Signs and Warnings

Martin and Folly head back to his chambers. He files away the new Trumps with the others; he has a full deck, as Folly may recall. He keeps a wary silence until they are out of the halls and the hearing of the servants, unless Folly speaks up.

Once they are in the privacy of his chambers, Martin finds a bag and starts tossing things in it, such as spare clothes. "Christ!" he says. "That could have been more excruciating somehow, I'm sure. How'd it go with Dad?"

Folly slumps into a chair with the limp-but-twitchy look of one who has experienced a few too many adrenaline rushes this morning. "It went fine, I guess -- 'til Gerard interrupted us. I think he overheard almost the whole conversation."

Martin swears under his breath.

Folly utters a gutteral noise, half embarrassment and half frustration; then, suddenly, she sits bolt upright and looks around the room, making sure none of the windows are open.

Once she's satisfied no one's listening in from the next room, she slumps back again. In a quieter voice, she continues, "I suppose things are as good as I could've hoped. We're still friends." The relief in Folly's voice is obvious. "What that means in practice is anybody's guess -- I mean, it's not like we're gonna be getting the band back together anytime soon, y'know? -- but it'll sort itself out, once I've had a couple days to stop freaking out." She rubs her temples and looks at Martin with a touch of envy that he gets to be elsewhere for a few days.

"How're you holding up, love?" Folly's tone is suddenly gentler. "I'm sure you've had a far worse morning than I have -- for which I owe you big-time, by the way."

"For all the good it did. She knew. I don't know how, quite, but she knew. Maybe she smelled you on the breeze or something." Martin scowls and tosses a spare pair of jeans in the bag with particular vehemence.

"It doesn't matter," Folly says, but her words are bitter. "I mean, what the hell does she care? She's got what she wants; it's not like I'm a threat to that." She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair somewhat more roughly than necessary.

Martin snorts. "That's wishful thinking. If I weren't sure where I'm going is more dangerous than here with her, I'd have had you come with me. But don't underestimate Vialle. She may not have Tritons to call on to do her dirty work, but that doesn't mean she's helpless or well-intentioned. I think I have her stymied for now, but -- watch your back, that's all I'm saying."

He starts looking around the room for his riding boots.

"I will," Folly says. She has gone a little pale. "I may like Vialle, but that doesn't mean I trust her."

She stands and, as if reading Martin's mind, retrieves his boots from under the bed, flipping them upside down and giving them a good shake before handing them over.

"You're learning. Not that I think she's had time to put anything in there," says Martin, and he sounds completely serious.

"Shit. You really think she would." Folly shudders at the thought.

He sits down on the unmade bed and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face, before pulling off one high-topped tennis shoe (unlaced, of course).

He notes the deteriorating rubber sole, sniffs the shoe, makes a reflexive nasty face, and tosses the shoe over his shoulder. He repeats the process with the other shoe, omitting the sniffing and face-making.

"Vialle and I had a discussion this morning about sleeping dogs and how we'd all be better off if they were left lying. I think she understood what I was saying, but still -- just be careful. And if something untoward and especially unexplained happens to me, get Paige to help you. If you've walked the Pattern by then, go on your own. You'll know what to do."

As he speaks, Martin is tugging his boots on.

Folly, obviously unsettled, asks, "Did she actually say something threatening, or did you just think she was thinking it?"

"Neither one of us said anything openly threatening, Folly. Neither one of us had to. Vialle and I communicate well enough without it." With a vicious yank, Martin gets one boot on to his satisfaction, and starts to pull on the other.

Folly nods slowly, her narrowed eyes focused somewhere off in the distance as she considers strategies. But then she shakes it off and says, "See? This is why I don't do mornings. Mornings suck." She eyes the unmade bed as if she'd like nothing better than to climb in, pull the covers over her head, and start the day again -- preferably sometime after lunch.

"We got Dad back," Martin says, and it's hard to tell whether he thinks that's a reason to crawl under the covers too or a counter to Folly's argument.

Instead, though, she waits 'til Martin has his other boot on, then holds out her hand to him, offering to help him up.

He stands, then, and pulls Folly into a hug that a non-relative would describe as bone-crushing, but oddly gentle, too, as if he knows the exact limits of her tolerance. When she signals a readiness to step back, he releases her.

