Vere takes one of his infrequent expeditions away from Gerard's side at a point when he sees that Reid is currently unoccupied, and approaches to within a few feet before stopping and waiting to be noticed.
Observant is Reid's middle name. Not that he has a last name, per se. "Cousin. How is the evening treating you?"
"Well, Lord Reid," Vere replies. "Although I confess I am not at my most comfortable in large social situations. I trust you find the evening pleasant?"
"More pleasant than most. It is good to see the family in such good spirits. Celebration seems to suit us, I think." Reid casts his eyes about the room and takes in the site of his cousins and their parents enjoying themselves. "How fares your father?"
"Little changed," Vere replies. "After speaking with Princess Fiona I better understand his situation. I do not admit defeat, however." He pauses for a moment, then continues on a different topic. "You have travelled widely and seen much, I wondered if you might offer your expertise on a particular matter?"
Reid is intrigued. "My council is at your service, for whatever worth it may hold."
Vere tilts his head slightly to one side and regards Reid as he asks, "Have you ever heard of a race, almost but not quite human, with sallow skin, angular faces, and somewhat bony frames? In addition, they might be hairless, although this latter trait may merely be an affectation of their priestly class."
"Sallow skin, angular face, bony frame. You've just described a dancer I used to know. As I recall, she had hair, though." Reid grins wickedly for a moment before continuing. "Your description is a bit vague, but I seem to recall some monks that might be a match. After Eric's mum got Oberon by the crown jewels, the lady-folk of my bloodline left for a shadow friendly to them. I spent some time there, and there were some interesting looking characters. They weren't locals, but seemed to fit in well enough.
"Why, have they made it to Amber, or another shadow within the Golden Circle? The shadow of which I speak is long forgotten, so for one of their kind to find his way through would be curious indeed."
"I came across them while researching the history of the Paresh. It is barely possible that there might have been a connection." Vere pauses in thought for a few seconds before continuing. "It would seem that, like much of Amber's history, they are but the ghost of a memory."
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Reid apologizes. "I've probably forgotten more encounters and experiences than you've even had. Religious zealots I may have seen a millennia or two ago don't necessarily make the cut."
"Of course," Vere replies, waving the matter away with a slight gesture of his hand. "That you do not remember them with any special vividness tells me that they are not a concern on the level of, for example, the Moonriders. I can put them from my mind." He bows slightly. "I thank you for your time, Lord Reid."
Some few dances after the pavane, Ossian approaches Paige. He bows and offers his arm. "Would a dragon descend to dance with a poor desert dweller?"
"Poor in wealth or poor in spirit, my good nomad?" Paige asks, her answer obviously a yes, as she begins to walk toward the floor with him.
"Poor in colour, I guess." Ossian muses "Though I always match my dance partners, who tend to be more colorful."
Paige chuckles softly, "I've always found you rather colorful, Sir Wanderer."
"I will take that as a compliment."
Paige smiles, letting him know it was meant as such.
"Are we enjoying ouselves this evening?"
Paige's slight hesitation is hidden by her turn to step into line for the next dance. "It's the Royal Order of the Day, isn't it? How could I do any less for the Crown?"
"That is an order not necessarily easily followed. Depends on other people..." Ossian trails off for a second when the dance doesn't allow him to face Paige. "But then most people find it wise to be nice to a dragon, I guess?"
"I assume your evening is going well? You seem to have your share of partners this evening," she comments.
"Oh, it's been even better than I expected. There are pleasant surprises to be found in this room.
"Speaking of dance partners, how are your two companions doing? The red dragon and the hawk, I mean?"
"Well, last I saw them. Which I must admit has been over an hour now," she answers as the figures allow. "Last I saw Ying she was tripping the light fantastic with Sir Fox," Paige comments conspiratorially. "Which I think is a wonderful pairing. Perhaps he can cure some of her social hesitation and she some of his cynicism."
"Oh. Hopefully they don't dull each other down in the process. As it is their personalities add new shades to the court."
"There's more brightness in Lilly than she knows and most expect," Paige suggests.
"I will take your word for it. Dragon's don't lie, do they?" he offers as a jest. "There is a fire in her, I've noted. Still, I haven't noted any brightness. I will keep my eyes open for it."
