Ossian will ask Folly for a dance (and I expect she won't decline.)
Indeed she won't. Folly loves dancing with Ossian.
Ossian is a very good dancer [As good as it gets with his element scores. The player does not know which elements rule dancing.], and Ossian and Folly together on the dance floor is a sight; probably the most improvisational pair of the night.
When he leads her off the dance floor after wards he says: "A good friend of mine, Mr. Otter over there has expressed a wish to meet you."
"I would be delighted to meet him," Folly replies. "We creatures of the water ought to stick together, you know. How unexpected that a man of the desert should bring us together." She grins merrily at Ossian.
"Strange it is indeed. I had to venture to the sea shore to meet him." Ossian muses. "He has only recently arrived in the nearer waters, and was ill for some time. That's maybe why you haven't met.
"When I told him that the swan's song was like the siren's call, he wanted to see and hear you."
"Yet both speak of death, and not the merriment of the night," the Otter says, taking more than a few liberties with his leer at the singer. Not the kind that Uncle Corwin should feel his chivalry flaring up, as it's still admiring, but certainly the kind that suggests he should offer her dinner first.
Folly smiles. Were her cheeks not partially obscured by the bottom of her mask, they might show a bit of a flush. "It is good we have your playfulness, then, Sir Otter, to remind us what the night requires," she says, and drops a curtsey so graceful and stylized it is almost a parody of manners. But her eyes are twinkling.
"Ah, but I am not in the fool's role," he gestures towards the Harlequin. "I merely find the most joy in that which is simple, slipping in and out of the moist..." he touches his tongue to his upper lip, "...waves," he finishes. He laughs aloud. "And cracking open oysters, although I have no need for pearls." He chuckles again.
Ossian knows when it's better to keep quiet than join the conversation. This is one of those times.
"Then the simple joy you find in them is to taste of their soft insides?" Folly ventures with a grin. Yes, she's definitely blushing now.
"The wanderer of the desert speaks highly of you. I hope to have the pleasure of you," he pauses, grins, and then continues, "or rather, of hearing your talents at some point." The mask has freed him a little to be, well, bad.
"I will happily exchange a pleasure for a pleasure," the swan replies with a mischievous grin, "and it would be my pleasure to sing for you, when the opportunity arises."
"It will be hard for one such as me to not shake opportunity awake, then," he winks, and curls a gold whisker between his fingers like the fellow in a melodrama pulls at his waxed mustache. "Alas, like the sun itself, opportunity chooses its own schedule.
"In the meantime, I certainly shall not keep you from wearing your feet out on the floor. In fact, if you are not promised to a partner in that crime, I would be pleased to take such a role."
He winks at Ossian.
"But surely not half so pleased as I am in the giving, if your feet prove as nimble as your tongue." Folly smiles and bites her bottom lip, giddy at his -- and her own -- audacity.
Unlike Marius, she is not leering, quite, but she is certainly sizing up this new playmate -- and finding him most entertaining.
"And how do you measure the nimbleness of the tongue?" he asks, playfully. "Just so that I may test it against my feet, of course," he'll lead her off to the dance floor with a smile and wave to Ossian.
Of course, Marius just about let them know in advance of his tendency to put his foot in his mouth.
Ossian bows and heads off to find a new dancing partner, pleased that his two friends seem to like each other.
Folly blows a playful farewell kiss to Ossian before answering Marius: "By its rhythm, of course! -- measure by measure, for such is the measure of all good things." Her voice lilts over the beat of her footfalls as she follows him onto the dance floor.
Marius doesn't believe in the rhythm method, of course.
Not that he says that aloud.
He also doesn't make a staff comment.
He is a few minutes in responding. "Ah, and what if my measure is as a ruler?" he asks. "As Otter I only dance to the waves, but I acknowledge no master." He grins. "The wanderer says you are a good friend. Are you a clever one as well?"
Folly tilts her head and regards the Otter thoughtfully for a moment before responding, "Just clever enough, I suppose, to measure you neither in feet nor against our current ruler. He's a drummer, you know." That last is said with a faint trace of wistfulness, banished immediately by a merry grin. "But if you prefer the current to the ruler, perhaps you should be measured in litres; and I will follow -- until this dance is done, at least."
"Ounce for ounce, and flounce for flounce?" he asks, smiling. "I prefer the galleon to the gallon, and both to the gallows, should it come to that. But I'll hang tight for this turn," he'll give her a little whirl.
Folly laughs with delight at the turns of both body and phrase.
