Keeping Up With the Ygraynes

[rassafraggin]

The stars are out, over the territory; they wink in and out of view around the angular kelp stalks and their splayed leaves. These light-emitting creatures have generally been pushed into the higher waters by the increased Rebman activity upon the deep seabed. The people have done more, by their standards, to make a welcoming display for Rebman Royalty and all the pageantry it brings. Places of gathering have been moved considerately outdoors, pavilions and galleries of elaborate, ofttimes enchanted, glassworks. Anchored to the ground, canopies of exquisitely-woven sea silk have been deployed to preserve a measure of secrecy from overhead witnesses. Of course, the serious revels and displays of magic are held within the stronghold, as is the banquet to be held in honor of the visiting queen.

The cultural and industrial showcases are all set and ready to go, although the reality is their guest of honour might only catch brief look from a distance. That's fine, since then the pressure is off, so to speak, and everyone else can partake and enjoy. While the Ygrayne noble clan is one of the largest of the Rebman population, many smaller and 'lesser' families reside on their land and participate in the local custom just as proudly.

An advance guard of sailfish mounts precedes the arrival of a line of turtle-pulled sledges, amid armed escorts upon narwhals. The long banners and pennants do not cease their flickering until the sand itself has settled around the landed barges. The amassing of Her Royal Majesty's royal guard is quite a bit heavier than usual, but that is to be expected in these times of increased defenses across the realm.

The preeminent Ygraynes have come out from their Bastion of Bad Attitude and not withered away in the fresh open currents, contrary to the whispered speculation of the young'uns. Mantled and shrouded in their enigmatic fashion, they assemble in a crescent, expecting their immediate progeny to array themselves in loose clusters behind. Queen Moire's image consultants have wisely chosen a more subdued colour palette for her traveling raiments, and she doesn't stand out a vibrant betta fish among black mollies. Her trailing cape is a gradient of midnight blue to deep silver, glittering quietly with scattered small jewels. The sparkle continues through her hair dressed in elaborate plaits and coils behind her head. In keeping with more ominous custom, she wears no reflective articles larger than a coin.

It's going to take a while for the formal greetings to conclude, for not many lords or ladies were willing to stand uncounted or worse, give up their place for another. Elsewhere, the gallery tours continue at a less reserved pace.

There's one of those Ygraynes who doesn't really fit well into a guppy hole. Ryika certainly doesn't qualify as 'preeminent Ygrayne' for her inherent Ygrayne-ness.. there's more than a little conflict about her 'defection' to Alhambran and Amber politics, but yet she's risen fairly well within those. There's never been any doubt that she'd wash away in fresh currents. She seems unconcerned about her place just a smidge out of the line of the crescent, unhurridly watching Moire make her way through unending greetings, and moderately blatent sucking up. She's clearly unconcerned about standing out, the golden glitter of jewelry, sparkling in her long turqoise hair. Somehow, she manages not to strangle herself in her golden silk scarf, flowing wiht the movement of the water.

It's the reaffirmation of the accomplishments behind their titles, and the trotting forth of their sons, daughters, and grandchildren, that really bogs down the proceedings. In general, it appears not a hardship for anyone to hear what they already know about their siblings and cousins. In a sense, it's like officially taking stock of their rivals, or else taking cues on the many claims and boasts in order to be prepared with even grander declarations when one's turn arrives. On the whole though, what this is is a brief glimpse of Ygrayne's impact since the cataclysm. Their political ambitions, dogging the former Lord Regent in his courts to ensure excellence in government. The amassing of affluence and wealth, expanding into Amber and shadow, bankrolling countless operations. Their role in preserving the magic of the realm, grasping the secrets of mirror in a stranglehold and weaving bits into the fabric of ritual to prevent their escape. Often the face the House presents to the public is one of arrogant, scheming, miserly contrariness, but here at their doorstep, face to face with their monarch, one understands there is a great deal more to them. Moire has a word with each coming forward, looking upon them with gentle affection, restrained to match their own restraint.

