That's A Wrap?

Bright sun and narrow streets.

Celina tries not to notice the looks as she makes her way through town. She supposes it has only been very recently that green is in fashion again.

After two false turns, she finally sees the shop name that the clerks at the castle suggested. She enters the cool shadows of the tailor's hoping she can get a few shirts made before leaving town. And hears the distinct muttering of French from a woman's voice. She stops and looks carefully around. A squint or two at shadows and shelves and she sees how privacy is offered with various cubicles deeper in the shop. She ambles carefully further into the dimness.

And a fellow appears to stand in front of her. "Ah, madam. You need something or wish to buy for a friend?"

Celina forgets the French girl for the moment. "Indeed. I want to purchase cloth shirts that dry quickly and allow air to move through. Long cut." She indicates a spot below her hip. "Room to move around as well. Loose. This would be for me, if you please. And if you can, no buttons. I would prefer if it ties so and so." She indicates the shirt wrapping her waist and tying off.

She smiles and raises her voice a bit. "And I need them trés rapidement." She arches an eyebrow.

The shop owner looks a bit confused at the foreign language. From another cubicle, an amused feminine voice says, "She means very quickly, Master Draper. She wants her shirts very quickly. Your seamstresses will be very busy for the next few days."

A blonde head peeks around the corner. The French-speaking girl says, "I hope you don't mind my listening in. I haven't heard very much French since I got here." She grins at Celina.

"Neither have I, and I don't mind at all," Celina smiles back. She lets Master Draper fuss about with his tape. Circling her waist and measuring the length of her arms from cuff to neck. "I am Celina Corey. I know a bit of French from a stay in my father's shadow of Paris. How come you to Amber?"

"With my employer, the photographer Reid." Papillon explains. There's just the slightest hesitation between the words "my" and "employer".

Celina pauses. A wrinkle appears between her brows. Her thoughts add, subtract, and rearrange photographer and yield... nothing.

As if answering some preordained cue, the front door of the shop opens and Reid enters, head above the racks of clothes, looking for his diminutive companion. He carries himself with a casual gate, but dresses with a mix of eccentricity and old-fashioned formality that is out of favor with most of his kin.

"Papillon?" He looks around a bit before finding her conversing with a vaguely familiar face.

Celina shifts slightly at the new vector entering behind her. She lifts an eyebrow at Papillon. The face of the man isn't familiar and neither is the name or profession. She baffled, but interested in someone who is trading some craft from Paris.

So she smiles and nods. "Morning." On a whim, she plunges ahead. "I am just talking to your friend. My name is Celina Corey and I too have seen Paris."

Reid bows deeply, gracefully, and notably respectfully. "I am Reid Arsviator, I believe I saw you with King Corwin at the funeral yesterday. A tragic loss, or so I'm told. I hadn't really spent much time with the young man, but he was family, after all." Reid is at once sincere and detached as he comes closer and idyll surveys his companion's shopping selections.

"Oh," Celina flushes a deeper green. Family. Starfish and cuttles. Reid? I've never heard of such a person. Arsviator? Oh, dear.

Celina lowers her voice a bit. "Yes, the King is my... father. I did not recognize you, Reid Arsviator. You might understand the funeral was absorbing; disturbing even. While I did not know the man, I felt very moved by the ritual. I could have been more attentive, but I was not." Her words are softer and there is an old-fashioned cadence to them now. She watches him scrutinize the purchases set aside for Papillon. "I hope I've not given offense."

This morning Celina wears a raw cotton shirt that might fit Gerard. Her skirt is a black wrap style that seems quite severe compared to the shirt. Red pointed boots peek from beneath the long skirt. Her earrings and bracelets seem genuine gold.

"No offense taken. My own participation in the rigors of obligation was small, and though times do seem dire for many concerned, it was not my desire to stand by for extraneous conversation after its end."

Reid shows some emotion that had been absent the day before. "It was a good ceremony that they chose. They honored him well enough. Better than when my father was killed..." Reid clears his throat. "That was long ago in different times. Still, not all sons of Amber who die protecting it receive their just remembrances. Nor daughters, I suppose," he looks at Celina compassionately, but meaningfully.

Celina finds herself staring so far into Reid's eyes that she sees dark water in those mirrors. She licks her lips and finally blinks. "Nor daughters." She nods. "I am hollow with the feeling that there is so much I would know. I could weep for the faces and honors I do not cherish."

