Welcome To The Pleasure Dome

As they travel from shadow to shadow, the car changes from a convertible to a sedan to some kind of van, with their gear in the back. When Soren asks what they're going to do until Syd calls them, Martin points out they have the makings of a three-piece, and suggests they tour. So that's what they do.

The guys let Folly pick the band name.

She decides they will be "Right Hook" -- "...because they'll never know what hit 'em!"

["...and because we can totally kick the ass of any other band! But 'Ass Kickers' isn't a music pun. And, hey, how's your shoulder, sweetie?"]

They are all good enough musicians that even their first couple of gigs don't suck. But after three or four days, they really start to jell as a band. They settle into a nice mix of folk and rock with a heavy emphasis on having a good time.

Folly knows a lot of drinking songs, and she knows how to rock them out, even on acoustic instruments.

Martin knows a lot of sea ballads, unsurprisingly. Soren's knowledge base is broader than Folly recalls it being, but he has [nine] extra years under his belt. Not every Happenstance tune gets used, just the best of them. Soren records everything.

Folly is having the time of her life doing what she was born to do. Without the constraints of Amber society to weigh her down, she is looser and freer -- both musically and personally -- than Martin has seen her since... well, maybe ever. She flirts unabashedly -- with their audiences, with her bandmates. She acquires a small collection of totally Amber-inappropriate midriff-baring stage-clothes. She re-dyes the front of her hair a more vibrant shade of purple.

Martin flirts back, but there's a guardedness about his flirtations. There's a sense that he's very close and yet very far away. After the first few days and a good distance from Texorami, Martin relaxes somewhat and the absence of affect he displayed in Brij's presence evaporates like fog in sunlight. His shoulder seems to be healing up nicely, and after about a week, he gets Folly to remove his stitches.

To Soren, on the other hand, she seems to have gained a measure of maturity and control in the years since she left Texorami. He can sense improvements in her musicianship and vocal control, a new subtlety in her mastery of mood. More evident, though, is the confidence she exudes offstage as well as on. In the old days, she sometimes seemed taken aback by the enthusiasm of some of their fans; but now she takes it in stride, cheerfully chatting with the audience between sets and after the show as if she were great friends with all of them. It is as though the intervening years have made her more comfortable in her own skin.

She smiles a lot.

About two and a half weeks into their touring experience, Martin gets that familiar faraway look in his eyes. He closes them and concentrates, clearly trying to shake off whoever it is. It takes some time for whoever it is to force the contact.

"Who's. There?" says Martin, sounding a touch cross. After a moment, he lets out a breath. "I told you I was going to do that." His expression is relieved. To Folly and Soren, he says, "Get the gear. It's Dad."

Folly exhales -- and realizes she'd been holding her breath. A relieved smile spreads across her face. "Already on it," she says, shouldering an instrument case or two.

She looks at Soren and grins. He sees the giddy excitement sparkling in her eyes.

Soren says "It wasn't gonna be our best show tonight anyway. Soundcheck was terrible. They've got a lousy board here."

Soren and Folly pack up the gear while Martin holds the contact open. There are snatches of conversation, mostly "yes" and "no" on Martin's end and occasionally an "ask Folly". As they hand things to Martin, he hands them through and they vanish in a prismatic ripple that hurts to look at.

At last everything is with Syd but humans and felines. Martin passes Folly through first; she has Thelonious' case under one arm. Syd is grinning. He gives her a quick peck on the cheek as she steps into the room. It's a jolt, like the first time she met him, when it was so right and perfect and--real.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sensation of it, and she flashes a wide, pleased grin, as if by reflex. She seems to be suppressing another reflex or two, though; it takes her several moments longer than it ought to remember to release his hand.

Soren comes through next. After Martin passes him through, he stands blinking and a bit confused for a moment, looking around. Last, Martin steps into the room, and as the trump effect fades behind him, he too stops to check his surroundings.

The four humans and the cat are alone in a large hall with high, wide windows letting in golden afternoon sunlight. Below them rich tapestries in geometric designs are hanging. At the far end of the hall, wide doors open onto some sort of balcony, and Folly smells salt water. Thelonious is asking to be let out, insistently, and Syd is grinning as if he's eaten a canary.

Wherever Syd has brought them, it's not Amber.

Folly sets the cat carrier down carefully and releases the latch. "Now, don't go too far," she says to Thelonious as he emerges. "And," she adds in a stage-whisper, "try not to pee on anything important."

As she speaks, she cocks her head, listening to the acoustics of the room. After a moment, she nods slightly in approval.

They're perfect. Probably not a dead spot or a hot spot in the room.

Folly hears the harsh cry of a bird beyond the sunny balcony at the far end of the hall.

Once she's convinced the cat won't get into too much trouble, she turns back to Syd.

Syd is hugging Soren. "I'm glad they talked you into this, bror. You won't regret it."

Folly smiles broadly.

"All right, Your Smugness, is it story-time yet? Where the hell are we?" Her teasing tone does nothing to mask how happy she is to see him.

"What do you mean?" He manages to keep a straight face long enough to draw a reaction from Soren and Folly and then say "OK, alright! Yes, it's story-time."

He sits down, cross-legged, on an oriental style carpet.

Folly sits, too, straddling the cat carrier. She leans forward and props her chin in her hands, her rapt attention on Syd as he continues:

"Ok first question was 'Where the hell are we?', which is not just the punchline to the joke 'So, Old Man Bucket, why is your tribe called the Helarwi?'.

