Day Eight

A letter, sealed in oilcloths, marked with the Rebman signs that indicate it is only to be opened in an air chamber.

To Moire, Queen of Rebma, Monarch of the Undersea Realms, Strider of the Sapphire Throne, I send my fraternal greetings.

It is with much pleasure that I have greeted your granddaughter Valeria and the embassy that has accompanied her. I look forward to the long and productive relationship between us that her presence in my realm augurs.

I regret that I am unable to repay the compliment in person at this time. My presence is currently required at the coronation of King Random in Amber. As your granddaughter's letters will no doubt mention, the Duchess has decided to accompany me to present your respects and congratulations to your kinsman-by-marriage the King and his new Queen, and your greetings to your grandsons Prince Jerod and Prince Martin.

I have allotted certain crown properties to your servants to establish a permanent Rebman delegation in my city. My envoy Sir William, who bears this note, will serve as my agent until such time as I can greet you properly in your own place and arrange for a more formal exchange of ambassadors. I hope to bring you much news of our family and its deeds at that time.

Until then, I remain, yours, etc.

By my hand and seal,
Corwin
Rex
Paris

[his seal, a rose, in silver wax]

Sometime a couple days after the poker invites go out, Aisling drops by Cambina, perhaps finding her in the library... The usual polite greeting chatter taken care of, she mentions, "I have heard that Lord Jerod is organizing a poker game... To my ear it seemed that the guest list had a decidedly arbitrary nature." There's a devilish grin waiting in the wings of Aisling's polite expression; may never appear, but it's certainly scoping out the audience from the shadows behind the curtains.

"And you propose an arbitrary counter-gathering? You, me, Solange, Brita, Folly, Paige, Robin and Lilly? Certainly a goodly number for poker, if we're so inclined. Sadly, Amber does not hold with Gentlewoman's Clubs, so we cannot hold our muted debauch surrounded by pretty young men eager for our favors."

Aisling's brows pop up and she looks faintly appalled and then amused.

"Still, can't be helped. It could be more interesting than Canasta night."

And [Aisling]'s smothering a grin such that her eyes twinkle here.

"An interesting proposition, unless you mean instead to infiltrate the men's gathering and forcibly integrate it?"

This sobers her some and she's shaking her head. "No no," she considers explaining and then decides to treat Cambina's words as a jest, "no." And she grins, "And while I suspect I might find the company at the non-Canasta-night extremely enjoyable, that also is a non-ideal solution." She pauses momentarilly, then, "I am a Chaosite. That means I'm pretty much outside of the whole sex structure that's so important here." The corners of her eyes crinkle up with the grin that she's not grinning, but she continues normally. "To my mind, it really is very arbitrary, Jerod's guest list... Has Lucas more in common with Vere than you do? Would not Ossian be happier at a party with Folly?" She shrugs, "I would prefer not to get left out of things because of my appearance.

"Now, the question, as it occurs to me, is how best to apply my maleness to bringing the rest of you along with me. I was considering dinner this evening. What do you think?" Oh, and the devil is truly dancing in her eyes.

"I see your point. I can arrange dinner in a private location away from the castle and it's many ears. Do you have a list of other conspirators to add to the party? How many shall I need to feed?"

"I was wondering how shifting gender and discussing arbitrary-ness would take him at his own dinners for family discussion... Of course, it might not take him well to be confronted on his own ground. You think a dinner of yours would be better? As for others, I feel that the Lady Folly might be a wise inclusion, and some "males"..." grin's as good as a wink "...to provide support and bring home the point; Nestor, certainly. We could begin with a discussion of Spare, to bring about the conversation. Have you suggestions?"

"Ah, I didn't understand. You want to reason Jerod into this in advance. Well that won't be nearly so entertaining as seeing his face when we crash his party."

Aisling grins. But she hadn't quite seen where Cambina was coming from, either until then; odd, she thinks, must be habitual obscurity of a high water on both of our parts. I must make sure to talk things out with Cambina at length in the future, to avoid a similar problem that really mattered...

"I'd be happy to mention it to Jerod and even to set up dinner for some of us in the next day or so where you can suggest that you should be on the guest list, but I expect that none of the women who were here who were not invited will want to ask for invitations. The normal reaction to being snubbed is to sniff and say 'Well, I didn't really want to go anyway!'"

"I do hope I'm not developing a reputation as a wet blanket, in your mind... While it might be fun to watch your little brother squirm, I find that it is difficult to react with grace to being trapped. And I would rather be effective." She grins again, "So yes, I suppose it would be best if you hinted a bit of warning to him about this dinner. But as for the game itself, I am quite content to regard this lack of an invitation as an unfortunate clerical error. It is future games I am concerned with. I would like to get this settled, in the favor of those with two protruberances on their upper front." This last is utterly deadpan.

"I really should just let you talk to Jerod. He'll do a better job of explaining it than I will. The message you send if you crash Martin's little party is different than the one you send if you tell him he has committed an error by not inviting you. It is much better for him to come to that conclusion himself. The outrage in the first case is useful and brief, the resentment in the second is not useful and may linger.

"I told you I wouldn't explain it well. So, anyway, just make sure you've got your plans in place for when Jerod tells you he can't add you to the guest list because it's Martin's event."

Aisling scootches her chair around to face Cambina more directly, her brows knotted. "See, this is why I came to you. Jerod seemed a man of some reason in many areas, but I was not sure if sex was one of them. And Martin; Martin I do not know at all, and your advice far surpasses anything I could guess at." She frowns, "Where I am from, to enter someone else's domain without an invitation is a dire fault against hospitality, often answered with pain and death. Tell me more of how the lesser outrage felt among your people would be useful..."

She shrugs. "It probably doesn't apply to Martin, anyway. He's going to be a long time getting over his habits from the war. He's quick to assume potentially hostile behavior is actually hostile and I expect he'll do so long after I go to my grave."

Aisling frowns.

"In general, though, you can learn something about a man by learning what outrages him, how he reacts to it, and how he recovers. As a note, this works best when what you are doing really is harmless, or at least appears to be so. It also works best when the target is someone who is slightly sympathetic to you and the outraged party is someone else made to look slightly ridiculous by your actions.

