rassafraggin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rassafraggin) wrote2013-01-26 09:48 pm
rassafraggin) wrote2013-01-26 09:48 pm
When in Rebma. . .
Merrisol touches Maggie and now share her Trump contact.
The image of Martin is in Rebma, there's a lot of people where he is in the background. He looks quite fine, as though he's in court clothing of some kind. He's gone off to the side of the room before he answers. "Yes?"
To the image of Martin, Maggie says, "Hey, Martin. It's Maggie. You said that you wanted to see Merrisol?" She glances to one side, then tips the card to show Martin to Merrisol and vice versa. "If you have time, we can come through." She looks again, then grins, "Though you look dashing. Is this a bad time?"
To the image of Martin, Kerfuffle has been walking along with Maggie and leaving the busy streets behind, but he hasn't completely shed the fuming manner invoked by Bashar's interruption of a terribly important subject. Though perhaps it wasn't all the Knight's doing, after all. He'd said the word.. incredible. He'd meant it. Only... "Sometimes... I envy Merrisol. If I really am the pirate..." he muses, almost to himself, then looks around to realize Maggie has begun communicating by trump card. "OH. Good day, Lord Marshal," he clears his throat, standing straighter. It would be another time he wouldn't be wearing the fancy red waistcoat, that he met up with Martin again. The former rock star would never get to see how much better it suited Kerf! As it so happens he is wearing his drab brown coat again, looking all rugged and outdoorsy instead of dashing.
The image of Martin regards the both of them with a slight smile. "Good Tide to you both. Court is in session, there are quite a number of nobility messing about, but I'm in a secure area." He studies Merrisol briefly again, "I won't ask if you've been to Rebma, since your memory is an issue. I am presently underwater. It might be a bit disconcerting at first." That's an understatement. He's sort of floating at the moment and not really standing. He seems in a fairly good mood himself and shines in his current attire like a good Golden God.
To the image of Martin, Maggie turns a glance to Kerf at his musings, "Oh? Why is that?" See? She has good hearing. Bashar's interruption of that moment seems not to concern her as much as it does him. He said the word. She heard it. And he didn't say it was a mistake so she is okay. Still, she might have liked a moment to give her own impression of the evening's event. Would have liked that on reflection. She leans close to Kerf. Whispers something. Then turns her regard back to her Golden God of a cousin. Some people just look that good in gold. Maggie? Would look like... a burning stick of corn. She doesn't wear gold. Nodding once, she adds, "It was wierd to get used to, but the more you relax thet better." A smile begins and she adds, "Think you can find some appropriate attire for Kerf, Martin?" Oh, wicked...
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's lips just brush his ear ever so softly, "It was. Incredible."
To the image of Martin, Merrisol tilts his head in a thoughtful manner. "I'll be able to handle it," he says with casual determination. His gaze drops a moment to receive Maggie's whisper, and if the chill of the above-world winter hadn't already tinged his ears and cheeks red... "Uh.. swimming attire?" he coughs faintly, studying Martin's outfit and whatever he can see of the court beyond. He cuts a glance back to Maggie, frowning with thoughts awhirl.
The image of Martin's eyes glitter with mirth and he winks at his cousin. "I'm sure I could turn up a nice leather thong that might be appropriate." He's not all gold of course, but white sea-shell trunks. Gold sash, mother of pearl...and all sorts of fancy jewelry bits and pieces. It's enough to glitter and sparkle and catch the eye and show some manly flesh... but not enough to be vulgar. Rebmans like to have their bits and pieces of fancy during special occasions. "It will help you maneuver down here. That coat will be very difficult." He observes Kerf's current attire and offers his hand with a grin.
The area is filled with nobles... people dancing...etc. There's music and what's odd is that they are not all dancing on the same level. There's food and glitter and all sorts of different kinds of fish fluttering about here and there. It's a bit surreal. The magic of the city of Rebma helps one to breathe, surprisingly so. Martin is standing off to the side and in a small secluded corner as his cousin and Merrisol arrive.
Maggie is softly laughing at something or other. Maybe several something or others. It is still a strange transition, stepping from air into water. Laughing. She startles as she comes through above the floor. Like last time, dang it. But, she is a decent learner, so the arrival is not as hard as it was before. Her clothing is heavy, though not as heavy as Kerf's coat. She begins to sink and her hands dart out in an attempt to retain some semblance of control. The motion has a counter, though and she starts to spin gently as bubbles trail from her mouth and nose. It does give her a good, panoramic view of the beautiful party, so that is a plus. Luckily, Martin pulled them through in a secluded spot or Maggie's spin, hair whirling about her like a stain of fire in the water, might be comical.
"Splendid," deadpans Merrisol in reaction to the thong joke. That was a joke, yes? He lifts his hand uncertainly as Martin offers his... closes his eyes, and finds himself guided forward, experiences the second's shock of falling into a deep pool, and blinks as though awakening to a new version of reality. Plunk, he sinks, knees bending, as the layered clothes drag at him, but with a flex stands. A brief check on Maggie is next, watching her adjust, and then a few shallow breathes are taken himself, deepening, before he sets to working on divesting his coat, bubbling here and there. Nowhere near the initial panic or stubborn breath-holding one might have expected of a newbie, though. Only after it's not quite so unwieldy to merely stand around, does he take a better look around the grand spectacle of the room.
Rebmans are curious, of course, but they are versed in the strange ways in which people can come to and fro and there is not a lot of fuss. A few of the people dancing and swimming about actually have tails, these are the sirens. They don't wear flowing gowns, but things that wrap around and stay secured, and lots and lots of baubles and trinkets and jewels. There's a lot of flash and glamour and where there was once a long line of people waiting to see Martin it is thinned out and the nobility are enjoying the impromptu party. It seems like a lot of young people are here, and they might be doing some different types of dances. There are also several disproving looking matrons who do not seem to believe that all is proper. The Lord Marshal wanted a party...and so there was a party, but it is not like any party ... they ... are used to. Hmph! "This way..." Martin motions them off to a side room. "I can have something fetched quickly so you won't stand out so much." He speaks briefly to a servant who quickly swims off.