"It's a new place. Mine. Welcome to the Pleasure Dome." He throws his hands in the air, theatrically. "It's. It's Xanadu. Apparently it's the kind of place I'd want to be. The Pleasure Dome was a surprise. It wasn't here before I started."

He blinks. "Um, I think I'm still a little incoherent."

Martin and Soren say, "yes," in unison.

Folly grins, affectionately, at all three of them.

Random says, "This is where I drew my pattern."

Folly's eyes grow wide; her mouth forms a silent 'o'. She sits up slowly, never taking her eyes off Syd. "So - so when you said you thought you could 'draw me a better hand', you actually meant... y'know, draw." She smiles and shakes her head, surprised she hadn't worked it out before. "You're crazy, you know that?"

Coming from her, it doesn't sound like such a bad thing.

Syd nods once, smugly.

"What about the other Pattern, though?" she continues in a more serious tone. "What about Amber? I mean, this place --" She gestures as she looks around. "This is more than just a vacation house, y'know?"

"I know. Everyone will want one, don't you think?"

Soren looks confused, but doesn't interrupt.

Syd shakes his head. "I couldn't remake Amber's pattern. But I could make my own. It needed to be done. You know how you all were telling me about people going missing in Amber? It's because it wasn't holding them anymore.

"This is the future. Amber won't disappear, but it'll decline. That was already happening, and it's accelerating. This is a place for them to come to, to be brought to, where we can have a new city on a new Golden Circle. It's perfect."

"Dude, I have so gotta learn more metaphysics," Folly mutters, and commences gnawing thoughtfully on her thumbnail as she tries to work out what, if anything, is wrong with the plan.

Martin has also been scanning the room, but probably not for acoustics. "You knew about this before I left Amber for the troop payments. The five years' wages were based on an inflationary frontier economy. There was no point in limiting the damage to Amber's economy because you never planned to try to salvage it in the first place. That's why you said not to invest in real estate."

Syd nods. "Putting a lot of money into play will ease the problems that happen when there's a gold rush from there to here. And I tried to get it into the hands of the kind of people who will be likely to come to Xanadu."

Martin nods once, abruptly. He turns to Folly, and there's a certain tightness in his voice. "Paige is going to laugh. She and I used to argue about Amber. Turns out she was right all along."

Folly meets his gaze with a rueful smile. She seems about to respond -- but suddenly she figures out what part of the story isn't quite sitting right with her.

"What about Corwin's Pattern?" she asks. "Why wouldn't the people of Amber end up in Paris instead of here -- or why shouldn't they? Besides the obvious, I mean, that our beloved subjects deserve a better King than a great talking penis with a nice singing voice...." She smirks.

Something else occurs to her, and she fixes Syd with a probing look. "Wait, this isn't some sort of big universal pissing contest, is i--?"

That's as far as she gets before her features contort with suppressed laughter, for she realizes she doesn't actually know how one draws a Pattern, anyway....

"Have you ever seen the pattern? It's a delicate tracery that covers an area more than a furlong across. I don't have it in me to write my name in the yellow snow across an entire furlong, even with magical help."

Syd grins. "I don't think Corwin, legendary as he is, could or would use that method of drawing a pattern. But I haven't seen it. If someone tells me 'it's yellow', then I'll ask him how he made it."

Folly grins, too, and absently kicks off her shoes. She's either so engrossed in his answer or so comfortable in her surroundings that it doesn't even occur to her not to.

"Corwin, because he shouldn't or wouldn't or whathaveyou, declined to take Oberon's place and made his pattern in Paris and it is what it is. I haven't had a chance to speak to him since I made Xanadu, but my gut feeling is that this is what the Unicorn selected me to do."

Martin has wandered off toward the balcony at the far end of the room. His posture and something about the tilt of his head suggest that he's still paying attention to Syd's story even as he is drawn to the scent of the sea wafting in through the open doors.

"And I trust your gut on just about everything but 'jalapeno chili cheese fries for breakfast'," Folly says with a nod and a grin. She seems more relaxed now.

She scrunches her toes against the rug and blinks in surprise at its unexpected softness. "And I've gotta say, the end result is... just amazing," she continues. She stands and pads toward the balcony, pausing to offer Martin her arm before she steps all the way to the doors.

As they approach the far end of the room, there's a noise that grows louder, a roaring noise, off to the left. Martin has noticed it too. When they come to the door, Martin slips his arm out of Folly's and steps out first to survey the surroundings. After a moment, he looks back at Folly and nods for her to join him.

"What's the plan from here?" she calls back to Syd as she takes in the view.

The balcony opens on to a breathtaking view. The hall juts out of the side of a mountain overlooking a circular bay. To the left, the roaring noise resolves into a waterfall that cascades down the side of the mountain into a lake beside the castle. The water pours out from there over and into the bay. Occasional spray from the upper falls wets Folly's hair.

She tilts her face upward and opens her mouth, trying to catch the mist on her tongue.

The sun is low over the water in the distance, and there's a golden cast to everything around them.

Syd pads out onto the balcony. "Isn't it great?" He watches a large, white seabird dive into the ocean outside the arms of the bay.

The huge grin that spreads across Folly's face signals her approval. She runs her fingers through her damp hair and returns her attention to him.

"I dunno. My first plan was to get my most trusted advisors here and see what they thought."

Soren stands in the doorway. "I'll tell you what I think. I think I want a beer."

"The official beverage of trusted advisors," Folly agrees. "And... ah... maybe you should give us the grand tour, too...?" She glances at Martin, to see whether he's got a better plan.