"Doesn't the sun light your desert as well as warm it, my nomad?" she asks rhetorically.
"It does." Ossian says "But all fire isn't visible."
"The hawk was stolen from my clutches during a dance earlier and to be honest, I haven't seen him since. A winged god saw fit to chastise me for discussing family matters with the raptor," she explains, now scanning the room for Merlin as the dance allows.
"The winged god? What about the devil? It can't easy with both of them involved?" there is compassion in Ossian's voice.
"I think that, not for the first time in my life, the devil's on my side," Paige chuckles warmly. She seems genuinely touched by Ossian's concern.
"And it wasn't any conversation about a clutch of eggs, but about a broken artifact, that raised the god's ire." She shrugs as much as the dance allows without being obvious. "Perhaps I was corrected for good reason, but it still stings.
"And what of your evening, my dashing nomad? What have you gleaned from this night of revelry to fuel your creations on the morrow?"
"The Huntress," Ossian says with a slight dreaming voice "watch her dance! She shows much more of her true self in the dance than I have ever seen from her elsewhere. And she has been hiding a lot!"
"I wish I might know many of my cousins better than I do," she agrees. "For instance, in your travels of Shadow, have you ever been to Uxmal?"
Ossian's eyes narrow for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Can't be sure of course. I was taken through a lot of places when I was a kid. I might have been there while I was asleep. Why do you ask about that place?"
"I uncovered a Trump of it. Seems it's where Brennan was raised," she says non-commitally.
"Brand left a Trump of Uxmal?" Ossian asks.
"I'd be careful of that name here, good nomad," she warns. "But it was indeed found in the green rider's rooms shortly after the Sundering.
Ossian shrugs. He obviously does not think a name can be particularly dangerous.
Paige's eyes move to non-family members dancing nearby.
"What do you know of that Shadow?" she asks quietly.
"Very little. It's supposed to be dangerous. Now I am more or less covinced that it is." Ossian answers in a hushed voice. "I have some stuff, maybe I should show it to you, and to the fox. Nothing we should talk about here."
Paige nods.
"Have you been there?"
"No, in fact I had never hear the name until earlier today," Paige says. "My teacher instructed me in a place he called Vastmark."
"Vastmark? It feels familiar. What is it like?"
"A great valley of clansmen and nomads. Very self-sufficient, one might call it almost simple. But in that simplicity, some of the most complex people I've ever met," Paige smiles, "Outside of family that is.
Ossian nods. "I think we passed through that place a few times."
"I can only think that his fascination with character studies there was helping him create a Trump of a nephew he had never met."
"Ah. You are probably right about that one." Ossian says "Who was it he hadn't met?"
Paige goggles for a moment before nodding toward Martin, "The dark swan."
"Ok. I didn't know that..." Ossian nods and then continues quietly "Anyways, I think we might want to check Uxmal. That Trump, was it hidden somewhere? I mean it's very possible he wanted someone to find it."
"I had to do some digging to find it," Paige says. "Reynard has it for the moment," indicating cousin Brennan.
"Reyn... " Ossian looks confusd for a second. "ah."
"What would we be checking Uxmal for, nomad?"
"Well, if I'm right..that is if the Trump was left behind for someone to find," Ossian says "then there is something to be found there. Maybe a trap, maybe something else. And there is the stuff I have.
"The Devil seems to think that some of the green rider's plans are still hanging on despite the originators' death."
Paige nods, "It's not unlikely, but such concerns are the reason I had hoped my foxy cousin might accompany me there."
"Are you planning to go there soon?"
"It depends on the Sultan's plans for me during the Regency. I find it doubtful, unless something comes up," she concludes.
"But you intend to go there at some point?"
Paige nods.
"I'd like to accompany you there" Ossian whispers
"Think about it." he adds before Paige can answer.
"What stuff do you have?" she asks quietly.
"I have some papers written in the language of Uxmal. Fiona thinks they cover something metaphysical, but couldn't tell for sure." Ossian answers "I found them among the remains of Brand's room.
"I don't know who wrote them."