When she lands, Maggie's soft spin is halted. Straightening out, she turns to see how Kerf has adjusted. She lifts a brow as his adjustment is so much smoother than hers was. A glance is flickered to Martin, but her cousin has already started off. Following Martin, gaze that of a gawking tourist, Maggie looks just about everywhere but where she is going. Such glitter and sparkle and dazzle. She waves to one of the harrumphing matrons, then turns face front in time to avoid a collision with the wall next to the door. Her reaction takes her off her feet but she does not fall. She floats backwards a foot or so before she can get her feet under her again. Nodding to Martin, she tries the door once more, "Thanks." Flickering a glance back toward the room, she adds, "What's the occasion?"
With one last look at the extensive bling being flashed around - like that stuff should be in a buried treasure chest or something! - Merrisol abandons the room to follow the others. Hauling the coat along without too much trouble, he tries out his stride length, adjusting pace until he finds a comfortable rhythm that compromises distance and speed. Next, he experiments with speaking, finding his pitch and tonality a little too low and slow to his ears.. oh well though. "Hum.. Hummm. Hum. Are you done with court then, Lord Martin? We're not here to dance.. I don't think."
Martin gestures towards the city answering Maggie's question first. "The City Library has finally been restored to its formal glory and the Master Archivist has been able to restock it with some fine works. It's one of the first buildings to be completely restored since the cataclysm and is quite magnificently done. It's not the only building to be fully restored this past month so I decided that there should be a party. I am done handling crucial business for the moment." He nods to Merrisol. "We normally don't do 'impromptu' parties here, so the older ones are a bit put out....They'll adjust. They like traditions." He shrugs as though it's inevitable that they'll have to. They don't have a choice, after all. The realm is currently under Militia Rule. He watches Merrisol curiously, "Easy does it." He offers. "Think of this as a reflection of Amber, just... underwater and with different gravity."
Half floating, half walking, Maggie enters the room. Her hair floats out behind her, weaving patterns in ripples and swirls of auburn and flame behind her. When she stops near Martin, she turns to watch Merrisol bring his cloth anchor with him and she shakes her head a little, "No... I think he gets it, Martin. See? He's not doing the stupid-land-walker tricks I was doing." Then her gaze lifts as though she can watch the party right through the wall of their little room, "It is wonderful what you've done here, Martin. I'd like to help, if you are willing. Once my ship is recovered. Though I don't have a clue what to offer as help." Then, a low chuckle begins and she shakes her head, "Martin... Martin, Martin, Martin. Dealing with that? Easy. Just tell them that you want to start new traditions for a newly recovered Rebma. Get some of them on a committee to propose a set of new holidays. Say... One for each month?"
The area is filled with nobles... people dancing...etc. There's music and what's odd is that they are not all dancing on the same level. There's food and glitter and all sorts of different kinds of fish fluttering about here and there. It's a bit surreal. It also seems that some of the more matronly Rebmans are disproving, but the young people are having fun. There's lots of glitter as people proudly display their Bling. An impromptu party after the Lord Marshal dealt with a few court things. The Lord Marshal has just swum off to the side to welcome some people from elsewhere (obviously due to their clothing being very unsuitable for Rebman parties). He's presumably leading them somewhere so that they can become presentable. He himself is is in white, mother of pearl scaled trunks and golden sash and full of golden sunshine and such. He pauses for a moment at Maggie's suggestion and chuckles lightly. "I think I'm giving them enough new things to accept for the moment, Mags." He pats Maggie's shoulder. "We'll let them digest it all before proposing new holidays but your offer of help is very much appreciated." The area is open to all Rebmans to swim in and out and join in.
"Thank you," Merrisol nods curtly to Martin's advice. He thought he was doing pretty well, personally. Like a fish out of water in water. He nods gratefully to Maggie, smiling a bit to learn she had been doing silly amusing things right under his nose, almost under, anyway. Probably looked adorable.. not gawky at all. "The world, any world, needs a few elders lodged in tradition. Or else progress is full speed ahead without any anchor drag when things get choppy." Arr, there's some sea dog wisdom for yer. He falls silent again to pull his divested brown coat along behind him like a sack of rocks, while the rest of his clothing, while closely fitted on his tall, broad frame, drags at him like the aforementioned matrons. Unsuitable indeed.
Under the sun, the moon, and all the ocean, surely there are many an uncomfortable and unusual thing to be seen, but they usually have the common courtesy to stay out in the fringes and deeps rather than make their way into open court. Jira, it seems, does not have that courtesy. The Siren is just all wrong; her hair and tail are both black as ink and the latter is shrouded in a kind of shadowy fog that wisps and licks in the currents that move around her. She's dressed for the occasion at least, a single length of bright orange silk around her hips holding a small black knife (or dagger, or dirk, or some other form of small blade, depending when one looks), and glittering gold chains dangling coins and bright gems draped around her body and woven through her hair. She swims without hurry or worry, and with only a daring glance or smile turned to the odd looks she might recieve from the party-goers as she moves through the room.
Settling in to walk a bit more comfortably, Maggie turns her smile to Merrisol. She might blush to know his thoughts, and maybe even disagree that they were adorable though they were gawky. Just ask the matron over... In glancing back, Maggie notes the siren's arrival. She does not quite do a double take, but it is a near thing. She has to fight down the impulse to cover both Merrisol's and Martin's eyes, for the siren is something to see. But, Martin lives here and is probably used to such things. Merrisol? She sidles a glance his way, then back. Merrisol will have to deal. A softly whispered, "Huh" might alert the men, if her shifting attention did not. "Anyway, Martin." Does her voice sound a little too low in the water? The timbre is certainly affected. Does it carry? She tries to modulate, "I'd like a look at the library when there is time? You mentioned it when I was here before, but I didn't realize it was so close to being finished."
Rebmans have perhaps become a little jaded. For the past six months, their Lord Marshal has been bringing a great number of odd things their way and all but forced the strange down their throats. Unfortunately, they are well aware that without him, they would be sitting ducks in this dog eat cat universe around them since no one else has stepped in to light the way. Many are simply grinning and bearing it; most of them praying that one day the Queen might return and put the Lord Marshal in his place. The youth however, adore him. He is making positive changes in their minds. They would not dare to touch or hinder a Siren though, in spite of her oddness. There is rumor, of course, of such blood running in the Lord Marshal's veins generations past. They do, however, stare. Speaking of attire, it should be noted... the women are as bare-chested as the men though some have sashes and such and a few even have their Bling dangling from eye-catching places.
