Coronation Masque: The Storm Breaks

The Viking has just backed out of a small nook off of the banquet room and Robin hears him mumble gruffly to himself "...bad as Uncle Loki in the Valkyrie dorm!" He turns on a heel, still gazing back at the nook, and practically runs right into Robin. Some deft maneuvering manages to save them both from getting soaked in champagne. "Cou...Lady Huntress!" the Viking sounds surprised to find the small Ranger in front of him. "Forgive me. I was not paying attention as I should."

The gruff muttering voice, the cant of ax, the line of hip and shoulder, the scent - as Robin tracks her prey to the nook, she finally realizes whom she is tracking and freezes in place, a delighted smile slowly lining her face. Something akin to relief, as though a burden were being lifted, is darting through her eyes when the Viking suddenly spins and the Huntress finds herself unexpectedly underfoot.

Robin flutters aside nimbly and, since it is a redhead holding the flutes, there comes no sound of breaking glass and the ranger doesn't add champagne to the gin her costume has been baptized with this evening. Yet.

A delighted laugh trills from the girl. "It's alright. I've got practice in being overlooked." The girl looks over her companion's costume with an admiring eye. Dung! She wished she'd thought of that.

The Viking straightens to his full six foot plus height and bows to Robin. "It is fortuitous that you are here, Lady Huntress. I have been seeking a bird who has flown the coop, as it were. Your skills could help me find It..."

A curious cock of the Huntress' head answers the Viking's statement. "Of course, Sir. I'd be glad to hunt with you." The Ranger smiles warmly and sincerely, though there's something swimming deep in her green eyes.

The Viking's voice quiets conspiratorially as the two move towards the next alcove. With a wry smile that implies some shared jest to any onlookers, the Viking leans down to Robin and says, "It seems a Crow may have gotten into our garden. It startled the Hawk into flight as you saw." The Viking straightens and scans the room. At a normal volume, the Viking continues, "I have been searching for this intriguing bird to share a drink and some words, but have been unable to find it as yet."

[I suppose information on tracking/scents would be best given as the appropriate room is encountered. Brita's player thinks she understands the layout, but doesn't know the number of alcoves in each room. Suffice to say, Brita is searching systematically around the room....]

"Weeellll," Robin laughs gaily, "when it comes to birding, I'm your girl."

The laugh covers a flicker of dread in the Ranger's eyes. But despite that - and with a covert wince - Robin opens herself even further to the currents of the room; movements, scents, sounds and gestures. And in her mind, she brings herself to a readiness with the blue fire within herself. Not igniting, not burning, just... ready.

And she circles beside the Viking, while engaging in silly conversation, from nook to niche to curtained alcove.

"So when did you first meet this turtledove of desire, Sir?"

[Robin will let Brita handle the systematic approach, she'll be looking for what startles or what hunkers down and gets still at their approach.]

Perfect. Exactly what Brita hoped for. "Ah, you see, there is the rub. I have not actually met this bird of parodies [did he say 'parodies'? No, it was 'paradise'], just heard tale of it from Lord Hawk."

[I suppose we now await GM direction as Brita and Robin systematically search out an inkling of a trail...]

As Robin and Brita investigate the nooks and crannies in the side rooms, Brita scents a strong whiff of Chaos. There are a number of people in the vicinity, none of whom Brita recognizes, and she cannot immediately trace the source of the scent.

She does not see Merlin or Aisling, nor does she see Ce'e.

The Viking shifts the champagne flutes to one hand and casually rests her freed hand on the head of the war hammer at his hip. "I despair of finding my quarry, Lady Huntress. There is such a press of people Here; all Unknown. It seems a singularly hopeless cause." Brita scans the area. Where are we in the sequence of rooms? Is anyone in the area alone? There are probably plenty of people watching us being as how Lady Robin is there. Anyone with more than just a tourist's interests in us?

A thoughtful chirrup emerges from Robin's lips as she repeats her crane, crane, look, look behavior from several times earlier in the evening. Dropping back to her feet, the girl runs exasperated hand back through her glowing hair, and in the tiniest burst of fire, returns her fingers to her front holding a bead that might have been in her hair. But wasn't.