"Again it seems that such questions lead us to Maestro's son."
"Yes. Heh. My relationship with the fox is not exactly relaxed. I might need a mediator." Ossian shrugs "The presence of a dragon would help."
"Ah, haven't you heard? Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons..." she begins with a smile.
"But, no matter. I'll talk to him for you later. Of course, my relationship isn't ideal, either," Paige explains. "I think he's uncomfortable around anyone who didn't paint his father the villain. In fact it surprises me how well he gets along with my own father."
Ossian nods. "I don't blame him. Our tutor was obviously not the nicest father."
After a proper turn or two about the floor, Brennan is keeping his eye out for Jovian to stand out a dance. When he does so, Brennan nods in the direction of the Phoenix and murmurs, "Jovian, of course. A more proper introduction?"
Assuming no objections or flights on either end, Brennan and Cambina make their way to the Firebird. "Hail, Fire-Flyer. May I present the Moon in Splendour?"
Jovian turns and grins openly at them both. "What a splendid example of vulpine cunning, to lure the moon from her passage in the sky! And such splendour, indeed, to fill the heart with inspiration." He offers Cambina a wing (unbarbecued, I tell you!) and bows over her hand.
Alas, the mask probably hides the waggling of Brennan's eyebrow, but waggle briefly they do, since Brennan is pleased. The mask can't hide the glint in his eye, though.
She takes the offered wing without removing the hand resting on Brennan's arm.
"I was just on my way to have some refreshment - shall we repair together to the ice palace? I wonder," he adds thoughtfully, but with a mischievous grin, "how the effervescence would affect visions scried in its reflecting pool."
"Many a man has been brought low over visions seen while fathoming the bowl, Sir Phoenix. And imperfect figures cast impefect reflections on imperfect mirrors. I have always found that what one scries has more to do with what one brings to the pool than what one finds within it. What would you see?"
Brennan briefly spreads the fingers of his left (and free) hand, unobtrusively but where Jovian can see it. It's very much a 'you got yourself in that one, yourself,' gesture. On the other hand, he's also suppressing a smile.
It's a question to Jovian, so Brennan doesn't intercede, as such. He does answer the question from Jovian, though: "After a few dances, I think a bit of champagne would do nicely."
Other than that, it's Jovian's play.
Jovian seems far more pleased with Cambina's response than one might expect as he turns to walk the pair toward the champagne fountain. "Well spoken, Lady Luna, and a good question besides. Honestly, I could not say confidently what I would see. Mine is a life in transition - myself, my surroundings, my purpose, even my kinships are all in motion. Where it's all headed, I know not - but I'm determined to live the journey fully. And you know," he reflects, as if thinking of it for the first time, "I'm not sure I would want to know too much, too soon."
When his eyes return to Cambina's, there is...something there. Not awe, nor fear, nor pity, and yet all of these things in homeopathic doses (just enough to strengthen his resistence to them), unmeasured drops in a great depth of respect, and some sympathy as well.
"As the philosopher once said, 'The unexamined life is not worth living.'" [Cambina] says evenly, looking intently at her new found cousin.
The moment hangs in the air like a vast chaotic dracoform - but only for a flickering brevity, before the Firebird distracts himself at acquiring three flutes of champagne.
[Cambina]
"Thank you, Sir Phoenix."
"It's the transition periods, I've found, that I'm most in need of a bit fo self-reflection and revelation," asys Brennan. "Alas, though, by the time I realize it, it's often becuase I can see the transition behind me."
He pauses a moment to look around, taking in the whole scene as a tableau, observing all the people, members of the Family and not; the event of the celebration for the Coronation, which is doing double duty, for some, as the celebration of a victory in a war with the other end of the universe; and even the room and the castle itself, which no longer obey the same rules as when their Elders left it behind. He gestures to it all with the champagne flute he took from Jovian.
"Looks like the biggest collective period of transition we're likely to see in some time. Or am I just seeing it because it's just now passed?"
"Hard to say whether it's done or not. Certainly the adaptation to it is barely begun. As for examining my life," the firebird sighs, "that is an effort of the mind and spirit that I have been able to afford too little lately. So little time and space for contemplation - no doubt I'm poorer for it. I know well enough what I have been, and I have hope that my days at it are numbered. Where I'm headed from there isn't quite yet in focus."
