Log for September 28, 2004

::It's on towards evening on another sickeningly beautiful June day on Aragon. The waves crash on the surf, the sun casts long shadows, and all day you've seen workers scurrying about town to prepare for the party on the bluffs. Rumors abound as to who is showing up to the first real festivity in the area since the tragedy nearly two months ago; if you name a surviving Hazat, it's been suggested by someone that he or she will be present... Military units have been subtly positioning themselves near to the walled neighborhood just in case, but the interior seems to still be manned only by the normal guards... Around about 7 you have all gotten into your newly acquired formal wear and are preparing to go, when Budi gets a call from a contact that he just has to follow up on, leaving just the four of you and an hour to go::

::Hustling about straightening everyone's tie, and so on::

::streatches his neck, slightly uncomfortable outside of the temple robes::

::finishes bathing and starts to get dressed::

::Vasili idly wonders where, literally, in the universe he can find a shop where clothes come in his size. He shifts uncomfortably in the next best thing::

So. The lady will be execting us to be entertainingly eccentric. That's superficially our role, tonight. Everybody got that, mmm?

So, entertainingly eccentric, but no flame gun? let it not be said that this priest isn't up to a challenge now and again!

::clears his throat and smiles primly::

::Vasili wonders how exactly to be entertainingly eccentric. He didn't know any limericks::

::dresses in his finest clothing and places the ring in his pocket::

Well, unless anyone has anything pressing, we should probably head on out. This suit aint getting any less wrinkly.

::Vasili, terrified of ripping the backside of these pants, nods and gingerly moves towards the exit::

::vasili driving or did you want to have had transport arranged?::

((we probably arranged transport. dont want to look less than opulantly rich do we?))

((Arranged, but, probably we don't want to look too rich, really. Rich, but not... you know. ))

((You want me to steal a limo?))

((dude, never heard of the word rent before?))

((so, we rent a FAIRLY opulent limo, and head to the party))

((any oppositions?))

::waiting outside for you is the limo you managed to acquire due to Budi's charioteer connections and the fact that most of the nobles in the area live within the compound so didn't need to drive... and it takes you towards the bluffs, merging into the line of cars headed through town from the port. It's summer still, so the light hasn't really begun to fade as you drive up the steep incline switchback towards the compound, where you are dropped off and pointed towards the main gates with the line of nobles::

((line as in, the line to get in?))

::steps into line and waits to be let in::

::the dozen or so nobles that arrived around the same time as you are somberly dressed in elegant clothing done in sables and dark crimsons, as a nod to still being within a period of mourning... they look somewhat surprised at your inclusion... partly from not recognizing you as nobles, partly from your outfits not quite fitting in, and partly because they all are paired off into couples but you are four guys without dates:

::takes Vasili's arm::

::Vasili shrugs An off::

::stops and laughs trying to break the quiet mood::

::Extends his arm to the priest::

::Grins:: Well, I'm sure someone presentable will turn up inside. Come along Vasili ::takes his arm::

::didn't catch that exchange, but catches the second one::

::one of them that An vaguely recognizes peers at him while attempting to look nonchalant, then nods in recognition, quietly mentioning to his date "figured my taxes"::

::the bright sun and the ambience of the salt spray that makes it partly up the bluffs is making the waiting somewhat uncomfortable, as everyone before you in line is carefully checked for weapons... and then carefully left with their sabres::

::forgot to bring his damn sabre. Oh well. Makes a point of looking impressed and nervous::

((is longsword acceptable?))

::Remembered HIS sabre?::

::finally you make it to the guard post, are all checked over for possible space shuttles in your pockets or something, are politely told that non-nobles are not allowed to enter armed but you can leave your weapons at the door, and have your invitations validated. They then let you in and direct you to where the Castenda party is preparing for their entrance::

::growls slightly at the proclamation, but gives up the sword freely::

::walks in watching for anyone who he might know::

::Vasili grumbles that he remembered his sword, and now has to give it up::

::On entering the compound you see that everyone is headed towards a central pavilion that has been set up in the open park-area inside the walls where you met Petros the other day. It's lofty and made of red silk, and seems to be

::stays alert just in an effort to make sure he knows who is where, and what networking-across-the-room scheme might work best.::

set up to provide maximum protection from the last of the heat. There are lights strung up that have yet to be lit, smaller tents at intervals around the park for side-discussions, and the sound of electric guitars playing folk...