"This is why, and how, jesters are useful in royal courts.

"If you really want to know about the value of outrage as a tool, you might want to talk to cousin Lucas."

A dry "Heh," escapes Aisling, but she returns to the main conversation, frowning. "I would rather be pinned as a female than piss off Martin. And yet you say that Jerod would resent being approached with Chaosite reason." She spreads her hand, "I do not think our goals in this are terribly separate. Let us say you have a blood relative that is neither male nor female; what would you do with this being?" A smile flickers across her face, "Or am I going about this wrong? Shall I attempt to teach you my art?"

Cambina offers a rare, real smile. "I don't know if I could learn to do it, but I always want to know everything. Just knowing something about how you think it works will be interesting to me."

"Jerod can't fairly add you to Martin's guest list, since it isn't his guest list. He gets to pass the buck. Martin is about to be the son of the king. He'll have plenty of people deserving and not, interesting and not, attempting to be his friend. He has to defend himself by keeping up walls.

"Also, Martin is the most like our parents of any of us. On some subjects, he may take decades to make up his mind. His friendship follows his respect and his trust. The best thing I can think of for you is to be friendly but undemanding and let his own shame at his cynical nature convince him to see if you are trustworthy.

"It's a slow, boring process, but if you're going to live forever, there's no point in rushing things.

"And as for what I would do with such a cousin, why I would let her approach me and I would try to find out what it was that she wanted and I would let her tell me and I would reserve judgement until I saw what she said and saw how she acted. But I am not Martin."

Aisling smiles, with gentle joking chiding says, "I was speaking about sex... I'm not asking you--" she cuts off suddenly, some redness coming to her face, since the next words would have been "to marry me," and that would just send this relationship down the wrong chute entirely.

I'm guessing Cambina has the dignity to allow her to continue, still smiling, but in a less close manner, "I believe I will discuss gender with Jerod at some point soon; he was ever interested in the philosophy of things." There's maybe a glint deep in her eye suggesting that momentarily she revelled in that double meaning.

"Consider this when you speak with my brother. Gender, power, privilege, and sex are all tied up and cannot be discussed independently of each other, even if Jerod thinks they can. As for me, I will not have a happy marriage. I am content with that knowledge."

Aisling looks curious. "Who will you marry?" she asks.

She looks at Aisling with the barest glimmer of real fear, hastily disguised.

"I have no idea," she says, quietly.

Aisling reacts to fear with fear, perhaps even more quickly hidden, and shifting into he-need-not-live-long to oh!-the-not-knowing to respect at her living with the patches she does know. This triggers a sort of nod-bow, and she changes the subject:

"As for the art of shifting, shall we begin those dialogues soon after the coronation? I find my time quite absorbed for the next few days..."

"It is nice to be busy with something after five years without a King. I believe that Random's coronation will be memorable as long as Amber stands."

Aisling smiles, and lets the evil foreboding chords on the soundtrack go by un-remarked-on.

Continuing from the sentence above:
She grants Eric's daughter another graceful nod-bow, "I thank you for the pleasure of your conversation, Princess Cambina."

"It's just Cambina, please. Princesses are things to look at and trade for advantage and I am a person."

"Princesses are things that can muster vast resources, and that will be avenged devastatingly," Aisling offers her perspective. "It is pleasing to be among people." She grins, Cheshire-cat like.

"Don't settle for less, Aisling. Solipsism is one of the great temptations of our nature."

Aisling looks thoughtful, bows, and exits.

On the eighth day of the Return, Fiona arrives back in Amber, perhaps/presumably on someone's Trump. She spends some long time closeted with the King on her return.

The news spreads through the family, redheads first: Fiona has been blocked from the Primal Pattern. Random has decreed that there will be no further attempts to achieve the Pattern until after the coronation.

Fiona will be available to deal with youngers and advise on matters metaphysical after her return. The bulk of her attention will be on her children, with additional attention to other redheads (and honorary redheads, such as Ossian) to the extent that they request time with her and/or amuse her.

Nobody is silly enough to try to rope her into military politics or party planning.

Lucas will send Fiona a note, requesting an audience with her, with the possibility of discussing party preparation with her.

Fiona, perhaps surprisingly, agrees.

With the audience, or the party preparation?

The audience.

Then Lucas will attend the audience.

Brennan will make her aware of the FireLilly situation and ask her about the implications of that. Other than that, he's got nothing, although if her calendar is sufficiently open he'd like to visit with her, ask her about the Pattern expedition, if she needs any help, etc, but also just to visit.

Unless the GMs have something it can be handled in summary, or even just noted and moved on.

What exactly is Brennan going to tell Fiona about the firelillies? She will be available at some point to look at them in Arden, because she will want to visit Brita, probably the day after her arrival.

Pretty much everything he knows, unless Lilly indicated she wanted things kept quiet, which didn't appear to be the case. In addition, he mentions his idea that, while they may have an exotic mode of reproduction (to be determined based on observation whie she's gone) his theory is that they follow Daeon's path into the woods and possibly into Shadow (unless that's been obviously disproved by the time of her return.)

He also does not like them, and favors killing them.

Fiona will want to see them and how they are connected to Julian's son before she advocates killing them. She mislikes Brennan's description.

[Fiona] will also be available to visit with Brennan privately and discuss the Pattern situation. We can handle that in summary.

Fiona will of course be added to Vere's list of people to talk to regarding the Pattern, Healing, and Shadows. Summary or played out, as the GMs prefer.

Summary.

Fiona will report the same story about Tir and Benedict's mechanical arm as Cambina, and suggest that Vere will want to inquire directly of Benedict on his return to Amber.

Corwin may have had physical brain damage that was repaired by the Pattern when he walked it. Since his legs weren't damaged and he was able to walk it, Random and Deirdre's surmise that he should walk the Pattern proved correct and he got his memory back.

It may be that the simplest course is best and Vere ought to take Gerard back to his [Gerard's] mother's homeland for magical healing. If the magic heals him and is not a constant thing, Fiona sees no reason why it wouldn't work. It's what she would do with a man of her own, although she would use the principles of her own sorcery to do the thing.