"Some call it a curse to curse to know too much of the future. How can you strive if you know what the outcome will be? Foreknowledge is the bane of the ambitious and the optimistic." [Cambina] pauses. "and the contemplative as well."
"I find ambition is more trouble than it's worth," Jovian admits, "though I do try to maintain a cautious optimism. I have certain tasks before me, which luck may permit to be limited in nature - and from then, dear luminous one, I intend to enjoy some mystery for a while. It is too vast a universe not to explore, don't you think?" There's a nearly impish gleam in his eye as he salutes with his champagne before drinking.
[Cambina]
"Of course for many, the greatest mysteries will always lie inside themselves."
Brennan regards Cambina for a moment. It's clear he's got a good deal of sympathy for the opinion she's just stated, but fairness compels him: "I didn't think it had to be one or the other-- Hell, I've been known to do my soul searching while exploring."
"That may be the best time for it," Jovian concurs. "Every step is new untainted by preconception - you get to watch your own mind work, and gauge the reactions of others who haven't built up fixed responses from prior experience." He sips at his champagne and teases the thought out a little more. "For that matter, with us, every exploration of shadow is also an exploration of our own dread and desire, is it not?"
Cambina nods. "That's how it works in Tir-na Nog'th. The place is very...seductive if you've an eye for exploring external manifestations of internal truths." She sips her own champagne. "Some in our family are addicted to that place. Have you ever been, Sir Phoenix?
"Not yet," the Firebird confesses. "My father is ever the skeptic, but I have often wondered about the place. And now that I will soon have time to explore it, it goes missing from the sky. I wonder if Canareth and I couldn't fly Shadow to it...but then, without your expertise to guide us, we'd probably find a strange apparition of the Tir, like but unlike." He can't quite suppress a shudder at the prospect.
"It can be... interesting," Brennan says. "I didn't know that anyone could be considered addicted to the place, and I certainly didn't find it seductive at the time, but perhaps I can see how it might be. My visits have been fairly few, and I've always been necessarily preoccupied while I was there."
"I wondered," says Cambina.
"Whether I'd been there, when, or why?" Brennan responds. "In any case, it's all really the same answer-- There is no way Brand would have sanctioned my taking a Walk and then walking away. So I took matters into my own hands, and the one in the sky isn't gaurded very well." Pause. "As such, anyway."
"I can well imagine that one could become addicted to life's shadow- drama in that place, especially if it reflects at least in part one's own deepest desires." It sounds as though this last is something [Jovian]'s been told, but isn't quite convinced about.
"But say, dear Moon...do you think it's possible to gain entry to your city by air, or is the stairway the only way in for the living?" By the Firebird's tone, he's half making interesting conversation, half making plans.
"I've never had to, of course. I'd be willing to try any number of things to get there."
"Hard to say when we'll have time to try," Jovian considers, "not knowing how long it would take. But I'd welcome the opportunity."
[Cambina] turns to Brennan. "Do you think it makes a difference which pattern a person walks first? That there is something different about your experience with it than our Phoenix or Prince Swan?"
The Phoenix's hood covers his famous eyebrow, but he clearly finds the question intriguing.
"A guess?" [Brennan] was thinking while the Phoenix spoke, and then thinks for a small interval again. It seems he might waffle or equivocate, but both Phoenix and Luna know that it's really an unanswerable question. He doesn't bother pointing out that obvious detail.
"Yes. I think the essential effects are the same, but the experience almost has to be different. A differnt draught, but the same hangover," he smiles at Cambina. "But I left home to get away from Brand, because I knew him to be mad enough to follow his plan. And when I finally made my way to the center of the spectral city, past all the other shades of the past and visions of the future... there was an apparition of Brand.
"He had told me-- in the flesh-- that I would die on it. He did not intend to lie. And his revenant seemed to follow me, even chase me, as I walked. I don't know if it was a trick of my mind, or the place, or if those spectres really have that much volition." He frowns. "I'm not actually sure I want to know, come to think of it."
