#c: garlan tyrell

Loras had never been a particularly patient soul, even as a little boy he had thrown tantrums that his septa had had to weather when Willas and Garlan’s lessons wore on too long so that he had to wait to follow them around and play with them. The pace of their grandmother’s wheelhouse had agitated Loras, and though he loved her dearly and was glad to have her along to protect him as she always did, the wait to see his sister was beginning to seem unbearably long. 

They had paused for a moment, to water the horses at a stream that ambled through the countryside beside the road, and Loras had busied himself with adjusting the saddle on little Gareth’s horse so that he could be sure his nephew would be safe for the rest of the journey. He loved his brother’s children, and adored spending time with them now that he was back in Highgarden. They did not care about the mistakes of his past, and their laughter and smiles had been immensely healing in his grief - he could barely wait for them to see their mother again, to see the looks on their faces would be joy inducing even him. 

He could not wait for Garlan to see Leonette too, of course - Loras envied his brother, having a wife whom he adored, who cared for him completely. Loras would never have that, and he found himself jealous of that, though he knew it was not his brother’s fault that he felt these things. “Do you think it will be long now?” Loras asked his older brother as he rose back to full height where he had been bent over beside the palfrey. “At this pace I feel as though I am going mad before we reach Mar and Leonette.” 

[There's some commotion at the station when Loras Tyrell is brought in, but in the midst of the gossip Satin finds it easy to duck aside and make a private phone call.  He hastily calls Garlan, heart pounding. Does Garlan already know, or is Satin going to have to break the news to him himself? Either way, he knows he has to call.]

It was one of the few phone numbers that Satin consistently called on that was also not a customer's. Garlan could always be counted on, and Satin had so few people like that in his life.  He supposed a friend like Garlan Tyrell was rare for most people, even if they didn't live the way Satin did, so he valued that friendship all the more. Never an obligation, always a helping hand; and that was perfect for Satin.

He could certainly use a friend now. Everything in his already-odd life had been turned upside down with the emergence of a certain article, which had blossomed onto newsstands and into the waves of the internet that very day. With that, his current career coarse was over. And it had been so lucrative, too...and safe. He'd bounced around between agencies and streetwalking.  The agencies had leeched too much from him and it always drove him back to the street in the end, but Chataya's had been different. Things had been fair, clean, safe. He owed it to Chataya to not compromise her in any way, he felt.

To: Garlan

Willas rubs his hands over his face, covering his eyes. Slowly he draws them away, running his fingers down his temples and cheeks. It cannot be possible for one man to be this stressed out.

He hobbles toward the sidetable in his foyer (a nice place, sleekly furnished, large windows) and grabs one of the pill bottles (just a white bottle, fairly nondescript, only the label giving away its nature). He opens the bottle and pours three pills out onto his hand. He uses his scotch to wash them down.

He manages to make it back to his couch and flops down on it, not caring the pain that shoots through his throbbing leg. He puts his legs up on the coffee table, trying to stretch out comfortably. It doesn't work.

Taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, he checks the time. Quarter past ten. Garlan agreed to come over at ten for a few drinks.

While Willas is certainly planning on knocking back a few (or maybe more, who knows), the real reason for this meeting both unsettles and excites him. Each feelings finds a place in his stomach. He takes another drink. He never really expected to find himself in this situation. He always knew his father was ambitious - friendly on the outside, cold to the core - but it never seemed to bother him. Willas was good at being vice president of accounts (though his duties often spanned far beyond that role). His father often came to him, piling essential tasks on Willas as if they were afterthoughts and as if Willas were tangential to the operation. For fifteen years his father has treated him that way. It stopped bothering Willas a long time ago.

Mace Tyrell even bothered to include Willas in on the inception of the wire-tapping idea. Willas found himself speechless, baffled that his father would put them in that situation. He already knew that Tyrell Media had some sketchy under-the-table deals, but he never thought his father would introduce a scheme so obviously transparent and certain to get them caught.

Willas quickly shot the idea down. The other men in the meeting (a few board members, president of finances, some lackeys whose names he couldn't remember at the time) at first listened to him, nodding their heads. "Mace, this is unthinkable," one of them said. Mace Tyrell smiled at him, and the man shut up.

"You disappoint me, son," Mace said to Willas at the time. It didn't come as a surprise.

"Fine," Willas responded. "This is still a terrible idea."

That was the last Mace had ever spoken of it to Willas, and Willas never bothered telling Garlan (in hindsight, a terrible decision). After a while, Willas assumed that the issue had been dropped. Obviously it hadn't.

Why doesn't he ever listen to me? Willas thinks. That damned leg.

Damage control is going terribly, Willas knows. Firing Loras won't do the trick. Firing the lackey at the first meeting won't work, either. Big changes have to be made. That's where Garlan comes in.

To: Garlan the Gallant