Tyen Manor
Shortly after midnight

The time close to the holidays tended to be rough for Melanthe, mainly because December 19 was her father's birthday and it was always full of the most potent memories of him. Usually, a good portion of the day was spent with her brother or her uncle, sharing several drinks in honor of Orfeo Grumman's memory. This year had been no different and now she was returning from her evening out to an empty Tyen Manor.

Several drinks by her standards was not enough to get the dark witch intoxicated to the point of incoherence. But it was enough to make her more reserved and moody than usual. Not that there was anyone else at the shadowy abode to endure it. Melanthe's brother had returned to London and her mother hadn't been to Tyen in years.

Even though it was still early by partying standards, Melanthe was not in the mood for seeking out some of her socialite friends in order to continue with the drinking fun. Instead, she began the slow walk through the house, essentially shutting it down for the night as she usually did before she went to bed.

In truth, it was an unnecessary routine, as the house elves could just as easily tend to it after she had made her way to bed. But it was something she had done for years. At first, she considered that it was her hopeful subconscious believing that one time she would find her father in the rounds. That he really hadn't died so tragically all those years ago. He would pop out from behind a curtain or come bounding down the stairs. He would be so vibrant and alive.

That never happened, but on this particular evening, as Melanthe walked down the hallway leading to his office, her hopes had been renewed again. She spotted the glowing light coming from underneath the closed door.

Melthane frowned and was about to turn and call for one of the house elves to come and explain to her the meaning of it. She had stipulated to them that this room of any in the manor was off limits to everyone. Even Melanthe rarely ever entered the room out of reverence for her father's space. If she absolutely needed to go inside, she had a plan for what she was looking for and was in and out as swiftly as she could manage.

With a frustrated sigh, Melanthe decided it would be easier to forgo berating the help and just turn the light off herself. She'd get to the bottom of it in the morning. She stormed inside the study only to stop short at the sight of someone sitting at her father's desk.

Melanthe's anger immediately simmered and she hotly demanded, "What are you doing here and how the hell did you get in?" Both were legitimate questions for the man before her, as Tyen Manor was one of the most secure locations she had ever known, thanks in large part to measures taken by Orfeo Grumman before his death. Only those with Grumman blood coursing through their veins could come and go from the home at will.

And this person was no Grumman.

Retreating leaves a sour taste in any soldier's mouth, but at least soldiers get to turn around and charge again within six hours.  Fourteen years was a long time to be away from his own backyard of London, and in his business, in any business, fourteen years could be crippling to an industry.  It was disastrous to an empire and his was just as susceptible to economic wear and tear, or idle hands as the next.  He would rebuild of course, but research needed to be done, friendships and bribery renewed, and most importantly respects needed to be paid.  He had hoped to do much of it in this one visit but it seemed fourteen years had severed many ties indeed, and whether this one could be restrung was a strange sense of the unknown.

You see Orfeo Grummen is - was - a respectable, honorable and reliable man.  He was also one of Richard's best and most trustful suppliers of his trade.  It had been many years since he'd set foot on the Teyn property lawn, longer since he'd last spoken to Grummen, and longer still since he'd seen the manor this void of the family.  Discovering Orfeo's passing had left him confused as to how to handle the situation.  The time for honor mourning was past for family, the children would be long grown, but the real question was just which had inherited the property?  Orfeo had promised him he would always be welcome, but that did not mean they would remember him after this long a time.

Needless to say his decision was that he had to pay some amount of respect to his comrade and so after arriving shortly past ten, he let himself in.  For what it was worth being a far from respectable hour he had expected to be stopped, but was not, nor did he argue this lack of security either.  It wasn't his place.  Much of the manor was as he remembered, including the location of the study where many a business deals had been formulated.  He let himself in there too, but spent several moments standing in the silent darkness.  He felt no hostility, but that hardly mattered with hauntings these days. 

"Would you have me leave, old friend?" He mused as he lit a candle on the desk and lay his dark green traveling cloak over the chair.  "Talking to myself it seems.  Fine way to pass the time.  A but nutty, but I suppose I have much to reminisce on, no?"  More silence.  No, Orfeo did not haunt this room, he would have made himself known by now.  Well maintained but nothing removed nor added, even the chair in which he now rested hadn't been moved in at least a decade.  A shame, it was such a nice chair, he should know, he'd been the one to both organize it's theft and smuggle it out of Italy as cover payment to a debt.  All that was left to do now was wait, even if it meant till tomorrow's dawn...