"Yes it is complete." Martin nods to Maggie, and is impressed by the ease in which Merrisol is adapting. His eyes catch the Siren. "Well, there's another." He smiles. "It seems Sirens are coming back to Rebma, these days." He looks pleased. "Would you like to meet her?" He does not act as though he knows her, just simply making the offer because he can make it happen.
Merrisol hasn't been staring around as much as Maggie, and perhaps that is why. Even so, it's not like he's that much more aware of where they're heading; of that, he also has no clue. Maggie's pointed glance does lead his glance away and to the inky swimmer, certain to be moving at a faster pace than him, even without cares. Damn coat, should have just left it crumpled in the snowy street, over on the mainland. He doesn't have an answer for Martin's query for the moment, observing the Siren for a longer moment than he's given much else here, as though lust in thought. LOST. Lost in thought.
Oh my, the places! Jira's ornaments only go around such places, and really, as long and full as her hair is, there is some allusion to unintended modesty. Sometimes. When in Rome, or Rebma. It's all groovy, baby.
The siren reaches out a hand to idly brush her fingertips along fish that she passes, sending them skittering and darting away. It's about midway into the room that she drifts to a stop, something still among the dancing, and glances from the empty throne to look around and fully take in the pro-party and anti-party...parties, and grin more fully to herself. Eventually she twists in the water to pick out the Lord Marshal and the company he's keeping at the moment. His question to the others becomes slightly moot; like it or not, it appears as though the black Siren is heading their way.
Still, an answer must be given to Martin's question and Maggie nods, "Why not?" She does note Merrisol's overly interested stare and nudges him, "Pick your chin up off the floor, boy-o." Luckily, drool is lust... lost... in the water. Eww. Maybe that isn't so lucky. Rolling her eyes, Maggie notes the Siren's approach. A wave is offered though the Siren is probably used to waves, living as she does in the ocean. Or maybe not as they are called 'currents' down here. So, greeting attempted, she folds her arms beneath her chest, the billowing of her somewhat piratical shirt contained.
Martin straightens, all official-like and nods to his cousin and slides a quick glance at Merrisol to ensure himself that the man is doing alright. Naturally, there are guards about, and they are ready to intervene, but only when needed. She is beckoned forward, "Greetings, my Lady." Martin bows easily, able to do this thing as elegantly in the water as on land. He gives no mention to the odd color of her tail, and does not draw attention to it. Instead, he greets her with a brilliant smile. "It's been my pleasure to see more of your kind in the city. Please, come forward and let your name be known to us." The dancing does not stop but the interaction is watched by the nosy parties.
Merrisol turns back around at the soft buffet, his own hair relatively short and cresting only so far above his head, shielding nothing. "Mmn? Oh. My apologies, how rude," he realizes with a blink, that he must have been staring. When in Rebma... Merri requires a blindfold, is how that saying goes. "It seemed for a moment that..." He frowns at something in the middle distance between himself and Maggie. "Something. Tugging at me." He shakes his head, more slowly still, and adjusts his stance to greet the Siren, waiting on her name, while keeping his eyes on the strange, fringed eyes.
Jira drifts to a stop again before Martin and Co, tail curled loosely beneath her as she straightens in the water. She dips her head in greeting to the man of station first, then looks to the others and nods to them as well with a small, but warm smile. When she speaks, her voice has the predictable musical quality of her kind, her own having the light sparkling quality of chimes. "Lord Marshal," is offered first in further greeting before answering, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of my sisters again since returning. I am Jira. I've heard rumors of change in the city. I've heard rumors that you're to blame." There's a hint of cheek to pull at her grin with this last statement before she adds, "I had to come and see it for myself." Looking again to Maggie and Merrisol, she as much ignores their state of under-over-dressed as Martin ignores her odd coloring. "And hello to you both as well, and apologies for interupting your host."
The nosy parties are vaguely related to the silly party and the obsequious party though none of them will deign to admit it. Maggie looks almost remorseful as Merrisol admits that tugging. Maybe she should not have interrupted his stare. Maybe a memory would have surfaced. Then again, maybe she would have felt inadequate. Nah... Still, "Sorry," is offered to Merrisol for the lost or delayed memory. Then she turns to the lovely siren, listening as Martin does his official thing. For her part, Maggie does notice the siren's coloring, but only so much as she would notice any siren. Or, perhaps not the coloring so much as the whisps of shadow that seem to cling to Jira or cluster around her. Tendrils. That is what they remind her of. Or filaments. Blinking, she nods at the offered greeting, "Hello to you, Jira. I'm Maggie. Martin's cousin." Her smile is easy and relaxed, warm in a way, "No harm done."
"Guilty as charged." Martin admits with a grin. He remains friendly and approachable in spite of his station. "Change was imminent were this Great Realm to survive, my Lady. I am pleased to make you welcome again, Jira. The Cataclysm is now the past, and the future before us shines bright and far as the tide will let us go. This is my cousin, Lady Margaret, and her friend Professor Kerfuffle." He indicates Merissol. "They have just come from Amber and of course I have surprised them with my little party." Impromptu Parties in the throne room are not /done/... that's the look that is on one Matron's face who happens to be nearby, her chest rather weighted down by the Bling! She jingles as she swims away. They would just love to be murmuring to one another about the arrogance of the snot nosed little brat, but they don't dare. "Please be welcome here, Lady Jira."
He had been attentively waiting on the introductions to be made by their host, but Merrisol finds his focus tugged again.. this time back to Maggie. "..Hmm?" Like she'd said something urgent or intimate, and he'd gone and missed all but the aftershocks of it. His eyes have gone a little wider than usual for him, startled sea green irises almost fully revealed, and he looks that much younger for it. Introductions are presently underway, but he's hardly aware... until the personal proper-o-meter blinks, that is. He's equipped with one of those. "Lady Jira," he catches hold of Martin's last words, turning back as swiftly as possible on them. "I'm honoured to make your.. oh. Your acquaintance, however I'm afraid the Lord Marshal is still using a name for me that is outdated, a.. place-holder until my own true name was restored to me." He glances at Martin in apology for not having corrected him previously. "For now.. it's Captain Merrisol. At your service."