"A man who has need of clever friends could be thus warned that he's in over his head. But I've never been drowning in wit; I prefer just to get my feet wet and maybe splash around a bit." He smiles one of those smiles best akin to an animal showing its teeth.
"Chalk it up to your strength as a swimmer, Lord Otter," Folly replies, returning the smile. "Your wit suits you, and I am glad to see you wearing it again."
She turns her attention to the dance for a moment, getting a better feel for the way Marius carries himself, adjusting her own movements minutely to better complement his. He can hear her humming quietly along with the music.
This brings a delighted aspect to Marius' smile, almost as if he was "background grinning."
After a moment, she says, "Tell me, my kinsman-in-water, will you remain in Amber's harbor past the turning of the tide?"
"A popular question," he notes, amusedly. "I have one journey which calls to me, though I am not sure where it begins, except under my feet. I am ever the curious beast," he says, and there's one of those strange, "rings of truth," in that that makes it sound less Masquerade- referencing than related to himself on a regular basis. "My whiskers suggest there is maybe more to learn in stone than water, for the coming time."
Folly nods, as if she's had similar intuitions.
He tilts his head ever-so-slightly. "Were you to migrate, sun and wind more tempting than water?"
"I am to travel on a brief errand, yes -- Would that I could fly there!" Folly responds, and there's Truth buried in her words as well, layers and layers of it. "I do look forward to spreading my wings, even if it's only a brief flight. I've been too long in the coop, I think."
As the dance draws to a close, the Otter grins, and there's a genuine quality to it. "Wind to your wings, lady Swan. May the sunshine be at your back, and your landings always light. I have a premonition you will need the luck you can gather, so take a filip from me, and weave it strongly into your journey."
Folly smiles, warmly, and ends the dance with a graceful, joyful curtsey. "I thank you, dear Otter -- for the dance as well as for the luck." Straightening, she adds, "I'll offer my promised song upon my return, if you still wish it. Until then, swim strong -- and may you find the secrets you seek in these stones."
Some time into the evening (I think fourth or fifth dance?) Marius will spend some time sipping at cold water (as available) to "cool his head."
Then, walking as if he had a mission in mind, he will approach Cambina. His all-business walk will slow to a casual stride, and then he will give a slight bow.
"May I have the pleasure of a dance?" he will ask, biting hard on each word over the throbbing of his heartbeat.
She looks at you quizzically, not replying, not moving for several long heartbeats.
Made more loud in Marius' ears, so that even the gentle strains of music are but a buzz.
Just when you are sure she is going to just stare at you, she reaches out her hand, wordlessly, to be led to the dance floor.
A conscious effort is what is required to breathe, which he does carefully.
She wears a bemused smile and this particular dance is somewhat athletic and does not offer much opportunity for discussion. Cambina is excellent, although you suspect that her dance skills are best appreciated by a partner rather than an observer.
He attempts not so much to impress but strives not to hinder, followed by the stresses of some level of perfection in his movement. If someone were to read his mind, they'd find a mathematical construct of kinesthetic merged with music to remind him, "Step HERE, come down on the heel, turn, step, STEP."
"Thank you, Marius. Would you like to take some fresh air with me? Or do you have other appointments to dance?"
Marius remembers to breathe again. He manages a smile that's surprisingly boyish, and he nods, slightly. "As the Otter does, I try to live with a little bit of improvisation. I would be pleased to share some of the night with you."
He doesn't seem to notice his use of words. He obviously means the ambiance, not...
yeah, right.
Cambina smiles, turns, and begins to walk rapidly through the crowd, which parts before her like magic. She takes a wine glass and a carafe from a passing servant without slowing down at all. Quickly she is at the exit and, assuming he has followed her, so is Marius.
A quick walk into and through a small side garden and through an inconspicuous gate leads to a low stone wall next to a reflecting pool. Cambina turns and sits on the wall, and pours wine from the carafe into the glass. The pool reflects two moons and the sound of the revel is muted by the intervening hedges.
[If Marius has picked up his own glass, she will take it and pour for him as well.]
Actually, seeing her movement, he did. He twirls it by the thin stem in offering it to her. He'll lean against the wall, but not sit. He's actually a little calmer away from the crowd, although it is as if his heart is caught in his throat as he looks at her under the moon for a moment.
He actually lets her take the lead.
"Welcome home, Captain. If no one has said so, yet." She raises her glass, then drinks from it.
He drinks to it with her. "It has been said in a variety of a ways," he admits, amused. He takes a deep breath, as if he was going to say something else, and then stops, suddenly, and laughs.