---

An hour and half later there were footfalls up the hall, neither loud nor hurried but still carried by the nighttime  silence quite well.  The owner was home.  Since no one could afford this property if they tried, yet alone even consider growing the stones to ask the Grummen's to sell, he could only assume that it was one of the children.  Either that or the apple had fallen far from the tree indeed and the shrine like state in which he found the room was nothing more than a coincidence.  That was unlikely.  He made no effort to douse the candle, let the find him as he was, but he did casually withdraw his wand.  No one could ever call Burke foolish, a gambler maybe but never foolish.  A click of the handle and....

"What are you doing here and how the hell did you get in?"

Interesting.  The math had been done in his head in a mere moment.  It wasn't the tone of the young woman that held his tongue but rather the young woman herself.  The last time Melanthe had seen Richard he was certain she wasn't even half of his height and now, well now what could be said?  She'd grown up, reminding him that he too had grown older, although he scarcely felt it.  She was certainly attractive likely both commanding and deserving respect wherever she may walk, but as Orfeo's daughter she had already earned Richard's long ago

"The hour is late, I'm aware but really, don't you think that's a bit harsher than you need to be to a family friend?" Burke questioned as he respectfully rose from the chair.  "Your father would hardly approve."

Melanthe's hand instinctively moved to withdraw her wand, or her father's wand, rather. An intruder in her house?! That simply would not do at all! The man's presence at Tyen was startling to say the least, mainly because of all the security measures that had been taken with the home for years. If they were failing to do their job, perhaps it was time to revisit them and strengthen the protection every inch of the place to prevent intrusions like this from happening.

When the man did not answer right away, Melanthe stepped further into her father's study. She was filled with some trepidation, but not because of the man she was advancing towards. Her hesitation was more due to the fact that she rarely spent time in this part of the house because it had belonged to her father. But on this day, of all days, his presence did seem to be more potent for her than usual.

Her dark eyes almost turned black when her visitor finally spoke. A family friend? A great many people could claim that they had been friends with her father over the years. But few could truly be considered close enough to the dark wizard to have the term family connected to the friendship.

Thus, Melanthe was wary of the man and suspicious of his claims. Something about him did indeed seem familiar, but that could easily be in a negative way. She stepped up to the desk opposite the man as he rose from the chair. Jaw clenched and hardening the rest of her distinctive features that showed a clear resemblance to the fallen father of which they both spoke, Melanthe pointed her wand at the intruder and countered, "Family friend  or not, my father would hardly approve of unannounced visitors either. Unless...." Her voice trailed off as she narrowed her eyes and peered more closely at him. "It involves business matters." Melanthe quietly demanded, "Who are you? And what is your business here? Is it with him?" Her eyes moved around the office, which spoke to Orfeo Grumman's sole lingering  presence in the house. Then they returned to the unidentified man. "Or is it with me?"

Both now had wands drawn, and although Richard held his in a far more casual manner it was still a highly fluid and potentially volatile situation.  She was careful, cautious even and yet still intrigued.  Angry but completely calm in demeanor.  Clearly she had a feeling of violation and...did we already mention she was angry?  No matter.  Her wand had caught his eye, mainly because he knew the wand wasn't exactly hers if his memory served correctly.

"Family friend  or not, my father would hardly approve of unannounced visitors either. Unless...."

What her father would or would not approve of was never questioned in his mind.  Then again, when  one is forced to ground for fourteen years, it certainly doesn't make announcing one's arrival very feasible.  Orfeo's being deceased certainly did not make matters any less tenuous.  Her eyes narrowed as the inner machines of her mind continued to work.  Still Richard said nothing, since one, interrupting was rude and two, she had him at a much more vantageable wand point.  They seemed like good enough factors for him.

"It involves business matters.  Who are you? And what is your business here? Is it with him?"" Another pause.  "Or is it with me?"

"Straight to the heart of the matter I see.  Well, I think by now if either of us planned on using our wands we would have - although the results of your work and mine would likely be very different as I believe that -" He nodded to the outstretched piece of craftsmanship.  "is not yours.  Nine and a half inches, African Blackwood.  Your father and I discussed it at length, the core is a runespoor fang you know."  He paused to collect his thoughts and stow his wand.  He still was not sure just how trusting to be of the young witch.  She carried herself much like her father in attitude, but anyone could deceive if they cared to try.  The man's brown eyes remained unwavering, cat and mouse was a fun game, but it was better played when both sides weren't trying to play cat.