Folly wraps her arms around him, warm and comforting, and leans her head against his chest, her tension melting away as she listens to his heartbeat and the gentle rhythm of his breathing; she almost seems to be memorizing the sound. It is with great reluctance that she finally lets go.

Then he draws out his cards and thumbs through them before drawing one out and placing it in Folly's hand. "I may not answer if I'm hellriding, but I want you to have it. If you need to talk to me, look at the card and wish me there until I seem real, and then speak to me."

Folly nods and runs her fingers over the card, shivering a little at its strange coolness, then slips it into her pocket. She seems deeply touched that he thought to give it to her.

"Be safe, OK?" she says when she looks up again. "I promise I will, too."

"You do that," Martin says, and kisses Folly on the forehead. Then he shoulders his travel bag, and is gone.

Folly quickly loses herself in deep, troubling thought. After several minutes, she realizes that she is pacing aimlessly around Martin's room, compulsively tidying up as she goes -- pulling the sheets straight on the bed, lining up discarded shoes neatly against the wall, and so forth.

She concludes that she must be having some sort of nervous breakdown.

However, she decides, even a freakout of a meeting couldn't possibly make it any worse -- and at least there she'd have friends to notice if she went completely 'round the bend, right? -- so she heads back to join the rest of her cousins.

It's at about this point that Venesch enters the room without knocking. He goes directly to Random and bows deeply. Those who remember the days of Oberon's court know that this is the bow he gives to a King of Amber. Random knows it too, and it discomfits him.

Then Venesch hands him a scrolled note. Random unfurls it, reads it, and makes a face.

"OK," he says, "time for me to get ready to go say hi to the world. Let me see if I have this plan. Vere volunteered to take charge of the Arden end of the transport, at least until Julian shows up, anyway. Robin and Brita are going to find someplace -- Heather Vale's as good as anyplace, I guess -- to stash these people. Lucas is in charge of the propaganda program to keep them up there and us down here, at least until we can get a handle on things. Conner is running field supply. We'll be splitting up people for the Trumps when Martin gets to Ygg, but that covers today.

"Those of you who don't have a job that requires immediate attention, be back here in half an hour to file into the Throne Room for the Official Announcement. I'm going to put on my monkey suit, then it's on with the show."

He rises from the chair where he has been sitting, too quickly, and departs through the dining room. Venesch follows him, hustling.

Cambina rises again, but not in time. Her expression suggests that she could get very tired of this schtick.

Gerard looks around at all of you to see who has any questions and who is on their way out the door to obey the King's instructions.

[What do you all do?]

Jerod is part of his way out of the chair as Random is on his way out the door, then sits back down, watching as Venesch follows afterward before looking at Gerard.

"Thirty minutes? Well, barely enough time to look presentable. I suppose we'd best be on our way." Jerod says, getting up again. His expression suggests he's suddenly looking forward to a long trade mission stuck in Shadow, though he covers it up after a moment.

And Jerod departs, offering his arm (and the rest of him for those so morbidly inclined...:) to Cambina if she is on her way out as well.

Cambina will accept the escort.

While Jerod is upping and downing and brushing off his wry comments and escorting the lady -- Robin bolts. That simple, that fast. It's probably a wonder that she doesn't plow Venesch down in the doorway.

Folly arrives just as Jerod is departing. "Meeting over?" she asks. "Did I miss anything good?"

She carefully avoids making eye contact with Cambina.

Gerard starts to say something, then stops and lets Jerod speak instead.

"Random's off with Venesch and a message." Jerod says. "Time to get dressed up...we've got thirty minutes and then it's show time."

Having no immediate duties, Reid goes off to change as well to return for the dog & pony show.

Solange looks down at her own sober-and-respectable bodice and skirt, and touches a hand to the rather plain cap she's pinned on her hair. She gives Folly a look of anxious commiseration, then glances at her father.

"Is this dressed enough, or should I be decking myself out like a Festival float?" she asks.

"For short notice, that'll do, lass. I'm not planning to put on any suits, monkey or otherwise, so you can stay and sit by me if you like. Or help Folly put up her hair, maybe," says Gerard, not unkindly.

"I'll help you if you like, Folly," Solange offers, the unspoken "or if you don't want company, I'll leave you alone" also perfectly plain.

