After Lunch

Random exhales and turns to Folly. "I spend more time trying to figure out that kid than I do on all the rest of the King gig. It's worth it though."

"He's a good guy," Folly agrees, hesitating for a fraction of a second before the last word as she considers the implications of both 'kid' and 'man' as alternatives.

Random's left hand is playing air drums, apparently without any other part of his body being aware of the motion at all. Based on the tempo and the pattern, it's the high-hat for the bridge in "Eye to Eye". Air drumming usually means he's working on something complex and brilliant or complex and demented.

Folly watches him, her own left hand reflexively fingering the accompanying bass line against her palm. She's smiling, but it's the slightly nervous, wild-eyed smile of a kid getting strapped in for her first go on a triple-loop roller coaster.

Syd runs his fingers through his hair and grins conspiratorially at Folly. "It's only gonna get wilder from here, love. How's the house? You think the roof'll stay on this place for another month?"

"God, I hope so," Folly replies, returning the grin. "The weather is terrible this time of year: all high-pressure systems and mixed blessings."

Then, more serious, she asks, "Has Paige come by to talk to you yet?"

"Yes. Sweet girl, in her addle-pated way. She was seriously concerned that it might hurt my reign if she was pregnant. I mean, I don't think Bleys can whack enough bluestockings to seriously deplete Amber's supply...."

"...unless he charms them all to death," Folly offers, grinning again. "He's got quite the reputation for unctuousness. I'm surprised small nations aren't warring over the drilling rights."

Syd just grins.

She continues: "And Paige'll be OK, once she's got her head on straight again. Her whole world just got turned on its ear; it's gonna take her a couple of days to regain her perspective. The rashest thing she's likely to do in the meantime is try to marry herself off to someone." Folly grimaces slightly at the thought.

"Well, if she wants to do it for her own sake, then I'd sanction it, but it wouldn't be my advice. I'm not sure how well it befits a child of Oberon's line."

The slight shift in Folly's expression suggests she's suddenly paying more attention.

"Not that anyone agrees with me on that subject. I've had three formal inquiries about Martin's marital availability and I don't doubt I'll get two dozen more when some of his potential suitors' mothers find a way to get my ear informally." His eyes roll broadly.

"Ah, the heady delights of being the most eligible bachelor in the universe," Folly says, and smirks. "I suppose it's just as well he'll be spending the next few weeks way out of town, so he doesn't have to put up with that shit. Well, except for at the coronation, which...."

Her brow furrows as if she's working something out; the conclusion, whatever it is, makes her blush faintly. "Which wll be interesting," she says, and shrugs.

"Yep, pretty clever of him to ask you. It sends so many conflicting messages. You may have to bring a stick, though." He grins.

_Just how the hell did I get myself into this situation, again?_ Folly asks, but the words come out as, "Yeah, he's clever, all right."

"Vialle thinks he should get married, but I don't think it would be right of me to marry him off for political gain."

"So you're gonna wait and marry him off for personal gain instead?" Folly teases.

"'zactly!" He nods brightly.

"I'm not especially surprised -- on either count," she continues more seriously. "And it's probably no surprise to you that I'm more inclined to agree with you than with Vialle. She may genuinely believe that marriage would be good for him, but...." Folly lets out a guttural sound, halfway between indignant and disgusted.

Syd knows Folly has never been the biggest proponent of marriage. Her distaste at the idea is probably what's causing her negative reaction. Probably.

"Marrying into this family is not without its drawbacks, despite the fact that nobody sees that. There's a reason that I'm the only one of my siblings to stay married. I think we're better off keeping them at arms length for their own sake."

Folly nods. "Maybe Paige has got the right idea, then," she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Maybe there's something to be said for keepin' it in the family...." She cracks a big grin, teasing again; only this time it's directed as much at herself as at Syd, and she blushes.

If he notices, he's not interested in 'noticing'. "Yeah, but if you make a romantic mistake with a mortal, it's a few centuries at most. With family, it's the rest of your life.

"You know the story behind Reid's family? I got this from Cambina. Apparently the whole family got destroyed in that stupid business between Cymnea and Faiella. This was more than a thousand years before I was born, so it's pretty much hearsay."

"One wonders why Oberon bothered getting married in the first place," Folly says. "At least you had kind of a good excuse." She offers up a grim little smile.