Jira watches the matron harumph away with more than a small glimmer of delight. Her gaze turns back to the trio once the woman had moved on. "You're certainly causing a stir." She pauses just a beat, a breath, before adding, "I quite approve." The names are absorbed and repeated back, with only a small hesitation on the latter. "Lady Margaret, Professor...Kerf-" Jira stops when the correction is begun and smiles with a slow nod. "Captain Merrisol. For now. I should not keep you or your company, Lord Marshal, I wished only to see if the rumors were true, and give you my support, in whatever manner might be useful."
Tilting her head toward Merrisol, Maggie catches the wider than usual look and the oddly distracted way he responds. One might put it down to all the rampant boobage floating or swimming by, and that might be the case, but for the comment about a near memory. She does keep an eye on him, concern flickering in her eyes. Unfolding her arms, she slips a hand to lightly touch Merrisol's shoulder, support of one sort or another silenty offered. When his proper-o-meter kicks in and he corrects Martin, Maggie sidles her cousin a look(tm). A lot has happened since she last visited. A lifetime or two encapsulated in a couple of days. For her part, Maggie finds the departing Matron a tad on the sad side rather than amusing. She harkens back to Merrisol's observation of earlier. Returning her attention to the Siren, Maggie offers another smile, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Jira." Since they are being formal, "I hope we can meet again before we leave for Amber."
"Captain Merrisol it is then." Martin nods to the man with understanding and gives Jira another brilliant smile. "Sometimes a little push is needed here and there to get things done. I'm glad you do, perhaps you might come to meet with me at another time and we can discuss it. Rebma always needs people willing to work on her behalf. There is still much to be done." He speaks as though her approval is as important to him as any one of the higher up nobles in the land. If he notices anything else, he does not mention it. "Lady Jira, the pleasure is mine." He bows to her. "I know that my cousin would love to speak more with you too, should you have the time. I do not believe she has ever met any of your sisters in the past." Not every older noble looks displeased, however, only a few here and there. Many have grudgingly accepted the situation for what it is. For the moment, it's either hope Martin knows what he's doing, or swim against a tide none of them can stop. That doesn't mean they have to like it though. Some just hide their displeasure better than others.
There's a distinct aura of : We don't have a choice in the older nobility, the younger Rembans love him, the older folk just steeped in tradition and know they have no say. Militia Rule.
Boobage. Heh. There are only so many peripheral axes to which Merrisol can avert his gaze, so the better tactic is to face the boobage head on, but focus intently on something a foot or more above. He nods once in purposeful agreement with Maggie's sentiment: they will meet again. As Martin takes over the conversation with his inspirational speechifying, the Captain allows his attention to drift back to Maggie, turning his head to note the placement of her hand. He flashes an appreciative smile, but continues to look at her expectantly, searching for the thing she may have said, that he hadn't heard.
"Whenever you should find the time, any of you, I am not so hard to find when I am in Rebma. I've taken to a particular tavern in Amber as well, should you need me there. Though, I'm much less for conversation there." Understandably. Of course. She glances between the three of them once more before starting to lean back, to turn to head off. "Thank you, for the time."
Watching Jira do that graceful flip, Maggie sighs. Her smile is wry and she waves with her free hand. "Thanks, Lady Jira. See you around." Turning, she catches Merrisol's smile, then the man's expectant look. A brow lifts slowly, creeping up until it arches questioningly above her eye. "What?" That is when it dawns on her that he must not have heard her earlier apology. "Oh. I just said 'Sorry'. For being a pain and making you maybe miss a memory." By the time she stops speaking, her coloring has tinged to rose. Oh, she heard Martin doing the official Prince Marshal thing. But officialdom isn't her gig so she tries to let others who are better at it handle that stuff. Besides, Merrisol is looking at her that way and it is really hard to remember that there are other things going on.
Martin smiles at Jira, "We will certainly keep in touch, my lady Jira." He straightens and watches her swish. Ah, the beauty that the sea produces. He frowns slightly at the oddness of hte black tail, but he does not mention anything on it. "Good Tide." He becomes a bit distractec by the look that his cousin is giving the Captain and that touches a frown across his brow as well. Two frowns in under a minute, not good! He is the gentleman, of course, and awaits for the lady's true departure before looking to his cousin and the man again. "Did I miss something?"
Merrisol spares a glance back to the main discussion and is rewarded by the sight of billowing masses ordering themselves into weightlessly into arcs and loops of improbable inertias, and... just, wow. "Good Tide," he echoes Martin, and almost misses Maggie saying it again, as comedic timing would have it. Looking back across his shoulder again, however, he pinpoints on Maggie's moving lips, like he can see the air-water curving outwards in modulated sound waves. Fascinating.. so fascinating, he feels a migraine coming on. "Unh."
The living embodiment of the element of water flips, curves and undulates away and maybe conversation can return to normal without the lovely Siren being a distraction. Getting to know that one better will be a challenge. When Merrisol looks back, pinpointing on her lips, a frown begins to pucker between her brows. The hand on the man's shoulder does not tighten so much as it shifts to give him support, "Are you alright? You look... As though you are about to be hit by a doozy of a memory." She does not turn, but lifts her free hand to wave as Martin is called away. Her attention remains on Merrisol even when one of Martin's minions comes to lead them to a room.
Merrisol closes his eyes and doesn't appear to be willing to open them again at the moment "You may be right, Maggie.. but I don't feel ready for it at all," he manages to admit, lowering his head on a skewed angle as though he might be able to pour something out of his skull like tea if he tipped it far enough. "Damn it," as Martin leaves. "He must know something, and he leaves now?" Hearing the attendant beckoning them to follow, he sets his jaw, lifts his head, and curls his near arm up around Maggie's shoulders, walking sightlessly along with her to their statesroom.
Even though he can't see it with his eyes closed, Maggie's expression fills with sympathy. She almost whispers, "No. They don't come when you are ready. They just come." She steps in a bit closer when he tips his head that way, in case... but he does not tip over like a teapot pouring out the dregs. Her hand remains on his shoulder, though, so he will know that she is there. "He might. But he has to run a kingdom. So, our troubles are probably lower priority than either of us would like. He means no harm by it." This relative? She stands by. There is even a great deal of affection for the Golden Boy of Rock and Roll turned Prince Marshal. As wierd as that is to think about. When summoned, she looks to the servant, then to Merrisol. A half smile warms her lips when his arm goes about her. Slipping her own about his waist, the encircling touch supportive rather than intimate, she leads him by gentle pressure while walking beside him. No matter the twists or turns on their way to that stateroom, she will not let him fall or run into anything.