As she summons her heritage to her, the Huntress watches for a wince or sudden distancing from any of the surrounding party-goers.

There is no wince nor is there a sudden recoiling but you each notice a cloaked man lounging insolently near the doorway. He is wearing black and has a scythe strapped to his back. He has a skull half-mask over his face and when he speaks, it is as if he was speaking just to the two cousins. His voice is somewhat familiar.

"Looking for someone?"

[what about the scent? What doorway? the entrance back into the ballroom?]

The scent of him is familiar. Brita has scented it on the wind earlier this evening, sought it assiduously through the rooms, and now found it.

The area here is not all one room. It is broken into many little rooms with low dividing walls and columns marking the divided spaces above the walls. The doorway is the area where there is no wall and no columns.

Death lies between Robin and Brita on the one hand and their quickest route to the heart of the Hall, where the dancers are, on the other.

The Viking glances briefly at Robin. "'Death waits for no man'" the Viking quotes. "And yet you look as if it is you waiting for someone to cross your path."

An appreciative smile spreads across the Huntress' lips as she lets her gaze trickle over the cloaked figure -- the poised insolence, the striking statement of the costume. Malicious delicious humor twinkles in the girl's eyes.

Content to let Brita do the talking, the Ranger lets power dash through her veins in one quick burst, like a tap on a drumhead, and clandestinely bowls her bead into a far corner. There, the ceramic breaks against the marble walls with a quiet click impossible to hear over the hum of conversation.

And from the remains begins to drift a faint but pernicious order. Mildly unpleasant, but not grossly offensive, it's as though someone's digestion did not agree with spicy food eaten tonight.

[What she's going for here is 'My, My, someone had too much sausage.' 'I say, my dear, why don't we go get some air? Elsewhere.' ^V A gentle drift of vaguely disgusted (or amused ) people out of the alcove/niche/whatever, but not a stampede.]

[This will not work. Here's why: Robin conjured the bead as a bead. She didn't conjure a stink-bomb. Having conjured the bead, it's a bead, and she can't now fool herself into thinking it was always a stink bomb. She can neither retroactively change what she conjured nor manipulate the probability of what it might be when she knows what it is. Robin can conjure a new thing or manipulate probabilities that she is not certain of, but once she knows what a thing is, it's much harder to change it.

You can proceed with an action on this basis.]

[Leslie]
[OOC - Thank you, GMs. I see that I'm going for the overly ornate (and incorrect ;) answer when the simple one would have worked just as well. If it's okay, will the following work? ]

Content to let Brita do the talking, the Huntress' eyes dart quickly to the side, seeing back into the alcoves where a corpulent man in a greyhound costume sits sipping something foamy and brown from a stein. The flushed skin showing around the edges of his mask show him to have been enjoying quite a bit of evening up to this point.

Robin lets power dash through her veins in one quick burst, like a tap on a drumhead, and possibilities burble beneath her touch like an overly rich meal. Since the gentleman is about to unknowingly donate his reputation for the good of Amber, Robin decides to at least leave him the out of 'silent but deadly' and the greyhound is struck with a long bout of flatulence.

And from the alcove begins to drift a faint but pernicious order.

The masked figure quotes in return, "'All things come to those who wait'. Is it Death, then, that you seek?"

"One does not need to seek Death. He will come when he comes, presumably with Valkyries at hand. What does Death seek?" the Viking is deceptively relaxed, scanning the Hall beyond while speaking as if the play is somewhat boring. One hand rests on the war hammer at his side.

You can only get a glimpse of the hall beyond. The same design that prevents one in the hall from seeing the alcoves also prevents most of the hall from being visible from the alcoves.

How many party-goers are near us (within 30ft?).

A bunch, but they do seem to be moving around. Unfortunately, some of them are heading for the exit by passing between the two groups.

Given a few minutes, the effects of Robin's trick should clear things out a bit.

Are there any cousins near this set of alcoves?

Not that you noticed coming in, but the crowd is large and thick.