He gets one of those "I've had an unpleasant thought" looks. "I've got some ideas about why he did. I'll know more after I get...after the coronation."

Folly gives him a questioning look, but doesn't say anything.

He runs his fingers through his hair and inexplicably has a fresh cigarette between his fingers. "After you walk the pattern, I'll show you how to do that trick. It works best for little things like flatpicks and drumsticks and isn't so good at mandolins."

"Rock 'n' roll," Folly replies. "Assuming the Pattern doesn't turn me into a little greasy spot, that is." She shrugs, trying to make light of it, but there's a nervous edge to her voice.

His face darkens again, and harder, and his breathing quickens. He looks somewhat desperately into Folly's eyes, clearly deeply disturbed by whatever memory or history she has evoked.

Bewildered and alarmed, Folly meets his gaze, searching his face and her own memories for some clue to the source of his pain....

The answer clicks into place like a key in a lock: a story, half-forgotten, told half a decade ago and then buried beneath the tales that followed. Stricken, she blanches.

"I -- I didn't mean --"

Instinctively, she reaches toward him, offering comfort, but stops short of touching him, suddenly very unsure of herself. "Oh, god, Syd, I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Hey, hey, 'No blood, No foul.' I'm OK. I mean it just... all this, you know?" Syd reaches out and puts his hands on Folly's upper arms, holding her at arms length and looking into her eys, nothing but concern visible in his. "I'm OK," he says, and sounds it.

Folly still looks apologetic and a little embarrassed for having shoved her foot so far down her throat; but she relaxes visibly when it's clear he's OK. She even manages a weak smile.

It's been a hell of a morning.

"You're right to worry about the Pattern, it's a tremendous test of our character and abilities. It's never taken lightly and it can kill. It killed my sister and indirectly killed my mother and one of my brother tried to kill my son on it to destroy the universe because it wasn't ordered to suit his desires for it. The last time I walked it, I intended to kill my brother or die trying, but accomplished neither. As you might have noticed, I have a love/hate relationship with 'the beast in the basement'.

"Do something for me? Fiona is off looking for a way to put you on the pattern. Wait until after I run my errand after the coronation. I think I can draw a better hand for you."

Folly's eyes shine with equal parts curiosity and relief. "What've you got up your sleeve?" she asks.

His eyes say 'brilliant mischief', and he grins and shakes his head, once. "Hole card has to stay down for a while more, but trust me, it'll blow your socks off."

Folly doesn't say, "You used to aim higher, love," but she thinks it so loudly he can almost hear it. Her eyes are now diamond-bright with conspiratorial glee.

That little lift of the eyebrows and that grin conspire also. He hasn't forgotten. And his eyes are all about you, as if there isn't anyone else in the Universe.

But after a fractionally too-long moment of staring into his eyes in a fruitless attempt to read his mind, she blinks and sobers slightly. "Hey, I'm probably keeping you from doing all kinds of important shit, huh?" she says.

"On the contrary, you're keeping me from all kinds of unimportant shit. You know how everyone used to think I did stage magic tricks, like pulling smokes from behind my ear? The funny thing about using the Pattern is that it works like stage magic. You trick the yourself and the universe into looking at the wrong place and the wrong thing while you pull off the trick."

He raises a finger and drops it like a downbeat. "That's what I'm doing to Amber." He sobers as well. "It's what I have to do."

Folly considers this and nods; her gut understands it even if her brain doesn't, really. "I suddenly find myself wondering which of your siblings are in on the trick, and which are the dupes," she says, only half-joking.

"More of the latter than would like to be. Watch and see who goes ape-shit over this pay thing. It won't be definitive, but it'll be indicative.

"Now I'm probably keeping you from important things, at least as far as my plans go, since you figure in them so prominantly both immediately and in the long term."

It almost sounds like Folly is holding her breath for a moment as she considers his words. But then she breaks into a big grin. "Thanks for the warning," she replies.

"Hey, invite me to one of these legendary family jam sessions I hear about one of these nights, OK? I miss hitting the skins."

"You're on. If we stick to our usual schedule -- which we didn't last week because of all the excitement -- the next one should be in a couple of days. You're totally invited. Or if not then, then the week after that." Folly probably isn't even aware that she's now bouncing on her toes with excitement.

"Hey, that reminds me, is Vialle around?" she asks suddenly. "I've got a couple of things to ask her about the Coronation before I forget."