When she nears the edge of the crescent, she glances over to the ripple of gold scarf among muted colours, and sets her gaze on Ryika for a moment. Continuing along the line, she presses on with the barest hint of distaction, and when she turns to Ryika she smiles in full recollection and dips into a deep nod to the little Rebman. "Fair Tide, Your Majesty. It has been too long since last we spoke. You do honour to your Rebman family with your presence today." As much as she does with her own, surely, even if no one wants to acknowledge that.

There's a quiet attentiveness to Ryika as she listens in shamelessly upon her relations' accomplishments, to the declarations of her Reman family. She doesn't try and mask her expression, letting her pleasure and pride at their words drift across her face. That smile widens as Moire comes near enough to speak directly to her, the deep nod returned. "Fair Tide to you as well, Your Majesty." She nods, a more agreeable sort of gesture than respectful acknowledgement. "It has been too long since we spoke, and as I am reminded of today, since I spent time in Rebma, or amongst my kin. It is good to be here."

Fashionably late! That is what it is, surely! Not at all that Clive wasn't entirely looking forward to a social gathering of Ygrayne family members, mingling with the Queen of the realm. But, he presses on into the group all the same, in no rush at all while assuming a place in the group he is *technically* due. A loose, almost Minosian white shirt made from seasilk, tucked into a pair of fishscale pants makes up the attire for the evening, with the only bit of jewelry to be spoken of being a silver medallion on a leather cord. While the general looks of disapproval he may receive from the "traditional" and more conservative members of the family don't seem to affect him, he does pause a moment as he sees that there are now *two* Queens ahead of him. At that moment, he looks over to Lhasa to see her reaction to it all, saying, "So, whatcha think, Doc? Ready to dive in?"

The Selkie's plus one is doing her best to not look as out of place as she feels. Though Lhasa does go a bit wide-eyed with interest, as is her fashion, at the procession ahead. She is dressed similarly to Clive, the shirt buttoned way up, and her hair constrained in neat coils to keep it from tangling and floating about. "So to speak," she jokes back at Clive in a low voice, and nods her head. Ready.

The breezy silk canopies catch the prismatic reflections off the glass displays and keep the active parts of the march visible on various horizons. The Ygrayne fortress eschews those festive decorations in favour of a solid reassurance of its dignified strength and eminence. Being the official magistrates on their own ancestral holdings, some among the Ygrayne nobles look upon the atypical noise, lights, and gaiety with snerky disapproval. A few lords have made discrete mirror contact with one another and have melted away from the reception.

One of the House's glaring inadequacies, and indeed they are not the only clan to be guilty of this, is its attitude toward unpure kin born in distant lands, and treatment of the black sharks in the family. Certainly rising to the foreign political levels that Ryika has, in her absense, earns her the intrigue and fresh consideration of her elders and cousins. Her Great Aunt must be under some pressure to re-cultivate those familial ties... then again, in the great social pecking order, great aunts do not tend to have to answer to anyone.

And then... there's That Clive. Triple-mixed bloodline, right? And orphaned besides. Still... a Ygrayne, and it's said, an upstart dabbler in the mirror arts. Has potential, if only someone here could scruff him, bring him back into the rank and file... and who's that with him? The masters of mystical information networking among them will find out everything in short order!

"My grandson should be glad of your company at the dinner hour," Moire is saying, without any regard for the subtle flurry of schemes already sparking through the gathering. "Prince Martin is accustomed to an adversarial relationship with your House, with few openly declared allies." The boy still has much to learn about the benefits of frenemies.

Always the flurry, and mumble of schemes, gossip and potential. The shimmer of mirrors, for fleeing and gossip alike. Ryika smiles easily, a low chuckle accompanying it. "I would be delighted to join Prince Martin for dinner." She mms softly. "When I was .. less connected than I am now and working much more closely with Prince Martin, it was an easy affiliation with Ygraine. Now that my duties take me elsewhere, things are more complicated."

"Surprised yer not launchin' on ahead to get in the thick of things." A hint of a grin twists the corner of Clive's mouth for a moment before he nods and turns back ahead. He rides that social bow wave of reaction to seeing him, a black shark in their midst!, to slip on through for a better position. It's the Minosian pirate side of him that has him sizing up the royal guards as they near the Cluster of Queens. A few steps away, he pauses again and leans closer to Lhasa to mutter in a lower tone. "Ah, geez. Formal introduction and all that. Forgot to ask before now. Minos or Chantris first?"