Martin is gazing over the edge of the balcony into the bay below. "It's gorgeous," he says. "All this, and someday it's going to be full of people and buildings and ships, like Amber. I hope I always remember it like this."

Syd stares out at the deep blue of the ocean. "We'll have a painting made of it. We know lots of painters. I don't know if photography will work."

"That's not how you remember things, Dad. You remember them by doing." Martin leans out further, looking down. "How high up are we?"

Syd shrugs. "I dunno. I think it's about twice as far down as it is from here to the top."

Martin kicks off one of his high-topped sneakers, then the other. "I'm gonna dive it," he says, peeling off his socks.

Soren, who has been sitting on the low stone balcony, looks down. "Hey, it's a long way down."

"It should be deep enough, but I'm not sure if it's worth the pain, kiddo. It's pretty far down..."

As his father and Soren debate the matter, Martin is shrugging off his overshirt and undoing his jeans. "If it's too far, you're too old!" he tells Syd.

"OK," says Syd, shrugging his way out of his shirt, "it'll be deepest near the falls. Last one in is a rotten egg!" Syd takes off running for the edge of the balcony closest to the cascade, not stopping to remove his pants.

"Hey!" Martin yells indignantly as he steps out of his pants and shorts, tossing his T-shirt aside in the same set of motions. He takes off after his father like a shot.

Folly lets out a little squeak as the men blow past her and stares after them, wide-eyed.

"Ha, Ha!," taunts Syd, over his shoulder. He's on the railing in a single bound and off it again in the next. He leaps powerfully out and away from the castle built into the side of the cliff and arches his back in a perfect swan dive, like a salmon leaping upward. He hangs in the air for an almost impossible moment and those watching him see a flash of red at his throat. He slowly starts to twist and begins to turn lazy backwards somersaults as his descends.

Martin is a half-step behind Syd, his longer stride making up the other man's head start. His dive is picture-perfect: his last bound takes him far out over the bay, with fingers and toes touching for a second before he straightens and slices downward toward the water.

Soren is already up and running towards the edge to watch the pair of divers in what would probably be a suicidal effort for normal men.

"S--t," he says to Folly. "He hasn't changed, has he?"

"Not a bit," Folly quietly agrees, not taking her eyes off the descent. She is very still, barely breathing; whether in fascination or worry is difficult to assess.

Belatedly, she calls out, "Your trusted advisors say, 'Don't hurt yourselves!'" and smirks, knowing her words will be lost in the roar of the falls. She looks almost as if she might jump in after them -- all of her, that is, but her knuckles, which grow white against the balcony railing in anticipation of the impact.

From the balcony, it's clear the the waterfall and the cliff jut out over the lagoon, so that the falls empty into it. The water hitting the surface a half mile down reminds Folly of white cream being poured into impossibly blue coffee. It's also exactly the sort of thing that idiots would go over in a barrel. Or without one.

Soren and Folly arrive just in time to see both Martin and Syd straighten into perfect form, slicing into the water very, very close to each other and worryingly close to the falls.

Folly and Soren wait for the two to resurface, a wait long enough that Folly has to remind herself that Martin can hold his breath for a long time. And Syd ... him, too.

Folly sees them first, two people swimming out from behind the falls. There is no sense of urgency in their moves that she could see, but there is a certain amount of pointing and discussion as they tread the water.

After a moment, the two figures turn and wave up at Folly and Soren.

Folly lets out a wild whoop of delight and waves back, laughing.

"And he's his son, no doubt about it," says Soren. "It's oddly comforting to know that the mad gods of reality can form a decent rhythm section."

"It's more than comforting," Folly replies. She perches on the railing and looks at Soren. "They're intertwined somehow, I think -- rhythm and reality. I mean, can you feel it? Can't you just feel that this is his place? I don't know about you, but... I feel like I belong here." She seems a bit awed by that last.

The two swimmers reach the edge of the cliff and start climbing up. Free climbing, and it looks like it will get exciting when they get to the negative slope where the cliff juts out over the water. Random must have ditched his jeans underwater, because neither man is clothed at all.

The rapid motion of their ascent catches Folly's eye, and she stares after them in fascination and longing and guilt, like a child gazing through the window of a toy store she's not allowed to enter.

"Yeah," says Soren. "I can close my eyes and see a tremendous city here, built in and out of these cliffs and all up and down the beach. Do you smell how it smells like Texorami in the spring? It's like music coming out of a thousand caves."

Folly tears her focus from the climbers, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it. It's beautiful, and it's home."

"I belong here, you do too, and Martin. Syd belongs here the most."

Folly opens her eyes again and looks at Soren. "Have I told you yet how glad I am that you're here? I've missed you like you wouldn't believe."

"Well, yeah. You didn't write, you didn't call..." He looks at her, waiting for her to react, then laughs. "I missed you, too. There's a lot to catch up on. And I want to know what the hell is up with you and him and him, if you even know yourself."

Folly smirks. "Oh, you noticed that little accident-waiting-to-happen, did you? Yeah, it's... complicated." She takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her vividly purple bangs. "Ask me again after I've talked to Syd. I have no idea how 'I love you, I missed you, I'm not sure I can be your mistress when your subjects need to believe you're happily married to someone else, and by the way I've fallen in love with your son' is gonna go over. Especially now that the penultimate bit may no longer apply. I dunno." She shrugs. "I'll find out soon, though."