"This..." he extends his arm to refer to the moonlight and the silence. "Perhaps is not what you think. I have had a dream of you. It was not..." he shrugs, trailing off. "Originally, I had hoped," he distances himself vocally, as if starting to tell a story. He turns and leans against the wall with his hand not holding the glass, but it is low, as if looking for a sword he does not wear. "I had hoped," he repeats, "just to mention it to you, casually." A cut-off laugh. "But it was not a casual dream, and while I would not want to burden you with phantoms and shadows, I had hoped it would be of some interest."
He breathes again, as if a splinter had been removed.
She looks at him, the moonlight reflecting on her face from the pond, and she smiles. "I have been somewhat evasive, it is true, but that is the prerogative of a seer. Tonight, at least, I will have the passing enjoyment of the benefits of my horrible reputation." She smiles and is, perhaps, not so unapproachable as her reputation has long suggested.
"But you have a non-casual matter to discuss with me. Pray, tell me of your dream."
"A seer," he smiles. "Not merely a historian, a daughter of a King, a lover of the fanciful as all women are rumoured to be?" It's almost a murmur, and then he straightens up again.
She shrugs. "I am that I am. Why would I not share it with my cousins?"
"Because I suspect you seek a different power over them than that," he says, a little offhandedly. He chuckles. "I never trust a woman to be anything but...complicated." His smile is that of the cheshire cat who ate the 200 lb. canary... in bits and pieces.
"Women are simple creatures, and so must manufacture mystery. But none of those rules apply to family. There are those who call us 'inhuman'. I think they are right in ways they do not understand."
Marius nods. "I would not disagree with you. Still, where one raises monsters, another might raise monster slayers."
"We're hard monsters to slay. Even those of us who are but frail monstrosities are tougher than most."
"Forgive me," he starts out, "for my sudden poetic nature. So many riddles and games lie in dreams, that this is but a reconstruction, a story that I can never tell the same way twice, but will always remember differently."
He takes a breath and sets himself better to rest against the wall. "The city of moonlight and sky, began to ... invade, slowly, this city of stone. Specifically, it began to spin itself around you, trapping you, suffocating you with dreams, when I was called." He shakes his head. "Not called by anything but a feeling, and I was the only one to go into the velvet grey to find you."
He shrugs, and looks apologetic. "In there we were visited by the ghost of the King. Our...grandfather. He called us the 'untouchable,' and the 'untouching,' as if it were amusing to him. He claimed we were both on a journey, and with a ring he placed on my finger, he charged me to navigate in dreams and darkness." He chuckles, suddenly. "I awoke half expecting to see the ring still on my finger, it was so real and vivid."
There is a line of sweat along his brow, and he is just a step away from trembling, but he is also done, and it was important to him to say this.
[Cambina]
"I am at one with the idea of my eventual death and like most of our kin, I
expect it will come as a complete surprise to me and that my affairs will
not be in order. I think it would be unpoetic of me not to die in a way
that was tied to the Tir-na Nog'th.
"I can try my hand at interpreting your dream, but I am no Oneiromancer. This dream is for you to interpret. The advice I can give you is that it is easy to bring too much of your own needs, wants, and fears to any attempt to interpret visions . A reflection is best viewed in a clear, still pool.
"So, will you tell me your interpretation, or shall I tell you what I think of it?"
"That you speak of death suggests to me that our interpretations will be at odds from the start," he says, his smile wide. He stretches for a moment, working out some of the kinks in his back, as if his muscles were wondering why he had been so tense for now the moment is passed and life resumes from the terse pause in which it had been placed.
"But if it can be done mutually, with the suspicion that my interpretation may influence even your own, I will give you what I can. My heart and mind must remain my own until darkness claims another part of them." He smiles an enigmatic, thoughtful smile.
"For what it was worth, I think it was merely a dream. Not the wish the heart makes, although perhaps there is some wish-fulfillment in it. You looked like my mother," he says the last few words very quickly. "There is no lack of ease in interpreting that. Yet you were not her, and that, Cousin, was never in doubt." He tilts his head. "There are things, however, that influence dreams. Events, subconscious cues..." he shrugs again. "Perhaps there are magics that do so, or merely the night's dinner before sleeping." The shrug turns gracefully into his usual slightly-feral smile.
"I woke with purpose. That was what was meaningful to me. That another had to grant it? That is a measure of my discomfort, yes. Even if the King inside was just a reflection of my inner thoughts. That you were involved? I have not spent much time with you, so perhaps I was able to label you according to the wishes of my dream."
He takes a breath.
"But if it was not merely my subconscious, it was important. Since I cannot place my finger upon the seeds of dreams, and tell you what caused this one to sprout, I asked you here, embarrassed slightly to take your time for a fantasy or shadow."