::Vasili is just scanning the crowd nervously to make sure he doesn't recognize anyone::

tunes from within the pavilion. The area you were directed to is the hacienda that Lan visited last night::

::An recognizes perhaps a fifth of the people in the open air heading inside, either as former short-term clients or clients that visited another Reeve in his offices at some point in the last decade... none of them are trusted acquaintances, however, but he seems to remember that they run the gamut of families from Eduardo, to Dulcinea, to Estancia.::

::Lan, also, recognizes a person or two from his recent stint of doctoring, but again no one he's overly familiar with::

::Vasili and Martel as yet recognize no one::

::Always knowing precisely where to start, Martel heads towards the bar::

::nods pleasantly to the patients, without trying to seem familiar::

::on the way towards the tents, Martel manages to catch a waiter carrying a bucket of wine bottles and manages to snag one::

::nods to clients he's dealt with personally::

::Vera Cruz 4996, a decent year::

::stage mutters to himself:: excellent, now to find someone to share this with.. ::begins scanning the crowd for men of a military persuasion::

::With no specific task, Vasili sets about making sure Martel doesn't drink enough to become a danger to himself or others::

::virtually every man you see who's a guest rather than a server is of a military persuasion... they're Hazat::

::ahh but REAL military? or fancy schmancy parade ground military?::

::probably most of the women could run a decent ground war::

::sidles up to An.:: You uh. Notice the guest list? ::sips some drink he's aquired::

::good, in that case I'm looking for people with a middling amount of medals on their clothing. Especially if they look discontented with things::

::your perceptive abilities are decent for spotting sin, but your empathy is only so-so when looking for malcontents amongst those you don't know well. In all, you'd assume most of the people here aren't really in a party mood, but are more curious why one was called so soon::

::fair enough, sounds like the bottle is mine alone!::

::who is going into the pavilion proper and who is going to rendezvous with the Castenda contingent?::

::pavillion proper::

::I'll go to the pavilion:: ((Sorry, didn't realize there was a choice involved))

::actually, I should probably go thank the lady who invited me, so I'm seeking her out::

::right, Martel, wine bottle in hand, makes an abrupt turn to follow Lan to the hacienda. Vasili still going to the pavilion?::

::had been about to nudge you, anyhow::

::go into pavillion proper::

::An continues heading into the crimson-veiled shade of the giant tent, and sees the tables set up around a tile dance-floor, waiters hurredly setting up the food dishes and drinks... The band is a quartet consisting of two electric guitars, a violinist, and a man with a small drum set, and they continue to play folk tunes at a non-intrusive volume. What's immediately apparent, obviously the center-piece of the entire festivity, is the large ice sculpture set between the central tables... It is a large hawk of rose colored ice, looking stately but somewhat bent and tired on its pedestal... It has already begun to melt somewhat in the heat of the food dishes arrayed near it::

::perhaps fifty nobles are already present, and they stand in small groups around the dance floor in idle conversation awaiting the real beginning of the party::

Wow. They lay a nice spread here, eh?

::Vasili sets himself firmly as a wallflower and notes the action::

::looks around for the marchessa::

::Lan remarks to Martel as he peers across the distance into the pavilion as he heads in the other direction::

::moves around the room, staying on the outside of the gathering crowd::

::outside, near the hacienda, Lan is met by a householder that looks him over, nods in approval, then asks you to wait in the foyer until the Marquesa makes her fashionably late entrance::

Humph. Wine isn't bad.

::a man is a dress uniform that isn't quite on the cutting edge of fashion wanders up to An after a few moments:: An Griffen?

::Vasili, always keeping an eye on An, notices the man and gives him the once-over::

Well, yes, it does have some salutory effects, in moderation.

::to Vasili's practiced eye, the man moves with a fluid grace not quite in synch with a fencer's theme, and he seems to wear his sabre uncomfortably, unlike the other nobles here::

:: turns and looks at the man:: Yes?

I meant the wine tastes acceptibly good.

::he nods, and speaks quietly:: Fertus Estancia... you don't quite match the description I was given... I was led to believe that your coloration was paler, but luckily I heard someone mention you a few minutes ago... Obelia and Ruiz send their regards, and a message in case of the good fortune that you were here tonight ::he passes An a letter as stealthily as he can::

::takes the letter stealthier than he passes it:: How do you know them? Are they well? ::quietly::

They are two of my primary instructors in the art of Shaidan. They are both as well as can be expected in these troubled times, but they have feared to leave the safety of Enrico's palace... in case their prominance as heroes allied with the Eduardos might paint them as targets

::nods:: Understandable. Send them my love.