The image of Martin is in Rebma, there's a lot of people where he is in the background. He looks quite fine, as though he's in court clothing of some kind. He's gone off to the side of the room before he answers. "Yes?"
To the image of Martin, Maggie says, "Hey, Martin. It's Maggie. You said that you wanted to see Merrisol?" She glances to one side, then tips the card to show Martin to Merrisol and vice versa. "If you have time, we can come through." She looks again, then grins, "Though you look dashing. Is this a bad time?"
To the image of Martin, Kerfuffle has been walking along with Maggie and leaving the busy streets behind, but he hasn't completely shed the fuming manner invoked by Bashar's interruption of a terribly important subject. Though perhaps it wasn't all the Knight's doing, after all. He'd said the word.. incredible. He'd meant it. Only... "Sometimes... I envy Merrisol. If I really am the pirate..." he muses, almost to himself, then looks around to realize Maggie has begun communicating by trump card. "OH. Good day, Lord Marshal," he clears his throat, standing straighter. It would be another time he wouldn't be wearing the fancy red waistcoat, that he met up with Martin again. The former rock star would never get to see how much better it suited Kerf! As it so happens he is wearing his drab brown coat again, looking all rugged and outdoorsy instead of dashing.
The image of Martin regards the both of them with a slight smile. "Good Tide to you both. Court is in session, there are quite a number of nobility messing about, but I'm in a secure area." He studies Merrisol briefly again, "I won't ask if you've been to Rebma, since your memory is an issue. I am presently underwater. It might be a bit disconcerting at first." That's an understatement. He's sort of floating at the moment and not really standing. He seems in a fairly good mood himself and shines in his current attire like a good Golden God.
To the image of Martin, Maggie turns a glance to Kerf at his musings, "Oh? Why is that?" See? She has good hearing. Bashar's interruption of that moment seems not to concern her as much as it does him. He said the word. She heard it. And he didn't say it was a mistake so she is okay. Still, she might have liked a moment to give her own impression of the evening's event. Would have liked that on reflection. She leans close to Kerf. Whispers something. Then turns her regard back to her Golden God of a cousin. Some people just look that good in gold. Maggie? Would look like... a burning stick of corn. She doesn't wear gold. Nodding once, she adds, "It was wierd to get used to, but the more you relax thet better." A smile begins and she adds, "Think you can find some appropriate attire for Kerf, Martin?" Oh, wicked...
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's lips just brush his ear ever so softly, "It was. Incredible."
To the image of Martin, Merrisol tilts his head in a thoughtful manner. "I'll be able to handle it," he says with casual determination. His gaze drops a moment to receive Maggie's whisper, and if the chill of the above-world winter hadn't already tinged his ears and cheeks red... "Uh.. swimming attire?" he coughs faintly, studying Martin's outfit and whatever he can see of the court beyond. He cuts a glance back to Maggie, frowning with thoughts awhirl.
The image of Martin's eyes glitter with mirth and he winks at his cousin. "I'm sure I could turn up a nice leather thong that might be appropriate." He's not all gold of course, but white sea-shell trunks. Gold sash, mother of pearl...and all sorts of fancy jewelry bits and pieces. It's enough to glitter and sparkle and catch the eye and show some manly flesh... but not enough to be vulgar. Rebmans like to have their bits and pieces of fancy during special occasions. "It will help you maneuver down here. That coat will be very difficult." He observes Kerf's current attire and offers his hand with a grin.
The area is filled with nobles... people dancing...etc. There's music and what's odd is that they are not all dancing on the same level. There's food and glitter and all sorts of different kinds of fish fluttering about here and there. It's a bit surreal. The magic of the city of Rebma helps one to breathe, surprisingly so. Martin is standing off to the side and in a small secluded corner as his cousin and Merrisol arrive.
Maggie is softly laughing at something or other. Maybe several something or others. It is still a strange transition, stepping from air into water. Laughing. She startles as she comes through above the floor. Like last time, dang it. But, she is a decent learner, so the arrival is not as hard as it was before. Her clothing is heavy, though not as heavy as Kerf's coat. She begins to sink and her hands dart out in an attempt to retain some semblance of control. The motion has a counter, though and she starts to spin gently as bubbles trail from her mouth and nose. It does give her a good, panoramic view of the beautiful party, so that is a plus. Luckily, Martin pulled them through in a secluded spot or Maggie's spin, hair whirling about her like a stain of fire in the water, might be comical.
"Splendid," deadpans Merrisol in reaction to the thong joke. That was a joke, yes? He lifts his hand uncertainly as Martin offers his... closes his eyes, and finds himself guided forward, experiences the second's shock of falling into a deep pool, and blinks as though awakening to a new version of reality. Plunk, he sinks, knees bending, as the layered clothes drag at him, but with a flex stands. A brief check on Maggie is next, watching her adjust, and then a few shallow breathes are taken himself, deepening, before he sets to working on divesting his coat, bubbling here and there. Nowhere near the initial panic or stubborn breath-holding one might have expected of a newbie, though. Only after it's not quite so unwieldy to merely stand around, does he take a better look around the grand spectacle of the room.
Rebmans are curious, of course, but they are versed in the strange ways in which people can come to and fro and there is not a lot of fuss. A few of the people dancing and swimming about actually have tails, these are the sirens. They don't wear flowing gowns, but things that wrap around and stay secured, and lots and lots of baubles and trinkets and jewels. There's a lot of flash and glamour and where there was once a long line of people waiting to see Martin it is thinned out and the nobility are enjoying the impromptu party. It seems like a lot of young people are here, and they might be doing some different types of dances. There are also several disproving looking matrons who do not seem to believe that all is proper. The Lord Marshal wanted a party...and so there was a party, but it is not like any party ... they ... are used to. Hmph! "This way..." Martin motions them off to a side room. "I can have something fetched quickly so you won't stand out so much." He speaks briefly to a servant who quickly swims off.