Master Draper seems to have become very busy with his notepad and figures. He moves closer to Papillon and Celina judges that his discretion is part of the reason she was directed to this shop. She nods again to herself.

"You are a photographer? Perhaps you work with my father?" Celina moves closer to Reid's side, even as he has closed with Papillon.

Reid is happy for the subject change to a topic that clearly interests him. "I had travelled with Princess Fiona and her daughter and we ended up in your father's hospitality. After the others left, I stayed on in Paris, where I studied a new visual artform with Papillon's former employer. Photography is an alchemic process by which reflected light can create an image in fixed form. The work I have previously done with pencil or paint can, to some extent, be done with glass, a darkened box, and a bit of silver.

"But enough of my eccentricities. Have you just arrived in Amber from Rebma? Or have you travelled elsewhere as well?" Reid asks pleasantly.

Glass, silver, and the control of light. Celina arranged the alchemy of Reid's words and still found the puzzle out of reach, but the notion of taking mirror elements and shaping them to another art excited her. She sets her own passion aside. "Traveled from Xanadu, Reid. I have seen the sun play rampant on the waters of that ocean. I have slept under the canopy of dreams there and it is good. Rebma is another story." Another story entirely. "Do you have an interest in Rebma? It is a place of mystery where a man who does marvels with silver and glass could confound the court."

Master Draper is drawing Papillon away to look at fabrics.

Celina adds, "And I should tell you that I grew up an orphan. I don't know family history, except as legends heard from afar. If you think I'm missing something obvious in our chat, I probably am." She gives Reid her best smile.

"My father was Oberon's first child...well, my father and his twin brother shared that honor, but Osric was oldest by a few minutes, which is enough in these matters. They served Queen Moins in Rebma during the Triton troubles, but that is, perhaps, my largest tie to the city under the sea. I believe the same technological difficulties that hamper scientific or mechanical endeavors in Amber mostly apply in its sister cites, so I don't know how photography might work. I could be worth exploring though." Reid replies.

Celina's heart begins pounding away at mention of the ancient days of Tritons and Moins. She glances at Papillon and Master Draper in the midst of holding cloth up to a lantern. "Ah, the process is scientific as well as alchemical." She nods. Studying his face, Celina believes that this is not much more than polite conversation to Reid.

And Reid can't help but notice her reactions, veiled though they might be.

And how could she ask about Moins here in a clothing shop?

But being the proper girl from a good boarding school is not going to get the job done. Celina tucks her hands behind her back and considers. "I did not realize that Amber had a part in all that. Did your father share stories of Rebma troubles then? Or is it long before you were born?"

"I heard tales, though I've forgotten them all but for impressions and imagery. I do know that for a long while my father and his brother were lauded as heroes by the Rebman people. There were folk songs written that boasted of their deeds, but like most things folk, the details have been washed away by the sea of bards that have adapted, modified and expanded upon the truth in favor of a good yarn. The real story may be out there somewhere, likely even in Amber's Great Library, but if it were unearthed and told, it would easily be mistaken for fantasy, for those were mythic times with epic men. Our own battles and struggles, be they physical, emotional or political do not hold a candle to those of the Kingdoms when they were young." Reid seems both proud of his father, and reminiscent of old, and clearly in his mind, better times.

Celina absorbs Reid's first few sentences like a clean current. In the shadowed shop, it is so easy to smell the history held by fabric, taste the sea yet closer than not, and feel the notes spun by bards played against the ears and bare skin.

There is a physical sadness that echoes within her and blends parts of Adonis' memorial and also something older. Yes, older and covertly furious. Reid works his word poem and the Seaward audience finds the undertow compelling. Celina's blood hums in her veins as if Reid had conjured some spell. It is the first moment in her life when Celina wonders what else is in her blood besides the mythic bonfire of epic Amber men.

Almost. Almost something is in focus. She stares at Reid's eyes. Deep. Blood. A candle held behind the hand may show the blood racing a mysterious pathway that never grows old. A candle held to mirror glass may show the red veils and scales of another pathway.

This man is a candle.

"The real story may be out there somewhere." Celina does not realize she speaks until she hears it. The surf recedes. She moves and touches Reid's face with light fignertips to either side of his cheekbones. "It is. Yes. It is out there. Washed over with silt from years of neglect and fancy egos making of it something prosey rather than true. Go and return. It is all of a pathway." She slowly smiles at Reid.

And kisses him lightly. A gift for a gift.

Reid accepts the gift for what it is, having been exposed to too many cultures and their mores to be put off for long by a behavior as unexpected.