The problem is that there are no general rules with the Pattern. Every case is a unique, and the price of guessing wrongly will be Gerard's life. And Fiona doesn't know enough about the sorcery of Rilga's homeland to know for certain what it will do when interacting with the Pattern. She'd like to consult with Bleys and discuss it with him, to see what he thinks.

Meanwhile, she has two pieces of advice for Vere: first, seek out Dworkin and ask him. Dworkin is the best person to ask these questions, even if he seems less helpfully disposed than normal of late. [Vere can tell that this annoys her.] Second, since Vere seems to be in charge of this effort, she thinks that Vere himself should walk the Pattern himself before coming to any conclusion. And she thinks this will be possible very soon after the coronation, regardless of other issues.

Fiona agrees to meet with Lucas in the library at a certain hour.

When does Lucas arrive (early, on time, or fashionably late)? How is he dressed? What is his general demeanor?

Lucas arrives on time, and makes it look good. Dressed well but not formally, in something that would suit a scion of Amber attending to a true Princess of the Realm. Lucas' demeanor is one of genuine respect.

Fiona is awaiting his arrival. She gestures to him to come and join her.

"Lucas," she says. "I've been looking forward to speaking to you. It seemed to me that you were soliciting my attention in the library the night of Random's dinner party. I'm afraid I was a little distracted that evening. What can I do for you now?"

Lucas has the feeling she sees right through him.

Lucas seats himself, "Well, at the moment we could use the assistance of a skilled and talented woman such as yourself as we plan for the coronation of our new monarch. In more broad terms, I would be delighted to better make your acquaintence."

"And here I thought you would be looking for embarrassing stories about your mother as a girl," Fiona says with a wicked grin. "In what matters do you particularly solicit my assistance? I am afraid I am not such a social doyenne as my little sister."

"Yes, but you have a certain air of dermination and wit that my mother lacks."

"I think you underestimate your mother a little, Lucas. She picked what looked to be a simpler road than the one I picked, but both of them have rocks and bad footing here and there, and unexpected easy paths. She'll have a hard road ahead recovering from the King's dislike of her, but she's too useful to leave too far out in the cold for long.

"As for the coronation, the King wishes me to remain in Amber to consult with him on certain matters, so I cannot run hither and yon collecting ornaments for the ball. Nor am I one such as whom Amber's ladies will attend on for tea and gossip. And these last few years, I'm afraid I've lost touch somewhat with my acquaintances in the city. How I might be of assistance is a little beyond me."

"You are perhaps correct regarding my opinion of my mother. I have never been close to the woman, and I am perhaps a little inclined to dismiss my mother out of hand. Though I have not had much chance to get to know you, I have long wondered what it would be like to have grown up under the tutelage of one such as yourself. From what little I've been able to glean, there appears to be a strength and a depth that is so lacking in others."

"Work," says Fiona. "Quite a bit of it. Very hard work. You may ask Conner sometime. I believe a child should be trained rigorously in whatever discipline suits the child. Although I was unfortunately limited in my ability to teach Brita, she seems to have found teachers with a complementary approach. What was your childhood like, Lucas?"

"From the sound of it, far less interesting than that of your children. As you can imagine, I was largely seen and not heard, with extensive instruction by tutors and nannies, with occasional tests from Mother. I dread to think what my lessons in riding, etiquette and social graces says about my strengths if such was the case in my childhood."

"Those are useful things to know," says Fiona, "but they should not be the extent of a young man's education. How did your mother prepare you to walk the Pattern, then?"

"I don't know that it was that spectacular a preparation. A bunch of nonsense of, 'You start here, end here, step off the line and you die. Be sure to have a good night's sleep before hand.' It's entirely possible my mother hoped for me to fail."

"Your mother was never well-educated in the metaphysical realm," Fiona says. "I have always found her lack interesting. You do know that your grandmother came to Amber as my mother's waiting-woman, do you not?"

"No, I hadn't... though it sounds vaguely fitting."

"You should do more research into family history, Lucas. It's a fascinating pursuit, and you can learn the most interesting things from your relatives." Fiona smiles at Lucas, predatorily.

"I imagine that your education in metaphysics must have suffered."

"My wife may agree with you regarding family history. But yes, I find that I could likely have benefited greatly from a greater emphasis on metaphysics. I've tried to peck out what I can, but you know how hard that can be without a good tutor."

"Which, of course, you've never had," Fiona says, smiling, her catlike gaze resting on Lucas as if she were somehow peeling him like an onion.

"Of course," Lucas replies, yet unconcerned about the subtle grilling he's receiving. He seems almost curious to see what Fiona can reveal about him.

"Most people are somewhat frightened of metaphysical teaching, of learning the sorts of things that Dworkin could teach, or that Brand could, or that I can. Yet you don't seem to be. Why is that, Lucas?"

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," he replies with a laugh.

"Indeed they do," says Fiona. "And if you came to be my student, Lucas, what would you want to learn?"

"I hadn't really given it much thought. Metaphysics is all one big blob from the standpoint of catering. I'd be interested to see what you thought me inclined towards. Outside views can be educational in and of themselves. Of course, I'm certain metaphysics isn't the only talent you've picked up over the years." Lucas means for that last comment to have a lot of varied meanings, not all of them even sexual.

Fiona looks vastly amused. "The nature of the universe isn't a study for dilettantes, Lucas. When you've lived enough centuries, you learn the things you need to survive, and the things you have to learn because you're driven to learn them. Perhaps you need to find out what you're driven to learn before you consider an interest in studying metaphysics."

She adds, "Not to mention that you'd need to be a better liar."

"I do not lie," Lucas replies in a mildly hurt tone.

Fiona gives Lucas a Look. It occurs to him that she may well know every half-truth and obfuscation he has spoken in the entire conversation.