"My name I doubt you would remember.  You were merely a child the last time we met.   As to business, initially, my business was with your father.  Am I to assume that his passing places my business now in your hands?   Or shall I expect the respective authorities momentarily to tell me I've won myself a tour of scenic  Siberian prison interests?"

Her grip tightened around the shaft of her father's wand as she waited for his extended explantion for his presence in her home. His capacity for being vague was wearing at her patience and Melanthe tilted her chin up in a defiant manner. The shadows cast over her features from the light in the room again highlighted the likeness to her father.

Melanthe cautiously stepped further into the room. She lowered the wand when it became clear that plans to use his were probably not at the top of his list of things to do and instead pointed it towards the fireplace, using it to create a fire in the gloomy room to go along with the candle light.

She then moved to sit in the chair across the desk from him, watching him intently as he proceeded to size up the situation, and her wand. Immediately, Melanthe became defensive.

"Of course it is mine," she countered hotly, her steely chocolate gaze flashing with clear emotion. "The wand chooses its master. And if my father had died of natural causes, it most certainly would have chosen me as its next owner. But we both know that he was killed and his wand thus taken by his murderer." With an air of self confidence and a sly smile, she proceeded to inform him, "I just fixed that little glitch by hunting down his killer and making sure he met the same fate."

Her confidence wavered the moment he mentioned the core of the wand. She had always been told that the core to her father's wand was a chimera scale, because it was considered extremely powerful and could only be passed down through the family. Given her family's connection to snakes, the Runespoor fang was not unusual, but if that was indeed the core, it angered Melanthe that this man knew it and she hadn't.

Chewing on her lower lip, she decided not to engage in a feeble protest or tell him that he was lying, just to prove he knew her father. Instead, she turned her attention to what he said about remembering him. Her eyes narrowed as she focused in on his face, inspecting every inch of it for some shred of familiarity to her. How did she know him? When had she seen him here with her father? And what would this man look like back then? For inasmuch as she had changed, surely this rogue man had as well.

After a long silence that had become like another entity in the room, she told him, "You are right. I do not remember your name. But I do remember a man--albeit a much younger man--" she paused, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Of your likeness being the only one of his business partners who my father would allow into our cellars." Her brow shot up, signaling she was still skeptical about trusting him, even though she knew that he had been one of her father's closest allies. After one last purse of her lips, she spoke again. "You assume correctly. Tyen and all of its...assets and inhabitants...belong to me. You see, my mother and my brother were never that interested in the family business nor did they have the talents for it." Now she smirked. "As for your interest in Siberian prisons, I can still have a tour arranged for you. Though if I were you, I might invest in some warmer clothing..."

Warm the room, you warm the relations?  It was a nice theory but generally if the fire wasn't lit before you got there, lighting it rarely made the room any more hospitable.  In this case, he was hoping otherwise.  The light of the fire not only illuminated the room, but it also did a much better job than the candlelight at illuminating his converse-ee.  There really is no better feeling than knowing you're right all across the board, although he could have certainly done without being right on the angry bit.  Anyone else would be twitchy at an intruder and she took a seat...confident indeed.

"Of course it is mine. The wand chooses its master. And if my father had died of natural causes, it most certainly would have chosen me as its next owner. But we both know that he was killed and his wand thus taken by his murderer.  I just fixed that little glitch by hunting down his killer and making sure he met the same fate."

Begging to differ sat this point would only further the hostile air.  It could be discussed later.  Time to move on down the road for now.  After all, vacations are rarely a one way trip.  He decided it best to let her simmer, regain her composure, emotion and of course, her speech.  If business was to be discussed tonight, it would have to be done in a respectable manner because Richard would have it discussed in no other manner.  And Orfeo?  Orfeo would haunt them both should anything in this room be desecrated over poor business relations.

Her mouth twitched and she was thinking, she was thinking hard.  Good.  It meant she cared.  Likely not about him (the only people who ever seemed to genuinely do that were those who wanted a blank piece of paper off their most wanted walls) but who and what he represented.  It was clear long before she would speak that the family business had indeed passed on.  He let his Russian jest die with her words.  It had served its humoring purpose. The rest of the conversation however, that was a tad more interesting - or at least important.