He doesn't seem too distressed at the memory. It's been a long time, after all. But if Cambina's arm is still in his, he's holding it a bit tighter, now. Probably doesn't realize it, either.
"I haven't taken a poll, but I don't think that's normal for other walks." He looks to his companions for their opinions.
"Well, Merlin's, but nobody believed him. It was so simple...." Cambina's eyes look as if she's had more champagne than is strictly good for her.
The movement of Jovian's head is a conscious mimicry of casualness, as if he deliberately restrained his head from snapping around with a more raptorish mien. "What happened to Merlin?" Again, the tone could be waved off as casual - but Brennan has come to know the dragonman somewhat, and Cambina has more water than a cactus.
Brennan, meanwhile, is caught somewhat on the horns of a dilemma. Having made a pledge, to himself at least, to see Cambina as Cambina, rather than seeing her as a mechanism for visions and seeings by trying to ignore the whole thing, there's not much he can do to avert this scene.
Obviously, ignoring the whole thing is an untenable solution.
Later, there will be time to ask whether Cambina would have wanted him to dissuade Jovian, or just let the scene run to completion. But for the moment he spares a brief, cautionary glance to Jovian, then reaches out with his free left hand (he had ditched the champagne glass some time ago) to rub her forearm, which is still in Brennan's right.
[Cambina]
"I don't know. Something. At the very least he had a
more-difficult-than-average first pattern walk last week."
Brennan gives her a look, then, "It's a bit stuffy in here, after all the dancing," he covers. "Would you join me for some fresh air?"
Jovian's not a brick-- it's a cover to let Cambina take a step back and gather herself if she needs it, and blame it all on Brennan's desire for air.
No, Jovian is not a brick...he finds it odd that relating this past event should be so disturbing, but he covers well by refreshing drinks all round. "Certainly, let's. After all," he adds, handing Cambina her full glass, "there's a beautiful Moon out tonight."
"Thank you, Sir Phoenix." She lets the men escort her towards the door, seemingly unphased by whatever happened by the champagne fountain. "Tell me, Sir Phoenix. Do those lines actually work on Calusan women?"
The Firebird laughs along, clearly not taking himself seriously. "I have no idea; we don't have masques in Calusa. But a night like this does lend itself to high spirits and theatrical flair; I find myself in a better mood than I've been in a longer time than could possibly be healthy." As they cross the threshold into the garden, he breathes deeply, savoring the taste of the night air.
The Fox's escort style is all about providing options and cover for the escortee. But since Lady Luna isn't bothered by the incident, then neither is the Fox, and that's that.
[Lady Luna seems to be having a good time and like the company.]
"Amber is the original of which so much else is imperfect shadow. You shall need more perfect lines to perfectly succeed, Sir Firebird." She, too, is smiling.
"You presume so much, Princess of the Night, to think I haven't succeeded already by making you smile. Why should I want more than such delightful company as this?" By tone and gesture, he includes Sir Reynard as well. Anyone with a drop of water might even think he's happy to see his brother Knight Commander thus conjoined.
This is the point where Brennan would usually make a snarky comment about something or other. But it's the Fox right now, and they're both about as pleased with the company they have right now as they have been or are likely to be all evening.
"Few have ever succeeded in 'making' the moon do their bidding, Sir Firebird, and some of those only bade the moon to do as she would have anyway. Still, rumor has it that you are of the line of gods, so perhaps you can make the moon rise or the sun set in the west. Divinity should be good for something other than attracting would-be High Priestesses."
"My experience in the godding trade is spare," he admits with a chuckle. "But I'm given to understand knowing the limits of your sphere of influence is part of it, and reinforcing the natural order of things is another. If I can provide good reason for another's tendencies to coincide with my own, then my will is one with the natural order. As neat a definition of godhood as any I've been given, I suppose." Even through the mask [Jovian's] eyes sparkle with ironic humor.
[Brennan]
"Is your brother a point in favor, or the exception that proves the
rule?"
"He makes the fringe of the rules his proving ground, all right," the Firebird agrees ruefully, using the archaic sense of 'prove.' "I only hope he can fail so many tests and survive - and learn."