It occurs to the player that Lucas has been pretty honest, if a little circuitous and unsure what he ultimately seeks to gain from Fiona, and the GMs may be reading more into Lucas than was meant to exist in the conversation. ;)

"You genuinely interest me, Aunt, and I would be delighted to get to know you better and learn from your experiences. If I pick up the odd magical trick or other, then so be it. But most of all I want to learn from you."

Fiona laughs. "You do know how to flatter a woman, don't you, Lucas?" It's not quite sarcasm. "If you were in my shoes, why would you take a nephew in your position on for tutoring? Sell me on you."

[Lucas suspects his bedroom talents will not be a major sales point with Fiona.]

"Flattery was one of my strong suits growing up. I've had so little use for it of late." It's not quite a compliment. "Were I in your position, I would take on any nephew that generally interested me. I do things because it pleases me to do such. I approach people because they fascinate me, and should someone approach me for guidance, I would base my acceptance of his apprenticeship on whether or not I enjoyed the person's company.

"Had I been away in shadow and come back to find that many years have passed in the land of my birth, and I had an interest in it's well being and my place in it, then I should be delighted to find that someone of wit, grooming, style and some trifling degree of influence was interested in making my acquaintence, and possibly seek to learn from my many years of experience. Particularly if I was adding coal to the cabal machine."

"Five years is a trifle, Lucas. All of my brothers and I have spent longer out of Amber before, and I daresay we will again. As for 'the cabal machine', I'm curious as to why you think I might be adding coal to one."

It's difficult for Lucas to tell what impression he's made so far.

"A trifle on some occasions. But even in the span of a day drastic upheavals can occur. Fashion for one. Your tailor is obviously good, but trends do change weekly at times. However, if feel you do not need my help, fair enough. I offered it primarily as a gesture of friendship. As for the cabal machine... it's just the impression I've received in my rounds. A few little acts here and there. A housewarming with an intriguing guest list. The usual things a dashing man about town could pick up in pubs and haberdasheries."

"I know you mean well, Lucas, but you may not be old enough to really understand what it means to be a Prince of Amber. The girls who danced at the first ball my father threw in my honor are long dead now, and their granddaughters are old women. If my tailoring doesn't match that of the ladies of court, they will change to meet me before I change to meet them. If it suits my mood, I'll choose something currently fashionable, but otherwise I'll go my own way, in fashion, politics, or anything else." Lucas doesn't sense any defensiveness on Fiona's part, merely an almost professorial tone of explanation.

"And it's clever of you to turn the conversation to suggest you're offering me favors when you're soliciting my teaching," she adds.

Lucas seems to be growing a touch bored.

"I don't imagine it's that clever a ploy. You did, after all, ask me to sell you on my virtues. I'll take no offense, you've made it clear you're no longer as young as you were at your first ball." Lucas tosses that out in a last, desperate hope that she has a sense of humor.

Which she appears to.

"However, if you feel that the course of Amber will bend to your whims, be they political, fashionable, or whatever, then I'm certain that there is nothing a humble child of Florimel with mere centuries under his belt could offer to you."

"The extent to which the universe can be made to bend to one's whims is a subject of long study. The extent to which the people of Amber can be made to do so is both less difficult to learn and less worthwhile," Fiona says.

Lucas thinks it's a test.

"And if those people of Amber are your own family?"

"Our family, yes. That is a separate question, the difficulty of which is somewhere between the other two. What do you want out of this new regime, Lucas? I don't speak of the matter of the passing of the Jewel, as significant as that is, but of the change in the nature of our family, from a group of supposed equals to a number of hierarchies that may become rivalrous? Where do you see yourself in a decade or a century?"

"Why, I do believe you've stumped me, Fiona. I haven't really thought ahead that far. I should be delighted if I'm simply alive and prosperous."

"Think on it, Lucas. When you have the beginnings of an answer, ask to speak with me again, and we'll go from there," Fiona says.

Lucas is welcome to make small talk for a little while longer, but the interview is effectively over.

Lucas does the minimum amount of conversation, greatly disappointed that Fiona has chosen the path of the snooty. Does Fiona see Lucas out, or does she have him let himself out?

No, she'll see him out.

Lucas does not feel that she means it to be snooty. More like she feels her tutleage is valuable and isn't willing to consider training someone who isn't serious or for whatever other reason doesn't meet her standards.

Snooty is in the eye of the beholder. ;)

As he departs he comments, a little regretfully, "It's a shame, really. I'd hoped that we would have more in common. Your brother was so companionable, if a little self-important on occasion." He turns and saunters off, inviting no further conversation.

Ossian arrives at the meeting point precisely on time. He wants to meet Marius somewhere Marius feels comfortable. He carries a large sketchbook under his arm.

Well, somewhere Marius feels _comfortable_ may be difficult to arrange, but somewhere Marius suggests would be near the docks, as he's spent some time watching the sun go down. (And throwing the occasional bit towards seagulls. Rocks at the greedy, bread for the needy.) He will, in fact, be there a bit early, watching for anyone who seems "likely to be Ossian."

Ossian is rather easy to spot; his sky-blue attire is visible from far away. Marius will note that he stops to exchange a few words with a sailor. As Ossian comes closer, Marius will note that Ossian's clothes have a somewhat, if flashy, marine design; the color being the odd thing.

He'll hop off one of the posts he's been squatting on, and offer a hand. "Ossian, is it? I'm Marius." Does Ossian return the handshake?

[OOC: You know that Ossian normally kisses people's hands? ;-) ]

[Well, if he takes Marius' hand and kisses it, that's just dandy. We'll play it through.]

[Just joking. Ossian would not kiss Marius' hand at this time.]

[Good. I was trying to figure out exactly how Marius would have handled it, and kept coming up with expressions that only a cartoon character could have made. [laughing]]

Ossian returns the handshake. "Well met, cousin."

"Cousin," Marius laughs. His handshake is firm and vigorous. "At this rate, the entire city will begin to use the term, `Cousin!' as a generic greeting, replacing `Hello!'" He seems amused at the concept.

Osian grins: "I don't really mind. Maybe I try to overcompensate for the years I didn't know many relatives."

Marius laughs aloud at that.

[Ossian]
"You know, this is a nice place to paint in."

