens that I have a number of items associated with the Governor's office of which I no longer have need, and should entrust to your hands. When would be a convenient time for you to receive them?

Sincerely

Cinnabar Calomel

[Glenn]

"So." The man in black paced about the room, impatient of this entire situation. He had waited for his employer to read the note five, six times, as if he was searching for some sort of code within the very straightforward words.

Burnie, seated at his desk and clad in those finely clothes of earth tones, mainly browns and tans, finally looked up. "So," he repeated.

Giuseppe finally stopped and turned, nodding. "Cinnabar Calomel, then." This was an issue and the hired man hoped very much that Glenn would see it as such. He was.. unpredictable lately. Dangerously so. "Well, at least you spoke well of him in your speech."

"I meant what I said, and for more than the sake of continuity and because the two regimes will be associated no matter what," almost dismissively from Glenn. "He was a good man and a surprisingly good governor, considering where we are, at least up until the end." Then, just a little pause, though his hand was raised in order to hold off the Southerner from saying more. "Cinnabar Calomel." And here a little bemused smile came over the Governor's face. "Cinnabar is nothing if not practical. Everything that I have done... every single thing, is likely something he had wished to do himself, in one way or another. He wished for the same results, even if his means might have been different. He will understand all that I've done. Not agree, perhaps, but at least understand, especially if we're just talking about what he'll find out about." Most of all, he was no Bromn. He was no fool populist. The well-being of the people was far more important than the will of the people.

"Still, the question, the key question," Giuseppe finally interjected. There had been some sentimentality in Burnie's voice, not much but some, more than there would have been months ago. His employee, however, had none. "is whether or not he intends to be a presence in Myrken now. Understanding and affection aside, his mere presence, if not carefully managed, could undo everything you've been working for."

Papers were shuffled upon the desk. The words just spoken, strong as they were, only earned a little shrug. "Opportunity and danger." The joys of politics, especially when old friendships were involved. "Well, let's find out then." He nodded Giuseppe away and began to write a response.

It was a simple thing. Informal. For now, there was tonal luxury and Glenn meant to make the most of it.

To Cinnabar Calomel

Cinnabar,

Come when you can. But soon.

Glenn

[Cinnabar]

It's been a while since Cinnabar last visited the Meetinghouse; his business had been conducted through government couriers, dispatch boxes carried to and from the Calomel farm every day or two, a constant trickle of bureaucratic minutiae for his attention. Then it had dried up.

On visiting Myrkentown to investigate he'd seen fresh-pasted bills declaring the new appointments to the Council. An even mix of names familiar and unknown, but with a name of particular interest at the bottom.

He'd made another trip into town for the speech, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Myrkentown's citizens to hear the new Governor address his people.

And now he was back in the heart of Myrken's government, though this time as a private citizen. Neatly-attired for the winter weather in shades of grey, sword and dagger at his belt and a sturdy dispatch box tucked under one arm, exchanging small-talk with one of the Constables in the lobby as he waited to be called into the Governor's office.

He knew the way, and would give himself fair chances of being able to stroll in unopposed, but... no. That'd be a poor message to send. No sense in treading on anyone's toes.

[Glenn]

What the former Governor probably did not expect was to hear a rural accented female voice behind him. It was a strange sort of summons. "Uh, Mister Cinnabar? Governor Cinnabar? Mister Calomel?" Glenn Burnie believed in second chances, third chances even. There were exceptions of course. Drow did not get second chances. Demons did not get second chances. Dragons did not get second chances. Subordinates though, especially enthusiastic Myrkenborn girls who were just trying to do right by their homeland and their families. They were allowed second chances. Mary's contribution to the Catch problem had been particularly disastrous, but she was not let go. Still she was, perhaps, demoted a bit, and that's why she had been waiting, impatiently, in the meetinghouse for Calomel's arrival. If he had taken a week to get there, she would have spent a week standing about waiting.

"Cinnabar." She repeated, quickly getting distracted. She was a lanky sort of girl with bright red hair in a ponytail, right around twenty, perhaps. Her freckled face contained bright green eyes, full of curiosity and determination if not outright cleverness. "I understand the value in alliteration," and she spoke that word with some pride, pride that she knew it, "but I just don't understand why someone would name their child Cinnabar. It's hardly a proper name. It'd be like naming them Pyrite, or Quartz." She scratched at the side of her head for a moment, head whipping the other way, ponytail flying the other direction due to the motion. "Quartz isn't THAT bad a name I guess. And Pyrite wouldn't be bad for a dragon, I suppose."