"I guess. She didn't say she was leaving today. We're on pretty different schedules. Have a page take you to her. I can't decide if the coronation will be the most boring event ever or if it'll be punctuated with surprises, like Caine dying of apoplexy."

"Well, I plan to talk to Vialle about two of the three most important things in life: food and music. I'll try to put in a good word for having them not suck, at least." Folly grins. "Catch ya later, OK?"

With that, Folly heads out to find Vialle.

Bleys is waiting when Brita and Brennan individual arrive at the tent for lunch. There are the makings of sandwiches and some grilled bird. Bleys will pour wine for those who want some, and has a fully loaded plate, which he is ignoring, on the table in front of him.

"Caine will be here shortly, I expect. Any disasters?"

"None that I am aware of, Uncle." Brita says, shaking her head at the offer of wine and moving to pour herself a glass of water from the table. She will also pick up a sandwich.

[Most people don't drink water, for health reasons. Brita is a goddess and a child of Oberon. She can drink water if she prefers without getting sick. It is more common amongst the Rangers, but only stream water in the deep forest. The city drinks, at best, small beer.]

It must not be a day for wine, since Brennan heads straight for the coffee that has to be around somewhere. He does fix himself what for Brennan is a healthy-sized snack-- a well laden sandwich best held together with toothpicks-- and tucks in to it.

"About what we expected: Everybody wants to go home, post haste. Just about everyone has had their quota of military service. Everyone already knew how long they'd been gone, so I just confirmed it for them.

"It could be worse: I don't think there's going to be a major outbreak of dysentery or plague, since they've been keeping adequate sanitation practices. No factional fighting. Probably too tired.

"It could be better: Everyone thinks they're on vacation, and that we smashed the threat, completely, utterly, and finally. God help us if we didn't. And inane rumors everywhere, but that's merely annoying, not dangerous. Yet."

Caine apparently arrived at the tent's entrance as Brita started speaking.

"Depends on the rumors. The sailors have some wild ones. And I have a question. Does anyone know what this is?"

Caine holds up a black flower with a vibrant, firey center which seems to be moving.

Brennan stifles the urge to generate a snappy response, and merely shakes his head, no, he has no idea what it is. He expects Bleys to have an opinion, but asks if he can take a closer look at it.

Some day, he's going to forget to stifle that urge.

Brita gets up from her chair with her water glass and walks to Caine. "That is the flower that Cousin Daeon brought with him when he arrived here wounded. It is somehow linked to him through blood." She finishes her water as she approaches Caine and holds out a hand for the flower. If it is given to her, she puts it in the glass she holds. "This is responsible for a small fire in our camp and should probably be kept under tight control. I do not know if we can put it out or if that would be wise given the link to Cousin Daeon."

[Did Caine hand it over?]

[yes. It sizzles a bit as the stem goes into the water, and the flame may dim a bit, but it does not seem to be in danger of going out. It's only Brita who can see that the water turns slightly rust-red when the flower is placed in it.]

Brita, not wanting to risk putting the flower out, had already drunk all the water in the glass. She was putting it in glass to protect the world from the flame.

Caine says. "I thought so. There's dozens of them on the fringes of the camp."

"That's bad." says Bleys.

Brennan is, if not speechless, decidedly silent.

After that's settled, Caine asks. "Has anyone heard from Jerod on the pay issue?"

[Brennan]
Again, a negative answer, "No, nada, nothing. I was planning to head back to the Castle shortly after lunch to make a few enquiries."

Brita also shakes her head no.

"Hmm. Jerod wasn't unreliable before... I'll call Random. After lunch." He sounds cross. He provisions a plate with a very small selection of foodstuffs and some of Bleys' wine.

[In general what do you want to talk about?]

Caine wants to know about the state of the Rangers. He also wants to know if Brita thinks he can keep the sailors here for another week.

"The Rangers are doing their job and keeping things mostly under control. I have heard of no incidents of any visitors from beyond Arden nor of any soldiers losing their way in Arden. The sailors can stay, but news on their pay situation would probably help to calm some down - give them something to think about other than family and the sea."

Bleys wants to know from Brennan how stable the situation is with the troops, and what Brennan is doing about the attitudes. He will mention that he'll need to leave for a week or so to take his troops back to their homes.