"Your father knew me by my given name, but you'll pardon me if I don't allow you the same courtesy.  You may remember a much younger man with a much younger business, and I remember a little girl fast being mentored in the...interesting...ways of  elders.  Although I see much in you that I saw in him so long ago, I know little of your operation and I only trust only what I see."  He paused, taking a moment to meet her eyes and search them.  "I see, that you're intrigued, but still understandably wary.  So why don't tell you me, Melanthe Grumman, how I can convince you of myself?"

As the room became illuminated by the fire, Melanthe was able to better see the mysterious man who had made himself quite at home in Tyen Manor. He didn't appear to be unsettled by the place and that was a telling trait about the stranger. Usually it took people years to become comfortable among its lonely halls.

It was one of the unintentional security measures that had evolved for the home, perhaps even by its own doing. For Tyen Manor had long become an entity all of its own and Melanthe had long appreciated the special kinship she felt to it, perhaps more than any other person.

Melanthe's eyes wandered around the office and seemed to note how much the walls seemed to glow with his presence, as if in appreciation of an old friend. Even with Tyen's approval, Melanthe's was not quite so easily given and she was determined to find out the extent to which she should feel threatened by or comforted by this man.

If he was who he claimed to be, then he was to be held in high regard. And because of her reverence for her father, she resigned herself to giving this man the benefit of the doubt as well as the ability to prove his word.

Melanthe carefully crossed one leg over the other and hooked intertwined fingers onto her knee. "Yes, indeed I am intrigued by you," she admitted cooly. "But surely you must know that my fascination is no longer the one of a little girl eager to be taught. It's been a long time since I've needed much schooling." Her brow arched upwards as her eyes narrowed. "Now, elder. Besides telling me the proper core to my father's wand--which I am indeed grateful for but could easily be likened to a parlor trick--why don't you share with me something else about my father and your business with him that no one else would know?"

Emotions came, and went in instants and the ability was much less the gift people made it out to be and more of a skill improved over time.  He'd been doing it for years, but Melanthe was proving to be a formidable persona to even begin to predict.  Presently she seemed to mellow out - to an extent anyway - but that was only the outward expression.  The only things he could still guarantee forcertain were that her trust in him was slowly growing and that she was settled comfortably enough to a point where she wouldn't kill him.  It was really a right bothersome thing that death always had to be on his mind as the potential outcome to a situation.  Normal people got to go on vacations.  He really needed one of those.  Maybe his next stop would be the Caribbean?

Respect came as deserved at first, but the tone in which she applied his befitting position was one more of mockery than actual respect.  To be expected he supposed, everyone was judgmental until one proved themselves.  He was no different toward those he chose to employ - of course, he did all his judging from a far and in a non-personal setting...usually.  Brown eyes met brown once again and an incredibly brief look of displeasure crossed his features.  He didn't appreciate the gesture of disrespect, but then, everyone had their Buckingham flair.  Maybe he was only displeased because his fortune wasn't as lavishly wasted spent as this.

Orfeo had always been a rather secretive man, true, but it surprised him that she wished to know more of him.  Surely the bonds of family were stronger than the loose bonds of the Business?  True there was much that he could shed, but the real question then became just what details were worth parting with to both prove himself and leave him in a position to remain partial?  Well, there was always the beginning.

"Truth being as it is, your father showed me the ropes as they were.  I'd thought I'd known it all by ninety-two.  Took over my old bosses opp after he disappeared, it was small but well oiled and certainly a functional operation that ran between Liverpool through the Med to Egypt and back...I was well on my way to the world being mine.  that's the way I saw it anyway."  He paused, eyes narrowing slightly the smallest of reflective smirks took his features  I was a fool.  In fact that was the first thing Orfeo told me when we met.  He might've used a few more words he was hardly trusting of this reckless youth just out of school.  About as untrusting as you are of this old man from the grave."

"I was young.  Arrogant.  Cocky.  I don't know what Orfeo saw in me that I thought I'd already found, perhaps it was what I have now, perhaps it was that even through all my arrogance and self-absorbtion he admired the respect I gave him.  Either way, the supplier controls the market, and your father was my first large time supplier.  For the first two months and six shipments I never saw this property or how he operated his little private world.  It was handlers, smoke, parchment and mirrors.  I worked for his trust.  Hell.  I practically slaved for it.  The fact was that your father knew the rules of the game because he lived them and I, well I didn't know what I'd gotten myself into.  I just knew I'd enjoyed doing it."