::Notices the pass, but An doesn't appear to be in immediate danger, so he begins a bodyguard-style scan of the room again::

I believe that their letter explains more, but just know that you are not without friends, even though we are keeping a low profile until we more fully understand the situation ::bows with a respect carefully gauged to An's station for the onlookers then drifts to mingle with other groups::

::meanwhile at the hacienda it's about 8:30, Martel's almost through his bottle, and it seems like the Castenda are finally getting ready to go to their party::

::next time I see a convinient waiter pass, I'll trade out for a full bottle::

::there aren't any waiters really heading through the foyer here, though they may be using the kitchens at the back of the house::

::makes use of the time to sort of standing meditate. Hey. That's sufficiently eccentric. ::

::sighs, drains the dregs, and waits for the somewhat late lady, bottle in hand::

::finally, the Castenda contingent filters down the stairs. In front there are about twenty young men and women, apparently selected for the party based on their beauty, or maybe all the Castenda look like runway models. They all have the asiatic features that seem to be common to the Castenda branch, and are each wearing similar but non-copied dresses and tuxedos in pristine white...

::makes a barely noticeable flinch at the white::

Hey Lan, just think of it this way, you'll stand out more!

they pair off, seemingly at random, into boy-girl couples, and leave behind one young woman that bows to Martel, obviously waiting for him to offer his arm::

::shakes his head shortly at the cigar::

Always my friend, always. ::wraps an arm around her shoulders, and leads her off to the dance floor:: So milady, you know how to limbo?

::after the gaggle heads down and forms up in the foyer, two couples in nicer brocaded silk outfits, also in pure white, head down, probably baronets or barons::

::Tyrone troops down the stairs in a few moments behind them, his outfit an ostentatious design that is part uniform and part bondage gear, picked out in white leather and synthsilk. He is currently unattached::

((hehe, bondage gear. unattatched. I GET it! hehe))

::finally, giving you two time to take in the forerunners, Malena makes her entrance. She's wearing what would be a rather refined oriental-style dress... except that it looks like it was painted on, save that you've never seen body paint get quite that translucent. It, too, is in pure white, and stretches interestingly when she breathes... unlike the rest, her dress has a series of accents to the white, a trail of black lines seeming to indicate vines, with red flowers spaced tastefully throughout... as she gets closer, Lan becomes certain that the flower is supposed to be a crimson amaranth, generally known in folklore as a flower that blooms best on grave-soil::

::she offers her arm to Lan and the party prepares to head out::

::takes it gracefully:: Milady is versed in [the term I can't remember for communicating via floral arrangements:] as well as ravishing. ::smiles his banal smile::

((man, if you keep using brackets I'm going to have to punch you in the head. Use parenthesis, please))

::meanwhile, the pavilion is quieted as the more higher-ranking nobles, mostly from this compound, are announced. A couple of Eduardo baronets are announced, a Dulcinea baron and a Rolas baron, none of whom An really recognizes. That changes when Baron Petros and his party are announced::

::it only takes a few moments to realize that Maria is not with them, and Petros does not seem to have noticed An yet::

::and, ultimately, the heralds announce Marquesa Malena Eriko Tae Renat Iria Castenda de Sutekh and her retinue, as the sea of Castenda in brilliant white flow into the mass of darkly-dressed Hazat... made all the stranger by the tall and out of place looking commoners that the marquesa and one of the ladies have on their arms::

::guides Lan to the front of the assembly, about ten feet in front of the enormous, wilting ice sculpture, before disengaging and moving another couple of feet onto a small podium to address the crowd:: Cousins and friends, I thank you for coming all this way to my gathering. I felt that it was time to begin healing. We must, of course, continue to mourn the loss of our beloved kinsmen, but we must not forget...