When she lands, Maggie's soft spin is halted. Straightening out, she turns to see how Kerf has adjusted. She lifts a brow as his adjustment is so much smoother than hers was. A glance is flickered to Martin, but her cousin has already started off. Following Martin, gaze that of a gawking tourist, Maggie looks just about everywhere but where she is going. Such glitter and sparkle and dazzle. She waves to one of the harrumphing matrons, then turns face front in time to avoid a collision with the wall next to the door. Her reaction takes her off her feet but she does not fall. She floats backwards a foot or so before she can get her feet under her again. Nodding to Martin, she tries the door once more, "Thanks." Flickering a glance back toward the room, she adds, "What's the occasion?"
With one last look at the extensive bling being flashed around - like that stuff should be in a buried treasure chest or something! - Merrisol abandons the room to follow the others. Hauling the coat along without too much trouble, he tries out his stride length, adjusting pace until he finds a comfortable rhythm that compromises distance and speed. Next, he experiments with speaking, finding his pitch and tonality a little too low and slow to his ears.. oh well though. "Hum.. Hummm. Hum. Are you done with court then, Lord Martin? We're not here to dance.. I don't think."
Martin gestures towards the city answering Maggie's question first. "The City Library has finally been restored to its formal glory and the Master Archivist has been able to restock it with some fine works. It's one of the first buildings to be completely restored since the cataclysm and is quite magnificently done. It's not the only building to be fully restored this past month so I decided that there should be a party. I am done handling crucial business for the moment." He nods to Merrisol. "We normally don't do 'impromptu' parties here, so the older ones are a bit put out....They'll adjust. They like traditions." He shrugs as though it's inevitable that they'll have to. They don't have a choice, after all. The realm is currently under Militia Rule. He watches Merrisol curiously, "Easy does it." He offers. "Think of this as a reflection of Amber, just... underwater and with different gravity."
Half floating, half walking, Maggie enters the room. Her hair floats out behind her, weaving patterns in ripples and swirls of auburn and flame behind her. When she stops near Martin, she turns to watch Merrisol bring his cloth anchor with him and she shakes her head a little, "No... I think he gets it, Martin. See? He's not doing the stupid-land-walker tricks I was doing." Then her gaze lifts as though she can watch the party right through the wall of their little room, "It is wonderful what you've done here, Martin. I'd like to help, if you are willing. Once my ship is recovered. Though I don't have a clue what to offer as help." Then, a low chuckle begins and she shakes her head, "Martin... Martin, Martin, Martin. Dealing with that? Easy. Just tell them that you want to start new traditions for a newly recovered Rebma. Get some of them on a committee to propose a set of new holidays. Say... One for each month?"
The area is filled with nobles... people dancing...etc. There's music and what's odd is that they are not all dancing on the same level. There's food and glitter and all sorts of different kinds of fish fluttering about here and there. It's a bit surreal. It also seems that some of the more matronly Rebmans are disproving, but the young people are having fun. There's lots of glitter as people proudly display their Bling. An impromptu party after the Lord Marshal dealt with a few court things. The Lord Marshal has just swum off to the side to welcome some people from elsewhere (obviously due to their clothing being very unsuitable for Rebman parties). He's presumably leading them somewhere so that they can become presentable. He himself is is in white, mother of pearl scaled trunks and golden sash and full of golden sunshine and such. He pauses for a moment at Maggie's suggestion and chuckles lightly. "I think I'm giving them enough new things to accept for the moment, Mags." He pats Maggie's shoulder. "We'll let them digest it all before proposing new holidays but your offer of help is very much appreciated." The area is open to all Rebmans to swim in and out and join in.
"Thank you," Merrisol nods curtly to Martin's advice. He thought he was doing pretty well, personally. Like a fish out of water in water. He nods gratefully to Maggie, smiling a bit to learn she had been doing silly amusing things right under his nose, almost under, anyway. Probably looked adorable.. not gawky at all. "The world, any world, needs a few elders lodged in tradition. Or else progress is full speed ahead without any anchor drag when things get choppy." Arr, there's some sea dog wisdom for yer. He falls silent again to pull his divested brown coat along behind him like a sack of rocks, while the rest of his clothing, while closely fitted on his tall, broad frame, drags at him like the aforementioned matrons. Unsuitable indeed.
Under the sun, the moon, and all the ocean, surely there are many an uncomfortable and unusual thing to be seen, but they usually have the common courtesy to stay out in the fringes and deeps rather than make their way into open court. Jira, it seems, does not have that courtesy. The Siren is just all wrong; her hair and tail are both black as ink and the latter is shrouded in a kind of shadowy fog that wisps and licks in the currents that move around her. She's dressed for the occasion at least, a single length of bright orange silk around her hips holding a small black knife (or dagger, or dirk, or some other form of small blade, depending when one looks), and glittering gold chains dangling coins and bright gems draped around her body and woven through her hair. She swims without hurry or worry, and with only a daring glance or smile turned to the odd looks she might recieve from the party-goers as she moves through the room.
Settling in to walk a bit more comfortably, Maggie turns her smile to Merrisol. She might blush to know his thoughts, and maybe even disagree that they were adorable though they were gawky. Just ask the matron over... In glancing back, Maggie notes the siren's arrival. She does not quite do a double take, but it is a near thing. She has to fight down the impulse to cover both Merrisol's and Martin's eyes, for the siren is something to see. But, Martin lives here and is probably used to such things. Merrisol? She sidles a glance his way, then back. Merrisol will have to deal. A softly whispered, "Huh" might alert the men, if her shifting attention did not. "Anyway, Martin." Does her voice sound a little too low in the water? The timbre is certainly affected. Does it carry? She tries to modulate, "I'd like a look at the library when there is time? You mentioned it when I was here before, but I didn't realize it was so close to being finished."
Rebmans have perhaps become a little jaded. For the past six months, their Lord Marshal has been bringing a great number of odd things their way and all but forced the strange down their throats. Unfortunately, they are well aware that without him, they would be sitting ducks in this dog eat cat universe around them since no one else has stepped in to light the way. Many are simply grinning and bearing it; most of them praying that one day the Queen might return and put the Lord Marshal in his place. The youth however, adore him. He is making positive changes in their minds. They would not dare to touch or hinder a Siren though, in spite of her oddness. There is rumor, of course, of such blood running in the Lord Marshal's veins generations past. They do, however, stare. Speaking of attire, it should be noted... the women are as bare-chested as the men though some have sashes and such and a few even have their Bling dangling from eye-catching places.