Folly stares blankly at Solange, like she's heard the words but is still trying to translate the sounds into meaning. ["Blah blah blah Folly blah blah blah"....] When she finally works it out, she nods. "That'll be good," she says. "We're still a good couple hours from when my brain usually switches on -- I could use all the help I can get. But maybe that was already completely obvious." She smirks and fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Uh, thanks."

This last seems to be directed as much at Gerard as at Solange. It almost sounds like Folly is making amends or something.

"Any time," Solange says for her part.

As Ossian passes Solange, Gerard and Folly he says, in a comforting voice (who he wants to comfort is not entirely clear, however): "Don't worry, at least we know this won't be dull. " Ossian grins boyishly, before he leaves for his room. He returns dressed in a white shirt and sky-blue pants: the shirt with blue embroidery, the pants with white. (the embroidery lines are continued from shirt to pants, and shapes a somewhat psychedelic pattern) He still carries his sketch book.

Vere waits as most of his cousins departs, then approaches Gerard. "I must begin attending to the task of preparing the supply line for the returning troops, Father," he says. "So I shall not be there for the King's reception. A pity, I should have enjoyed watching the reaction of the various parties." He rests his hand lightly on Gerard's shoulder for a second, then departs.

Vere will immediately begin sending out orders, commanding all available medical personnel to come to the Castle, and commandeering food and any and all other supplies he believes will be necessary and ordering them immediately brought to the Castle. He will also send a messenger to Brita, suggesting that if there is anyway to set up a trump contact between the courtyard of the Castle and the site of the returning troops that would be the most effective means of transport, as well as keeping the exact location of the arrival site from becoming public knowledge.

[GMs]
A couple of points:

Vere will be able to send out the first few messages, especially those going to town, but within a quarter-glass of his arrival in his office, servants have started heading towards the all-hands staff meeting.

All staff have been summoned? Ah, well, that makes getting anything done impossible until the audience is over. Vere will check his appearance in a mirror to ensure that he is presentable, and hasten to join his Father and Sister in the assembly.

Once Vere sends for those medical personnel, people will know something is up. Does he give the messengers who are to ask for them any sort of explanation, or leave them to spread whatever stories they will?

Vere believes that stretching the imagination is good for the mind, and they will be hearing the truth soon enough. No explanations, just the order to report.

[The short version] Paige hustles out to find Folly and put on her version of a monkey suit, she sends a few quick messages out with Liam, and makes her way back to the Throne Room in emerald and gold.

Paige is welcome to join Folly and Solange; however, Folly shoots her a look suggesting that she'll want to have a longer conversation with Paige later.

Meeting them in the corridor, Paige says, "I'll join you presently," and heads off to her room to procure her wardrobe and send Liam off with a note for the Viscountess. _We'll talk, love. Later._

When they've reached Folly's room, Folly hands Solange a small wooden box carved in the shape of a cat head. It turns out to be full of hairpins. Folly slumps into a chair in front of the dresser. "Have at it," she says. "And while you're at it, maybe you can pin my brains so they don't fall out of my head."

Solange reaches over Folly's shoulder to grab the hairbrush as well. "If you want me to go on pretending that it's just because you woke up too early, I can do that," Solange says sympathetically. "Or if you want to talk about it, I'll listen." She brushes Folly's hair without yanking, and deftly separates it into sections and begins to arrange it. "Do you want me to braid any beads into it or anything?" she adds.

"Ooh, cool!" Folly says, suddenly brighter. "Maybe just a few. And, um, maybe you could leave just a little of the purple part showing?" She grins up at Solange with just a touch of mischief.

"Ooh, I know," Solange says, making another long-armed grab. "These!" And she holds up a strand of sparkly purple Festival beads that had been hanging over the corner of Folly's mirror. "That way nobody will be sure if the purple is your hair or just bead highlights." And she proceeds to weave the strand into Folly's hair, creating a style that a Shadow Earth native might call "Faire-Goth."

Folly is quite pleased with the result.

A moment later, though, she looks sullen once again. "I don't know what my deal is, exactly," she confesses. "It's lots of stuff all at once. Some, uh, sort of complicated interpersonal things have gone really surreal all of a sudden, and I don't know what to do."

