Ambadassadorial and Diplomagic Relations

[rassafraggin]

Ryika is settled at a telescope, looking through it, and up at the ceiling and then back through the telescope as Merrisol takes his leave on an enigmatic comment, and Dirk asks what's going on. "I think, unless Quinlan's heard back from Mae, that I'm going to head to Amber and meet with her in person."

Quinlan tilts his head as there's a knocking at the door. Only it doesn't sound like knuckles, it sounds like someone using a dagger or a rock. He cautiously opens the door, and a big seagull with one blue feather and a bad temper from being soaked in the storm flies in, drops a letter off, and flies back out. "...O...kay..." he says, picking up the message. "Oh. It's Martin, for some reason." He starts fishing out his trumps. "S'cuse me for a bit..."

Quinlan is in...a largely furnitureless but remarkably sturdy looking room. "Your gull arrived," he says. "Oh, is mom about? Tell her hi. What's up?"

Quinlan looks briefly sheepish. "Uh. Yeah. I sent her an update on what I'm up to. Er. Was that a bad thing to do?"

Dirk says "Why do you care if I have a problem with small spaces? Which I don't?"

Merrisol putters on back into view, leaving the barren office where he goes to think up outrageous ideas. He almost startles visibly at Dirk pursuing the question. "I try not to care, Dirk, really I do," he mutters.

Dirk says "why? I am not a bad person. Just a little wonky weird."

Mercier sits at a makeshift table, looking out whatever spot of the paned windows he can. He frowns at the lack of furniture to place his flash on, and simply takes a sip, enjoying a cigerette.

Quinlan hns. "I *think* Ryika can get there by mirror, but that might be it. The storm's really keeping everyone here who doesn't have a Trump-type way to move. Lemme ask." Turning to (presumably) everyone else in the area, he asks, "Anyone have a trump or mirror way to the Minosan embassy? Apparently Mae wants a detailed interrogation option."

Ryika nods to Quinlan. "It's in Amber. Of course I can. We'll have to walk from the Rebman embassy, somehow I think we might manage. Somehow."

Dirk says "I have a trump of Mae."

Merrisol looks over at Quinlan, having no gifts to offer, though he questions, "Interrogation? Of whom?"

Quinlan nods and returns his attention to the Trump contact. "Ryika can go, she says. And it's not so much getting ourselves into a pickle as joining an island full of pre-pickled people. With kinda prickly tempers. But we're working on it."

Mercier shakes his head at the question, "I could finagle my way to Amber and walk there, the old-fashioned way?" He offers, glancing to Merrisol as comes in. Its not a friendly greeting or a nod, simple a cold acknowledgement of fact. Merrisol is present now.

"Dirk has Mae's trump. That's even more efficient than I am." Ryika points out and then flickers a smile. "We've got options."

Dirk nods "I also have a trump to the north gate of Amber and I think Mae Mae has one of me."

Merrisol shivers briefly. Gettin' mighty chilly in here, even with all the warm bodies present. He heads over to browse the latest snackage from Ryika's travels and pours coffee from a thermos. "Interrogation sounds so hostile," he remarks.

Both of Quinlan's eyebrows rise. "What's a 'node'? Is there one on Antika? And I'll tell her." Turning to Ryika, he says, "Martin suggests you have statements prepared. I think it's probably better you go than Dirk, she's already kind of annoyed."

Dirk says "Mae likes me."

Quinlan winces. "She may like you but right now she wants clarity, and you're not any better at that than I am, Dirk. Ryika's trained in the whole talking-to-people thing, let her do what she's good at."

"For him, or for Mae?" Ryika asks of Quinlan at the mention of statements. "I'll go. People know where and how to find me if you want or need me." She heads towards the corner of the observatory that holds her mirror, clearly headed to Amber regardless of any other decisions.

"Mae," Quinlan clarifies. "Martin's somewhere else. Mae doesn't have my trump so there's some telephone going on here."

"Sending the Ambassador would make a bit of sense." Mercier says, taking a drag from his cigertte, "Annoyed? Well bully I don't work for her then."

Merrisol turns his gaze to Quinlan, surprised. What is a node..? He sips his coffee bemusedly, and eyes Ryika as she prepares to depart. "Maereina is storm-blooded," he comments to her before she gets to studying her mirror.

Quinlan winces. "Martin, there's a lot we don't *know*, and a lot of guesses. But I don't think Antika's on a Path, if that helps. Emma's not here and I don't have her Trump, so like a lot of things right now there's some 'do the best you can with what you've got' going on."

Dirk says "She really wants to keeps people away from the shell that's here."

Quinlan nods. "You take care. And tell mom to, and fill me in when you can. I'd be helping if I could but - only so many places I can be and I've already wished there were at least three of me in the past few days just here on Antika."

Quinlan wrinkles his nose. "Yeah yeah. I know. Go on. Be productive, don't let anything happen to Mom, she tends to need rescuing on these trips." He makes an amused, 'shoo, shoo' gesture at the air.

Quinlan sports an expression somewhere between amused, resigned, and tired. "If you don't push it, you never find out where its limits are. Take care man. There's work enough at both ends of the line."

Dirk waits til quin hangs up.

Quinlan gives everyone else a bright look. "Well. That's done. Apparently there might be an international incident in the offing. Politics, gotta hate it. But Ryika can probably field it."

Merrisol stares, mystified. "Are we not supposed to be here, then?"

Mercier furrows his brow a moment, thinking, before pondering aloud, "Wait... if she wants one of the shell's moved..." He chews the buttom of his lip and reaches into his coat, hanging off the back of his chair, he looks to Quinlan, "How's that?"

Dirk shakes his head. Dirk says, "Ryika want to go back to Amber the easy way?"