Folly gazes down at father and son, and at the climb that confronts them. "Maybe I should offer them a hand up before they both splat themselves, eh? That'd solve all my problems in exactly the wrong way. Back in a sec...."

She has to return to the pile of gear in the hall to find her trump case, because her hip-hugger jeans are too snug to accommodate it; she fishes out Martin's trump and returns to the balcony, right next to the pile of Martin's discarded clothes.

"And I did write," she adds, mock-indignant. "-- lots and lots of little notes that I dropped into the fire when no one was looking. I hoped maybe you'd dream them and know I was okay. Not as reliable as the post, though, I s'pose...."

"Next time, try Royal Express Mail."

She grins at Soren, then looks down at the card in her hand.

She concentrates.

Martin's mind is preoccupied, and turns away her touch. Apparently the free climb is taking a significant portion of his attention.

[OOC: if she repeats the exercise with Syd's trump from Martin's deck, she will find the same thing is true.]

"Silly boys," she mutters in affectionate vexation.

Soren watches her use the Trump with interest. When she returns her attention to him, he looks down at Syd and Martin, watching them climb towards the castle. "Like Syd was going to miss the chance to climb this monster."

"...or take his pants off," Folly adds with an impish grin.

When he turns back to Folly, Soren's grin is fading. "It's good you're thinking about it. It's not like he can miss how you and Martin look at each other."

Folly presses Martin's trump between her palms, protecting it from the light mist in the air, and sighs. "Yeah. I know. I've all the subtlety of a cat in heat, sometimes. He has to know already. But I still have to say it, y'know? I don't want to keep secrets from him."

Folly rubs a protruding corner of the card against her lower lip. She looks pensive and a little sad. "I just hope I don't get in the way of their relationship with each other. I'd rather let them both go than come between them." She smiles wryly. "But I'm not sure I'm that strong."

Soren nods, and lays a supportive hand on Folly's arm.

Folly's smile softens.

After a moment he says, "So what's the deal with those two? Back at the studio, you said Martin's mother's dead and that Syd bailed on them. And you mentioned that his grandmother who hates Syd raised him. But here he is running errands for Syd." The last bit isn't quite a question.

Folly glances again at the climbers, perhaps assessing how much time she has 'til they reach the balcony.

She begins, "It's been years -- many decades -- since Martin was last in Rebma. He wasn't on very good terms with his grandmother when he left, and he's shown little inclination to return there." Folly doesn't sound particularly sad about that.

"But as for why he's here, now...." Folly glances down the mountain again. "It's kind of a long story. I think I already mentioned the war that just happened, and how it was partially the fault of one of Syd's brothers: Brand, the megalomaniac who wanted to re-make creation in his own image."

Soren nods, in a 'go on' sort of way.

Her face clouds, briefly, and she seems to change the subject. "Y'know how Syd was talking before about this being where he drew his pattern? And how I said Amber was supposedly the source of all Order? Well, it's the Pattern that creates that order, that reality. It's this... magical glowy artefact thingy. And the one in Amber is broken. That's why Syd had to draw a new one. And the ritual I was telling you about -- the one that I'm gonna take soon -- involves the Pattern." She gives Soren a conspiratorial smile. "This is all, like, a huge state secret, by the way, or at least it was in Amber -- but it sounds like Syd intends to let you in on it."

Soren nods again, looks grave, and lifts a finger to his lips. Then he spoils the effect by winking.

She looks down at the trump still pressed lightly between her palms and continues: "So Martin got sucked into Amber's cause because his uncle Brand tried to murder him. Nearly succeeded, too." She can't quite keep the emotion out of her voice. "It was a ritual to unmake reality. Brand grabbed him, and... cut him."

She has to pause, then.

Soren's mouth opens in shock, and he takes her hand again.

"But he's tough," she continues after a moment, once she's beaten back the quaver in her voice, "so he got away. He recovered. And sometime after that, his grandfather Oberon -- Syd's dad -- recruited him to the cause against Brand and his cohorts. I never got to meet Oberon, but Martin respected him. Loved him.

"Then, a few weeks before the children of Oberon all went off to Chaos for the war, Syd found out what had happened to Martin -- what Brand had done -- and finally tracked him down. They had a very little time to get to know each other, to start building a relationship, and then the war happened. And then Syd came home King. And so Martin has gone from being Oberon's errand-runner to being Syd's." Folly shrugs. "Anyway, that's the condensed version, and even it is way too complicated."

She offers Soren a sympathetic smile. "I can try to fill in a few more details, if you want, but I fear I may already be teetering on the edge of betraying confidences."

"No, no, that's OK. I was just trying to get a feel for what's going on between Syd and Martin. So they really don't know each other at all, and they're just kind of jamming until they get the rhythm. Just like the rest of us, I guess."

Folly nods. "Exactly. Lucky for them, they already play in similar styles."

He looks around the hall. "All this kind of complicates things, doesn't it?" It's obviously a rhetorical question. "What do you think Syd's game plan from here on in is?"

Folly shakes her head slowly. "I don't know. He may not know either, not fully. He makes this stuff up as he goes."

Soren starts to say something else, but then he's distracted, looking up. "Hey, I thought you said there wasn't going to be any electricity here. Look at that." He points to the ceiling again, and Folly sees something both familiar and unexpected: a recessed light fixture.

"Well, s--t," Folly says as a grin spreads slowly over her face. "I'd wondered. There's none in Amber -- but as we've already established, this is Syd's place."