"Yes it is complete." Martin nods to Maggie, and is impressed by the ease in which Merrisol is adapting. His eyes catch the Siren. "Well, there's another." He smiles. "It seems Sirens are coming back to Rebma, these days." He looks pleased. "Would you like to meet her?" He does not act as though he knows her, just simply making the offer because he can make it happen.
Merrisol hasn't been staring around as much as Maggie, and perhaps that is why. Even so, it's not like he's that much more aware of where they're heading; of that, he also has no clue. Maggie's pointed glance does lead his glance away and to the inky swimmer, certain to be moving at a faster pace than him, even without cares. Damn coat, should have just left it crumpled in the snowy street, over on the mainland. He doesn't have an answer for Martin's query for the moment, observing the Siren for a longer moment than he's given much else here, as though lust in thought. LOST. Lost in thought.
Oh my, the places! Jira's ornaments only go around such places, and really, as long and full as her hair is, there is some allusion to unintended modesty. Sometimes. When in Rome, or Rebma. It's all groovy, baby.
The siren reaches out a hand to idly brush her fingertips along fish that she passes, sending them skittering and darting away. It's about midway into the room that she drifts to a stop, something still among the dancing, and glances from the empty throne to look around and fully take in the pro-party and anti-party...parties, and grin more fully to herself. Eventually she twists in the water to pick out the Lord Marshal and the company he's keeping at the moment. His question to the others becomes slightly moot; like it or not, it appears as though the black Siren is heading their way.
Still, an answer must be given to Martin's question and Maggie nods, "Why not?" She does note Merrisol's overly interested stare and nudges him, "Pick your chin up off the floor, boy-o." Luckily, drool is lust... lost... in the water. Eww. Maybe that isn't so lucky. Rolling her eyes, Maggie notes the Siren's approach. A wave is offered though the Siren is probably used to waves, living as she does in the ocean. Or maybe not as they are called 'currents' down here. So, greeting attempted, she folds her arms beneath her chest, the billowing of her somewhat piratical shirt contained.
Martin straightens, all official-like and nods to his cousin and slides a quick glance at Merrisol to ensure himself that the man is doing alright. Naturally, there are guards about, and they are ready to intervene, but only when needed. She is beckoned forward, "Greetings, my Lady." Martin bows easily, able to do this thing as elegantly in the water as on land. He gives no mention to the odd color of her tail, and does not draw attention to it. Instead, he greets her with a brilliant smile. "It's been my pleasure to see more of your kind in the city. Please, come forward and let your name be known to us." The dancing does not stop but the interaction is watched by the nosy parties.
Merrisol turns back around at the soft buffet, his own hair relatively short and cresting only so far above his head, shielding nothing. "Mmn? Oh. My apologies, how rude," he realizes with a blink, that he must have been staring. When in Rebma... Merri requires a blindfold, is how that saying goes. "It seemed for a moment that..." He frowns at something in the middle distance between himself and Maggie. "Something. Tugging at me." He shakes his head, more slowly still, and adjusts his stance to greet the Siren, waiting on her name, while keeping his eyes on the strange, fringed eyes.
Jira drifts to a stop again before Martin and Co, tail curled loosely beneath her as she straightens in the water. She dips her head in greeting to the man of station first, then looks to the others and nods to them as well with a small, but warm smile. When she speaks, her voice has the predictable musical quality of her kind, her own having the light sparkling quality of chimes. "Lord Marshal," is offered first in further greeting before answering, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of my sisters again since returning. I am Jira. I've heard rumors of change in the city. I've heard rumors that you're to blame." There's a hint of cheek to pull at her grin with this last statement before she adds, "I had to come and see it for myself." Looking again to Maggie and Merrisol, she as much ignores their state of under-over-dressed as Martin ignores her odd coloring. "And hello to you both as well, and apologies for interupting your host."
The nosy parties are vaguely related to the silly party and the obsequious party though none of them will deign to admit it. Maggie looks almost remorseful as Merrisol admits that tugging. Maybe she should not have interrupted his stare. Maybe a memory would have surfaced. Then again, maybe she would have felt inadequate. Nah... Still, "Sorry," is offered to Merrisol for the lost or delayed memory. Then she turns to the lovely siren, listening as Martin does his official thing. For her part, Maggie does notice the siren's coloring, but only so much as she would notice any siren. Or, perhaps not the coloring so much as the whisps of shadow that seem to cling to Jira or cluster around her. Tendrils. That is what they remind her of. Or filaments. Blinking, she nods at the offered greeting, "Hello to you, Jira. I'm Maggie. Martin's cousin." Her smile is easy and relaxed, warm in a way, "No harm done."
"Guilty as charged." Martin admits with a grin. He remains friendly and approachable in spite of his station. "Change was imminent were this Great Realm to survive, my Lady. I am pleased to make you welcome again, Jira. The Cataclysm is now the past, and the future before us shines bright and far as the tide will let us go. This is my cousin, Lady Margaret, and her friend Professor Kerfuffle." He indicates Merissol. "They have just come from Amber and of course I have surprised them with my little party." Impromptu Parties in the throne room are not /done/... that's the look that is on one Matron's face who happens to be nearby, her chest rather weighted down by the Bling! She jingles as she swims away. They would just love to be murmuring to one another about the arrogance of the snot nosed little brat, but they don't dare. "Please be welcome here, Lady Jira."
He had been attentively waiting on the introductions to be made by their host, but Merrisol finds his focus tugged again.. this time back to Maggie. "..Hmm?" Like she'd said something urgent or intimate, and he'd gone and missed all but the aftershocks of it. His eyes have gone a little wider than usual for him, startled sea green irises almost fully revealed, and he looks that much younger for it. Introductions are presently underway, but he's hardly aware... until the personal proper-o-meter blinks, that is. He's equipped with one of those. "Lady Jira," he catches hold of Martin's last words, turning back as swiftly as possible on them. "I'm honoured to make your.. oh. Your acquaintance, however I'm afraid the Lord Marshal is still using a name for me that is outdated, a.. place-holder until my own true name was restored to me." He glances at Martin in apology for not having corrected him previously. "For now.. it's Captain Merrisol. At your service."
Jira watches the matron harumph away with more than a small glimmer of delight. Her gaze turns back to the trio once the woman had moved on. "You're certainly causing a stir." She pauses just a beat, a breath, before adding, "I quite approve." The names are absorbed and repeated back, with only a small hesitation on the latter. "Lady Margaret, Professor...Kerf-" Jira stops when the correction is begun and smiles with a slow nod. "Captain Merrisol. For now. I should not keep you or your company, Lord Marshal, I wished only to see if the rumors were true, and give you my support, in whatever manner might be useful."