He smiles at her, graciously, as if the smile was a bow. Her turn.
"You have not said when you had this troublesome dream. I have heard that the whole of the army was lulled into a sorcerous sleep and awoke as one with a great shout. They did not remember what it was that they dreamed, but that it was a great evil and most would not sleep again in Chaos. Here, Vialle has long had nightmares. I wonder if hers have stopped?" She shakes her head. "I think there are too many disturbing dreams to dismiss them as mere coincidence."
"I did not dream until I returned here," he says, and it is probably the flattest tone he has used since his return to Amber. He shakes his head. "Then it is an unrest we all feel, an upheaval. I could have nightmares of the sorts we were fighting. I could wake, insisting my hands were covered with blood. Instead I wake a hero, a not-gold-nor- silver ring symbolizing a holy quest invisible on my finger." He laughs a hollow laugh. "And the serving girls dream they will be Queens and call it a nightmare because the soup they ordered in their haughtiest tones is served warm instead of cold. I cannot dismiss them as coincidence, but I cannot take stock in them, either. You are kind in reminding me of that."
She looks away, "Oberon is Amber. That is the only certainty."
"I hesitate to draw the conclusion, for Oberon is dead." His tone has a bitter in it. One that might be palatable in small bits, but it would take a lot of honey. He nods, though, and looks away, up at the sky, thinking.
"What conclusion? You saw the ghost of Oberon, it would be remarkable if he wasn't dead." Cambina sounds somewhat confused.
"Is this the ghost of Amber, then?" he asks, softly.
"No, we have been damnably unable to achieve the ghost of Amber. Unless Prince Corwin starts sinking through the floor, we may have to assume this is the corpse of Amber. The question is 'can the heart be restarted?'" Cambina asks.
Marius laughs a bitter laugh, and sighs. He turns towards the wall and bumps his head against it once, grinning, but still somewhat sad. "The untouching and the untouchable talking of hearts. Alas, I cannot even do the deed for myself." He turns back and looks at Cambina. "I am no healer, and the shocks I provide are merely those of the playfully socially inept, rather than those of sufficient catalyst. But why be morbid? Let us dance on the corpse and hope it sufficiently roused by our joviality to wonder why it's laying down and not joining the party." His grin fades to merely a smile.
"All cities, they say, are shadows of Amber, some more refracted or out of time than others. Have you ever wondered what phase of Amber the dead cities in Shadow were reflections of?" She also smiles. "This is a coronation, not a wake for the dead. And I am afraid that if I danced with you again so soon, even on the corpse, I might be seen to be favoring you, and I would not want to burden you with that reputation. Shall we return to the hall?"
At an appropriate lull in his active festivities, the Fox finds himself gravitating to the handsome Devil in the red mask. (Presumeably Cambina is off dancing with someone else, unless the GMs would like her present, and Brennan is shockingly (shockingly, I say!) at loose ends)
"Enjoying the revelries? Or just waiting for an opportunity to make some mischief?"
"Do you have some in mischief mind? I won't promise to help, but I'll be happy to provide you an alibi afterwards. 'No, your majesties, Brennan was on the terrace with me when the Ice Sculpture caught fire. He couldn't have been involved.'"
The Fox smirks. "Nothing so immediate, I hope. At least, I haven't planned anything interesting for tonight. On the other hand, by tomorrow... well, you never know.
"Some of the Knights think that the trail of flaming foliage in Daeon's wake needs to be investigated. Soon. Some of the Knights aren't keen on asking permission. Some of the Knights aren't willing to go unless they take with them a means of contacting Daeon's father in a hurry." Those somes are obviously not necessarily identical.
"So far as I know, none of the Knights have such a means at their disposal. Rather puts a crimp on our ability to plan these things. Help your favorite nephew out?"
"Heh. Perhaps I should go with you all. That way I could avoid shepherding duties for Jerod's pirates. Know anyone who needs a fleet full of ethically challenged sailors? Other than Caine, who already has one?"
The Fox shrugs. "We haven't even agreed on who's going yet. The planning isn't even remotely that close, although if one of us is going to go, it's probably better we go before His Majesty narrows the choices by assigning us tasks. If you know what I mean.
"But having that Trump is a good a place as any to start planning. And... no offense, you old Devil, but if I were feeling unilateral about the whole thing, I'd have already gone, extra Trump or not. Be that as it may, whoever goes, from myself to Lilly," he says, naming the oldest to the youngest [he thinks -- I forget about Marius] "in whatever combination, it's probably best that we go leaving the impression that we don't need backup."