He lets the moment linger a bit more before changing the topic. "Enough talk of the past for now--there can always be more later. What of your future? Are you to stay in Amber? Return to Xanadu? Alight on Paris? Or strike out on your own into parts unknown?"

The Seaward cousin smiles lightly. She nods in Papillon's direction--whether that worthy has seen the kiss or no--as if to say, 'this is a good man that is worth your keeping.' Celina steps back a few inches and eases her hands over her hips. "What of the future? Yes. I'll certainly trade you one for one on that topic." Her emerald eyes dance a bit even in the shadowed shop.

Celina draws a finger across a counter and takes a pleasant sniff of the lingering sea salt in the air. "I was thinking of joining a religious order for the contemplation. There are several possibilities. Nothing of the kind exists in Xanadu as yet. So it will probably be in shadow. At some point I might bring something like it back to Xanadu. And yourself, luminous sir?"

"Luminous? No. Illuminated? Perhaps. I have, as of late, encountered a number of religious orders. I would even go so far as to suggest my recent encounters with those of some specific faith outnumber any similar encounters I may have had in the last thousand years. I, myself, tend towards more analytical contemplations. While one of my age probably should have time for conjecture, I can't seem to bring myself to it." Reid smiles.

"So then are you old even as the Family counts the years?" Celina finds a pleasant study in the very corner of his mouth.

"I believe the terms my cousins use behind my back are, 'Spooky Old Guy' and 'Older than Dirt'." Reid smiles again, making that corner of his mouth even more of a target. "And if I remember correctly, the Seaward equivalent to that last one would be, 'Older than the old widow's pearls,' though even that phrase may have been replaced by something more modern since I last heard its use."

Celina grins. "Indeed, I've heard the phrase just so. You even have the inflection down perfectly. You sound just like a Seaward trade house dam. So you are well-traveled with an ear for the music of the everyday. Which brings us back to our trade of questions. What of your future? Are you to stay in Amber? Return to Xanadu? Alight on Paris? Or strike out on your own for another destiny?"

Reid furrows his brow for a moment. "Though I'm uncertain as to the cause of my worries, I suspect Amber is a sinking ship, and we, not unlike rats, are fleeing it. In the short term I hope to lead a caravan of merchant friends to Xanadu via land routes so that they can establish their enterprises in the new land while the economy is young. Beyond that, I have no set destination in mind. There are affairs of state abroad that may require my aide, though as of yet, I have not discussed them with my aunts and uncles, nor the king, to determine what the appropriate response should be."

I've always wondered about that dryland expression. Do the surface men realize that the vermin are not deserting the ship or that they die regardless? Is the fable about cowardice or irony or both? Celina feels a chill try and steal away her good mood. She bats the notion aside with a flick of her green locks. "You have a great deal of responsibility and these are hard times. Since you have an interest in religious orders, may I call upon you in weeks to come? By Trump? I'd like your opinion about devout groups that I will encounter. You may have insights to share. I have, by nature, a great respect for knowledge and age. Certainly it means something that you have had many recent encounters and I am planning on finding such chances."

Reid retrieves a self portrait from his trump pouch and passes it to Celina. "If there were more time, I'd have you sit for a portrait as well. There are too few cards for those of our generation."

"And I am so fresh to this generation that I'm still awaiting my first portrait." Celina takes the card gently and examines it. Her eyes scan the colors and shapes. "Thank you. I didn't expect such a potent resource to be placed in my hands today."

In a serious tone, Reid explains "It is a tool, a weapon, an asset, and perhaps even a burden. It is ink and paper, but it is also representational in ways other art cannot even dream of approaching." The tension eases out of his shoulders after a moment, and he adds "Do try not to lose it, will you? They cost a fortune to make." It's not spoken, but clear that the expense is not monetary. The weariness in Reid aged eyes belies the truth of that.

"Lose it? I'm embracing burdens and weapons this week. I will look after it." Celina says with a sunny smile. "There is an awkward following question: can it get wet? I don't really know how durable it is."

"It is fairly well sealed...all my self portraits are, so it's more durable than a sketch would be. Yes, it should fare well for a while, though I prefer to keep my deck wrapped in oilskins if I know I'm heading for adverse conditions..." Reid answers.

Adverse conditions? Celina looks back at the art. Many hidden currents wash across her eyes. She almost hands it back to Reid but her fingers tighten instead. "Oilskins. I'll remember and thank you."