"I can't be a dummy /all/ of the time," Lhasa replies to Clive in a low voice, glad to see that hint of a grin. She notices the looks they're getting, supposes it's because of her foreign-ness, and does her best to breeze past it. "Chantris first," she says back to him quietly. "I think the Duke would be disappointed otherwise."

Moire's cloak, gown and hair drifts and sways in the constant motion of the deep, yet she is never really pushed off course. She extends her bejeweled hand out, to seek Ryika's fingers for a gentle pressure. "One strays from water for one day or one thousand, it makes no difference. Though we may change, the Sea shall never forget those who are its Chosen." It's settled then; the former(?) knight of the former Regent of Rebma will be seated near the head of the banquet. That she may help deflect a portion of attention flowing that way from the hundreds in attendance is a bonus. It is sort of an open secret that Moire herself has never left the water.. not for more than a few minutes anyway. There is evidently room in the simplicity of the Sea's love for a bit of complexity. Turning as the focused attention of others stirs awareness in a certain direction, Moire folds her hands over one another and regards the approach of Clive and his +1, eyebrows lifting in placid query.

Ryika reaches both her hands out to take and squeeze gently that of the Rebman queen. "It is home. No matter where one might roam to." She is quiet a moment, before returning hands to their respective humans, and turning to follow Moire's attention towards Clive and Lhasa. That warm smile returns as recognition settles upon Clive, and there's just a hint of amusement sparking in her eyes. He may have fled their last meeting, but she's found him again.

Did someone turn up the water temperature? Who fiddled with the thermostat?! Clive almost feels and senses the shift of attention as The Royal Gaze lands on both himself and Lhasa. His attention stays where it is, waiting to hear her decision. Upon hearing it, he nods and straightens, back to his very Best Behavior he can muster up. This culminates in a bowing of his head toward Moire just before he says, "Your Majesty. Allow me to introduce Lady Lhasa of Amber's House Chantris. Captain Howler of Minos. A friend of Rebma." Swiveling to regard Ryika, he offers up a full nod of greeting toward a fellow black shark turned monarch of Amber. A full nod! Acknowledging her presence!

The motions of a Lady, such as they are, are in her muscle memory even if Lhasa doesn't remember the particulars. When she is introduced to Moire, she bows and says, "Your Majesty." When she straightens she beams the monarch an actual smile, seeming pleased to actually meet her, too distracted to note anything amiss with the black sharks giving each other the eye.

And who shall introduce Clive? Usually in the sport of gladhanding there is a discrete servant who has made it his or her business to know or discover tidbits about everyone in sight, most importantly their name, in order to whisper it to a busy or forgetful leader. The Rebman queen's gaze lingers on the man while he offers up his lady first for acquaintance, but slides to Lhasa when she readily sweeps into a bow. Regal composure reflexively steals the open warmth from Moire's countenance in the presence of one identified as not only Amberite but Minosian, however Clive's third assertion garners some further reflection and in the brightness of Lhasa's smile, interest dawns and the smile touches her gaze again. "Lhasa of Chantris. Your name shall be known in Rebma, indeed, when Prince Martin calls upon you at the next Deep Court. Fair Tides unto you, Captain." Moire offers a gracious nod, before turning her focus back onto Clive.

Another Ygrayne lady steps from the line to curtsey and quickly supply, "Your Divine Majesty, the son of the late Lady Adrina Ygrayne..."

"Lord Clive," says the queen with a softly thoughtful look, which draws out his name a little longer on her lips. Oh, so she knows him, after all? Perhaps, not as such. She takes his measure in the next blink, and resumes a pleasant decorum before the couple. "The memory and works of your mother have joined the repositories of the Past. She is one with the Sea." She regards them both, saying, "After partaking the artisanal wonders of Ygrayne on display, you must join us at the banquet."

Ah yes, the ominous pyramid that's been looming nearby. Where the true nature of Ygrayne lies.