"It used to be nicer, but then," he reflects, "it wouldn't have been a good place to paint. Too busy," he decides. "Still, I am glad to see it offers some inspiration to an artist. How long have you been painting?"

"Fifteen, twenty years? I didn't keep much track of time back then." Ossian shrugs, begins to say something, and then changes his mind: "I guess you have the right to know one thing, and you'd better hear it from me.

"Brand taught me how to paint the Trumps, and saw to my upbringing."

Marius shrugs and shakes his head. He looks up with a bit of a smile. "So you're more his son than Brennan admits to," he says, his voice not giving anything away. "I think that's a paintbrush, not a knife. I think that's a sketchbook. If it's the plan for rewriting the universe, I think I'd do better as your friend than to start off badly." His smile gets broader, and Ossian can hear it in his voice, too. "Besides, if I'm to die, at least it's scenic."

Ossian smiles back. "You are generous, more so than I expected. I think this will work out fine." then his eyes looks a bit mischieveous, his smile broadening into a grin. "Of course you have put yourself in danger choosing this place. I wouldn't kill a cousin in a place that wasn't scenic."

"I might," Marius says, and it sounds like the absolute, unvarnished truth, but not at all a threat. Just a statement of fact. His grin hasn't dropped an inch, though.

He gestures with his hand. "Should I pose dramatically, do we chat while we do this? How would you like to make this happen?"

"You aren't really the dramatic pose man, are you?" Ossian asks. "No, take whatever pose you want. We'll chat, and I will paint you from different angles. You don't have to perfectly still; I want to catch your body language."

"I will try not to pace too much," Marius decides. He waits for Ossian to find a place to sit, and then will hop back up onto one of the posts.

"You were here through the five years," he begins. "Is this what you expected Amber to be?"

"No." Ossian starts drawing. "I came here looking for Brand, who wasn't here. In some ways I had expected to find family here. And I did, but not uncles and aunts, but cousins.

"And the city. It looked like Brand said it did. But people are different. He only saw their ugly sides, I think. "

"Ah, are you a romantic, then? Or is something that is not beautiful not true?" Marius asks, but there is a hint of teasing in his voice. "Do you feel like a member of the family? Has everyone been kind to you?"

"I was trusted as much as one could expect, and kindly treated by most of the cousins." Ossian says "noone, not even the ones who don't like me have suggested I don't belong in the family. I feel like a member, or at least I did until all the elders came back.

"And I am most assueredly a romantic, of course." he adds.

Marius guffaws, and it seems genuine, as if some of his hesitancy had been washed away in the tides below them.

"That is the trait that shall distinguish you then, my friend. It is not that the Family lacks passion, but to be a romantic requires an imagination that is sadly lacking."

He draws up a leg, and rests his elbow on it, leaning his chin on his hand. "What do you dream?" he asks, quietly.

"Are you interested in dreams? If I could, I would dream different dreams every night. Sadly I lack that amount of control." Ossian says, pausing in his painting, scrutinizing Marius, "Lately I have found myself dreaming of painting. I never did that before, I think. In my dream every picture I paint contains the same male face; I try painting someone else, but in the end the same damn man comes up on the canvas. Every time."

"When I'm in the dream I know who it is on my painting, but when I wake up I cannot remember." Ossian sighs.

"A frustration I understand," Marius says. "I think dreams are a reflection of your heart solving puzzles, rather than your head." He smiles. "I dream of the sea air. Sometimes I'm a dolphin, sometimes I'm an osprey. But the sea, She whispers words in the waves. I think sometimes I'm dreaming of death." He says it oddly, as if it hadn't really occurred to him until he said it out loud.

Ossian nods.

[Marius]
"I have had a bit of interest in the Art of Trump. Do you find it all so different from painting?"

[Ossian]
"I see the Trumps as art. Making Trumps is, in my view, painting done the best way. So in one way the difference is very small. Ordinary paintings are in one sense failed Trumps."

Marius smiles a little bit broader, if possible. "Alas, I would consider it vanity if it was my view of the essential essence of something was imposed on a painting. I tend to consider creating art a matter of showing what I see of what is... but interpreting art is another matter entirely. To me, the Trumps are invalid for interpretation: the message and the method are identical."

[Ossian]
[OOC: I don't get that first sentence. I might want to change Ossian's reply slightly if you explain what you mean...]

[Let me see if I can work through Marius' convolutions.

What he's suggesting is three-part. The first part is that Trump is the "essential essence" of something. The second part is the idea that he as an artist can express that "essential essence" from a specific view (in other words, he is not taking a photograph, he's making a decision about how something looks when he creates art.) The third part is that he would consider it vanity to suggest that his view of how something looks is so close to its essential essence that his good art is Trump.

In other words, he's saying that Ossian must be either a better artist or a much different one if his art is so close to Trump... or a third possibility is Ossian is bragging.

Let me know if it changes Ossian's reply.]

[No, it holds well enough. I hope Ossian does not sound bragging, because I don't intend him to.]

[Marius wouldn't be sure, yet. He's still learning about a lot of his Cousins. ...and he hasn't really gone to the Ossian exhibit of art, either.]

"You've got some very valid points there, I think. But we should try comparing different Trump artists' works some day. Have you seen any of Merlin's?

Marius shakes his head. "No, I have..." he breaks off and laughs, ruefully. "It seems rather personal, really. I think that may be why I use so many words like `vanity' in association with it. It's so individual..." he is quiet for a second, and then adds, "In fact, that may be a very interesting study." He's got a strange kind of wonder in his voice. "I wonder how much the artist influences the cards...so much that I wonder how it developed in the first place. In knowing what they have to do, I wonder what the universal essential is and what else can contain it."

"Music for sure."

Marius perks up at that. Ossian's "for sure," suggests a confidence that Marius had not shared. He makes his expression a question, as if indicating for Ossian to _please take up the opportunity to elucidate on that_.

Ossian quickly adapts. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks.

Marius shakes his head. "It is a skill I have, however, been considering in design. I sing, but my hands are usually busy in other pursuits."