Brennan diplomatically does not comment on the likelyhood of any of that.
I would ordinarily propose an end of thread, but at the end of whatever smalltalk they may conduct, when they head back from the garden to the ballroom, the Fox adds, "By the way, Sir Phoenix, I think I have the support of your Devilish kindred fire spirit. I should have it by tomorrow morning."
It's quiet enough that no one but Jovian and Cambina will be able to hear, but he's not rude enough to shove his partner aside and whisper into the Phoenix's ear.
Jovian nods, considering. "Fire spirit that I am, it is a trial to study at the knee of Temperance. But I may be best suited nonetheless to get what knowledge we need from him to begin the walk you propose, if it ends where we think it does. I'll see to it as soon as I can."
[Brennan]
"As you judge fit, Sir Phoenix. As long as he doesn't try to forbid,
so much the better. I'll try and mention it to our other numbers, but
I don't know if I'll have the chance to talk to everyone tonight."
"As we agreed, I'll get what I can from him about your least-favored but most-likely destination, without tipping your hand. I'll try not to run afoul of the Fourth Law," Jovian adds, with the twist at the corner of his mouth that tends to accompany a (hidden) Julianic eyebrow.
[Brennan]
"I love it when a plan comes together."
Any cousins monitoring the actions of the redhaired contingent note at some point after the king and queen's dance that Conner is approached by the tall gentleman dressed in greens and browns and sporting a large battle axe across his back and a smaller war hammer at his side. The gentleman's tan mask is decorated with blue war paint and covers most of his face. His brown hair is drawn back in a simple queue so as not to detract from the mask. The gentleman offers a drink to Conner and the two proceed to walk around the ball room, talking.
For those nearby, the following snippets of conversation can be heard...
The gentleman makes several comments on the array of interesting costumes and notes, "Your dragon is of a style unknown to me. It is most intriguing."
The Viking lord continues,"I was speaking with the Emerald Lady Sorceress earlier in the evening about the patterns of life. What advice would the Noble Dragon have in pursuing life's little patterns?"
"To keep one's eyes sharp and one's mind focused on the goal." Conner replies.
"Sound advice for any situation, Lord Dragon." The Viking pauses to sip his drink and then continues,"I am not sure when the Lady Sorceress plans on leaving for the pattern dance or even how long it would take. Would you be going with us or need assistance here from would-be dragon slayers?"
"As yet I am undecided." Conner replies sipping his drink. "On the one hand, such a dance is a unique experience not to be missed and yet I cannot help thinking that with so many going it would be wiser to watch things here."
"But if there is any...difficulty here, would it not be better to be with the group?"
"That all depends on who goes and who stays." Conner smiles.
"Any in particular you would... dance with?"
"I have always been one to stick with my family." Conner replies.
"Except tonight you have also chosen to be more gregarious and spread your smile around to others outside of the Family." The Viking smiles softly. "Not that it isn't your normal disposition. Who is the young Lady I have seen you with this eve?"
"My Lady Sphinx?" Conner chuckles. "That is Thalia of Gateway. During our mutual exile in Rebma we found we enjoyed each other's company and still do." He smiles.
The Viking appears to bristle protectively for a moment and almost growls, "Are you handfasted?"
"Ask me that question in a calmer manner and you might get an answer." Conner replies with a mild tone of reproach.
The Viking looks over the crowd and Conner can hear a woosh of deep breathing. "I apologize, Lord Dragon. I would not want anyone trifling with your affections."
Conner nods. "Understood. As it is, she does not. I could not have made my escape from Rebma without her. More than most I trust her."
"Then I will trust her." the Viking says in Brita's voice. Switching back to the gruff voice, the Viking continues "If she helped you take flight, I could see why you might wish to remain to help protect her from deep water..."
Conner nods. "She is a strong swimmer and has a gift for knowing the prevailing currents." He comments. "If I do choose to leave, I won't worry too much."
"I will make sure to contact you before we leave or when I get a more definitative schedule. I hope the rest of your evening is enjoyable." and with that [assuming no further input from Conner], the Viking bows and takes his leave.