With one beautiful girl on each arm Ossian is beaming. "I spot some free chairs over by Gerard and Vere. Shall we join them?"

Lilly takes a moment to gauge the area looking at both it's offensive and, more importantly, defensive advantages and disadvantages. She did not know enough about Gerard, or Vere for that matter, to truly categorize them but they were scions of Amber. Chances were they could help to swing things in the Queen's favor should need arise. With that thought the decision was made.

[The area is full of people. It will be very difficult to defend the Queen if she is attacked from multiple sides. And it's hard to keep strangers far enough away from her. If a big fight broke out in here, it would be a madhouse. If a stampede started, Vialle would be very vulnerable, and could end up trampled.]

[Ouch. So Ossian's and Lilly's tactical decision wasn't that tactical after all. I guess I should have asked the GMs first... I'm ok with letting things run, as Ossian very well might do the wrong decision. How about Lilly? She's not very likely to make such mistakes, is she? Tara? Regardless of what your decision is, Ossian's suggestion that the trio should join Gerard and Vere should be kept.]

Lilly's not likely to make tactical mistakes but I'm not sure keeping her in the main room is one. The enemy would have to deal with all of the extra people in here too. They are in their own way a shield of sorts. And by going nearer other relatives, Lilly is gaining aid. Remember, as naive as it might be, Lilly still trusts most of her aunts, uncles, and cousins so she considers their presence to be an asset. The most important thing Lilly wants to do right now is get a wall at their back. That way if a stampede started Vialle could be secured firmly up against it. And no one would be able to come at them from the rear. The one thing she most want to avoid is the dance floor. No matter what she wants Vialle to stay on the fringes.

[Lilly]
"That sounds lovely. I've had very little chance to get to know either of them."

[Gerard is sitting close to a wall isn't he?]

[Gerard and Vere are to one side of the dancing area. There are people on three sides, and you're on another side from where Vere and Gerard are.]

Vialle says, "You will find both of them quite companionable. Gerard was one of the best-loved of his family before the Regency. Vere is a gentleman, and very well educated. He knows as much about the castle as those who were born here." Her gay chatter is at odds with the tension Ossian feels in her arm as he leads her across the chamber.

"I would no doubt find his knowledge of the castle interesting." Lilly says adding the words "and useful" in her own mind.

"He's also much more entertaining than you would expect from the Family's most talented bureaucrat" Ossian adds. He continues ina hushed tone to Vialle "Things will be alright. Have you travelled by Trump before?"

"No," whispers Vialle back. "But I can't leave. Random will need me."

"He will need you _unhurt_. Besides, we'll get back as fast as possible. And don't worry about the the Trumping. Just hang on to me and all will be fine." Ossian whispers back.

[A note: Ossian keeps the beach Trump in his hand. (The same hand that he leads Vialle with) If he can he will keep it as hidden as possible while still holding it]

Vialle helps cover the card with her own hand, shivering once at the chill of it.

Lilly allows the Queen to answer before leaning close to Ossian to whisper softly in his ear. It is immediately obvious to him that Lilly is not quite (all right, all right, not at all) comfortable with that sort of intimate closeness.

Ossian smiles to himself. He was fascinated by Lilly's innocense.

"We should make our way near one of the walls. If fighting broke out I believe the Queen would be safest if she were well out of the way. The wall also has the advantage of giving me only three sides to secure." Moving her head ever so slightly, Lilly regains eye contact. Her brown eyes are full of emotions ranging from trust in Ossian to doubt in herself, from disappointment to excitement, and from self-assurance to a bit of fear. Though she might already have a bit of a reputation for being a bit cold and distant it was becoming more and more obvious that she truly was the passionate soul Paige had spoken of.

Ossian nods. His blue calm eyes returns the trust, and a tiny bit of exitement.

Following Lilly's sugestion Ossian leads the trio along the wall on their way to Gerard.

[Getting close to Gerard will get you closer to a defensible wall. Of course, Gerard himself may count as a defensible wall.]

"... was a sorcerer?" Corwin asks in a low, intense voice.

"I am."