"Spill," Solange suggests. "I don't guarantee I'll have any answers, but maybe you'll think of some while you're talking."

Folly absently takes a guitar pick from the dresser and turns it over and over between her fingers. "Have you ever seen a good friend maybe about to get stuck in a bad relationship, but everyone else seems to think it's, like, amazingly great? And you can't quite figure out whether you're the only one who's paying attention or whether you're just being really, insanely, stupidly jealous? But you really need to figure out, because if you're right and everyone else is wrong then you've gotta do something before things get totally screwed up, but of course if you're just being jealous then making a big deal out of it would be exactly the wrong thing to do, so maybe you should just hide under the furniture 'til things quiet down a little and you can think straight, only then it might be too late and anyhow you sort of promised you wouldn't? It's sort of like that, only worse."

"Ouch," is the first thing Solange manages to say. "Is this, like, something I missed with Paige while I was away, or has Martin gone and done something idiotic, or is it somebody else? I'll understand if you can't tell me, but without knowing who it is I'll be damned if I have any idea what advice to give you. But, ouch."

Folly is silent a long time before answering, turning things over in her mind. "I don't think I can tell you -- not yet, anyway," she says at last. "There're a lot of threads, all tangled together, and some of them are tied to things that really shouldn't be pulled into the light. Or maybe they should. That's part of the problem." She sighs and shakes her head.

"I think I need to just chill out and pay attention for the next couple days, find out how everyone involved is reacting to... to all this new insanity, and maybe that'll give me some clues. But, Solange?" Folly looks up at her cousin nervously. "If I seem like I've gone completely 'round the bend, you'd tell me, right? I swore to myself that I wouldn't make a scene."

"If I see you acting like a complete lunatic, I'll try to point it out to you," Solange says, giving the impression that she thinks Folly is worrying too much.

It doesn't seem to occur to Folly that she might ought to change clothes. (She's wearing an everyday outfit -- a gauzy black underdress with a sleeveless violet overdress of heavier fabric -- that is presentable but not fancy.)

Solange is only slightly more formal, having chosen sober day clothes for breakfast: looking back a month, I find it's "an olive green woolen gown with subdued decoration, worn over a golden- brown linen shift embroidered with blackwork. She's coiled her braid at the back of her head, and even added a little Juliet cap." And given my statement earlier today, make that "olive green bodice and skirt." Same basic effect as Folly's clothes, since the bodice is sleeveless, but the fabrics are probably a little heavier.

"Speaking of not making a scene, have you decided what you're going to wear? Paige is probably going to show up loaded with brocade and jewels," Solange comments. "I think I'm staying in this, though. Unless you decide you're going to try to dazzle the nobles with regal elegance too, and then I'll have to at least find fancy sleeves to tie onto this bodice. What do you think?"

Folly thinks a moment, then says, "I think I'll stick with what I'm wearing. It sort of splits the difference between 'regal elegance' and the actual jeans-and-T-shirt vibe of our new monarch. Ooh, maybe if we're lucky, he'll declare 'casual Fridays' for the Castle." She grins.

"Hey, we could give a boost to the silkscreening industry by starting a fashion for concert T-shirts," Solange says hopefully.

Folly grins broadly at that, but a second later, she looks oddly wistful.

At the mention of her name Paige enters, a emerald skirt with a brocade bodice over a golden silk shift laying over her arms, "You look fine, Solange. Exactly what the Court expects. Play to their underestimations and you'll find yourself surprising them."

Solange snorts in a rather unladylike fashion, but she doesn't sound really annoyed at Paige.

Paige smiles to say, _I didn't mean it that way, and you know it._

"I figured to give a hint of the glamour I've trained them to expect, but try to keep it toned down a bit." She starts producing some jewelry from her pockets and laying it out on Folly's bed. Stripping off the bodice she's wearing she wanders over to Folly's wardrobe and removes a large black robe. "I can layer my judge's robe over this if it'll be too much," she suggests with a chuckle.

"Going to do the wig too?" Solange teases.

It's then Paige's turn to snort.

"A statement that I'm there as a servant of the Crown and not just a spoiled noble daughter?" Shaking her hair down from it's combs, she snorts, "Nah. Who'd believe that?"

"I didn't say it..." Solange counters. "She said it herself. You heard her, right, Folly?"