::affects rapt obliviousness, for the most part, but tries to gague nuances of the reaction to the Castenadas.::

the needs of our family and our people in the time of our greatest trouble. I realize that we Castenda have not been the most well-liked of the Hazat, mostly due to our own standoffishness and pride, but I promise you that this will change. Our house has suffered a terrible blow, and we must all pull together to once more become the great Hazat that we all know we are. To that end, we plan to lend all of Sutekh's available resources to uncovering what was lost, helping to protect those that no longer have a leige, and rebuilding those things that have been allowed to decay without a firm hand of leadership... Please, feel free to come to me or any of my family for aid, and know that we do not come to threaten the fragile hierarchy that remains here. In time, I know that our house will emerge from this tragedy the stronger for it... Please, enjoy the party, and long live the Hazat!

::with this final statement, hidden vents beneath the ice sculpture flare with a burst of heat that can be felt all across the pavilion, and quickly the decrepit hawk melts away, revealing a much more vibrant sculpture of ruby glass, a hawk rising to the air and caught in flight, seeming to rise out of the flames surrounding it before they fade::

::makes a mental note to have a word with the lady after the rush dies down::

::taken aback. Fairly sincerely. Still gaguing reaction carefully::

::speaks under his breath to the lady at his arm:: How well do you know the politics here?

::the assembly seems to display a mix of reactions. The higher-ranking nobles don't seem very surprised, which figures, but the lower ranks of knights and squires titter in small groups at the announcement::

::the Castenda under Martel's arm just shrugs, using the opportunity to move his arm off of her shoulders and into a normal escorting posture::

::grins at her movement:: Just here to make sure I don't make too much of an ass out of myself are ya? Fair enough. Do you have to escort me, or am I allowed to letcha wander off now?

::she gives another shrug::

::sigh:: Go. Shoo. Find some nice boy to dally with in an innocent and sinless manner.

Right then. sheesh. ::wanders off in search of intellect, for here there was none::

::waits on Malena, inconspicuously. Wonders if it were calculated to smoke out malcontents. Looks for malcontents to distract from exposing themselves, in case he was altogether forgotten::

::er, not malcontents. The people likeliest to do clumsily oppose whatever she had in mind. Yanno::

::gets a glass of wine and sips it while watching the crowd::

::Malena returns to Lan's arm after her announcement and begins flitting around the party with him engaging in small talk with the nobles present, mostly along the lines of appreciatory but shallow statements::

::attempts to engage some of the older, more battle worn hazat in conversations about past battles with the barbarians. Tries to see if he was ever on the battle feild with any of them at some point::

::after a few tries, Martel manages to corner some likely subjects around a drink table and engages them in resounding discussions of bravado::

::after a while a Hazat in what looks to be his late fifties wanders up to Vasili with his wife:: I don't mean to pry, son, but you aren't a Grimson are you? ((Grimsons being the giant mutant troopers used by non-Decados during the wars))

Uh, no sir, I am not. ::Stares awkwardly:: You. . .uh. . .curious about war history?

Oh, no offense meant then. Just saw your towering height and assumed. No shame if you are, of course. Without a Grimsons platoon we would have lost the battle of Falkan's Trench.

Right. We would indeed.

Well, pleasure talking to you, sorry for the misunderstanding. Bet you get it all the time.

No, I'm afraid I'm not one for the warring, myself. I do. Comes with the physique.

::he nods and wanders off::

Doesn't blend in well with the.. ah. ::Vasili hopes he didn't sound like a moron, and goes back to scanning the nobles.::

::sidles up next to An:: Ah, Chief Griffen, how are you finding our party?

::'Stupid nobles', Vasili thinks to himself::

Entertaining, and yourself?

Not so well. I was hoping to finally meet my affianced, but I am told she is not feeling up to the party. Between us, I think I will go to her, and I would appreciate any pointers you can give me on drawing her out of her shell... As you are the only one besides her uncle here who seems to know her at all

::looks at him subtling wishing he could make his head explode:: Well...

::Vasili sees that 'head exploding' look of An's and pays close attention::

She's a very complex woman. She enjoys deep intellectual conversations, something I'm sure you'll have no problems with. She especially enjoys deep discussion about sea sponges. One of her favorite hobbies..

::notices 'the Look' from across the room and barely manages not to dive under a table::

Sea sponges? Ah.. it pleases you to joke.

::smiles very friendly:: No, dear lord, just being comical. To tell you the truth, it is best to learn a flowers petals before you can see the bloom. If you'd like my lord I could speak to her for you.

I appreciate the thought, but I really think this is the point that I should meet her myself without the intermediaries... perhaps afterwards you could serve as wingman, should you be willing, but I grow impatient to see her, in the flesh as it were

::reaches in Tyrone's chest and rips out his heart crushing it before him as he dies:::

::shakes his head clear::

So, seriously, what is she most interested in, what does she like to talk about?