"Damn, Damn, Damn. What the hell would they send one here for?" Corwin says, loosening his blade in its scabbard.

"I do not know, Father."

Corwin turns to Paige. "Sorcery and Shapeshifting. Most of us will be useless in this fight. Try to let your cousins know."

Paige nods to the Harlequin. "Is running an option?" she asks softly just in time to see Jerod's approach. She slips Merlin's Trump back into a convenient pocket for the moment.

So [Jerod] finds himself back to Corwin and company and offering a hand to Paige as he bows for the benefit of the crowd that might observe while speaking to the three.

"Got duty. Care to cut in on the King? I get to dance with Flora sooner than expected." Jerod says. "And Uncle Benedict says hello."

Paige takes Jerod's hand and looks to the Harlequin for approval before she leaves the Hawk in his charge.

Corwin nods. "Go. If you have to trump out in a hurry, don't pick up hitchhikers. It would be bad." Merlin pales at the image his father has suggested and can't seem to keep his hands still.

Paige nods. "The Swans say either we've two party crashers or as you say, one with several costumes. They say Black Swan hasn't danced with Lady Moon, no matter what everyone saw on the floor. Same black as the Raven, perhaps."

Paige kisses Merle on the cheek. Even if he doesn't understand Orderly relations, over the years he must've learned that from Paige, it means she cares. He's also waterful enough to know she's concerned for him.

"Be safe," she says, wishing that her control of Pattern were strong enough to make it so or even to make the words themselves less hollow.

As they depart, Jerod thinks that his elders really need to explain these references more clearly in the future.

Once separated from Corwin and company and into the dance, Jerod begins to fill Paige in on "new" news.

"Venesch reports that one of our guards downstairs is unconscious. Apparently dealt with by an intruder. No marks or signs of injuries, but unconscious. Might be our same intruder, or another one. How are you with the idea that Merlin might be a decoy target, a diversion?" Jerod asks.

Paige leans in a bit, a lewd smile on her lips, obviously suggesting something that ladies just don't talk about...

"Perhaps, but I don't doubt that they want Merle back. Secondary objective's probably a better definition than diversionary," Paige whispers near his ear.

"You caught that we're looking at shapeshifters and sorcerers?" Paige asks. "And that... it passed as our historian during a dance with your drinking buddy?"

"I picked it up just now." Jerod says. "Having heard this I'm more willing to gamble that Merlin was secondary. It's a rather stupid, and dangerous, gambit to grab someone during an event with this many people. The question is to see who might be the primary."

Paige laughs and nods at Jerod's witty response.

"That someone is shifting to people who are well known to others implies they've done their homework. I've fought shifters but never good enough ones to imitate our historian. And precisely enough to avoid detection at close range. It means I'm not sure how we'll go about detecting this threat. I'm assuming that's the job of our elders." and he has been making steady progress to get them closer to Random and company.

"I've been thinking. We've no proof that they're shifters, just a sorcerer that has a familial resemblance and a Cambina imposter," Paige says.

"Redhead and a black bob? Could be Brand and Dierdre back from the Abyss," she jokes darkly.

Paige gets the impression that the idea of Brand being back does not amuse Jerod, just angry.

"Possible." Jerod says. "But unless dear departed psycho Uncle Brand is really tough, even he'd have trouble surviving an arrow in the throat. And I doubt Deirdre is good enough to pass close scrutiny to my sister. It might work from a distance, or if she's under partial cover, but not face to face. Even with the masks and costumes, we know who we all are at that range."

It's at about this time that Martin and Cambina approach Paige and Jerod, no longer waltzing as they were. Martin says, "Cousin?" and touches Jerod's right shoulder. Paige can see it's with his left hand, and that Martin is ready to step in once Jerod relinquishes her.

"Advise Martin and be sure the King knows about Venesch's report if I don't get to him first." Jerod says to Paige, before switching off partners.

Paige nods and takes Martin's hand graciously. Any stiffness about her might be the unexpected change of partners in this new sort of dance.

Which Martin knows perfectly well she has danced a hundred times before if she's danced it once. Including a few times with him.