"I can't say that I have any hard evidence. But I know what I feel when playing with, or dancing to really good musicians. The possibilty is there. But if you want to use it for any practical applications I don't know where to start."

"Perhaps you and I can visit an exhibition of music, and we can compare notes. I must admit I have not surrounded myself with those from whom I would expect to find such talent."

"We have had family jam sessions these last five years. As far as I can tell, those will continue, and you are welcome to attend." Ossian says with a smile, "There are some very good musicians in the family."

"So music is another art you dabble in?" Marius asks a leading question.

"Sure. I dabble in every art I encounter. Music, painting, sculpture, dancing, architecture, poetry..." Ossian grins.

Marius applauds Ossian's enthusiasm with a hearty laugh.

"Though I must say my paintings are better than my poetry. Folly is the best musician we have, I think. Music is like painting without lifting the paintbrush. And with ink that vanishes after a while. I enjoy it very much."

"I have heard that there is an art to everything someone wishes to do well," Marius says, grandly. "I would prefer to see the arts of enjoyment, then, for I have seen little of that since our return." He sighs, but his smile remains. "Alas, the palette of carousing is not a pleasant sight in morning's sun." A chuckle. "Of course, neither is the canvas. But I hesitate to become an artist of debauchery." He winks. "I must really get to know more of my Cousins," he follows a new tangent. "Folly I have seen perhaps from a distance, but not shared a word. Would that our lives were peaceful enough to be defined by our arts!"

"They can be if we want to. Some people claim that art becomes even more important for people in strain."

"I would say that the appreciation for it is still one of the luxuries that cushion us from our labours. Your point is taken, Cousin, and I recognize that I must allow some artistic license in my own life."

"And I will introduce you to Folly at first opportunity. She happens to be one of the cousins I am on good terms with."

"I will hold you to that! I have spent so much time during this period cleaning up loose ends that I almost fear I will turn upon a cleaning maid to find her a peer. Not that I am not in awe of the Castle's armies of dust-fighters," he adds quickly, thinking he might get a bed of crumbs for that comment if spread.

"Do you need a guide to all relatives who didn't get to Chaos." Ossian asks with a smile.

"A guide? I need a full tour, and perhaps a picturebook in reference. I expect when our artists are done, a full set of Trumps shall weigh as heavy as a book of law, for each man, woman, and child... if there are children." He says the last with a laugh.

"There are." Ossian smiles "Say, we could take a trip to the library one day soon; there are paintings of most of the cousins there."

[Ossian]
"If the artist influences the cards it is in a subtle way, I think. I have not noted anything after they are sealed. The relationship between artist and subject matters when creating them, however." Ossian continues his drawing "although this seems to go surprisingly easy.

"So it is possible to resist?" Marius asks. "I mean, besides refusing to pose, or...?"

"No, not really, but refusing to pose can be effective enough. I don't know how long it would take for me to paint even a Trump sketch of you, if you didn't pose."

"You can't paint Trumps of someone you haven't met, and the better you know them, the easier the creation becomes. For me, painting my own Trump goeas faster than anything else."

"Interesting," Marius says, listening carefully. "Can Trumps be painted of anything you can see, then? What about an experience? Art often attempts to describe something more..." he searches for the word, "abstract."

"As far as I know Trumps can only be painted of locations and people. Well, Amber royals actually." Ossian scratches his temple with the dull end of his pencil. "You have lots of interesting ideas."

"Alas, ideas without skill are like mists in the sun. They dry up for lack of sustaining substance. Had I the talents, I would go about trying too many wild ideas. I am best when these thoughts are tamed with the whip of experience." [Marius] smiles.

"If you want to learn how to paint Trumps we will teach you." (who "we" are is not clear, but Ossian means what he says)

Marius looks interested. "There is not enough time in eternity for all I want to learn," he says. "Yet, one must begin somewhere. I thank you, Ossian. Perhaps time and opportunity will smile upon us and allow for such a tutoring!"

"We'll see after the coronation.

"Sadly I think we have a lot of talent, but too little experience. We will need to try a lot of stupid things" Ossian sounds like he will enjoy trying stupid things.

"Then I am your man, for I am certain I will try to break every rule while finding which ones are more...guidelines," [Marius] chuckles.

Ossian laughs.

[Ossian]
"I think that if you try to paint an experience, and succeed, you will probably have painted a Trump of a place where you might get something close to that experience...Dangerous business...and really, really difficult."

"You suggested that familiarity with something, however, added to the ease of its expression in Trump. Where does the difficulty and danger lie, my friend?"

"The difficulty has to do with the generality; I think for a Trump to work, everyone should recognise the subject in it, if they know the subject. If I would paint a picture of that house" Ossian points "you would recognise it. If I painted a picture of 'grief', on the other hand, you might interpret it as 'anger'."

"So a Trump must be of a specific. Is it the artist's view, or the view of those who use it? We must investigate how different the art is to see clearly if it matters, I think. I also wonder if it depends on how the subject sees itself..."

"I believe that a Trump becomes a Trump when it shows the artist's view of something in such a way that any user will see the subject with the artist's eyes for at least a short while."

"Is that not the opposite of art, though? That the viewer lends their own interpretation is what makes it a talent, not something of a mechanical nature..." Marius supposes aloud, almost like a question.

[Ossian]
"Then of course, I think the Trump is more than a clever communications device. And that it is only a crutch for the communication. There's very much to test out. And I have only had two busy weeks where testing was possible."

"So much time ahead of us, and I feel impatience gathering already." Marius teases. "Still, it is probably best to have a goal, or even a set of them, so we can call it 'research' rather than 'play.'"

Ossian laughs.

"The danger lies in that you really don't know what is at the other side of your Trump. What if your body is combustible on the other side and explode when you get through?"

"A fascinating conjecture. Perhaps we will need less flammable people to test," [Marius] laughs. "I wonder about dreams and Trump sometimes. How much Trump has to do with what's real and what isn't, and if what isn't can become real, and..." he stops. "I wonder a lot." He grins.

"I think you need something concrete and substantial if you shall paint a Trump. That's maybe why we haven't seen any Trumps of people outside Oberon's descendants."