::looks him in his eye:: Her family.

Ah, yes, I would imagine she would need to discuss that.. get it out in the open.. maybe get her past her mourning.. anything else?

((the plot thickens, and moves, like cold syrup))

Politics, she loves to know how everything is moving.

::nods:: that isn't unusual amongst Hazat ladies

Indeed. You should teach her to use a sword. She is not very skilled and could use some instruction. And I'm sure she loves a good party, ::wink:: if you know what I mean. But in the end you must remember she is the youngest of her family.

She is used to being treated as thus.

::obviously baffled as to how he can treat her as the youngest in a romantic situation::

She enjoys getting her way, and being taken care of.

Ah ::nods:: that might be enough to build on... any other suggestions before I go?

None that I can think of.

Right, then off I go! ::and he does::

::shoots him in the back of his head as he leaves... shakes his head free of the thought again::

::meanwhile, the gathering has begun to get into dancing mode, and Lan is painfully aware that he's knee deep in "out of his element"::

::does anyone want to attempt to trail Tyrone as he leaves?::

::being the sneaky bastard that he is::

::is probably not in his element trailing anyone either. Smiles politely, doesn't mind looking like a bit of a buffoon. But mostly stays out of the way::

::yes, the sneaky bastard that hasn't spent a moment training in sneaking beyond the advantage that above-average agility gives him::

::but Malena really looks like she wants to dance::

::you know who's actually sneaky? The giant guy::

::approaches Malena, in the not-walking-up-to-ask-you-to-dance fashion, leans over slightly, and advises:: Much as I could wish to ask you to dance milady, if only to be rejected, I'm not a gifted dancer. Unless you cared to lead, a role I'm sure you're suited to.

::An wanders off, but several people note his absence and his direction::

::stops just outside to take in the air, noticing he was being noticed::

::tries to find some moderately interesting woman to take to the dance floor, and a waiter to replace his third bottle with a fourth::

::grins scandalously at Lan:: What a brilliant idea. ::grabs his wrist and glides onto the dance floor::

Glad I'm spritely enough. ::isn't in horror of the situation overall, strangely::

::Martel can't dance either, but is unfortunately homely and finds it pretty much impossible to find a dance partner::

::Lan is quick witted, not horribly clumsy, fairly athletic, and even seems to remember a bit of this from his primer courses in etiquette, so doesn't make a complete fool of himself with his lack of dancing ability... whether he'll live down being an over six foot man led around the dance floor by a woman a foot shorter is something that only time will tell for certain::

::Lan is truly gifted when it comes to charming everyone with his lack of dignity in the macho sense::

::that's hyphenated; dignity-in-the-macho-sense::

::takes the chance to aside:: So, you think you've made the impression you'd hoped to, milady? You certainly have on me, but then I'm the guillable sort.

::Martel probably ends the night doing his best at drinking as many hazats under the table over war stories as he can manage::

::leads him into a tight turn:: Oh, come now, the night's still young to think that this is the full impression that I was hoping to make ::and then she does, impressing interesting parts of her anatomy into Lan's torso::

You *are* surprisingly mysterious, milady.

::eyes twinkle with mirth:: Few women could leave as much to the imagination. ::meaing the dress, partly disguising a curiosity about what all she was up to politically::

::and, the dress meaning, the paint::

Damn. Leaving too much to the imagination was precisely the opposite of what I'd intended

((sorry, the body paint thing was hyperbole.. it is actually a dress, just so tight you'd assume it was painted on if it wasn't obviously a sheer fabric))

((right. Essence of his remarks unchanged, still. It's a very sheer dress. ))

There's just the sense of more than meets the greatful eye, milady. ::makes some minor recurrent dancing blunder:: There I go again. Begging your pardon.

One could say the same of you. The long-limbed, somewhat clumsy doctor yet with the fine control to do surgery, yes?

There's more patience in surgery than art, truly. Medicine, even moreso.

But perhaps not as much as in politics

::At this point, Tyrone comes wandering back from across the compound after about half an hour, with a neutral expression, and heads back into the party. An is able to figure out which hacienda he came from::

Oh, ::affects an "this is not something I bother my head with" air:: I gather there're times politics requires decisive action. If I were a more apt politician, I might be a priest.