"Hawk's pretty rattled. Harley's convinced we're facing sorcerers and shapeshifters. The former's confirmed by the Hawk, the latter I assume he came to based on your comments on not-Lady Moon or the fact that the Raven that was stooping on the Hawk looks remarkably like cousin Fox's natural coloring," she says between smiling teeth. Let him remember that a man who looks like Brennan could look like Brand. Paige would be more than happy to not have to remind him.

It's not quite enough to throw Martin off his rhythm, but Paige is certain she's made the point.

Business. Duty, as Jerod put it. She can do this. Paige almost laughs out loud when the idea occurs that she'd rather still be dancing with Jerod. Even if she did feel safe in these arms, that security belonged to someone else.

"Venesch reports a guard unconscious downstairs. No marks or signs of injuries. Guess that supports the sorcerer conjecture," Paige continues. "My last dance partner believes Hawk might be diversionary, to draw us off. I think it's more a secondary or target of opportunity issue."

"Guard? That's bad. Real bad," Martin says. "I have orders to leave ASAP after we close it down here, but somebody has to check that out. Have Merle look the guard over. If it really was her, we may be screwed. If she ate the guard, she knows everything the guard knows."

He sounds mildly alarmed by the prospect.

"I take it we're speaking of the Hawk's other parent..."

[Cambina]
"Well, this is a novel way to pass information. Here's what I know. There are shapeshifters here, probably from Chaos. Martin thinks at least two. One of them, apparently, does a passable imitation of me. Do you recall dancing with me earlier this evening?"

Jerod shakes his head. "Hadn't gotten to you yet." he says. "Too much else going on trying to fit everyone onto the one true dance card."

Cambina looks, behind her mask, relieved.

"Venesch indicates that one of the guards down below is unconscious. No signs of injury but unresponsive otherwise. Apparently someone was wandering around your digs. I'll need to ask about those later. Benedict wants to be sure the King is informed. Merlin apparently ran into something that wanted him back...wherever back is for him. Sorcerer or so it is believed. I got that second hand. Seems like everyone from Chaos is a sorcerer or some such."

"I'm pretty sure that it's an important survival trait in Chaos. Father mentioned my lack of sorcerous skills as a reason I shouldn't go too far from Amber."

[assuming Vere continues to observe and report ...]

Coming in from the area with the champagne fountain, Vere spots a red-headed fellow in a black costume, cloaked in a way that suggests wings, with a half mask hiding his nose under the beak of a raven.

Vere frowns, then says to his father, "I do not recall seeing this man before, dressed in a costume like a raven, with red hair. There is something about him..." Vere pauses while he tries to determine just what it is that's attracting his attention.

Perhaps it's the way he seems very directed in his walk through the crowd, and yet at the same time seems to be searching for something.

Simultaneously he's analyzing the man's direction and where his attention is focused, trying to locate his destination. Vere is also plotting an intercept course, and checking to see if, on his way to intercept the raven, he will pass any of the family, and of Venesch's guards, any of M's men, or any of the dragonriders.

Given the general direction of the Raven's path, he could try for Benedict and Venesch. The Raven might turn, though.

"Father," Vere says, "I am going to inform Prince Benedict of the man that I have noted, although one certainly hopes my doing so will prove redundant. In any case, this will give me an opportunity to inquire as to what is occurring. Her Majesty is being escorted in this direction, I assume she will have information for you."

Gerard reaches over the side of his chariot to loosen its wheel-shield for use if need be.

Vere inclines his head to his father, and heads for Benedict. His walk appears deceptively casual, he is moving much more quickly than most people watching would realize, and he remains aware of what is going on in the Great Hall.

The Raven seems to have spotted his quarry, whatever it is. He veers off in a slightly different direction.

When Brennan saw [Aisling and Jovian] start to head over, he gave them a nod and a smile, as though they were the friends he'd been scanning the area to find... and then kept a good watch on the area anyway, just tried to be more surreptitious about it.

"Thanks for the cover," he says quietly, when they arrive. "I was just about to come for your help," he says, looking at Aisling.