Assuming we want to do this in summary mode, Brennan responds that he's working to find the appropriate balance between Fort Nonsense and the Green Grass Hotel, while waiting on the word from Jerod and King Random. He's been tacitly avoiding the question of how much and when they're going to get paid, on the general theory that it is best not to pose questions to which one has no answers. At least in situations like this.

Once he gets answers from Random, he can be a little more concrete. In the meantime, unpleasant substances flow downhill, and Brennan hasn't been his normally subtle self in implying that those officers who are proactive and sensible in the maintenance of their troops and the morale thereof will be looked on favorably when the time comes to hand out awards.

At the same time, Brennan is no fool, and there is a very strong nagging feeling at the back of his mind that an armed force may be needed again in the near future. And so, he is diligently watching how the officer corps handle themselves, seeing which have the makings of truly good, longer term officers. He has been watching the men themselves, sorting the men into categories based on their performance during and after the battle.

He looks to Bleys to see if Bleys has that same nagging feeling in the back of his head, and if yes, that's another reason Brennan will want to be talking to King Random.

So, Brennan does what good leaders do-- he delegates appropriately. The matter of morale and disposition cannot be handled for the entire army by Brennan alone, so he makes it the responsibility of the officers, and those exceptional recruits who rise to the challenge.

Brennan's time is spent managing the morale and disposition of the officer corps, though, making sure they know what's needed, and then supervising them to make sure they can do the job.

One additional thing that absolutely needs outside information to be handled effectively is information on what, precisely, has happened to these men's famlies and (where applicable) businesses and other concerns in the intervening five years. He looks to Bleys, Brita, and Caine-- is there any information coming down from on high to help, there?

Someone is going to have to do their best to ferret out the men whose wives have died, or who have assumed they were dead and moved on to new lives, before they hit the streets of Amber. And a whole host of other examples that the others can think up on their own.

Brita agrees with Brennan's assessment although she has nothing to offer in the way of information. "Cousins Jerod and Vere have probably already started to do as you suggest." a wry smile "Cousin Vere probably already has a full list. We should contact him as soon as possible. I have a sketch of my brother. He could relay our request to Cousin Vere and potentially provide us news from the Naval side."

Yes, Vere and Conner have this task. Caine was generous with the assignments. But he doesn't think it can possibly be complete. Bleys comments that it may never be complete. Brita is asked to contact her brother and see if there is information.

Brennan still wants to hear Bleys' (and Caine's and Brita's, if they have any) opinion on the creation of a more formal standing army.

Brita doesn't really have an opinion one way or another. To her, the Rangers are already a standing army; what's one more.

Brita will step slightly away from the group and draw out her card of Conner.

Brita concentrates on her sketch of Conner, her back turned to the rest of the room.

"Brother," she smiles when contact is made. "I hope you are not busy, but Uncle Caine wonders if you have a list of the sailor's families available yet."

Her ear is half on the half conversation she hears across the tent....

Conner smiles back when she sees who has called. "I have it mostly completed." Conner reports. "Should have the full thing sometime tomorrow."

Allowing Marius an opportunity to return. He looks somewhat disheveled, as if he has been literally running around the camp. Never let them see you sweat, but he looks good "rumpled."

Caine shuffles out his deck of cards and contacts Random.

"Your majesty. Has Jerod contacted you about how much you wish to pay the troops?"

"Hmm. I wonder what was more important than my errand. We shall have to inquire. Your army is holding together solely on the anticipation of news of immanent payment. What shall we tell them?"

"As you wish. Is there anything else?"

Caine covers the card.

"The royal word is 'Pay them for five years service.' Brita, please tell your brother to send word to all the brothels to lay on extra hands."

Brita's eyebrow arcs up at the note of five years pay, but she nods in response to Caine's request. To Conner, she notes "Uncle Caine notes that King Random has chosen to pay the soldiers based on Amber time and that the brothels should look for increased business."

Conner's grin slips. "Five years pay? There aren't enough brothels to handle that kind of windfall. I hope Random knows what he's doing."

Bleys blinks, but says nothing.

Brennan has the look of someone who was ready to throw his shoulder against a stubborn, heavy door, only to find that some joker not only oiled the hinges, but counterweighted the whole assembly so a cat's breath could send it swinging open easily.

Then a moment later, he finds the cloud in front of the silver lining.

"Lump sum immediately, or amortized over some time period?"

"Ugh. It feels like I've been dead for three days and had to roll back the stone myself," Marius comments, obligingly. "My most sincere regrets: navigating a forest is not the same as navigating the open sea."