Tilting her head toward Merrisol, Maggie catches the wider than usual look and the oddly distracted way he responds. One might put it down to all the rampant boobage floating or swimming by, and that might be the case, but for the comment about a near memory. She does keep an eye on him, concern flickering in her eyes. Unfolding her arms, she slips a hand to lightly touch Merrisol's shoulder, support of one sort or another silenty offered. When his proper-o-meter kicks in and he corrects Martin, Maggie sidles her cousin a look(tm). A lot has happened since she last visited. A lifetime or two encapsulated in a couple of days. For her part, Maggie finds the departing Matron a tad on the sad side rather than amusing. She harkens back to Merrisol's observation of earlier. Returning her attention to the Siren, Maggie offers another smile, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Jira." Since they are being formal, "I hope we can meet again before we leave for Amber."
"Captain Merrisol it is then." Martin nods to the man with understanding and gives Jira another brilliant smile. "Sometimes a little push is needed here and there to get things done. I'm glad you do, perhaps you might come to meet with me at another time and we can discuss it. Rebma always needs people willing to work on her behalf. There is still much to be done." He speaks as though her approval is as important to him as any one of the higher up nobles in the land. If he notices anything else, he does not mention it. "Lady Jira, the pleasure is mine." He bows to her. "I know that my cousin would love to speak more with you too, should you have the time. I do not believe she has ever met any of your sisters in the past." Not every older noble looks displeased, however, only a few here and there. Many have grudgingly accepted the situation for what it is. For the moment, it's either hope Martin knows what he's doing, or swim against a tide none of them can stop. That doesn't mean they have to like it though. Some just hide their displeasure better than others.
There's a distinct aura of : We don't have a choice in the older nobility, the younger Rembans love him, the older folk just steeped in tradition and know they have no say. Militia Rule.
Boobage. Heh. There are only so many peripheral axes to which Merrisol can avert his gaze, so the better tactic is to face the boobage head on, but focus intently on something a foot or more above. He nods once in purposeful agreement with Maggie's sentiment: they will meet again. As Martin takes over the conversation with his inspirational speechifying, the Captain allows his attention to drift back to Maggie, turning his head to note the placement of her hand. He flashes an appreciative smile, but continues to look at her expectantly, searching for the thing she may have said, that he hadn't heard.
"Whenever you should find the time, any of you, I am not so hard to find when I am in Rebma. I've taken to a particular tavern in Amber as well, should you need me there. Though, I'm much less for conversation there." Understandably. Of course. She glances between the three of them once more before starting to lean back, to turn to head off. "Thank you, for the time."
Watching Jira do that graceful flip, Maggie sighs. Her smile is wry and she waves with her free hand. "Thanks, Lady Jira. See you around." Turning, she catches Merrisol's smile, then the man's expectant look. A brow lifts slowly, creeping up until it arches questioningly above her eye. "What?" That is when it dawns on her that he must not have heard her earlier apology. "Oh. I just said 'Sorry'. For being a pain and making you maybe miss a memory." By the time she stops speaking, her coloring has tinged to rose. Oh, she heard Martin doing the official Prince Marshal thing. But officialdom isn't her gig so she tries to let others who are better at it handle that stuff. Besides, Merrisol is looking at her that way and it is really hard to remember that there are other things going on.
Martin smiles at Jira, "We will certainly keep in touch, my lady Jira." He straightens and watches her swish. Ah, the beauty that the sea produces. He frowns slightly at the oddness of hte black tail, but he does not mention anything on it. "Good Tide." He becomes a bit distractec by the look that his cousin is giving the Captain and that touches a frown across his brow as well. Two frowns in under a minute, not good! He is the gentleman, of course, and awaits for the lady's true departure before looking to his cousin and the man again. "Did I miss something?"
Merrisol spares a glance back to the main discussion and is rewarded by the sight of billowing masses ordering themselves into weightlessly into arcs and loops of improbable inertias, and... just, wow. "Good Tide," he echoes Martin, and almost misses Maggie saying it again, as comedic timing would have it. Looking back across his shoulder again, however, he pinpoints on Maggie's moving lips, like he can see the air-water curving outwards in modulated sound waves. Fascinating.. so fascinating, he feels a migraine coming on. "Unh."
The living embodiment of the element of water flips, curves and undulates away and maybe conversation can return to normal without the lovely Siren being a distraction. Getting to know that one better will be a challenge. When Merrisol looks back, pinpointing on her lips, a frown begins to pucker between her brows. The hand on the man's shoulder does not tighten so much as it shifts to give him support, "Are you alright? You look... As though you are about to be hit by a doozy of a memory." She does not turn, but lifts her free hand to wave as Martin is called away. Her attention remains on Merrisol even when one of Martin's minions comes to lead them to a room.
Merrisol closes his eyes and doesn't appear to be willing to open them again at the moment "You may be right, Maggie.. but I don't feel ready for it at all," he manages to admit, lowering his head on a skewed angle as though he might be able to pour something out of his skull like tea if he tipped it far enough. "Damn it," as Martin leaves. "He must know something, and he leaves now?" Hearing the attendant beckoning them to follow, he sets his jaw, lifts his head, and curls his near arm up around Maggie's shoulders, walking sightlessly along with her to their statesroom.
Even though he can't see it with his eyes closed, Maggie's expression fills with sympathy. She almost whispers, "No. They don't come when you are ready. They just come." She steps in a bit closer when he tips his head that way, in case... but he does not tip over like a teapot pouring out the dregs. Her hand remains on his shoulder, though, so he will know that she is there. "He might. But he has to run a kingdom. So, our troubles are probably lower priority than either of us would like. He means no harm by it." This relative? She stands by. There is even a great deal of affection for the Golden Boy of Rock and Roll turned Prince Marshal. As wierd as that is to think about. When summoned, she looks to the servant, then to Merrisol. A half smile warms her lips when his arm goes about her. Slipping her own about his waist, the encircling touch supportive rather than intimate, she leads him by gentle pressure while walking beside him. No matter the twists or turns on their way to that stateroom, she will not let him fall or run into anything.