Celina pushes back a tendril of escaping hair over her ear. And slips the card inside the top of her shirt "I liked Paris very much. I hope that Paris supports your artwork in silver and glass. That would be a wonderful addition to the staunch fashions and steel aspirations. Perhaps something that Xanadu would also welcome. The new realm shall be a place of new crafts."

Papillon comes out of the dressing chamber where the tailor has been measuring her. She is bundled up and pinned in a steely blue that brings out the hints of green in her hazel eyes. "Reid, what do you think of this color?" she asks.

*ca-ching!!!* "A classic hue of timeless beauty," Reid says in appreciation, and with a nod to both the seamstress and his companion, adds, "I don't know that my own pallet of paints could match such a rich compliment."

Papillon glows under Reid's approval.

She adds, "What is Xanadu? Will we go there and photograph it?"

Relaxing a bit, Celina give Papillon a luminous smile.

"Xanadu is..." he thinks of how best to phrase it..."Uncle Random's second kingdom. It's fairly new, all things considered, but there are those among us who fear that Amber is not what she used to be, and there has been a shift to Xanadu's favour. We shall be heading their soon enough, accompanying some other friends of mine, and yes, I would be thrilled to see if the principles of photography hold within its borders."

"Then I will have to come with you to assist," Papillon says to Reid. She struts a little, as best she can without disturbing the pins. "What do you think?" she asks Reid, but the question includes Celina. "The fashions are a little more--" she struggles to find the right word, and gives up. "They are quite different from the mode in Paris."

"Quite different," agrees Celina. "But travel broadens the sense of clothing arts as well. You look radiant. I think this compliments you well."

"Thank you," Papillon says, and it's genuine.

"It can, at times, be important to blend well with those around you, so as not to draw undue attention. Then again, there are times when you want to catch every eye in the room. While the cut of the current trends may be contemporary and popular, that color, matched with your looks, will surely garner the appreciation of onlookers," Reid adds.

The tailor ushers Papillon back into the dressing room once Reid and Celina are finished admiring her.

"Some time I should do up some sketches of the traditional garb of the Courts from my youth and have them rendered by this seamstress. I feel she could do them justice, and it would please my eye to see the classics in a new light."

She is such a lovely girl that Celina also imagines her in the classics, flowing scale kilt and boot sandals, with a large mantle of foreign coins around her neck spreading across her shoulders and breasts. She blinks.

No. Ancient Amber classics. Of course. She smiles a Reid. "The classics always have power over our imagination. Especially for young girls who love the legends of ancient times. I would like to see your sketches someday as I'm sure it would please my eyes as well." Celina lingers wondering if she has time to ask the Draper for a kilt. She discards the idea. "And you, Master Reid. If you were in traditional garb, the two of you could set a fashion in Paris or Xanadu."

"Perhaps we shall, at some point. It would be good to see you there when we do." Reid replies thoughtfully.

"You are very kind." Celina walks to the door as if she might exit the shop, but she stops there and turns back to Reid. With a tuck of her chin and a question in her eyes, she appears to ask Reid to join her there, as far from the dressing room and good Draper as possible. "I must be going. This has been a wonderful opportunity and I do hope to see you again soon."

[if Reid joins, there is whispering, if not, she smiles very nicely and exits......]

Reid walks to the door, to open it for her, old fashioned manners being what they are.

[Oh, that is so sublime...]

The Seaward cousin whispers carefully. "Is there already a memorial to your father in Rebma, Reid? There should be, yes? Is he buried in the family sacrosanct on Kolvir or in Rebma or does he rest yet in field unknown?"

"My father died in land deep within Chaos. I have visited his grave, but it is long forgotten by almost everyone else... Dworkin and Benedict are likely his only other visitors." Reid subconsciously lights his fingers over the carved flute tucked in his belt. "It would not surprise me to learn that statues of the twins could exist in some town square in Rebma, but I'd also wager that the meaning behind their struggle has been forgotten by all but the historians and, perhaps, a few interested royals. Perhaps some time I should visit the Rebman castle archives or library and see what the local records tell of the tale." Reid smiles. "It seems that of late I am on a tour of the Pattern lands. No reason not to continue that journey."

Celina looks by turns startled, then quite sad, and then a bit energized by something Reid has said. "Continue, yes, that would be grand. Rebma probably needs to remember that history. Probably, but not willingly, as best I could tell." She lays a hand upon the door latch but actually leans closer to Reid, seeming to stare.

"And do you know the meaning behind their struggle, Master Reid?" Celina goes on, "And would it mean something to modern ears?"