It was a nice speech, truthful, but nice and more than long enough for a start.  Between his words and the roaring fire, perhaps maybe they could make this room not seem so desolate and vacant.  Maybe Orfeo himself would crawl out from the wall and thwack him on the skull.  Or maybe nothing would happen and she'd smile in a coyly evil sort of fashion followed by killing him in the next thirty seconds.  If that was the case, he'd fight Orfeo for rights to haunt her in the afterlife.

Melanthe saw that he hesitated in her request to tell her something more about her father. She splayed her hands out to her sides and urged him further. "I idolized my father, as you may know. Unfortunately, he died long before I could learn every bit of information that there was to know about him." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Clearly this is the area in which I hope you could shed some light. Because I so want to know that side every bit of information about him. That side that you knew, Mister Burke. Surely you'll humor me?" Though her expression was not that of a young girl using her cute baby face to evoke sympathy to get what she wanted, there was a certain amount of genuine pleading in both her face and in her voice.

Melanthe sat back in the chair and prepared herself for a story of sorts. Her brown eyes settled on Richard Burke and patiently waited. She smiled when he shared the bit about her father calling him a fool. That didn't surprise her at all. Orfeo Grumman had been known for his candor. Respected for it even. As she listened to Burke talk, she tried to imagine a younger version of the man before her. Even at his age, his distinct features were striking, handsome even to the right eye. She could see a younger, cockier Burke with clarity and then she also saw a younger version of her father knocking him down a peg or two.

After that had happened, her father must have found something worthy in the man, and that was what she had to seek out for herself now. He was her father's trusted friend and ally. She should trust him as she trusted her father. She wanted to, but part of her also was wary of doing so in such a blind fashion. Even if he was who he said he was and he pledged a similar fatih with her as he had with Orfeo, Melanthe still wanted to keep just enough distance between them to keep herself safe.
 
It occured to Melanthe that perhaps Burke had never seen the cellars. Maybe he did not even know about the Grumman gift of parseltounge and working with Runespoors so directly. Yes, he clearly had a working relationship with her father. But maybe the dynamic had been that Orfeo had done the "hard" work and Burke had done the "dirty" work. The collaboration had made them both very rich.

After a moment more of reflection, Melanthe stood up from the chair and walked over to a cabinet in the room where she knew her father had kept his liquor, for those cold, sleepless nights when he might have wanted a little something to warm up his insides.

Opening it, she nudged some of the bottles around until she found one that suited the moment. She picked up two rocks glasses while she was at it and headed back over to the desk. She placed one of the glasses in front of Burke and then one before herself. In the middle, she placed the bottle of her father's favorite Russian vodka.

"Mister Burke," she said evenly. "It is late. I think it is safe to say that we've both had a very long evening." One of her brows went up slowly. "I think a drink is in order, don't you?"

If there was ever an obvious sign of earned respect, there was none more so than the offer of drinks at the unholy-est hours of the morning.  It was rather amusing really, as Orfeo had put him much through the same hurdles that Melanthe made him jump through now.  Deja vu for muggles was often viewed as a sign of evil or impending doom, or, at least a very odd and out of place occurrence that warranted some amount of dream analysis.  Here, well here it was simply good practice, and to decline the offer would of course be both bad mannered and ungentlemanly.  And just how anyone could not be a gentleman under the eyes of these halls - not to mention the rather entrancing and still functioning eyes with which he shared the present office space was beyond comprehension.

"Certainly Miss Grumman, certainly.  However  I beg to think that 'long' is at this point a tenuous stretch of the word, no?  Fortuitous, perhaps?"

It remained to be seen whether he would be left to pour for himself; it wasn't exactly a large or important detail.  And yet, one did not typically offer drinks and then hold the bottle at a temptingly cruel fingertip's distance either.  Vodka was the drink of the country, and it would certainly be a decent glass of gutrot if it came from the Grumman cellar collection.  However if it hailed from anywhere else, it was questionable until tasted.  Then again, he'd yet to find a true drink to which he found himself displeased.  By true the meaning is potent, and potent meaning it has to be at least thrice as strong as the local bar room ale.

"I trust your curiosity is far from satisfied.  Would you wish that I continue?"