"Ah?" Aisling asks politely.

Folly looks around, surprised. She'd been so wrapped up in the Trump contact that she hadn't even noticed their approach.... She stares blankly at Aisling for just a moment, as if getting her bearings, before smiling a warm greeting to the newcomers.

Jovian pieces together the bits rather rapidly, for a bronze rider. Someone looking like Brand or Brennan...a long lost brother to the Fox? Not bloody likely - literally.

"Let me guess. Shapeshifter." It is not a question. "And one who was after Merlin, that may or may not narrow the field. Aisling," he turns to his sometime companion, "forgive me for getting personal among company. But in your experience, how much exposure to a subject does the average shapeshifter need, before he can pass as the subject's twin to a casual observer?" For punctuation, he tosses a speculative glance at Brennan, his hand moving as if grasping something beside him.

Aisling gives the Phoenix an iconic look, "I would prefer to have more information before I gave myself to speculation, Sir Jovian." She inclines her head a bit to him, and carefully returns her gaze to the Fox.

"I believe," Jovian responds quietly but in a drawl so dead-on Julianic it's disturbing, "that is exactly what I was seeking." Nevertheless, he also turns to his vulpine fellow KC.

Jovian can't tell whether that scored or not. Aisling is carved out of ivory.

Brennan catches Jovian's gesture and nods once, sharply. Keeping it as short as possible, and sticking to his normally soft-spoken tones, he tries to bring them up to speed as soon as possible:

"No, he's right. Brita has detected an unlicensed Chaosi, but we don't know who, yet. It's impersonated Cambina, and now," he nods at Folly, "either me or Brand, it seems. Both times in a black-themed costume. I have reason to believe that some nights ago, it impersonated Benedict, but it's supposition. There is strong reason to believe that Merlin is the target."

Which, really, would explain the Trump in the middle of the Masque.

Aisling would really like more detail, but accepts Brennan's desire for speed at the moment.

"I'm playing a hunch and keeping an eye out for extra family members in black costumes, since that's the theme, but in a moment, I need to rendezvous with Fiona. Dara or a minion is my hunch, but I'm open to anything anyone can tell me." [Brennan] nods at Jovian when he mentions Dara, but addresses the final request for information to Aisling.

Hopefully he doesn't look too distracted while he continues to keep an eye out for shifty types-- under the guise of watching people learn the new dance.

Aisling's again arranged herself such that she can keep up her 16-degrees-of-Ce'e-surveillance.

"I have other eyes keeping a coordinated watch for anyone with an unhealthy interest in Merlin," Jovian contributes, in a light tone that probably fools no one nearby into thinking this isn't a war council. "And others will shortly be minding the outside for sudden movement." His brow furrows a moment (visible only by a slight movement of his hood) and his jaw tightens as if a headache is coming on, but he does not lose focus on Brennan. "Garbed in black, check. Wearing a face present at Coronation, check."

"Uh, not necessarily," Folly reminds them. "Unless Brand made a surprise appearance at the Coronation that I somehow missed."

She hesitates, then, as if gathering her thoughts or carefully selecting her next words.

"You, uh, you might want to consider relatives with ties to Chaos as likely doppelgangers. I mean, I don't know about Cambina, but -- Benedict, right? And Brand, if I've got my lore right. Which makes Corwin a really good possibility." She hesitates again. "And... and I know Martin's known Merlin for years. And lucky us, they're both wearing black."

Folly looks really, really unhappy.

"I think it is more likely that the creature is taking whatever form is most likely to get what it wants. But likely it has the balls to duplicate Martin, if it wants to," Aisling says, wishing she could be more comforting.

"A very good shapeshifter could emulate anyone in this crowd with a few hours practice. But there are not many shifters that good; and if this is only seen wearing black, it suggests that it is a lesser shifter, who has a grasp of sorcery, which would make for far less need of observation of fine features and mannerisms and gait.

"There does not seem enough of the brash about this to indicate Dara herself, to me; and I imagine she is still busy becoming Borel. Perhaps that has already happened and she has become less flashy in the process." Aisling shrugs. "I am reminded that once I heard Borel was preparing its own spy; Dara would certainly employ such. It is likely to be a dangerous fighter and sorcerer."