Paige sticks out her tongue and waggles it in Solange's direction.

Folly grins. "Yeah, and we don't want to startle 'em too much; they'll be freakin' out enough as it is. On the other hand, I suppose we should be letting them know that our loyalty is to the King, and not to The Way Things Used To Be. I guess toned-down glamour really is the exact right way for you to go."

Paige unties the rest of her dress and lets it drop to the floor, hesitating before sliding into the silken shift. "I suppose this is too toned down?" she asks with a seductive smile. "Or would that go back to that 'startle 'em too much'?"

Jerod and Cambina will make their way to her quarters first. While on the way, and once out of earshot, Jerod will ask. "So, what do you think of the new King?"

"Ask me again tomorrow night after the moon has set. I may have a better idea then. I think Father would have approved. Uncle Random was the only one of our Uncles who regularly ate with us in the family wing when Father was giving you 'King' lessons. I don't think that was just to keep Flora away, either."

"Dad was strange about never respecting anyone who wouldn't fight him." Jerod says. "I always wondered how much respect Random gained after he tried to kill dad. Not that I'm suggesting it's something people would want."

"There were times I thought he was trying to provoke it in order to test himself." She pauses, thinking the better of continuing, apparently. She changes the subject.

"About this King business. I think you came off better by keeping quiet this morning than Reid did. I don't think Random is going to be King like Father or Grandfather were, but I think he'll have to get there if he keeps the crown. Let other people get crosswise with him first, so that you can see how he deals with it.

"Now is a time to keep our cards close to our breasts, and maybe to be a little useful to him. It seems as if we're in a good position, since we've spent more time with him as our Uncle than anyone, even his son."

"Even if all our aunts and uncles on his side, he's going to be in for a rough ride." Jerod says, agreeing with his sister. "Just enough time has passed here for changes to make things a bit alien. I wonder maybe if it might not have been easier for them to return if a hundred years had passed. Then the changes would have been blatant, easy to pick up. Now it's going to be more subtle, things not quite right.

"What about Martin? He was definitely out in left field this morning. Is it just that he's not looking forward to being the Crown Prince, or something else?"

Cambina looks at Jerod as if he'd said something odd. "Something else. Think about who his son is and who his wife is and what your grandmother will make of all this before you start thinking about who will be declared Crown Prince.

"Hell, given the precedents, I'm not sure if he's safe as Heir Presumptive. Any such title is a target. As you know."

"Indeed. It's why I do so enjoy not being in the crosshairs anymore. Though I'd rather my friends weren't." Jerod says. "I've already been considering the different options available, though I'm sure a few have eluded me. With Martin's mother dead, he might be a questionable heir, especially from Moire's perspective. Moire would probably have limited ability to control him without Morganthe. Vialle producing a new heir would certainly be more acceptable to Vialle I'm sure. It's a pity Rebma is still inaccessible. I'd love to be able to dig up some of my old contacts there and find out more about her."

"Martin could get you back there, I think, but you'd have to convince him. He left Rebma once with no intention of returning, and he has even less incentive today than he did yesterday."

Cambina pauses and asks: "Whose heir is he more questionable as, Random's or Moire's?"

"Or both?" Jerod adds.

He stops for a moment in a quiet part of the hallway, making sure there is no one around. "Tomorrow. When the moon is full, if the stairs appear, I want to go up with you."

"That's always risky without a spotter. I'm not sure I want to share our objectives with anyone outside the family, though." And Jerod knows she means not 'of the line of Oberon', but 'of the line of Eric'.

"How did you go about doing it before the Sundering?" Jerod asks. "You couldn't have had dad watching your back all the time. And it wasn't me. You know what I think of that place."

"I didn't have one." Cambina looks defiant, anticipating Jerod's response. "But the risks I'm willing to take for myself aren't the same as the ones I'm willing to take for my little brother."

"Well, it's good at least that the dad's genes for stubbornness and personal foolishness are still with us." Jerod says, not bridling at her use of the term. "And your little brother can take care of himself. Remind me to tell you about the Black Road sometime.

"That's not the same thing," Cambina says, but she sounds oddly pleased.

"No. But it was just as dangerous." and Jerod smiles.

"You're going to need someone to watch for you tomorrow. Do you have a trump?"