Soren can see the excited energy building up in her body as she considers the implications. Then, "Oooh, I'm gonna go check for outlets!" and she's off like a flash into the hall again.

Soren lets her go and wanders back outside, followed by Thelonious. Folly looks in vain for some time for electrical outlets, noting architectural details. The castle reminds Folly of some of the medieval buildings around Bergen, the kind that took 200 years to build and where the stonemasons put their own touches on ever block.

She runs her fingers lightly over a particularly inviting bit of scrollwork, admiring its intricacy, reveling in the texture of its smooth hollows, and nods in silent appreciation for the aesthetic sense of the conjurer. Beautiful.

After a while, Folly looks up to see Syd, his hair dripping into a towel around his neck, wearing a pair of leather pants and no shoes. "What're you looking for?," he asks.

"Outlets," she replies brightly, and comes over to him. "And also, now, whether you lost your pretty shiny when you lost your pants." She reaches out, takes hold of the edges of his towel, and uncrosses them so she can peer at the spot where the Jewel should be hanging.

Syd lets Folly take the two ends of the towel and she smells his scent, so distinctively Syd. She could pull him to her, with a flick of her wrist.

Her eyes half-close as she breathes once, twice, slowly in and out. Her grip tightens on the edges of the towel. Oh, it would be so easy....

"Not here," he says, and Folly isn't sure if that's the answer to the first or the second question, because it doesn't seem like it's his answer to the third.

His words bring her back to reality, and she opens her eyes again.

The jewel is not resting in the hollow of his neck.

Without thinking, she touches the spot lightly with her fingertips. She knows from the tone of his answer the jewel is not mislaid, but her touch betrays a lingering tension.

Touching him is like touching a waterfall full of live electricity and Folly sees Syd look down at her sleeve brushing the top of his pants. Folly is not sure she could break the tableaux if she wanted to.

She can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat where the heel of her hand rests against his chest. Of course, she doesn't actually have to touch him to follow its beat: all around her, in every stone and on every breeze, she senses its familiar echoes, soothing almost to the point of distraction.

It's almost painfully joyful, as if the entire place was a psychic recording of Syd a moment before he burst out laughing, a snapshot that captured that glint he always gets in his eye.

Folly looks up, meets Syd's eyes. Her own are very bright. "You got a minute, love? I wanna talk to you about... I mean, before I Walk, I've got some things...."

She smiles wryly at her own befuddlement, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

"I wanna put all my cards on the table. You need to see the hand I'm holding."

"My life is still complicated, Babe. All of our lives are. This is all so new that I'm not sure where I stop and it starts." His hand comes up and laces her fingertips in his. "It's like after sex, you know? When you're still out there, your heart pounding and your mind floating, considering drifting back. That's what it's like."

Folly's smile is faraway-but-intimate, a shared secret obliquely acknowledged. Oh, yes, she knows. She remembers. And she can't quite stop remembering, despite her best efforts. Her fingers tighten around his.

"C'mon," he says, turning and leading her down a passageway. "I want to show you something. Don't worry, I won't throw you on the pattern 'til you're ready."

"'Course not," Folly says. "I trust you." Her smile deepens and she falls easily into step beside him, her fingers still laced through his.

He leads her down a side passage and turns down a broad staircase. Another passage, not as wide or as well lit, leads to a smaller stairs. After a few moments, they reach a large, thick door propped open with a bar. The room is large, 30 or 40 feet square and at least that tall. The walls are covered with tiles and the room is dotted with beanbag chairs and couches. There are musical instruments everywhere, all acoustic. In one corner there is a small trampoline.

Folly looks, and blinks. Looks again. "But this... this is...." She leaves Syd's side for a closer look: runs her hand along the back of one of the couches, tickles the strings of a couple of the instruments just enough to check their tuning and tone...

...and then laughs with irrepressible joy. "Wow. This is amazing!"

When Folly looks at Syd, he's grinning. "It's not what you think, unfortunately. Not yet."

Folly ceases her inspection of the instruments and leans against the arm of a couch, giving him her undivided attention.

"A Couple of things. First, I've never been down here before, but I knew it was here, because it had to be. I think that'll wear off once people start coming here."

Folly quirks an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Second, I think it's not done making itself. That's the way it's got to be. Can't have a recording studio yet, because there's nobody to press records. And lots of other things, too. I'm guessing it'll be about a generation before it stops, but I have no idea how long that will be.

"Third, I'm sorta playing this by ear. I can sorta-kinda guide things by doing things like bringing you and Soren and Martin here, but most of it is like seeds already planted. No, it's like I wrote a symphony and now I'm waiting to hear how it sounds when the orchestra plays it. I can still hear the echoes of the melody I wrote, and what made Amber Amber was the echoes of Oberon's composition that were still audible."

Syd pauses for a moment. If he's pulling her leg, his poker face has improved while he was gone from Texorami.

Folly nods, but she looks like she wants to ask about a dozen questions at once. He answers one before she can voice it:

"So, fourth. Why you, why Soren, why Martin? Because I think it'll be very good for me to have someone around to remind me that I'm human."

"...by jumping off the sides of mountains with you," Folly teases, flashing a big grin. She holds out her hand to him, inviting him to join her on the couch if he wishes.

Syd smiles, fully in the moment, possibly for the first time since he came back King.

"That was great! I was sorta wondering if you were gonna follow us, actually. You can do things like that, we all can. You should probably wait until you walk the pattern, though."