Ruby will admit to using Martin as her OberUber if pressed. Being this deep means keeping her gaze straight ahead to reduce the Fear of all those layers of pressure ready to rush in and crush her. Faking a horizon as much as possible she moves amongst schools of Rebman elite and shoals of notables. Occasionally she'll lean forward to inquire about Ygrayne's armory during her maneuvering.

It's subtle, but there is another little twitch about Clive's features as he almost manages a smile at the reception that Lhasa receives. His eyes brighten a bit as he looks over to her, trying to catch a glimpse of her own reaction before turning back. This brightness fades back behind his usual stoic expression as the name of his mother is mentioned, almost causing him to miss that Moire herself had actually known his name. The Selkie is silent for what many might consider an awkward amount of time before he nods his head. "Kind of you to say. Her loss, all of the losses, won't soon be forgotten." There's another pause and he nods his head again, managing, "We'd be honored, of course. Most gracious of you." Hazel eyes swivel and scan back over the area, hunting about for some manner of alcohol to help get him through this evening without starting a fight. Or at least one that he'll remember. Either or!

If there was anything but warm welcome from Moire, or signs of that twitch of an almost-smile from Clive, there is no indication on Lhasa's face that she noticed. "Fair tides, Your Majesty," Lhasa replies with a smile. When she is bid to attend the banquet, what can she do but nod yes? Once the queen's attention is back on Clive, she lets herself steal a glance at him. She knows that look, a bit like when she hears they've restocked the chocolate cakes at the buffet table. Her eyes then stray to the looming pyramid. Charming!

Martin was there all the time, he's just learned to keep his mouth shut and not be in the way. Indeed he has been sticking close to Ruby, ducked away for a little bit and can now be seen near her majesty. He's dressed like his usual self with downplayed frills for the sake of the delicate sensibilities of traditional Ygraynes. He knows many of them now, having had both the pleasure and displeasure of their conversation and he does smile and generally look amiable. Most of the time. He nudges Ruby at one point, and asks her a question with his eyes. So far, no one has contacted him about the thing. Then he tries to convey that the thing should not be talked about here. Then suddenly he remembers who he's trying to not have a loud conversation with. "Never mind, we'll talk later." He whispers.

Ruby turns at the nudge and tries to grok the expression from Martin. Her jaw hinging back and forth as she digests it. She offers a grunt and a slow nod as a way of answer. "Aye, later then." What she's wearing for the environment goes back to her Irregulars days, and the wetsuit is perfect for her recent self-conscious feels regarding showing a lot of skin.

The clan disperses to go about their individual preparations for the evening's elaborate meal and entertainments. Rumour has it the crowning achievement is a precious reconstructed mirror of grandoise scope, set to play for the honoured guests an event from way-back history... should Her Majesty allow it, of course. For while in the throes of her malaise, Moire had been famously skittish about mirrors. This fear may not have abated, although the House is very keen on testing the waters there.

The sheltered pavillions are arranged on the villages' outskirts in such a manner that one may stroll from one to another, collecting samples and swag, without too much gloomy and lonely stretches in between. Rebmans and other Deep Peoples are roaming in groups for both company and protection as evening falls; already sunken deeper than the reach of all but the height of the day's light far above, the difference between darkness and lightlessness is both negligible and profound. The woobly lights of native creatures strobe lower but avoid those larger groups.

Jewelry and exquisitely formed glass sculpture and wares and mirrors are on display; as are bespoke garments of finely woven sea silk, strong and flowing in the depths, but clingy and clumpy above the waves. Shard scryers and their apprentices offer to delve for secrets from bits of reflective matter brought in from afar. The esoteric living solutions developed by the House scholars are handily demonstrated in a menagerie of critters and a gallery of everyday objects which would otherwise be shattered or snuffed by the depths, currently each surviving in a magic well of neutralized gravity and air.

As predicted, Moire is more occupied with the leaders of the territory and their provincial concerns than with touring the sights. She's sent her handmaidens off to enjoy the evening but a quartet of royal guard lingers nearby. Having seen Martin skulking about with Ruby, she smiles at them in a preoccupied manner, and certainly has not yet summoned Vialle to learn the message the lady diplomat is holding for her. For some reason, Vialle had decided not to come along on to this particular stop on the visiting court circuit.