This whole "becoming Borel" business has got Folly looking confused and intrigued, as if she's not quite sure she got all the parts of speech right when she parsed the sentence. She stares out at the crowd, her gaze shifting from Paige to Merlin to Corwin to Martin and back again, while she works it out.

"Why is Princess Fiona not meeting with the creature?" That's not censure-- [Aisling]'s trying to figure out more of what's up.

Brennan was tracking the conversation while he continues to look about the room in that way pleasant party-goers have, to watch everyone enjoying themselves while he stands out a dance.

He's certainly not rejecting anything that anyone has said. To the contrary, he's just trying to piece as much as he can into a coherent picture, making sure he isn't blinding himself to something someone else thinks is obvious. When Jovian mentions his watchers, Brennan nods in gratitude, but spreads his hands-- it's just a theory, not gospel.

He answers Aisling, "Because she doesn't know who it is, either. Unless you do?"

Aisling slightly frowns at him; if she knew, she'd've said. "How did Brita come to know there was a Chaosite here?"

[Brennan]
Then, to Aisling and Folly, "I don't think you two disagree, really. Intuitively, wouldn't it be reasonable for a lesser shapeshifter to be limited in garb as well as limited to people previously studied?" The question is directed to the resident expert. As is, "And something else-- leaving aside the possibility of an inside job, how exactly would a Chaosi get here? How many could manage it?" There is a benefit to having a past expert on hand.

"We brought back an entire army from Chaos," Aisling says, channeling the essence of the silently laughing coyote. "I'd almost be surprised if there weren't Chaosites who just got swept along by accident." She wipes the grin off her face, goes back to being statuesque. "Also, it seems unlikely to me that Merlin is the only Chaosite who commands the magic of Trump. And there could be Chaosites here who have been here for years. The reason that you have not been overrun with sorcerers and shifters, now and before, is that only very tai-- only creatures of Chaos that have had a crack at the blood of Amber can survive here, without the Black Road, for long." She shrugs, "As for shifting, it's not a reasonable endeavour. Everyone has different ways at it."

"I wonder if that's still true," Folly muses, mostly to herself. "About the surviving, I mean. Not that it especially impacts our current conundrum."

Aisling nods the nod of 'point, yes...'.

[Folly] scans the crowd once more before turning her attention back to Aisling. "You can't... sense... other Chaosites at close range, can you?" she asks.

"Would you like a drink?" Robin gestures to the flutes in Brita's hand. "Or maybe a dance?" The Huntress smiles once again to the dark figure, her eyes glimmering with green fire.

"No, thank you. But I am a bit peckish." His left hand is moving in ways that perhaps hands do not normally move and a bluish glow sprouts from his palm.

There are a number of people between Death and the two women.

If she can see it, she can hit it. It's almost Robin's maximum. With gestures as fast, short and sharp as she can, the Ranger plucks the silver crescent moon pin from the shoulder of her chiton, and hurls it like a shiriken at the offending blue glowy hand. If she can manage to hit points first, she'll consider it a fortuitous bonus, but her primary concern is to distract.

The Huntress also makes sure that her movements are extremely economical, no wild flailing, so that passersby might not even notice if they weren't looking directly at Robin at the exact right moment.

Brita will move towards Death [!] through the crowd, aiming to block him more in the alcove than out.

Brita moves through the people, who mostly want to be out of her way in any case, when Robin's pin come spinning at Death's hand. Brita gets a quick glimpse of a face that, beneath the calm death's head, is enraged and perhaps not entirely human. The glimpse is only fleeting, however, since the man dressed as Death shoves forwards against the air and flings everything back towards the far wall. Brita, Robin, spectators, and china go flying into a sideboard, which collapses with a shattering noise. The china is all broken and you can see that some of the guests are bloody and at least one seems to be bleeding heavily. The room goes quiet for just a second and then one of the partygoers screams.

Nice of him to clear the way, thinks Brita with a mental growl.