It was then, only, that she stopped her nattering and looked up to the man before her. "Oh! Uh," her face turned red, those freckles getting lost in a sea of embarrassment. "That is Mister.. I mean, GOVERNOR Burnie, has yet to fully move his office from the Inquisitory building, and requests that you let me escort you there for this meeting. It's not far, as you know." Cinnabar had signed off on its creation, after all, and approved the change of name from the Investigator's office. Or at least she assumed he did. "If you would follow me?" And then, still rather overcome by the moment, she darted off towards the door.

[Cinnabar]

His chat with the Constable interrupted, pale brows are raised in polite query and then bemusement as the girl rambles; when she finally gets to the point, though, the once-Governor grins and ducks his head in a quick bow.

"Mister Calomel is fine, thank you. Or Cinnabar if you prefer." He tips his hat in hurried farewell to the Constable before hurrying after the girl who is apparently to be his guide. He keeps pace easily enough, the easy stride of one accustomed to walking most places.

"Sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"

[Glenn]

The young woman tried to turn her head, manage a provincial sort of curtsy and walk all at the same time. That her feet didn't go flying up over her head was some small miracle. "Mary Ford, Cinnabar." She seemed all too eager to leap at the former governor's first name, as if just with that invitation, she had managed some agile bit of social climbing. "Miss Mary Ford," she managed to add while JUST avoiding the door frame. "The Ford farm isn't too far from the Calomel farm. Only an hour's walk." That was stated as if it somehow made them virtual neighbors.

One invitation led to floodgates opening, and she was soon telling him her life story. A clever mother and a loving enough father, being a precocious teenager who snuck into town and then again into the Library of Mudd to teach herself to read, and refusing to leave until the librarian helped her. How Burnie had found her during his mapmaking travels through the countryside and hadn't forgotten her, years later, when he came to power. By now, they had worked there way past the relatively small number of buildings necessary to reach the Inquisitory and she seemed almost disappointed and surprised by that fact. "Oh. Well, we're here. Straight on through." She darted forth to open the door for him, disallowing for any chivalry on his part. "Very nice to make your acquaintance Cinnabar." She finished, finding some of her manners at the very end.

It was a building of two rooms. One large chamber in front, quite large, actually, and one office in the back. The large room was full of desks and tables with the two dozen or more researchers Glenn employed working hard on reports and equations, all with books or papers of some sort in front of them. A clear path in the middle of the room led straight on to the office. As Calomel would enter, the sound of writing and chattering would fade away completely. There was some whispering, some pointing, but most of all there were knowing gazes and all-too familiar smiles. He might recognize one or two researchers from various government work before he left, yes, but that wasn't what this sort of familiarity was about. Their livelihood and passion was to understand the stories of Myrken, the more peculiar the better, and all of them felt they knew Cinnabar Calomel on some level, with a select few of them feeling like they knew him on MANY levels. For those, there was a bit less of a smile and more of a respectful nod. As he would pass, however, one row after the next would look back down and return to its work.

[Cinnabar]

For his part Cinnabar smiled, nodded, and proved himself to be a patient and attentive listener. A question here, an encouraging nod there, and they reach their destination and with no time for him to recount his own history. Which is quite to his tastes.

"A pleasure, Mary. Maybe we'll meet again, hm?"

On into the Inquisitory, and a long moment of quiet as the researchers regarded him, and he them. Hm. Not keen on those overly knowing smiles, his demeanour shifted subtly in response; the pleasant smile from his conversation with Mary fading, his posture more assertive, eye-contact held a fraction longer than might be considered entirely genial. To the others, though, those nods were returned on his way to the Governor's office door.

He knocked briskly, no further attention paid to the scribes and researchers, hefting the dispatch box under his arm while he waited.

[Glenn]

The governor opened the door. Very likely he had been notified in advance who was to be on the other side of it and when; probably he was notified shortly after Calomel walked into the Meetinghouse, maybe even into town. Honestly, while Glenn wouldn't come to him or prematurely move himself in order to meet him, the fact that both men would be standing as Cinnabar entered made some prickly protocol issues much, much easier. "Come in, Cinnabar." A full name, but with it a smile.