"Yeah, that's what stopped me," Folly replies. "Well, that and not wanting to abandon Soren. Oh, but it was tempting, though. Really tempting." She smiles wistfully. "I miss flying."

The unspoken "with you" is evident from the look in her eyes.

"Hah! You haven't been up to the seaward tower, then? Xanadu will be even better for flying than Amber. And not just because your plane won't fall apart. Hmm. I don't know if it'll be possible for someone to shift shadows after hanggliding off the tower. Maybe the steps, we'll see."

He takes her hand and shakes his head. "Too restless to sit." He's right, he is. He paces a bit, beside the couch, almost dancing with her hand. "You know the throne back in the grand hall, where you came through? I woke up in it after making the pattern. Like, five minutes before I called Martin."

Folly lets loose with an impressed stream of expletives that dissolves into a good-natured chuckle at his utter inability to stand still. "Good god, man, we've gotta get a djembe between your legs, or something."

She's still grinning, but she can't quite stop the color from rising in her cheeks.

Up go the eyebrows. "You're the boss."

On impulse, she jumps up from the couch, facing him, lays her free hand lightly on his shoulder, and begins moving with him in a sort of hyperkinetic music-less waltz. As she reads and reflects his movements, she almost seems to absorb some of his manic energy; but whether her intent is to calm him or to wind herself up to his wavelength isn't entirely clear.

Or maybe she's just collecting on that dance he still owes her.

After a moment, as she settles into his rhythm, Folly says, "I can kind of hear it, you know? -- parts of your symphony. Soren and I were talking about it before, how we can already feel that we're a part of it. It feels like home in a way Texorami doesn't quite anymore, and Amber never quite did."

Her movements slow, and she looks into Syd's eyes. "You... you know I'd do just about anything to help you make this place what you want it to be, right?"

She looks like she might say more; but a sudden acute awareness of his proximity makes her hesitate.

Random looks at her, his eyes showing a mix of relief, gratitude, and something else, and he cocks his head a fraction to his left and opens his mouth to speak, when you both hear a familiar voice from outside the room.

"Well, f*ck me running, there's nothing in here."

Folly starts at the sound and takes a step backward, letting go of Random in the process.

Turning towards the now-lit control room's window, Random and Folly see Soren's back as he looks at the empty racks which don't hold any gear at all.

Random manages to suppress his laughter, poorly, and only for the moment.

Folly lets out a squeak that might be laughter before she claps her hands over her mouth.

She has to take a deep breath or two to regain her composure; when she turns back toward Syd, there's an urgency in her expression that wasn't there before.

The words tumble out in a rush of hushed tones: "Look, sweetheart, you -- you need to know --- You're right, about our lives being complicated, and... and I'm afraid I've gone and made it even more, I mean.... I didn't mean to, it just...."

She winces, draws another deep breath, and grinds her fists into her forehead in a desperate attempt to focus.

"Okay, look," she continues in a calmer, stronger voice. Her hands drop to her sides and she looks into Syd's eyes again. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't want to keep secrets from you. And I think you need to know that Martin and I have gotten... close... these last few years. And I know it's just about the stupidest, most complicated thing I could possibly have done, but... well, my heart isn't known for its logic."

She takes a half-step toward Syd; her hand reaches for him but stops halfway, unsure. "And just when I think I see how all the pieces are gonna fit, the Great Cosmic Toddler comes along and tips our little snowglobe of a universe on its end again, just to watch the colors swirl."

"Well, considering that I was more than 400 years older than I let you think, I can see why you might want a younger man. Heh." He laughs, in a not-particularly funny way. "And here I was saying that I wanted you around to remind me that I can't just wave my hands and make everything go my way." He's grinning by the time he stops talking.

That last comment seems to defuse some of Folly's tension.

"Depends where you wave them, love," she says, trying very hard *not* to grin; but the devil dances in her dark eyes.

"How does he feel about all this? Is he willing to share with his old man?"

"If by 'willing' you mean 'reluctant', maybe," Folly replies, and some of the sparkle goes out of her eyes. "I know this is hard for him. I mean, he wants to know you better -- but I'm sure he'd rather get to know you as 'Dad' than as 'the other guy boffing my girlfriend', y'know?"

He shrugs. "That was a joke, but you never know how it's going to work in this family. Family is funny. Think about this. My mother was younger than you are now when she came to Amber, and if her step-children had gone to Texorami when they were young, Varidian the Elder wouldn't have thought about founding the Thraxedocean Empire yet. Wait, is that Texorami's history, or somewhere else? Doesn't matter, you get the point. I don't want to end up as Eric to Martin's Corwin."

Folly looks like she might respond at a couple of points in there, but it all keeps changing gears on her. So she settles for a quiet, "Um... what?"

"You know that significant parts of the crap that's happened in the last decade or so goes back to Eric and Corwin hating each other, right? Part of that was their rivalry over Deirdre. Don't know if it was chicken or egg, but it was part of it. Not that they were likely to be pals, but that apparently didn't help. And from what I hear it was an issue between them for more than a thousand years, which is a long time."

Syd sits, or rather flops, into a beanbag chair.

"First, this doesn't change my needing you all here to help me with the city. Second, given that constraint, I'd like to know what you two want."

Folly perches on the edge of a couch, her feet planted wide, and leans with her elbows against her knees in an unconvincing simulation of relaxation. Her hair falls forward, partially obstructing her face, as she thinks.

He closes his eyes. "It's not quite immortality, being a pattern-walker, but it's close. You learn not to make your long term plans around people, except for family. And Family is funny."