Marius' smile widens for a second. "Ah, but I have had concrete heartbreak, and substantial angst. If I could express them, I would guess I would revisit their origins. Not places I care to return, but interesting for the speculation."

[Ossian]
"You have had some interest in them, you say. What have you learned?"

Marius shrugs. "This, and that." It is obviously a point of some discomfort for him. "I know how they work," and he says that as if there's a deeper level to it.

"That is more than than I can say I do. I have some vague ideas, but Brand wasn't too specific on the meta-physics. Is there anything we should be worried about?"

Marius shakes his head, grinning. "I was inadvertantly channeling one of the arguments I had with my tutor," he says, suddenly. "I don't know the putting-together-bits. I know the using bits."

"We might complement each other, then." Ossian says with a grin "Who was your tutor?"

Marius chuckles. "What knowledge I have is yours, except," he adds, "that I cannot bandy a name about that isn't mine to give. Let us leave a mystery or two to explore in the future." He seems almost sad (despite his smile) to have to be coy.

Ossian nods, and his eyes narrow, though not in an unfriendly way. "I shall not pry into that then...Not today at least.

"My thanks to you, Cousin." It has an incredible amount of warmth in it. He's truly thanking Ossian, even with the caveat.

Ossian nods.

"I will be responsible for a whole collection of Trumps when all these are finished, and need to get a grip on all the dangers. If you wanted to make war on Amber, and got your hands on Trumps of the whole royal family, what would you do with them?"

"Quite simply, I would train a number of talents to focus their will on the Trumps until the distraction overrides any other ability of their subjects. Imagine if you can a school of those trained in Trump use taking shifts of constant Trump concentration. There are some who could resist for a while, but at some point, the students would make it into the mind of the subject." He reflects. "The ones trying to make the connection would not even need much in the way of mental strength, merely the constant annoyance, or even," he chuckles, "just surveillance. Of course, such an attack works both ways." He shrugs. "An Artist of the Cards could also, perhaps, create things that would suck the attention of Trump and distribute those as the true item, and perhaps injure people lost in concentration of bad sketches. But that is a theory, only. I do not know at what point a Trump is `complete' enough for the translation. So many ideas require further study and proper testing! Until I know more, all I have is incomplete speculation, but I know there are dangers."

"Replacement of the Trumps in our Trump chamber is not something I have thought of. Someone might try it." Ossian furrows his brow. "I will consider that, and countermeasures."

"I believe it revolves around the question of `How much danger is a Trump to its subject?' I expect you would get a number of answers depending on who you asked, and their facility with their use. Knowledge is," [Marius] chuckles, "dangerous, after all. And Trump, once completed, is a constant marker of that individual, is it not? While I may be able to place some sort of barrier in Shadow from having someone follow me of ease, I am not certain if it is so easy to place such a barrier within my mind."

"Depends on who you are. I think I could easier block all Trump contacts than raise a barrier in Shadow."

"Both have their weaknesses and strengths, I suppose, but I think the truth is that the matters of time and distance are the distinguishing factors. If it is only in following through Shadow, it still takes time to reach me. If it is Trump, I am available then, and there."

Ossian nods.

[Ossian]
"There is one danger I have thought a bit on: the Trump sketches deteroriate with time, while the real Trumps do not. Why is that? Do the Trumps change with the subject, or is the subject locked in one mould by the Trump once it's made?"

"Let us bring it back a step to see if another perspective applies. What creates the difference between a sketch and a true Trump? Can a sketch be filled in later to change? Is there only a certain amount of the magic of Trump in a sketch that is used up in time, that is somehow tapped into an indefinite resource in a full Trump?"

"You cannot change a sketch into a full Trump. It has to do with the preparation. It would be like changing a tent into a house without building the proper foundation."

"An interesting analogy, even as it challenges me. Still, I am certain there may be possibilities here. Still, that answers your question about deterioration. A Sketch is affected by the winds and rain of what passes for weather in Trump terms. Which is not to say there is not a hurricane which could affect Trump."

Ossian shrugs. "You might be right there. Analogies are a bit dangerous of course.."

"Oh, definitely, but if we can prepare figuratively, perhaps the literal will follow." Marius shrugs. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Not at all." Ossian turns the sketch for Marius to see. It shows a very life-like study of Marius' face. "This is the second one. I started with this" Ossian turs a page in his sketch book, and shows a very simple sketch, with no details whatsoever. The sketch certainly shows Marius, but it is not clear what makes it Marius-like.

Marius merely hmmms, a polite thinking noise. "Well, at least I have given you my best side in profile," he grins. "I shall be quiet then so you may make your magic in peace, while I think on what I have learned."

"I wonder. Would you mind if I made an extra sketch of you for my private keeping, Marius?" Ossian asks. "You would get a full Trump of me in return, of course."

"As long as it is not there to torment me with, friend, I would have no concerns at all. Please do not test our theories out by placing pin through my sketched foot or shrinking the head of my image." He's teasing.

Mostly.

"I won't do such a thing without warning you first" Ossian says, laughing. "Seriously: friends need good ways of communication."

"And I am pleased to call you friend, Cousin," Marius says. He makes it sound more like a ritual than a passing statement, although his manic enthusiasm in the subject of Trump continues apace. He nods assent.

"Friend." Ossian says as a confirmation, looking straight into Marius' eyes. "So be it."

Jerod receives the note from Lucas, verifying the date and time and is sure to arrive at Herods just suitably on time, knowing well that Lucas will arrive fashionably late...to expect anything less would be to realize that he's meeting an imposter and not the real Lucas...:)

Lucas breezes in, glancing around the place as though experiencing it for the first, time, and joins Jerod at his table. "Cousin," he says amiably.

"Lucas." Jerod replies, getting up to greet his guest before sitting down, the wait staff already moving to deliver the suitably prepared meal. "You appear to be faring well since your mother has returned. I trust all is well?"

Lucas tilts his head and purses his lips. "As well as can be when my mother is involved. How can I be of assistance to you, or have you decided to develop the bonds of family with one of your less likeable kin?"