The Fox is grinning wryly beneath his mask. It's clear that he wouldn't mind Bleys' company under other circumstances. He thinks, then, "But that's just me. When we talk about it, I'll make the offer on your behalf.
"In what other fashion can I help you ditch your piratical charges? Why isn't Jerod cleaning that one up himself?"
"Jerod has already offered to scuttle them or strangle them all in their sleep or somesuch. Random may not trust Jerod not to cut corners in the dispatch of them. Random would be wrong. Once Jerod knew what the crown wanted, he would do it, I think."
Bleys produces a cigarette and lights it. "Daeon's father is one of only two men I would trust absolutely to know of matters of the Great Forest." He smiles. "If you ask Corwin of it, don't mention that detail to Julian."
"I wasn't initially planning to ask either of them. If I draw the straw and go myself," Brennan's not specifying whether that's the straw that makes him go, or allows him to go-- possibly because he hasn't decided which way that works, himself, "I was just going to go. Julian or Corwin might try to tell us not to. But I gambled you wouldn't be averse to a little mischief, especially in service to the realm."
"Come see me tomorrow morning in my suite."
"I shall, and I thank you. And come to think of it... if you were serious about ditching those sailors, there might be something of interest."
"His Supreme Luminescence the Emperor seems to want them available, but out of pocket. Not unlike the Altamareans."
"Quick," [Brennan] mutters, "Someone tell Clarissa that we didn't just win in Chaos, we conquered it. Meantime I'll be..." he points dramatically (dramatically!!) into the far distance, "...over there."
"She'd say 'Perhaps it will teach them a lesson.' and neither of us would be able to tell if she was talking about a lesson for Chaos or Amber."
The Fox looks almost disappointed at the lack of a description of pyrotechnics, but does allow, "Yes, you're probably right."
"Your grandmother understands the problem with attempting to define Chaos. Amber at least can be described."
"Has anyone made a final determination on what to do about my cousins who are not yet Adepts?"
"I anticipate a little parade with Corwin at the head to this new pattern of his. Fiona is going and won't let your cousin take it if it's dangerous, of course."
"Hmm. I would assume that to be dangerous in itself, but I haven't seen the beast. So many diversions, so little time." He thinks for a moment, then adds, "This implies Lilly and Aisling will be part of that parade. Or at least have to be available on short notice." He mentally crosses them off the list of people likely to investigate the trail of FireLillies.
Then he rolls his eyes at his own scattered thought processes. "And that reminds me-- how woried would you be to learn that all the Knights-Commander I've had a chance to talk to, who were conscious for it, had similar but not identical dreams on the trip back?"
He swollows more of the wine. "I don't know, how likely am I to learn such a thing? Was this before or after Knight Commander Sir Daeon mixed his blood with the soil of Chaos?"
"Humm. Good question." He scratches his beard while trying to put all the reelvant details together. "Mine were the very night before we started scouting our way back home," he says. "I only learned that the others had these similar dreams recently, but I assume they were all on the same night. So, from my perspective, and modulo any weirdness from that far out beyond the Tree... before."
It's clear from Brennan's questioning that this isn't the uppermost concern or thought on his mind-- at the moment, though, it's a puzzle. It's a puzzle he'd like to put definitely into the non-threatening category, if he can.
"So, a lesser channel... I assume that there was something of substance to them, as you would not mention dreams of graceful flying fish soaring about a tranquil valley. What significance do you attach to them?"
"It would hardly have gotten my notice at all, had others not mentioned that they had similar ones. Not identical, but similar in format. As to significance, I don't know. The best guess of the moment is that they are prophetic to at least a small degree, and seem to involve Amber or her people-- one of mine was of a printing machine in a burning building, which I am given to udnerstand is an event which happened in our absence. One of Lilly's," [Brennan] says more significantly, "was of a frozen mountain peopled by giants.
"Trying to correlate them to events that have happened will be an interesting hobby. Trying to understand the why's and wherefore's is something of a puzzle, too."
"What were the subjects of your dreams?"
"One was a woman falling down a staircase; another, a printing press inside a burning building; a small boat sailing into a picture-perfect bay; a woman lifting a long-dead body up from a blood stained table. I'm given to understand the printing press vision may mirror something that happened here in Amber while we were in Chaos, or on the return."
"Hmm. Not all violent, and not all even emotionally charged. I'd keep this within the family. Too many shadows to jump at as it is, for most people."
"But I get worried when there's nothing to worry about," [Brennan] quips.
"Then you should have nothing to worry about, because there's a great deal to worry over."
"Cool."