He smiles winningly at Brita who may or may not see him depending on her Trump conversation.

"I am going to guess that we are discussing the economic state of the Kingdom. Can I recommend invasion of some wealthier state, or has that already been shot down?"

"We'd have to pay the troops even more, then," Brennan deadpans.

"Or risk adding rapine, looting, and the occasional fire to our reputation," Marius agrees.

[Brennan]
"We could use Corwin's LFGs, but we'd need more of them. The upshot, though, is that the word from King Random is that the men are paid on Amber time, not Shadow time."

"That about covers the bread. I wonder what we'll do for circuses?" says Bleys.

[Brennan]
"Maybe Daeon can bring back some Forest Dryads."

Marius smirks.

[Brennan]
Then, more seriously, "In the mid term, that's Flora's department, but it's not going to do us much good until the men are actually back in the City. Once we coordinate with Vere and Jerod on winnowing out the obvious problem candidates-- and that's something I'll get the officer corps started on, at this end-- perhaps a competition to determine which groups are sent back to the City first."

"For that matter, two weeks until the Coronation is a pretty long time to wait for a victory celebration. If we're going to be here for very much longer at all, a victory feast of some sort is a good diversion and tension breaker."

Brita is closing off her conversation with Conner [Conner needs to respond...] but she shoots Brennan a look with lowered eyebrows. She does not appear to be a fan of the victory celebration idea.

Marius nods. "Or, potentially, we could put them back to work. None of the men are used to being idle - it's just a step away from feeling unnecessary. Unless, of course, that slides back into the wages question." He shrugs. "I might be projecting my feelings a little bit. It's hard to be near enough to smell the sea and not really be able to get to it. I'm surprised the deserter quotient hasn't been higher, but it's probably just a matter of time."

[Brennan]
"That one's easy enough, now: Anyone deserting doesn't get paid for the five years they've been away. This includes trying to sneak away and find Daeon's forest dryads. Hell, anyone deserting owes us five years of pay."

Marius shifts a little in his stance. "There's also the fact that they fought monsters. Demons. The stuff of nightmares. Frankly, fear might be a tool we can use in this. We know the rumour circuit is live." He shakes his head. "No, just thinking out loud. There's too much chance it might backfire."

Brennan looks extremely skeptical at this. That they fought demons out of nightmare is, more than anything, a reason for a big damn tension-breaking party. Brennan wonders how much liquor can be easily transported from Amber to the Vale in the space of a day.

Trains of thought go from different stations visibly in Marius' head. Erm, no, that's not quite right. "What's the laborer situation like? It's too much to plan for any of the troops to get a second profession, but anyone in the services is going to know a little bit of this and that. I understand there's been rebuilding needed...but what else? Idle hands are the devil's playground, and all that."

[Brennan]
"Right now, the army is working on basic and essential facilities, like latrines right here in the Vale. I've not gone hog-wild until I had a chance to confer with Brita," he looks over for an opinion, "on how much of a footprint we'd be happy with leaving.

"I dunno about the situation in Amber. I'd be surprised if labor wasn't needed, since most of these men were taken from their jobs to begin with, but it doesn't solve anything until the re-integration begins."

Brita finally steps into the conversation. "The Rangers will not appreciate any true 'footprint' left in the Vale and I worry that a 'celebration', particularly one with spirits, would lead to further desecration of the Vale and increase the potential for strife amongst the diverse groups." Brita pauses for a second, thinking. She then adds,"It would be better to put the crews into the process of restoring the Vale to its former prestine state, but we would need to time it properly with the schedule for the return to Amber. I would like a new Post set up at the far end of the Vale to make another relay station for the Rangers. Something that blends well with the trees and does not take much from the forest would be best. It might take time to devise a properly acceptable Post."

Caine looks slightly sour-faced. "I was hoping for four days here, four days shore leave, and four days to decide that they want to work for the king again. That doesn't look like a viable plan. Random expects to be able to pay them around his coronation. He thinks he can provide a few weeks pay before that."

Brennan raises an eyebrow.

"That implies that he'll be paying them all in a lump sum before coronation. Interesting." He says 'interesting' in the same fashion that many people would say, 'dubious, at best,' or 'that is not how I would do it,' or even, to wax verbose, 'he must have some plan that requires this otherwise inexplicable exercise in creative inflationary economics.'