As the evening gavottes, galliards and pavanes onward, Robin finds herself leaning against the open doorframe to the gardens. Behind the night air carries the hint of spring and growth which occasionally gently waft past the faintly glowing girl. On Robin's face is one of her trademark 'imagine that' looks as she takes in the costumes, the rituals, the crowds, the noise, etc. of court life.
By and by, the Huntress finds herself looking for one particular costume cum ritual in particular, an elaborate moth of silver and grey. If Aisling is still there and findable, Robin raises her eyebrows to the Flutter and turns her head slightly toward the garden outside, a gentle 'can we talk?'
Aisling is easy enough to track, as I imagine she is no stranger to the dance floor. In fact, she appears honestly alight with the joy of it, and this might go even farther than her unfailing grace at making her one to dance with and around.
Marius will escort her properly for one dance. He's actually quite the dancer; something about being steady even on the least balanced ship, and then he will bow once to her, and turn to his own nefarious purposes.
Well, since he's an accomplished dancer, Aisling hasn't the slightest qualm about rescuing him from any ladies too pushy as the evening traipses on. :)
Nonetheless, when Robin catches her eye, she soon enough makes her polite excuses and finds her way (still glowing in the aftermath) over to the Huntress, and thence to the spring night outside.
The Huntress smiles her thanks and turning, lets herself drift into the metaphorically glowing woman's wake. Once outside, Robin's nostrils flare and a deep breath goes into her. While it's obvious that the girl finds the rolling lawn and curved tree lines still a bit confining, it's better than the squared off walls of stone. [[OOC - Yes, I had to go look up what a 'Capability Brown' style garden was. No references to topiary in this thread. ;) ]]
Lit by gently glowing oil lamps suspended from wrought iron poles, fine marble flooring extends for a several meters beyond the open doorway to make a small patico, but no wall or stair separates the women from the greenery.
With another gentle smile, Robin gestures off to somewhere more private than where the golden light and gentle clamor of the Masq pour out of the open french doors.
Aisling follows Robin out further, her expression (as much of it as is visible under the mask) one of polite interest.
Out in the darkness, Robin's argent nimbus casts soft-lined shadows away from her in all directions. "Thank you, Aisling," the girl's voice falters a little as her words slip away from her in the Chaosian's actual presence and she drops her eyes.
The mask and moonshadows probably hide the faint expression of unease that crosses Aisling's face.
Then the segue master strikes again, Robin is obviously not someone who rehearses. The girl looks to Aisling with honest curiosity in her eyes.
"Listen. My father says that before I can flout the court's dress rules, I should be certain of the message I'll send by doing so. Uhhh, you speak clothing. Aaanndd it seems like you speak Court too. So, if you would be so kind, what message would I send by wearing breeches or trousers -- nice ones," Robin qualifies, "to Court?"
Aisling looks very taken aback, startled. This was not the conversation she was fearing. "Uhmm..." She blinks a couple times.
Robin looks confused by Aisling's reaction. Dung! What did she do wrong this time?! Verde, these castle people are a different species, the Ranger swears it. But Robin really wants the answer to this question, so she waits for it.
"Well, that you abdicate your place as a woman, and deny its protections in addition to its drawbacks... And you won't get to join the men. Some people may take it as a show of disrespect for the new monarchs, undermining the very structure that brings all good things to Amber with your wanton ways..." Aisling is grinning a bit, laughing somewhere.
"Do not take my ideas alone on this matter. I have been gone for five years, and here for only six before that. It may be possible to wear pants as a woman... When I told the Princess Florimel I wanted to emphasize my recent military endeavours when I met the family, she put me in pants. But that was family. Perhaps if you emphasized your Ranger-ness over your female-ness? You should speak to her..." And likely seeing a facial twitch, Aisling smoothly continues, "Or Brita, perhaps... Or Llewella? Or Lucas," and at this she grins.
Robin nods as she listens carefully. "Yeah, I was thinking of maybe talking to Llewella too. But Lucas?" She raises an eyebrow and then breaks into a chuckle. "Verde! Can you imagine? I mean, sure. He speaks clothes like no one's business, but..." the girl shakes her head, "I honestly can't imagine the type of conversation we'd have." Merry laughter at the thought lifts from her into the night sky.