Jerod smiles, the wolfish Eric smile. "The bonds of family are many cousin, and so rarely do they include friendship. Friendship can be a terrible encumbrance at times.

"I'm actually more interested in what you can tell me about Martin. He's gone for a little bit and when he returns he gets to become heir-apparent and all that rot. I'm curious as to what you think of it all.

"More importantly, I'm curious as to who else might be interested in it, or him."

"Do you suspect foul play?"

"Always." Jerod says. "Usually from the quarters where it is least expected."

"And why do you have such an interest in Martin's well being?"

"He's my friend." and Jerod smiles. "I like him. I'd be extremely displeased to find out that something had happened to him. Directly or otherwise."

"Then, by looking for those who have a claim on the throne, and would be least expected, the heavy hand of irony falls on you, doesn't it?" Lucas sips his drink, smirking.

"Everyone has a claim on the throne." Jerod says. "Even you. And yours would be a very unexpected quarter." Lucas will note that Jerod is smiling, but somehow gets the impression its anything but a smile.

"Come now cousin. We can bandy words all evening to try to prove who has the greater grasp of wit and sarcasm and still prove nothing. Or better yet, to prove we are nowhere near our elders in skills. I'm more interested in what might be happening with our more sedate elders. The ones not immediately accused of treason. And you're one to have your ears open."

Lucas does not do much to hide his rapidly waning interest in Jerod. "I don't know if I should feel flattered, even in a backhanded way. You likely know as much as I do. Corwin, Benedict, Julian, and Julian's spawn have all disappeared under dubious circumanstances, one of which has an airforce at his disposal. Any children Vialle extrudes have the potential of being rivals, depending on how well they're groomed. And then there are the rest of Random's sibs, who likely don't get all naughty and swollen at the thought of their youngest brother being chosen by some heraldic beast with an attitude.

"But, as I said, you likely know all this. Otherwise, I am in on no cabals, I am privy to no special information, I have not made a wrong turn in the Castle and come across a band of hooded and ill-tempered family members armed with stilletos and maps to the heir presumptive's bedchambers.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"Yes. How's your mother doing?" Jerod asks. "She must be quite thrilled to have a daughter in-law from the family of Vesper."

"My mother is doing well, and is adjusting as well as can be expected under such circumstances."

"That's good." Jerod says. "I will hope that all works out well in that venue."

"I'm certain after a settling down period of some sort, it will."

And at that point, unless Lucas departs, Jerod will continue a venue of polite conversation of no political or power value. It would appear that Jerod has gotten something out of the conversation that he was evidently looking for.

Lucas will follow up in kind.

Reid works his way down to the dungeon 2 days after his return from Arden. He asks the guard on duty to secure and blindfold the prisoner, then leave them for a while.

He takes his dagger and makes quick work cutting away the prisoner's shirt, then takes out some ink and needles from his art supplies. He dips a needle in the ink and starts pricking the skin of his human canvas, starting with a crude outline, then adding some detail. His subject is the encampment where he was attacked. If it is possible, he is concentrating the focus necessary to turn his art into a trump. Even if such were not viable, he'll continue until he has a piece of art that satisfies his artistic sensibilities. He brings with him some candles as well as ice, if available. While working on the art, he'll switch between hot and cold needles piercing the prisoner's skin. It won't be comfortable. If there's resistance, Reid will beat the prisoner until he's subdued.

Reid does not believe that he can create a Trump, even a sketch, under the circumstances. However, as he works, it occurs to him that the magical applications necessary to render a Trump sketch permanent on living human skin would serve as an effective method of breaking the will of a recalcitrant subject.

The prisoner resists at first, but a beating by a man of Royal strength, even so little of it as Reid bears compared to his uncles, is sufficient to subdue him. The prisoner's cries bring the guard, who summons Venesch. Venesch looks in, but says nothing unless Reid addresses him, and there is no further interference.

The prisoner's screams are somewhat distracting, but Reid copes.

Note to self: _next time_ bring a gag...

The tattoo is, of course, beautiful. The prisoner, however, is not, and Reid suspects he will require quite a bit of medical care if he is to recover full health after the inking and the beating.

Reid will spend as long as necessary on the process, returning over the course of days if required. He never questions his victim until he feels the art is done.

When he's finished, he finally asks, "So, what's your name?"

"Turf," the prisoner rasps hoarsely.

"Turf, I'm going to ask you a few questions. If I'm satisfied that you're providing me all the information I require, I'll see that someone looks at your wounds." Reid's voice is even, with no indication of malice.

He starts collecting his things while he speaks, using a paint rag to wipe the blood from his implements.

"In the forrest, there were a number of you, collecting people against their will. My questions are three: Where were you taking them? To what end? And who is your leader? Answer those satisfactorily, and you'll get salves and balms for your wounds and maybe some ice for the bruises." Reid looks up and catches Venesch's eye (if he's still present). His look indicates that he is sincere about his word.

Venesch is not there unless Reid has specifically asked him to be.

Turf says, "Girth, Girth's our leader. He takes the captives somewhere, only he knows the way. He always has coin to pay for our services. I think he's selling them." Turf's voice is shot from all the screaming. Reid suspects he's terrified.

Reid is satisfied by the answers. He goes to the door and calls for a guard to let him out. If Venesch is in the halls or at the guard station, Reid will want to have a few words with him.

The guard at the station will send for Venesch.

Venesch will come down to attend on Reid, or meet Reid elsewhere in the castle, if that is what Reid wishes. "Hai?" he says in his normal concise way, when he sees Reid.

"Master Venesch. I have two requests. First, please see that the prisoner's wounds are tended to. Second, I would appreciate the discretion of your men in this matter. It would not be seemly for gossip of what has transpired here to get out. You can let them know that I would not be happy if affairs of state are made public." Reid says this, not in a threatening way, but as a simple statement of policy with which he thinks Venesch would concur.

"Hai," says Venesch, and nods once.

Reid does not feel that Venesch's lack of verbal response indicates his disapproval of Reid's actions; he is generally that way, in Reid's experience.

Venesch calls someone and sends for the medic. He waits to see if Reid has any other orders for him.