"I'll just tell them they'll probably get some money before coronation, and that the next of kin of any deserters will be fined."

Bleys says, "I'll have to be leaving to return my toys to the toyboxes. I can't help you there." He pauses. "He's got something planned. He's clever. If he were better looking I'd think he was a full brother."

Caine turns to his nephews, pointedly ignoring Bleys. "Can we get away with keeping them here without a celebration? I don't think we want to take them over the ridge into the hills for it."

"We can get a way with a whole lot. I'm sure we can keep them here in the valley, and I'm sure we can do it without a party. I'm not convinced it's the best thing for morale, but we can probably get away with it. And I still think it's a good idea to make rotation back into the City contingent on best behavior for the mean time. Just need a way to be less than brutally heavy-handed about it."

You get the feeling Caine might add "...unless it was inconvenient not to be so." to that line, but he gives no indications that you can pin down.

"Marius, " Caine says, "How would you prepare the crews to be ready to sail as soon as possible after the coronation?" It is, like so many of his questions, a test as well as an inquiry.

Marius nearly flinches in his resisting an urge to salute. His smile is a lazy one, however. "With all due respect, Sir, I'd get them on a ship." There's a twinkle in his eyes. "Next, I'd give them a direction and hoist anchor. But I don't think that's the answer you were quite looking for," he admits. "Frankly, I don't think a few days on solid," he blanches slightly thinking of the stories he heard of the trip back from Chaos, "land is going to make them lose their sea-legs, but I'm also not going to fool anyone into thinking that this shore leave is in any way permanent. I plan on keeping them ready, and more importantly, I want to keep them busy."

Caine nods.

Marius pauses. "I need to know the state of the sea lanes, and where we're going. Everything else would be a detail, and I've a feeling the details in this situation are going to be fairly strict upper-command, Sir."

"The exciting news from the Admiralty, Captain, is that the sea lanes don't exist anymore. Did your mother ever tell you anything about making them?"

Brennan keeps a good watch on Marius' expression, to see how that news hits him, and what connections he makes.

[In fairness, the metaphysics of Amber Present are something Brennan had intended to fill Marius in on, that morning, but that thread never got played out. However Meera wants to handle that is fine by me, as long as it doesn't make Brennan look like he was intentionally holding back.]

[Marius wasn't in any condition to hear about it that morning, which is why I (and my numerous family crises) let the thread fray.]

[META-GM: looks like it's Marius' turn, although Brita can step back at her convenience...]

Brita had already rejoined the conversation (post dated 11/24). During the discussion of the sea lanes, she would have stood near the buffet table, quietly sipping her water (yes, water) and doing her best Vere impersonation. She has nothing to contribute on this subject.

Marius frowns and looks away for a moment. "That will make things more...difficult." He bites his bottom lip. "As a matter of fact, I seem to remember a nursery rhyme about it, but whether or not I can put that knowledge into practice..." he pauses. He glances at Brennan. "Perhaps you've not heard it?"

He quotes from memory.

"'Hasten, child, against the tide.
The lines of magic hold us lanyard-fast,
Apprise the backstaff from Castle's Gate,
Extend the center or then, Avast!'

That's the one for leaving Amber's waters...but there's another one, and I can't quite remember the second line, but I thought it talked about spinning out a line of thought much like a net of some sort of sourcery, then catching in the natural currents _between_ places."

He seems perfectly comfortable with the idea of reciting children's poetry in front of his Uncles.

Brennan snorts expansively. Not at the idea of reciting children's poetry in front of his uncles, but at the idea of Brand ever having taught him something useful. "Brand told me nursery rhymes about the Moonriders to scare the Hell out of me, when he was in a bad mood." And you can almost hear him scratching out the mental note to think about those rhymes in the near future.

Then, "What I know about making Shadow Paths is self-taught. Never tried to make one into or out of Amber directly, for obvious reasons."

Caine looks very sharply at Brennan. "You should be scared as hell of the Moonriders."

Brennan meets Caine's look without a flinch. "Never said I wasn't. But it's tempered by a personal dislike which I expect to deepen and grow over time."

Marius' eyes twinkle with this smile, and he seems to almost be offering something to Brennan and Caine both as he responds, "Bogeymen are best identified by children." It seems to have some sort of meaning to him, as if he is pleased as punch about his own cleverness, but doesn't expect anyone else to enjoy it.