The room itself was full of papers, books, and files. There had been some attempt to organize them, to get them into boxes and crates in order to facilitate the move to the Meetinghouse, but it was rather a one step forward, two steps back sort of endeavor. Progress took time, and it got in the way of far more pressing business.

As for Burnie himself, he was much as Cinnabar remembered, a bit older perhaps, dressed more nicely, seeming well rested (which was new to him), and full of less intensity but more quiet confidence, and such a clarity to his gaze, an almost unnerving clarity. There was no hug from Burnie, but instead a firm handshake. Calomel's strength was far more considerable of course, but restraint was expected. Firm but not a challenge. "Come in. I imagine we have a lot to talk about." The comfy chair had been brought out for this meeting and sat across from Glenn's well made, functional seat on the other side of his table. "First and foremost, how is your daughter?"

[Cinnabar]

"Thank you, Governor." A wry grin at that last word, an unspoken acknowledgement of how things have changed since last they spoke. Glenn's handshake was returned in kind before he stepped further into the office, setting down the dispatch box beside the offered seat and removing his hat and coat. A glanced survey of those heaps of files and papers was cut short by the Governor's question, drawing Cinnabar's attention back to the young man. Not as young, not as naive as he had been, but that was years before.

"Callista? She's very well, thank you. And our sons." That prompted a wider smile, pride mixed with chagrin; a reminder of how deeply out of contact they had been. "Cargan will be two this summer. And the twins, Cadan and Cavan, six months old now." Clearly Mary's remark about alliteration was by no means far from the mark.

"Cam sends her regards also. We've all been well, just... avoiding attention." And not without reason. The farm still bore painful memories of the Ashfiend's attack, even years after the fact; charred timbers being reclaimed by weeds and undergrowth, quiet monuments to balefire and murder.

"More to the point, though, how have you been? And Rhaena? As you say, we've a lot to talk about." A pause, thoughtful for a moment, a touch of doubt at the appropriateness of his tone; perhaps he presumed too much, assuming a friendship would endure four years of whatever Myrken might do to a man. Burnie was different, that much was manifestly clear; why or how that change had been effected, though, Cinnabar could hardly guess. So much catching up. But first things first.

"Glenn," Dropping the pretence of protocol for a moment, the titles and trappings. "I'm sorry it's been so long. And that I've not been here."

[Glenn]

No little cakes. No cucumber sandwiches. No offer of tea. No offer of brandy. These things didn't belong in Glenn Burnie's office unless absolutely necessary. Years ago, Cinnabar Calomel attempted to find everyday humanity in routine and protocol. Glenn Burnie felt his humanity in the most visceral sense possible, soul or not. The last thing he needed was some artificial air of civility and manners. When necessary, he could adapt but it was hardly necessary here.

"I had thought that Callista might have reached an age where she was starting to learn how.." He had thought that too, but obviously with three YOUNGER children, he had been mistaken. No more words in that direction, not from Glenn at least. The question of other children though? That was more pressing. Cambree had gone into labor twice since Calomel last saw Burnie and he hadn't been notified... well, that was rather hard to swallow. Still, much had been revealed in these facts. "You are back primarily to give me the trappings of office, then." A statement, not a question. The need to be a recluse was obviously still present. The alternative, of course, spoke of a very deep betrayal.

A nod for Cambree's regards, with such a thing quickly returned. "Rhaena says hello as well, and," for just a moment, Burnie would stare at the silver-haired man across the table, as if trying to find the correct words. "And I am not going to repeat her comments about the babies, but picture a rather high pitched squeal of excitement and you come rather close." No ring upon his finger, no outwards sign of magic, but there it was. Rhaena Olwak was always with him and yet those eyes sparkled with such biting clarity. "She is well, pleasant, though it has been a long road for her, and a sharp one for myself." But his tone, too, was pleasant. Had that sharp edge of life cut him to the deep? If so, he refused to acknowledge it with more but a few words.

At least until Cinnabar's apology. Days upon days in the hopeless darkness and no one came to rescue him. They had come for Bromn. They had come for Treadwell, even, but no one came for Glenn Burnie. So he found his way out, at the cost of all that he was. His expression was calm, even. His eyes were clear but certainly without emotion. There was no rancor or distaste in his voice. "I am glad you said that, Cinnabar. I hope that being able to, in my presence, gave you a modicum of peace you may have been missing. That would make me glad. One chooses one's responsibilities in life." A glance to the left and then to the right, before his eyes looked straight on past the former Governor. "This is my family."