Presently the high lord magistrate of the march locates Ruby, and hands her a manifest covering several fine glass tablets' worth of etchings. "The garrison stock of personal armaments and artillery pieces, Lady Forgemistress, as well as the weapons held in the militia armories within each settlement. As you can see, there is more investment in defensive fortification than offensive measures.."

Once the opportunity had presented itself, Clive let the currents carry him away to some space further away from the monarch(s). That it happens to also be a gathering place for kelp wine, well, that's just a happy coincidence! One calms the nerves a bit and then he is wandering closer to some of the mirrors to take them in with some interest. He's eying the reconstructed mirror from afar when his ear catches a bit about armaments. Those wandering feet carry him on through closer toward Ruby, offering a nod of greeting to her and then to Martin as well.

Martin waves friendly-like at Clive, indicating that the man and the lady he came with have the attention and good will of the Prince and could join him at any time. This might cause some Ygrayne to take note for better or worse. Martin glances over...er... next to.. Ruby's shoulder at the manifest but he doesn't appear concerned that nothing has been brought to the attention of the Prince Marshal yet. He'll wait, he knows Ygrayne better now.

Ruby eyeballs the etchings, scanning the sections as they're mentioned and her forehead creasing the more she concentrates. She's grateful to have such a thing to focus on and occupy her mind. "Let somethin be foolish enough tah test you or intimidate them away from every tryin? Strange tah imagine big foights down 'ere. Not playin fair when you gotta worry about...more di-mension." Her thumb rubs against the glass, but doesn't obscure anything from Martin at all. She finds the glass uniquely odd as a record keeping material. It jams an iron poker into some dark recess of her mind that touches upon glassworks and tries to coax old doings. She wrinkles her nose to exorcise that and keep current. Her eyes lock onto Clive and her eyebrows raise. "Su-...Seal 'o steel! Oh bloody 'ell, it be good tah see add-itional friendly faces."

Clive clearly picks up on this obvious and well known social cue that he totally understands. He does not at all just barrel on over after seeing a wave and a friendly face there. Taking full advantage of that time while closing the gap, his kelp wine bottle tips up for a speedy sip and then he is nodding agreement with Ruby, "Yeah, yer tellin' *me*. Just imagine growin' up with this lot and spendin' lotsa quality time with 'em. How you been, Cap'n? Highness?" His head swivels over toward Martin, directing the title over his way.

The Ygrayne magistrate, Lord Duawle, leans in to try and line his own eyes up with the items on the list as Ruby reads them. "We would greatly prefer not to draw attention to our territory at all," he points out with a meaningful frown around at the current state of festivities. "We contribute enough of our kin to the officer corps of the military," he adds, with an only somewhat deferential nod to the Prince Marshal, "and enough to the ground troops, to expect a swift deployment to our borders should warlike enemies encroach the outer lands. In any case, Ygrayne is fortunate to be located as far away as possible from the southern seas where the enemies of Amber struck out from her Cibolan shadowpath." He nods prefunctorily at Clive, glaring at the Selkie sidelong, and reaching to shuffle the glass plates from Ruby if she's done eyeballing the manifest, deficient as it is for arming every able-bodied resident in the event of an attack.

Lhasa returns from her wanderings about the shiny displays and goodies tables, bearing a drink of her own. She meant to search for Clive but finds Ruby first, as she is hard to miss, and beams her a smile. "Captain! -- Your Highness! And--" To Martin, she nods, "Your Highness." So much royalty in one day. "It's good to see you," she says sincerely. She very, very subtly brings the kelp wine to her nose, experimentally takes a sip.

Ruby offers a lopside grin to Clive and Lhasa. "I've been worse. Just tryin tah stick tah firm ground when I can." Ruby pulls a bit of a face when the enemy shadow forces are mentioned. She adds a little defensively to the magistrate, "Aye...fortunate but you won't 'ave tah worry about good fortune. Worst trouble for Rebma be tha scraps tha sank when they couldn't 'andle your waters or tha surface. Apologizes tah whoever was under tha debris tha moight 'ave rained down." she says quietly and a bit pouty as a-shuffling is done. "You safe as a 'arbour with a clear sky, and can call me Rudy if it ain't so, far as you are. Must be noice...far from trouble. Quiet."