"It does seem like a more tidy way of living to be able to plan your antipathies rather than to have them sprung on you all unassuming." Bleys sips at his wine.

Marius shakes his head. This comment seems to have struck at him with some force, and his mirth is thus submerged.

Brennan shrugs. The exact reasons may not be clear, but the body language is-- for the moment, Brennan just purely does not like the Moonriders. Or at least one of them.

Something in Brennan's look would indicate to a watery-type that he'd like to talk with Caine before Caine leaves on whatever business he might have.

[Caine]
"Marius, we should dine with Conner this evening and start trying to apportion captains to ships. Is there any other business? If not, I will meet you back amongst the sailors, where we can discuss things more fully."

He snaps back to attention. "Don't suppose that the Mariner's Haven survived the Strangeness? Nevermind, sir. Just indulging a muse or two. I'll be there [appropriate time of day] sharply. Conner," he repeats, trying to place the name, and then finding a peg for it, hangs it up all nice and neat.

[Naval Officer. Young, brash, good. Went down the diplomatic path and according to scuttlebutt, has been acknowledged by Gerard as Lord Conner, son of Princess Fiona. Everyone thought he was in Rebma, though. The story is confused.]

Caine smiles at Marius. "Conner has rooms at The Naval. You'll have to get used to being in Senior Officer's territory, lad."

If he is not detained, Caine will step outside of the tent/pavillion.

Brennan looks around, and shrugs again, but in a different tone of voice. "I got nothing. I'll be back at the Castle for dinner and a meeting of the Knights," he nods at Marius, to make sure Marius knows about it...

Marius nods back. "I will have to arrange some transportation for that, I suppose, as well as back here. Cousin Brita, it was suggested that you could make that available?" he turns towards her with a bit of a flamboyant gesture.

Brita nods. "I can send you to Conner or the castle yard, as you wish."

[Brennan]
"And I'll try to get together with Jerod tonight or tomorrow to start nailing down the details and schedules for payment and return to the city. I expect to be mobbed with questions about payment, though, so expect some raucous cheers when I tell them they get paid for five years." He nods to Brita now, "And I'll try to keep them on a leash with threats of no payment.

"Still need something to keep 'em busy, though. Meet again tomorrow morning?"

His tone of voice implies something informal, but if Marius, Brita, or both have need or desire to schedule it, that's fine.

Brita simply nods in response and says, "Tomorrow."

[Marius] turns to Brennan before Brennan leaves with, "Idle hands are the devil's playground," and a grin.

[Brennan]
With that settled, he too exits.

After Folly takes her leave of Random, she goes in search of Vialle, hoping to catch her for a quick chat between some of Vialle's longer meetings. She only has two items on the agenda:

1) She needs to ask, as she promised Ever she would, whether the leftover food from the festivities will again be distributed to the needy; if so, she offers to coordinate the pickup and delivery.

Vialle agrees that this would be an excellent idea and puts Folly in charge of the arrangements.

2) She offers to help with organizing music for the festivities. In particular, she suggests that employing musicians from a wide range of different backgrounds (read: Docksiders as well as the usual mix of court musicians; Rein-style as well as Barenthkov-style) would send a good message about the Crown's interest in the needs of all Amber's people, not just those of a particular social class or political outlook.

Folly has the sense that Vialle is Not Saying "don't you worry your pretty little head about that", but she may be biting her tongue. What Vialle does say is that as long as the musicians are presentable and talented and the music acceptable, she does not care so much about the origins of the musicians.

She does agree, however, that it is probably wise not to reinforce the antagonism between the Rein and Barenthkov factions.

Vialle wonders if Folly has found a costume for the coronation masquerade.

Folly responds that her costume is being handled by someone whose judgement she trusts, and that it will be a surprise. She doesn't explicitly state that she herself is going to be surprised, though.

Vialle also wonders whether Folly has an escort.

Folly replies, casually, that Martin had mentioned it in passing; but if that doesn't work out, she's sure she can find someone else to drag along. Or she can always come alone and spend the whole evening bugging the musicians.

Folly thinks Vialle is somehow both annoyed and pleased by her answer.

[That's all I've got for now. Does Vialle remember to mention about the nominations?]

Vialle does indeed remember the nominations, and mentions them to Folly. If she's planning to disregard Folly's choices, it will happen at a later stage.