[And after this topic, Brennan resolutely speaks of non-business related things, as it were. If Bleys has anything he wants to chat about, great; if not, I'm happy to abstract it.]
[Bleys has one more topic.]
"I haven't had a chance to speak to you since Paige's housewarming. A number of our old friends commented on your presence. Favorably."
If Brennan weren't wearing a mask, Bleys might be able to see him blink once or twice at the topic change. Then, "Well, don't be coy, favorite uncle mine. Who are the discerning judges of character in question?"
"Rules, Brennan, rules. I can hardly say 'So, tell me nephew, what did you think of that pack of schemers and connivers who sometimes support us, whoever 'we' are, and who were willing to be seen attending Paige's soiree?' So I must bring up the subject obliquely and in a vaguely approving tone and assume that you will be ever so helpful and share your observations of 'em."
Brennan grins the grin of someone who doesn't mind being underestimated.
[Bleys eyes twinkle the twinkle of someone who doesn't mind being confused for someone who underestimates people. :P]
[Just as long as they understand that they have an understanding.]
"Okay, I'll play nice. I rather enjoyed Lord Rein's company, and that of his apprentice, even if he didn't seem to thrilled about putting some of his experiences down in text rather than verse." He proceeds to give Bleys a rundown on the people he'd met and spoken to that concentrates more on their actual merits than on their political signifigance.
Bleys quizzes him a bit, especially when the impression is more than usually favorable or unfavorable. In return Bleys gives Brennan brief notes on the political significance of several of them. He seems interested in Brennan's impression of Gilt Winter.
"Confident, charming, charismatic. All of which is less important than that he started under Eric, was set to watching Random during his... confinement... is now a force in Random's Court, and is cutting swaths through the ladies at Paige's parties. The boy is doing something right. The casual observer wonders if he's not doing too much right.
"And I understand he shares a name with Admiral Winters for the obvious reason. One assumes the Admiral has now heard a bit of my plans as well."
Bleys shakes his head, once, slightly. "The Admiral is still trying to determine how his worthless sot of a second son managed to turn a punishment assignment into one of the most powerful jobs in Amber. His current working theory is blind luck."
"Well, if I hadn't been smart enough to be born smart," the Fox replies, "I'd have asked to be born lucky. But that's a pretty impressive streak of blind luck. That theory fails to explain the flawless execution of the coronation and festivals thus far, too, at least without elaboration."
"Well, the old man has eliminated graft, nepotism, and doesn't think blackmail is viable. His other theory is that the boy is being successful in order to nettle his father into an early grave."
"What a peculiar family." Pause. "Do you think it'd work?"
Bleys grins, all deviltry. "It didn't work for Eric."
[Speaking of which, are either of the Winterses in attendance?]
Absolutely. Gilt is making rounds in social circles and his father the Admiral is talking mainly to Naval personnel. Gilt was last seen speaking to Ce'e and the Admiral was last seen speaking to Octave.
Excellent. I shall have to add the elder to my list of conversations for later.
[After dancing with Folly, Marius] will make for Vialle.
Random is close by, talking with some of the nobles, but keeping an eye on Vialle. He gives Marius an encouraging look on seeing the direction of his approach.
"You said I would discern you no matter how you were masked, and you were correct, your Majesty." The words are spoken almost like caresses. "Still, you are a pleasure to the eye and your outfit accents your grace. I would be able to tell you merely by your elegance, had I no other means." (flatter, flatter)
Vialle smiles at the compliment.
"Tell me, do you dance, your Majesty? Or may I bring you something, so that you can taste of the festivities around you?"
"I may dance later in the evening. Random said he would call for a pavane as soon as he's free, and he'll lead me through it. I don't need anything to drink, but if you will stay by me--my lord--we can talk for a little while."
She almost slipped and used his name, Marius thinks, but caught herself at the last moment.
"It would make this Otter's whiskers curl to make the time pass pleasurably for you," he says. "Are you familiar with the creature the otter? He is, in the words of the poet jenne micale...
"otters -- you have forgotten otters
with sleek tube torsos
and stubby little legs
with handy clenched clawpaws
tiny child fingers
fickle pinktongue satin
or more a wet sea towel
slinky serpent-silly
tumble down slick slopes
rosenose silly-whiskered --
and you --
i see you have forgotten otters.
"Although," Marius adds, "perhaps you remember them better than I, coming from the worlds of liquid and silk as you... might."
Vialle says, "I have not forgotten otters. Certainly I will not forget them now, Sir Otter."
"Then my task is accomplished, for I hope to be in your thoughts, my Empress." He moves slightly closer. "Are you free of care, or do things worry you here?"