"Of me? No. But I suppose we can ask Ossian or Reid or Paige to make me one when the dust settles. It's one of the reasons I don't like both of us going."

"You get along with Paige fairly well I take it?" Jerod asks. "Reid's doing one of me now. With luck it'll be done once I get back."

"That won't help us tomorrow night," Cambina says, and frowns.

Conner is torn being joining the fleeing Brita and Vere in the safety of duty and watching the the interesting time that the reception is sure to be. Diplomat wins out in the end and after sending messages to Vere and Brita that he will be available for coordinating supply lines directly after the reception, he dresses in his dress naval uniform with the diplomat markings on it and heads to the reception.

Lucas scoots off to do his work, preparing the propaganda. Who's doing the trumping again? I've lost track of things a bit.

That's all next week. It'll be Martin (who is gone) and Reid and Brita and Ossian and Paige.

[Reid]
[You left out Cambina joining Reid & Martin at Ygg.]

[GMs]
[I knew I was short somebody.]

Lucas, like everybody else, will have trouble finding servants after a quarter-glass or so. He may want to wait until after the big announcements to get to work, the way Vere is doing.

[Lucas]
Then that will be the plan.

Some time during the day of Random's return, let's say while waiting for the call to the announcement to the servants, Ossian approaches Vere. "If you are going to coordinate things when the army arrives, we could use a few trumps of you."

"If you don't mind I'll follow you around the next few days, making sketches, as I understand you won't have the time to stand model...Hopefully I'll be able to finish one or two cards in that time."

"Certainly," Vere replies. "After all, there is no telling when someone might wish to contact me to question the accuracy of a footnote in one of my reports."

OOC: Let's retcon slightly. Ossian will not make proper Trumps; the GMs have told me it takes too long time. So we will have to stick to Trump sketches.

"Good" Ossian says, opening his sketchbook, pencil in one hand...

Once Robin has cleared the doorway, she will speed through the corridors with a fine disregard for pages and the like toward her room. If she reaches there without any major collisions -- minor ones will be ignored -- the young Ranger practically tears herself out of the... dress :-P she's wearing. With practiced ease, she digs her uniform out of the tumble that is her quarters.

Boots? Oh, yeah under the bed. Quiver -- clothes pile in the corner. Small clothes are... that's right, under the dirty dishes. Damn... where is the other gauntlet?!? Like a small tornado, it all comes together. Tunic, leggings, knife, sword, crossbow. Robin is careful to find and don everything that she wore that day when she first appeared in Amber a year(?) ago. And nothing that she has picked up since.

Once she's assembled, Robin takes a moment to withdraw Julian's Trump from its interior pocket. Loving lonely fingers trace the image of her father for a brief moment.

Cold, Icy, and hard, the image on the trump is very, very real. But it is still an image. There is no contact, although the familiar coldness implies something is there.

A knock sounds on Robin's door.

Robin's head snaps up at the interruption. The young Ranger swipes at her eyes with one sleeve and, with one longing look cast toward the window, heads for the door. A moment and a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure.

And Robin's cheerful smile is in place...

When she opens the door, she finds Brita there - still in her best red jacket. Brita notes Robin's attire and says "Good. You are ready to leave. I figure if we make it to the stables in less than ten minutes, we won't need to go through any.... ordeals." Brita moves aside slightly to let Robin out of the room.

The young Ranger edges by into the hallway, closing the door behind her. A mock-grimace and a chuckle let Brita know that Robin certainly shares her opinion of... ordeals

As they make their way down stairs, Brita notes, "It would probably be best if you were present when I relay The Plan to the Rangers." Robin can hear the stress on 'The Plan'. "You could then take some of the patrols with you to Heather Vale to... ready the area while I work with Conner on figuring out the best supply route."

One of Robin's eyebrows raises at Brita phrasing, but a shrug ruffles through Robin's shoulders. "Okay."

Near or at the foot of the stairs, Robin stops. 'Milady,' she grins teasingly, making fun of her own phrasing from earlier in the meeting. "If you'll see to the horses, I'll scavenge supplies from the kitchen. And we'll see the hind end of 'ordeals' all the quicker."

"Done," Brita responds as she heads for the stables.

A few minutes after Brita arrives at the stable, a page finds her with a message from Vere as stated:

[Vere]