"I don't know that I could tell their tale, even if there were someone willing to listen. I was young, not directly involved, and it was a long, long time ago. If I could be educated on the specifics, I could more readily herald their cause, though at this point I do not know what would be gained in doing so, either for myself or for Rebma," Reid answers.

Celina listens well. She nods. She seems satisfied, if not enthused by the response. She clears her throat softly. "You've been ...kind. Thank you. I do not know the answer to your very good question. What would be gained?"

She shakes her head and looks outside to the sunlight. "Any struggle should leave behind its meaning, you know. Or at least the story, or a whisper of the respect people gave for being party to the struggle. For there is the notion that struggles not respected and understood will be fought again by those who have forgotten."

Celina nods. "I look forward to our next meeting. My regards to, Papillon."

Paige awakens to low male voices from the outer room. Van is talking to someone, Paige recognizes the voice as Gilt Winter.

She stands, content once she saw that the children were still asleep. Cracking the door, unmindful of her appearance, she smiled at the men there. "Good morning, Gilt."

He smiles when he sees her.

"I hope that Liam didn't disturb your rest."

"Not at all, I had to get up to answer the door anyway." He holds up her letter. "The King has returned to Xanadu and I don't know when he will be back. Is this an urgent message? I can call him if needs be."

She steps into the hall but doesn't close the door fully. "Urgent? No, but likely timely in the next few days. I was hoping to keep him aware of my plans and discuss Xanadu's judiciary and the possibility of a job for me once I've settled my household," she explains. "I hope to take the sea route to his new harbor within the next few days, I figured that he'd be interested in that if nothing else. My own card is enclosed so he can contact me at his leisure during the voyage."

He relaxes. Perhaps he's seen too much urgent business in the past day.

"I am sure he'll check in here in the next day or so. If you'd like me to pass it to him then, I shall. Either that, or we should be sending some staff to Xanadu shortly. As long as you're aware of the delay, I can make sure it gets to the King eventually."

He pauses. "The sea route seems very popular. I shall have to stop at the Admiralty later today..."

"Popular? I thought no one had attempted the sea route yet," Paige comments. "Are my cousins making travel plans? I'd appreciate the company."

"It's hard to avoid the signs of preparations, if you're paying attention to the dockside. Some of it is, I imagine, based on reading tea-leaves, and some is a domino effect, but there's more afoot down there this morning than any time since the regency."

Paige smiles and nods. "I think it'll get busier before it slows, too. Thank you, Gilt."

"With your permission, Lady Somers," he says, "I have other duties."

"Of course," she answers.

Later that morning, a page delivers to Lilly a letter sealed with the crest of St Cyr and written in Lucas' elegantly flowing hand.

My Dearest Cousin,

The opportunity for exploration of which we spoke last night has most unexpectedly arisen. If you are still desirous of my most unworthy company, I shall be delighted to have your participation. Indeed, I await it with the eagerest anticipation.

Discretion must needs be our watchword.

Respond if you are still of the same mind to cast your fortunes with

Your most devoted cousin

Lucas

Lilly reads the note through several times before sitting down to write her response.

Dear Lucas,

My mind is still set. We can arrange a meeting to discuss details at your convenience or just send word of the time and location of our departure and I shall meet you then. I shall keep things as quiet as possible.

Until then,
Lilly

Lucas receives this letter - and burns it without replying. He's of a mind to notify Lilly when - and only when - they are nearly ready to depart.

[After talking with Hannah,] Lucas takes a stroll down to the harbour to meet Opal Hardwind.

Opal Hardwind smiles when she sees Lucas, unconvincingly. "Good day my Lord, I trust you are well?"

"Blooming," says Lucas. "As I trust you are too - which I am judging from the roguish twinkle in your eye. And business ... I am here to add to your continuing success in those fields by commissioning or - if you prefer - purchasing a second ship. Luxurious appointments, yes ... this is, after all, moi. A gallant and experienced crew."

For a moment, the languid mask doesn't drop ... but it is lowered.

"I'm looking for the best," says Lucas quietly. "And so ... I'm coming to the best to get it."

She looks at him, eyebrows raised. "I happen to have a ship that can be made ready in a day or so. I hear that many people are leaving or looking to leave the castle after what happened up there.

"Should the ship be the one I am preparing for my household? Is it time, then to consider leaving Amber?"

"That depends," says Lucas, "on whether the head of the household trumps the businesswoman.