"Tonight I am free of all cares," Vialle says. "I am putting them all off until the morrow. And then I will delegate them."
Marius chuckles, in a way that isn't entirely certain she's being witty. He'll take it half-and-half.
[Considering that she'll be Regenting in the morning, she may mean it half-and-half.]
"Then I shan't add even a trifle to tomorrow's work, and perhaps there will be a place wherein I can lighten that burden." He makes his smile known through his voice.
He pauses. "If it is not intruding, can you tell me what you find lovely? I am acquainted with the sight of things, but I think you enjoy things a little...deeper."
"Texture," Vialle says. "Ossian makes sculptures for me with that have many different feels beneath my fingers. And the different drapes of cloth in a formal dress, the way they fall when I walk. Scent on the wind. It still holds the fascination it had for me when I first came to Amber. Random once said I was the only woman he knew who found the stink of a dank dungeon tolerable. Or perhaps the contrast enhances my love for fresh, rich odors now. What do you find lovely, Sir Marius?"
"Being alive, sweet Lady. Where even in death some things retain their loveliness, it is life that is the root of beauty. It is the ability to experience the world. You can find that even the pain of living has its own delights." He laughs. "The things I have found most beautiful have been in celebration of life. The dances of the dolphins in Tara Ming, against the slow sunset over the sea. The sound of men working the ropes in the late afternoon, everything in measure and working right...right in that way that says everyone's doing their job, everything's simple." He sighs, probably shaking his head from the sound of it. "There are complicated things that are beautiful, but any complicated system is delicate, and delicate things have a way of breaking."
An observer would see that he's looking at Folly as he says this last bit.
Vialle, of course, cannot be counted among that number.
"And yet it is complicated and delicate things that sometimes are the most beautiful for all their fragility, as if it were their very ephemeral nature that made them so. I am told that sunsets are very beautiful. By definition, they do not last. Do you find sunsets beautiful, Sir Otter?"
"That life is transient is, yes, part of its beauty, even to one who may look towards death from a far horizon." He sighs. "From one who took too close a view, perhaps it is even more beautiful. But for sunsets themselves, no. There are things that are aesthetically pleasing, but it is just the passing of time, which, to some extent, is meaningless overall. How many sunsets have I counted over the bay? It is the events that make them worthwhile. The sunsets I have counted while savouring my peace, or the sunsets curled up in a lover's arms, against the thousands of sunsets marking the shifting of the crew. There are too many times the sun has set that I have not even seen it, and too many times when I have noticed it without appreciating it." He chuckles. "But, then one is magnificent enough to catch my eye and I reevaluate my answer yet again.
"So, it is a complicated answer, and by my previously stated philosophy, the complication is not a thing of beauty." He smiles. "Have you tasted any of tonight's delicacies? Perhaps I could offer you a drink before the dance ends and you are needed elsewhere?"
"That would be very kind of you, Sir Otter." Vialle's lips curve into a smile.
The Otter procures a glass and a small plate of easily- handled tidbits from the banquet, weaving in and out of the crowd with a smile and haste. He returns quickly.
"Tell me, Sir Otter, do you know yet whether you will be staying in Amber after the morrow? Has my Emperor set a geas on you as he has done with so many others?"
"The only geas I know to be on my kind, slippery as they are when responsibilities are to be given," he says, making sure she has the glass before leaving it, and taking the opportunity to brush against her fingers slightly, "is that I have promised my fellows to seek the answer to a fiery riddle. While I never tire of the waters, there are rivers of flame as well. Had you perhaps a task for me, so I may serve Our Emperor through your requests?"
Marius notices that Lucas is looking at the two of them, with a bit of a frown on his face, before the crowd closes and he loses track of the other man.
"Merely that you might be present to make my days lighter," Vialle says lightly. "It seems that so many of our kindred are to leave in the days to come. I had hoped that some of my friends might remain. But if you already have a quest, Sir Otter, I cannot ask you to defer it for my poor pleasure."
"Ah, my Empress, but your pleasure is a command, and one I would hasten to accomplish repeatedly." He cannot help but smile a little at that last comment.
Vialle cannot see the smile in Marius' voice, but she may hear it. She smiles at him in return, and turns her attention to the plate of dainties he has fetched for her.
Bowing slightly, the Viking Lord offers an arm to the White Swan and leads her towards the refreshments. As they enter the small room, the Viking comments with a nod towards the Oriental costumes of the servants, "In my travels, I have seen many a foreign land, but none so elegant as this." It is unclear if the 'this' refers to the Orient or to something else.