No offers of forgiveness. No denial of it either. He freely gave Rhaena's regard. He freely gave his own. Now, even after THAT, he would give the man who was once his best of friends a wholly honest, if strangely timed smile. "Tell me, then, Cinnabar, what do you intend?"

[Cinnabar]

The trappings of office. A fitting way to phrase it, and one which had a brief and mirthless smile flickering at the corner of the former Governor's mouth.

"That's part of it - papers, various bits and pieces you might find useful." A glance and a nod to the dispatch box, slightly scuffed from its travels to and from the Calomel farm. "But I'll admit it's primarily a pretext." To visit the new Governor, maybe to renew something he'd allowed to languish and fade.

The description of Rhaena's reaction sparked a more genuine smile, though tinged with some uncertainty at that tone, that gaze. He recalled a young man of conviction and restless energy, and the comparison with the man before him was not an entirely comforting one. Then the flat acceptance of Cinnabar's apology, no anger, no recrimination, not even curiosity. That arrested his attention more than anything, and he watched for some hidden meaning behind the cordial words, some hint as to the true feelings covered by this mask of pleasant civility.

Nothing.

Then that question of intent.

"To make amends, if possible."

[Glenn]

Pretext. For a moment, the term dug in like a frustrating burr that one simply could not shake. There were better ways, more fitting ways, to reach Glenn Burnie. If Cinnabar wanted some sort of reconciliation, he could have found better ways, but then, lately, no one else had either. This is just where the Governor was to be found now. The price one paid, perhaps. Of course, it was also an easy option for Cinnabar. Glenn would not fault him for taking it, but nor would he deny it for what it was.

Instead, "I'm always glad to get more papers. I'm sure there's a missing puzzle piece somewhere in there." A glance for the box and then to the papers around the room. "And I have so many puzzles. If it helps, and it helped me, I made Kerrak apologize for blowing up the old Meetinghouse and leaving us in this wretched state of reverse investigation." Another lighter bit of conversation there, albeit not one that made much sense, but then again, this was Myrken. Perhaps it did make sense after all.

Energy had apparently given way to decisiveness, to control. If anyone knew control, it was Calomel and the sheer effortlessness, the casual nature of it all, how Burnie wielded it like he wielded a rapier, it had to impress, and yes, perhaps distress as well.

"Amends," and considering the slowly developing tenor of the conversation, perhaps it was a small mercy that Glenn continued to smile, all too easily, but honestly as well. "It is a fine intention, Cinnabar. Amends to me? Amends to Myrken? Amends to yourself?"

[Cinnabar]

"Kerrak?" That provoked a frown, bemused. "I thought he died." Bemusement but not too much more; this is Myrken, and far stranger things have happened.

The Governor's control was considerable - near-absolute, indeed - and increasingly unsettling for that fact. He'd a talent for noting subtleties of manner, the details that betrayed mood, intent, uncertainty, untruth; a keen eye for such unthinking cues, and yet Burnie was as inscrutable as the desk, the chair. His mouth formed a smile, and yet...

Nothing. Just a smile. No deceit, but no spark either. Hollow.

"To you, yes." Suspicions had taken root, suspicions and fears. How badly had he failed his friend?

"Tell me how."

[Glenn]

Kerrak did die. In fire and failure and tragedy. And now he was back. And Glenn had given him an official position. At this, he'd just shrug a little. "It's rarely the ones we want to come back to life." Then a little pause. "Usually it's just Bromn, actually." That might have been a joke. It was somehow hard to tell today.