"It would probably be fun..." Aisling suggests. "You don't seem like the type who shocks easily..." She's so egging Robin on, in a very demure way.
"Dung!" Robin's still laughing, though she grins to Aisling to show she knows what's going on but doesn't mind. "Me and Lucas. I mean, I'm sssooo gauche, he'd probably distort just from the fashion void."
Aisling grins in a quick flash of white.
But for a brief moment there, something runs behind Robin's eyes, a plan or a thought or something. Her brow furrows for a moment, but then she dismisses it with a chuckling headshake. Too stupid for even her to try.
"Thanks Aisling. That gives me a good start." The Huntress stretches her arms behind her back as she relaxes in the open air and solitude. "Deny its protections, but don't get to join the men. Huhn. A woman first and Ranger second? That's just... plain dumb." Strange, her voice says, very strange. Robin shakes her head, not so much in disbelieve as in incomprehension.
Green eyes glimmer over to Aisling. "Aisling, don't sweat it so much," she says with warmth in her voice. "Since you spent a mere six years here, you have me beat by only some 5+ years. You are far less the stranger to this place than I. That's why I'm asking your advice." Robin smiles in the darkness.
"But it's just... People's impressions of one really matter. It's so hard to be something other than what everyone thinks you are..." Aisling frowns and changes the subject, "If you do choose to dress in trousers, you should certainly go for clothes as fine as possible to give the lie to mutters that you are showing disrespect. I'd think the way to go, without compromising motion, would be fine fabrics... Brocades of green on green..." she looks thoughtful. "Perhaps Solange would be one to talk to? Or have you considered King Random himself, when he returns? He has an agile mind."
As Aisling changes the subject, a swell of pure emerald sympathy flows through the Ranger's eyes before she politely turns them away. Robin accepts the change of subject, somewhat reluctantly though.
Aisling shows no reaction.
"As fine as possible... does that mean well-made or heavily ornamented? Cause I don't want to trip myself up with tassels and stuff while avoiding the trap of skirts. That'd make the whole thing pointless." Robin chews on her lower lip in thought.
"I... suppose I could talk to the King. But he's probably going to be real busy with important King stuff. And this could really seem like me being a petulant brat if I'm not careful."
Aisling shrugs. "There's no reason for him to dismiss what you care about, and I don't think he will." Both parts of that sentence are necessary, to her way of thinking.
Well, of course, they are. The Ranger's matter-of-fact acceptance of Aisling's logic just illustrates how so very often royalty and reason accompany each other in the her opinion. <snerk>
But in response to Aisling's statement, skepticism dances on Robin's face. "Aisling. I'm not a war-hero. Or even a acquaintance of Random's. Why should he give a damn what I care about?" _Other than using me_ Those sentences hang somewhere between harsh cynicism and hope that just maybe this particular King will be different, and are tinged with sincere curiosity about the man.
"Robin, it may be that for the next ten thousand years you and Random will share this universe. What is important to you will bear on what is important to him." Aisling smiles, "Plus, you're interesting. It may be that my view of him is skewed, in that all my observations of him were while he was captive, but I feel that he has a soft spot for interesting people."
"Ten thousand years?" Robin makes a soft thoughtful puffing noise. The girl is slightly boggled by that thought, her youth showing in the widening of her eyes. It's obviously okay for other people to live that long, but her? "Yikes.
"Interesting?" The Ranger meets Aisling's eyes with confusion. There's another word she's never applied to herself. "But..." the girl doesn't complete that sentence. She's not sure what the but is, just that there is one.
"Interesting," Aisling confirms. "Though, alas, duty calls me away... I told my otter companion I'd watch his back." She grins.
"Oh! Of course." Robin smiles back. "I didn't mean to monopolize your time. Thank you, Aisling, for your expertise and your advice." The Ranger bows slightly, though she shows no intention of returning immediately to the festivities. She's got a lot on her mind right now and the semi-quiet of the night garden is more suited to her anyway.
Aisling bows slightly in return. "I hope I have lead you aright." She smiles gamely, and heads back to the dance with light and graceful steps.
Last modified: 8 June 2003