"Yes, it is time to consider leaving Amber - and my recommendation would be that you do it in the fastest ship of your line - ready to depart amongst the the last as soon as you see all your other vessels profitably loaded - and then capable of slipping through the fleet so that you are among the first to arrive, and receive the grateful thanks of the King of Xanadu.

"So far the blood of my admirably pragmatic fathers would advise you. For myself ... I could play the romantic and suggest we two could take a more scenic route to Xanadu. But that would lose you the grateful thanks of the King - and would place us both under the censorious eyes of two of my cousins who will accompany me ... I doubt it would be a wholly pleasant voyage."

She looks at him, staring hard for a moment, before lowering her gaze. "When you put it so starkly, the choice is obvious, and I will not lie to you for romantic sentimentalism's sake. Tell me of Xanadu. What does it need? How can I distinguish the Hardwinds from the other grasping merchant clans?"

"By driving a hard but fair bargain, by placing your best ship at the disposal of the king, and by showing a readiness to work your incomparable backside off for the cause of Xanadu," says Lucas with rare bluntness. "You know, it really is incomparable ... do you think, after all ... no. I suppose not."

Opal Hardwind raises her eyebrows.

He moves to a convenient table and spreads out his map of Xanadu. "This is the port - this the beginnings of the harbour. Your first cargo will be people - they'll be immigrants so you can pack 'em tight. But not so tight that half die off - they'll be your first customers, and you want them to land singing your praises, determined to buy their goods from House of Hardwind and developing a wistful desire to take a Hardwind Sunset Cruise around the islands as in their declining years.

"Once you've landed them, the thing will be to keep them supplied. That will be food - staples to begin with until they can grow sufficient to feed themselves. Construction gear - but more important, perhaps, tools. There's a level of sophistication in Xanadu that surpasses Amber; you may be looking for a greater level of technological advance ... are you still with me?"

"Yes. I've been out to other places." She doesn't take her eyes from the map.

"But the basics will still be needed - axes, spades, hoes. You can worry about pile drivers, concrete mixers and cultivators when the place is more established. And then you can start to build the luxury trade as well although - and forgive me if I'm preaching the bleedingly obvious here - I'd always devote a small proportion of every cargo to establishing a luxury trade. People need their circuses to leaven their bread and, again, they won't forget those that supply them - unless, of course, they can buy the same goods cheaper elsewhere."

She nods, letting him continue without interruption.

"You'll be one of the first people on the spot, and that will be one of your primary strengths. I'd put factors ashore - as soon as you can - who can keep a weather eye on the way the markets are running. I'll have a man in place; he's shrewd, and will advise you accordingly, should you wish for help. I'll also supply you with a note of introduction to my cousin Hannah. She's new, so you'll have no history with her. She's tough and strong but fair-minded; you could work well with her or alienate her entirely, so be careful. Be straight and honest with her - she's no fool, and unlikely to be impressed by court manners. But she's going to be in a position of significant importance in Xanadu. Being on her team would be a coup that would put you in a position of strength. After that, it will be up to you to make of it what you can."

"Hannah," she says. Perhaps to help her remember the name, or Lucas' pronunciation.

And as they are standing so close, bending over the table together, Lucas reaches out and lifts one dark curl to reveal the long smooth line of her neck. He moves closer, so that his warm breath falls on the pale skin. It is, after all, almost a day since he said farewell to Solace - and a good five hours since he parted with Silken. And he has nobly sacrificed the chance to grapple with this splendid filly for a good few months.

Afer Lilly has left, Ossian spend the rest of the morning working on the Abford sketch.

About midday, [Ossian] receives a note back from Merlin.

Dear Ossian,

I still have the trump. I will be painting my sister this afternoon; you can find me in my chambers. I will have it ready for you.

Your cousin,
Merlin

In the early afternoon Ossian knocks on Merlin's door.

[OOC: I don't see much need for this to be a thread, unless Merlin or Celina has somehting they want to say to Ossian.]

[Celina: "Hello. I hope you are well. Good luck."]

Merlin has nothing much to say either. He'll tell Ossian anything Ossian needs to know about the memorial service, so Ossian can consider himself up to date on who attended and what was said.

He's clearly working on a trump based on the paint stains and turpentine stink.

Ossian is appropriately subdued when they talk about the memorial service. He gets the Trump he came for, compliments Celina's looks and Merlin's work, and makes a few friendly suggestions to Merlin about the Trump in progress.

[Hehe. So I know about the memorial service from Merlin's perspective. Right.]