"To me." Burnie parroted the notion if not the exact words. "Even to Myrken. Oh, I could make use of you, Cinnabar. A dozen ways." That hand rose again, fingers splayed. With each possibility, he flicked one down. "High Constable once more. Hunting down Jirai and Suede. Stopping Karolinger. Recovering the horn. Being the fourth member of the Defense Committee, which, might I add, would mean I would have to become the tie-breaker vote," a little grin at that, though it seemed a private joke. Fingers went back up as he continued. "Dealing with the dragoness, either of them. Acting as an Adviser like Bromn wished to be. The thrice-damned ambassador to Razasan. Rooting out Thessaline's spies. Overseeing the construction of the new Gaol." Ten, and at that, his hand went down completely. "Helping Catch find his humanity, and showing him why he should even look for it in the first place." A little nod at his last comment, as if the young Governor had decided which he preferred. Then he actually frowned just a bit. "Hm. Only eleven. Sorry, Cinnabar. It's not a comment on your worth. I suppose the dozen would be you carrying all these boxes to the meetinghouse. Seems a bit of a waste though."

If there was any large weight of emotion bearing down upon Glenn Burnie, there was no sign of it at all. Hollow? Perhaps, but with a flourish. Artful. Even passionate, yet still somehow empty? It was a paradox, but then he had always liked those. "I rather like the last one, you know, not the box moving bit.. but that's hardly the point." The hand would rise back up once more, as if to halt Calomel from responding, from asking questions. It was the once-mapmaker's most annoying mannerism now that he's stopped tapping a walking stick incessantly upon the ground.

"The point, Cinnabar, is this." His eyes would shift from the man before him to the box he brought. He would offer a little nod towards it. It meant everything. "Right now you're free. If you leave me that box, get up, turn around, and walk out that door, you are free. You made your apology. I heard it. I did not contest it. You have no further obligation to me. You can walk out that door. You can go back to your wife. You can go back to your FOUR assuredly strange and wonderful children." His voice softened for just a moment as he continued. "Perhaps spawn two or three more since you're obviously on pace for that." Then it rose back to a normal volume. "If you just do that, you can have what no one in our beloved hellhole of Myrken ever gets to have. You can have a happy ending. And I will have one more reason to fight for what I believe in, for MY family, for MY home, because I know in doing so, you get to keep that happy ending."

Those crystal clear eyes bore down upon Cinnabar Calomel. "You've seen it. You know better than anyone what Myrken can do to someone. You come back and focus on even one of those tasks I just mentioned, and you invite ruin into your life. There was a cost to you leaving when you did, Cinn. It was already paid by those who remained. You try to pay it back now and you risk all that has already been purchased." The governor's posture shifted into a more relaxed position, leaning back in the chair. Not quite leaning the chair back in the air, but it was a close thing. "Could I use you? Of course, absolutely. Would that be the best way to make amends? Compared to the alternative? I don't know. you tell me."

[Cinnabar]

A list of possible tasks, and each invited its own questions. A few familiar names, but their latest misdeeds unclear; other references to matters unknown and yet clearly pressing. Horn? Dragoness? Catch? Questions forestalled, though, by that gesture. Very well. The questions could wait, but not forever.

And finally the choice, laid out with unflinching clarity. The choice he'd made before, when he withdrew from the chaos of Myrkentown, from the province's wider events. It had bought him peace, yes; respite, after the ravages of the Ashfiend and Myrken's other monsters. A time to heal, to better understand why he and others had stood against the wickedness that seemed to rise up from the ground itself.

And now that choice again. A long hesitation after the Governor stopped speaking, grey eyes focused somewhere other than the stacks of files and papers that surrounded him; anywhere other than Glenn, with his unsettling, unreadable calm.

"You're wrong." No challenge, but a flat statement of fact. "I - we are not free, nor safe, nor can we rely on a happy ending just by keeping our heads down and avoiding attention. Myrken's monsters feast on people just trying to live in peace. You know that." Memories rose unbidden from his time as Constable, and even Governor: silent farmsteads, the residents taken by surprise and butchered without mercy; unassuming households burned, whole families put to the sword.

"I've no doubt I owe you a great deal for what we have, for the time we've had. That I've had. Good fortune too, but I daren't rely on that overmuch." A decision, then. Uncertain at first, but with building conviction as he came to realise the truth of it.

"That Myrken's people have even a chance at happiness is thanks to those others who fight for it. I know that, you know that." For a long while he'd worked at a distance, believing that he was still doing his part, albeit more subtly, behind the scenes. How much had those boxes of paperwork really contributed to Myrken's safety, or even to his own? At last his gaze met Glenn's once more, clear and determined.

"If I can help, I'd like to. I'm not much for politics any more, but you know what I can do." Better even than those smirking researchers in the next room. "How best can I keep my family safe?"