Martin's speaks amiably, though those who know him would know that he's distracted by something in the back of his mind just a little bit. Something grave. In any case, he smiles at the Magistrate with respect. "Indeed you are fortunate, and I'm always happy to see how well Ygrayne's troops do when involved. "Lady Lhasa." He smiles at her , "You as well. Lord Clive, glad to see you here too. You two are welcome to call me Martin, you know. Friends of Merrisol are friends of mine."

Clive looks over toward Lhasa as she approaches and reaches over with his own sealed bottle to clink it against hers before lifting it to steal a sample through that sippy top. While the bottle is still tipped up, he looks back to Ruby and nods, "Understandable. Bit of an adjustment. Feel the same way steppin' too far on land..." Nodding to Martin, he lifts his bottle in a salute of sorts, "Appreciate that, Martin. Speaking of him, I remember seein' them havin' all sorts of preparedness under the water when we took a look at the navy from below in the Flare."

Lord Duawle orders his stack neatly while paying each speaker a dour look, whether their words contain praise or misgiving. He interjects, "I've heard nothing of wanton damage to the settled holdings. We are accustomed to the sinking of objects from the surface, of course, from wrecks to units of cargo. And of course every large territory employs measures to stop them striking any area of import." He glances at Clive again, trying to decipher his meaning without having to address the wayward vagabond directly with a question. However, he presently demands, "Preparedness similar to how the Minoans and Kitezhka have been prepared? Poisons and acids to foul the waters," he grimaces.

Ruby fidgets a bit upon mention of those known anti-Rebman measures. "An those bloody rails tha be charged with lightnin. But they a danger tah ship an boarders alike..." She wrinkles her nose. "Still, lots 'o praise for yer ways 'o not needin tah wear 'elmets all tha toime. Don't think surface folks would fare 'alf as well if rocks an stars were fallin from tha sky. Great depth 'o...in-gen-uity."

Looking to Lord Duawle, Clive's head wobbles from side to side, "Don't know if they had any of that on hand, but they had lookouts down below and somethin' like depth charges, I think? High-tailed it on outta there when things got hairy." The Selkie is nodding as Ruby pipes up with other things, "Bad news all around, above or below the waves. Those kinda rails ain't nuthin to mess with."

A lone sledge pulls up and into line with the others, the turtle settling in to commune with its fellows while the mounted escourt flanking the sledge pulls up. One of the guards dismounts and hands Vialle down from her seat above. She thanks the young officer then listens while she is instructed where to find the Royal party and revelers. It is revelry, isn't it? Bowing her head in thanks, Vialle turns and begins to make her way across toward the gathering.

There are many gatherings of revelers, Rebman or otherwise, out and about the decorated village outskirts and fortress grounds, in the open in unusual amounts. Moire, flanked by her personal guards and a few Ygrayne officials, is one of those. One of her handmaidens flutters close after learning of the arrival of another royal coach. She whispers to Moire and the queen turns immediately, excusing her company in order to go and meet the lady ambassador halfway across the walking grounds.

Duawle puffs up somewhat to the praise from Amber's Princess-Admiral, even if he usually only thinks of her as the naval smith. The smugness is short-lived when he absorbs Clive's information, stealing an involuntary glance upwards and frowning. "Depth charges.. that term refers to the weighted barrels sunk away from the ship's hull before unleashing their deadly contents. These are sometimes the methods by which the enemies of Rebma," he glances at Martin and amends, "..*formerly*.. had delivered their impurities.."

But the dinner hour is approaching, it looks like. Contact mirrors are out, points of ghostly reflection to rival the spectral flutters of the animals still roaming the barren kelp stalks. Word of mouth is passed to those unequipped with such conveniences: the Ygraynes are to repair to the fortress for the start of the banquet, while the peripheral families should prepare to close down the pavilions for the evening.