"Yeah, remind me later to tell you just how funny."

Folly slumps back against the couch cushions and brushes her hair back from her face with one hand. "What we want. Well, what I want, anyway; I won't presume to speak for Martin. I... I want us to be free to be what we are, y'know?" She pauses, as if carefully considering her next words, before continuing in a quiet voice:

"If he weren't your son, I'd already be sleeping with him. But even if it never got to that... it almost doesn't matter. By practically any other measure, we're already lovers. It's like we've fireproofed the house by dousing it with gasoline. And maybe when it finally takes that tiny spark, it'll burn fast and bright and be over, but... I sorta don't think so." She pauses again. "We... we're not looking to get married, but parts of what we are looking for might kinda look like marriage to your typical mortal. Open marriage, yeah, but still."

She leans forward again and fixes Syd with a steady gaze. "What I want is for that to be okay. But I meant what I said before, that I really would do almost anything for you. So if it's not gonna be okay, if it'll seriously interfere with your plans or mess up your relationship with your son or even just weird you out so badly that your shiny new castle starts to smell of moldy cheese and no one wants to live here, then... we'll figure something out."

"Heh. I can't imagine it messing up my relationship with him any more than telling you all 'no' would. And I've screwed up enough relationships to be considered a grand master in most ranking schemes."

The corner of Folly's mouth quirks up into the barest hint of an affectionate smile.

"So, Folly Mayhap, here's a problem that this raises. It is reasonably important that Martin, the son of the King of Amber and Xanadu and the Grandson of the Queen of Rebma, has an heir. It would be unwise in the extreme, for reasons related to the jewel and the pattern, for you to have his child. I'm not convinced I can bring the matter up with him gently. What do you think we should do?"

Folly blinks. Blinks again. Her face has gone oddly blank. Several moments pass before she speaks, as if she is having trouble finding her breath.

Very quietly, she asks, "Can you explain to me why it would be bad?"

"Not in any way that would make sense if you haven't inscribed a pattern, no. Dad had the same rule, but it was just a blanket: 'no brother-sister marriages.'" Random's head leans back in the beanbag chair and he looks at the ceiling, perhaps 40' up. "It's part of why he had such a hard time of it with some of his kids, I'm sure." He doesn't sound happy about the prospect.

"It didn't stop him from marrying his own great-granddaughter, though, did it?" Folly asks bitterly... and winces. "Oh. Bad example."

"Let me put it to you this way. You know how I said I'd never been down here, but I knew it was here because it was? It's like that. I know I've got to forbid it to prevent tragedy, but I can't really say why, or even what."

Folly looks stricken as grim realization dawns. "You... you're not even talking in generalities, that it's bad for Oberon's descendents to... to.... You mean specifically, don't you, me and...."

She can't even get it all out. She draws her knees together, rests her forehead on them, and drapes her arms over her head like she's trying to shut it all out. She is shaking visibly.

"No. No, no no. I am talking in generalities. It is bad for Oberon's descendents to have kids. It's going to cause problems. Serious problems, and not 'where shall we put the nursery' and 'will Paige's children get into the best Kindergarten' kinds of problems."

Folly doesn't look up, but she seems to calm down a little. After a long moment of contemplative silence, her muffled voice asks, "Have you got a cigarette? I could really use one."

"I always have a cigarette." He reaches behind his ear and pulls one out, lit, and hands it to her. "Careful, it's strong. But the high doesn't last."

She sits up again and pushes her hair out of her face. "What kind of a universe puts strong attractive forces between the instruments of its own undoing? Stupid universe." She scowls, but she seems to be done freaking out.

With a deep sigh, she adds, "It sucks, but we'll deal. We'll figure something out. You, ah, might oughtta let me break it to Martin, though."

Random changes the subject, perhaps not ready to be excluded from Folly's 'we'. "So, how are you doing? Ready to see my shiny new toy and follow in my footsteps?"

"Almost. Not quite." Folly takes a long, not-especially-careful pull from the cigarette, and smiles. Her eyes glitter with more than just the effects of the smoke: they hint at wicked mischief, or ironic glee, or something-so-funny-it's-evil (or perhaps the other way around). She stretches out, therapy-patient-style, on the couch.

"Go ahead," she prompts. "Ask me about my mother."

Random lets the pause grow for long moments, not filling it with anything. The silence of the room is near complete, and Folly notes that Soren is no longer in the proto-control room.

As the silence grows, Folly tries to remain perfectly still, perfectly calm; but her fingers fidget with the cigarette.

"Folly, what about your mother?" asks Random, in a tone of voice normally reserved for record company marketing executives.

Folly's voice, when she responds, has a flat, faraway tone, the aural equivalent of a scene viewed through dusk and mist. "I went to see her. We had some time to kill after we found Soren, and y'know, sometimes I've got the I.Q. of a napkin, and... I needed to know. Before I walked the Pattern. I needed to know about my real father -- just to be sure. But she wouldn't tell me."

The cigarette traces a languid arc as she brings it to her lips again. After a long draw, she rolls onto her side and offers it to Random between her outstretched fingers like a hippie goddess blessing the leader of her chosen people.

She meets his gaze and holds it for a long moment, as if drawing strength from it, before adding: "But she said Julian is her grandfather."

"I should be surprised, I suppose. It's a good thing Gerard adopted you as his little project, because I don't think Julian's track record, extensive as it may be, would be a good surrogate granddad. Great granddad. I assume she gave you reason to believe her?"