"And what of your own homeland?" the Swan asks as she looks over a tray of little sandwiches. "What were the celebrations like there?"
The gentleman selects a small plate and holds it out for Folly to fill at her leisure. A wry smile flits across his mouth as he responds, "Loud. With lots of singing and lots of fighting. My...Brother Thor would start a contest to see who could throw a Hammer the farthest or highest or whatever. Loki would always cheat, making Brother Thor mad enough to shoot lightning. Of course, getting my Brother 'mad enough' was never that difficult..."
The swan laughs. "Now that sounds like a party," she says, sounding a bit awed. Who needs strobe lights when you've got a guy who can shoot lightning?
She takes the plate and begins nibbling on a sandwich, offering one to the Viking, too.
The Viking declines the food and waits until Folly has finished to question, "What do you think of Amber's current State? It does not seem to be the tranquil lake you would be most in tune with."
Folly nods. "It is turbulent, yes, but there has just been a big rock, and a lot of pebbles, thrown into the pond. I find myself hopeful that once things settle down, though, it'll be my sort of place. Or at least that we'll have the opportunity to shape it for the better."
"It is unfortunate that you have the ability to shape it at all right now." the Viking notes, obviously thinking of a different interpretation of Folly's words. "Perhaps the big rock will serve to anchor Amber again."
Sometime towards the middle of the evening, perhaps 20 minutes or so before Robin calls her off into the gardens, Aisling will finally take a break from the dancing, swirling off the floor with bright eyes to come to a rest by Gerard and whoever else happens to be with him at the moment, nodding in greeting with a breathless smile for them.
[Based on James' comments about Vere, I suspect he may be here. No NPCs are present. If any PCs want to be present, they should speak now or hold their peace.]
Gerard has been supplied with a tumbler of whiskey. "Hello, little moth," he says. "What brings you here to this deserted corner of the world? I'd've thought there were young fellows aplenty who'd be happy to dance with you over there." He gestures in the general direction of the orchestra.
Vere, who is indeed currently keeping his father company, nods and murmurs "Dame Aisling," as she approaches.
"It is the pauses that make the dancing sweeter," Aisling quotes, nearly a laugh in her voice. "It seemed to me that this corner could best be set off with another flanking element of grey," she nods and smiles to Vere, "or perhaps I was attracted by the candlelight shining off your helm, lord Charioteer. The style is unfamiliar to me-- from where do you hie?"
An odd look passes across Gerard's face, and he says, a little flatly, "Amber."
These Amberites. It's like trying to be friendly with a burning bar. You reach out, you get scorched by invisible ethanol flames. You pull back and try to plot out the shape of this latest fire logically...
He puts his party face back on. "But tonight's not for talking about the past, but for speaking of the future." Then he glances at Vere with a mildly apologetic look, and trails off.
"It was recently made clear to me that tonight it has been decreed we think only of light things and pleasure, rather than serious business..." Aisling trails off (the faint echoes of her aunt are unconscious), and then she gets done plotting the fire and recognizes that while she would like to discuss business, it's specifically not a good topic, and so she continues without offering the chance for that restriction to be lifted.
Beneath his gauze hood Vere raises an inquisitive eyebrow, and glances at his father. Not talk serious business? Since that's almost all he plans on doing tonight he decides to simply ignore the statement rather than question it. Better to deliberately remain ignorant as to whether or not such a royal decree actually exists....
"Do you think the new king will bring a gliding machine to Amber? I have heard him discussing such things, and I would dearly love to watch one in action... Have you ever seen such a machine?" she asks both, with a definite twinkle of merriment at the discussion of light things.
Vere tilts his head to one side. "As I understand it," he says, "such a machine would be a prime candidate for an unpredictable catastrophic failure if brought to Amber. Surely His Majesty would not risk his safety in such a fashion?" There is a definite questioning note there, as Vere considers what he knows and has heard of Random.
"Before this month, I'd've said 'in a minute', but now, I don't know. If something were to happen to him, we'd be in a state, and he knows it," says Gerard, then frowns.
At about this moment, Random escorts Vialle on to the floor and the musicians strike up the pavane.
"I have an idea. Why don't you two younglings go join the dancers, and I'll watch you. Better than nattering on about business on a night devoted to pleasure," Gerard says, and takes a drink from his tumbler of whiskey.
"If Dame Aisling wishes it, I would be honoured," Vere answers.
Aisling is looking distantly, off in a direction in which Marius stands, but she turns a warm smile on Vere. "Then I cannot hesitate to join you." She nods leavetaking, "Prince Gerard."
Last modified: 23 June 2003