"She said he was her grandmother's riding instructor," Folly replies, "which.... I don't even know the man, but it still sorta had that ring-of-truth feeling, y'know?" She shrugs. "Mum recognized his picture from sketches in her grandmother's diaries. I, ah... I got the impression he doesn't know."

Her eyes search his for any advice he might offer on dealing with that situation.

He sighs, his eyes not leaving hers.

"We should find out about your father, too. I'd hate to find out that you're Dara's older half-sister and that we have to go to war to restore you to the Ducal Throne of Borel."

He might as well have offered her crap on a stick for the reflexive nasty-face Folly makes. "Don't bother. I mean, dad-info, sure; war for Ducal Throne, uh-uh. What the hell would I do with it?"

"You? Probably try to turn it into a representative democracy or a working-thing's socialist utopia. I'm currently imagining a parliament of Chaos-critters, all trying to determine what it was that you wanted, so that they could all vote for it."

Folly grins broadly at the mental image; then, with a shrug, she continues, "I haven't made much headway on the dad front myself, except, y'know, Not You and Not Gerard. Oooh, but did I tell you Corwin said I remind him of his mother?" She smirks with amusement at that memory.

"Corwin is banned from dating. If that is one of his cheesy pickup lines, tell him to try it in shadow, and only with Royal Permission."

Folly grins, fairly certain it was a pickup line.

A new thought takes her, and her brow furrows. "Hey, did you... mention me to any of your relatives, before?" -- by which she obviously means before she showed up in Amber. "Your father knew that I knew you, and I've never been quite sure what to make of that."

"Hhm. I didn't think you'd met Dad. Caine came to Texorami once. One of those dockside gigs you hated. You know, the 'if there's a fight, keep playing until we stop the fighting' kind of places? Looking back, it's a good thing Gerard wasn't there, or he'd've taken all comers. Anyway, Caine was there briefly, but other than that, no.

"Dad just knew things, though. Usually."

Folly nods, lost in thought for a moment before she says, "You're right, I never did meet your father -- but he knew where to find me, and he knew that the surest, quickest way to get me to Amber was to show me your picture." She lets out a wry snort of laughter and shrugs. "Maybe Caine figured it out and told him. Or something. Was Caine, what, checking up on his darling baby brother?"

Her brow furrows again, and Random can probably guess that she's wracking her brain trying to remember the gig in question, and whether she'd noticed anyone... out-of-the-ordinary. Extra-shiny. But nothing springs immediately to mind. She wonders idly whether she accidentally flirted with him, and less idly whether he'd been there before.

Folly definitely remembers the bar. It was a dive.

"Given the timing? I dunno. Caine could have been having a beer and considering Brand's proposal of treason. Heh. Maybe that's how Brand knew I was close enough to call for help.

"Not that I feel slighted that nobody invited me to play."

Folly grins. "And knowing what I know now, neither do I feel slighted that you neglected to introduce me to your brother."

Syd looks at Folly, incredulously. "Caine," he says, as if that explains everything. "Folly, this is my brother Caine, whom I've never mentioned to you, and who I hope won't inspire you to ask any questions about the rest of my family. He's probably here to check up on me or to do something nasty to someone or, combining business with pleasure, both. I'd like to draw you to his particular attention and provide him with a handle whereby he can try to hurt me though you. Why don't you two get to know each other over a beer? I've got to get on stage and de-tune the drums for the second set."

He stands up and stretches, reminding Folly of Thelonious. "We need to get everyone and go put you on the Pattern, if you're ready."

"As I'll ever be, I s'pose," Folly replies with a smile; but as she rises from the couch her body language is full of hesitancy, of tense anticipation. For a long moment she looks at Syd like she wants to say something but can't quite come up with the right words.

When she finds them, they turn out not to be words at all. She steps toward him and wraps her arms around him in an embrace that feels far more like 'thank you' than 'goodbye'. Her hands are warm against the bare skin of his back.

Syd's hands meet behind her back and trace their way up her spine, stopping with his fingers buried in her hair and he begins rhythmically petting the fine hairs on the back of her neck. It's an old, familiar gesture which Syd used to call 'straightening out her nerves' when Folly had too much energy to wait backstage for their set. Folly can almost feel her nerves aligning with his touch, as if they knew his will and were doing it. Syd doesn't have to say 'it's just a gig' out loud, because he's telling her that by touch.

Against his chest, he feels her pounding heart settle into a steadier rhythm.

She wraps his reassurance about her like a cocoon, one that does not break even when she pulls back slightly to look into his eyes, to brush a still-damp strand of hair from his forehead. The smile she smiles is one he knows, the one that says, _Let's tear the roof off the sucka._

She's ready.

He grins back, "No time like the present." Taking her hand he leads her to the door, he looked at the hallway and the control room. "Daniels!," he bellows, "Boots and Saddles! If you're going to the gig, you need to get in the van!"

Soren sticks his head out of a smaller tracking room. "Is there a polite way to tell a King ' shut the Hell up with your yelling, I'm here already?'" Soren is carrying a lyre and plucking at it absently.

"You're in luck, Daniels. You're going to see the second most important thing in the Universe. Well, it's tied for second, but still."

["Few are privileged to learn so much of Tai-Kwan-Patternwalk so soon..."]

He turns to Folly. "Do you have Martin's trump?"

"Yeah, sure...." Folly's hand goes to her too-snug pocket. "Oh, wait, I must've--- It's up with my---"

She grins and shakes her head to change gears. "I'll go find him."