Quinlan shrugs, and counts off on his fingers. "One, non-locals. Two, lots of magic. Three, property damage. Four, handy target for blame. It should all sort itself out if we can fix this. They won't have as much need to blame anyone then, and most likely the worst'll end up hitting me for magic = mage type of thinking paired with 'where did my furniture go'. It's best not to worry about it. Ryika's pretty good at her job. We just need to finish ours."

Merrisol listens, frowning. "Lord Graham said he tried to sail into Antika on Maereina's ship. I would have thought that meant she knew about his directive." He finishes his coffee, and set the mug down on a towel. "I suppose we just need to wait for Ryika to return, before we can go through with anything."

Dirk nods "We have to give the goddess penguins to throw about."

"Or simply disavow the pathfinders from this operation." Mercier says, flatly, looking to Merrisol, "You said it yourself, sometime ago, this isn't a matter of Shadowpaths. Travel and Minos, sure, but not the... specific mandate of the Pathfinders." Mercier gives a motion to those present, "We certainly don't /have/ to working for them, when they write up the final report."

Quinlan sighs and finds a seat. "All right." He nods to Mercier. "This isn't a matter of shadowpaths. It isn't a shadow-storm. We're here mostly through an honest mistake, and if the locals want us to drop the shells and go, there's no particularly good reason to do otherwise."

Dirk says, "Except people who will die of starvation and illness due to the lack of food and sanitation."

Merrisol gazes back at Mercier, listening to him and the others. But he nods to the merchant's reality check before it's all done. "True. It's only ever been an official-sounding front to cover our non-local shenanigans," he muses, offering the other man a wry smile. He glances over at Quinlan, then Dirk.. the latter in somewhat of surprise. "...Right. Also, promises were given to see this matter resolved."

Mercier shakes his head, "There's... a supreme and compelling reason to do otherwise. These people are dieing and are ill-equipped to handle the matter on their own. The disavowel is simply to save the administration face. I didn't mean to insinuate that we should extracate our assistance from this otherwise bully island." Mercier motions to whereever Maggie went off to, "Captain Flame, a Minosan, endeavored to solve a problem within her nation, and, with a loyal and non-descript deckhand, Lirre-" Mercier motions to Merrisol, "and a band of hired subject matter experts-" Mercier motions to the rest of the room, "To investigate. As long as we control the final reports and put the right message out, we can make that stick, so much as no one digs. I haven't been spreading my name about, either, it wouldn't hard to use a fake name." No. No it wouldn't. "I don't want to spend too much time playing hearts and minds, but if we could start getting some of our aid laundered, perhaps through the ladies auxillary, we can get some general good will going as well."

Quinlan spreads his hands. "I'm not saying we give up. I *am* saying that *if* such leadership as Minos has wants us to leave, we should. Without a fuss. Yes, the people here need help. But there's no universal ruling that gives us, in particular, any *right* to be that help. And if the leadership wants us gone but the people *here* want us to stay...what I understand of how Minosian politics works doesn't speak oodles for the Commodore's probable lifespan afterward. And he's been Commodore a long time, which means for all his bluster and snarl, he's not likely to turn everyone here against him over something small." He gestures around the furniture-denuded observatory. "This? Is small, compared to whether someone can eat today. People will put up with a lot as long as there's food and water, but this storm puts getting either at risk. The Commodore's position is precarious, and if he *does* take the expedient route and lay blame on us for it...that still won't leave him with a solution to present when the storm continues after we're gone. I think he's bright enough to know that." He nods toward Mercier.

Dirk gestures to the rest of you "not local?"

Merrisol socks his back against a reinforced wall and folds his arms, with a single snort of rebellious amusement over these politically-charged developments.

"Honestly, thats the whole bloody reason we disavow ourselves. So they /have/ someone to blame." Mercier notes, holding up a finger, "In fact, I would even go so far as to try and seperate Captain Flame from the whole mess. But the reputation of several individauls with no name or status to speak would be a very small price to pay for these lives. We need to freedom Do What Must Be Done."

Dirk chuckles "I see."

Quinlan blinks. "...OOokay," he says slowly. "I've officially hit my limit for politics today now. Ryika can fill us in when she gets back on anything we actually have to *worry* about, politically, but the whole field leaves a sour taste in the mouth and there's enough work to do for ten."

Dirk shrugs and says "Do you need a hug?"

Merrisol headtilts, mulling over the events of the past little while. "So this all stemmed from your bird report.. Unless the Commodore noticed how the storm has picked up and has simultaneously lodged a complaint to the Embassy. Or, well, Ryika might be getting grilled by a storm-born thrall," he paranoids for a short moment, before muttering, "Nah, she couldn't possibly extend her influence /that/ far." Pause. He starts sorting through his trumps, finding Ryika's. Juuuust checking.

The contact with Ryika comes like an icy wind.

Quinlan smiles ruefully. "I promise to write Mae no more reports. It doesn't seem to do any good and may've done some real harm to the work we've got to finish. Someone else can field the report writing."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol is, you guessed it, in the Farsight Observatory. "Ryika. I'm just checking in. Everything all right at the Embassy? Are you being held?"

The image of Ryika is, indeed, in an office looking place. "Ahh, I'd hoped it was you or Quinlan. Tell Quinlan, if you would, that any damage he does he has to fix later. The Ambassador has offered to answer as best she can our quesitons about Minosian history and lore. Have you guys come up with any more?"

Mercier is in a lone chair, that he procured from... somewhere, smoking while pondering how to alleviate the diplomatic pressures on their mission, "Just... consider who your reports are going to, and how you submit them."

Quinlan looks wry. "The only thing I know about Mae is she married *Caine*. There are no logical conclusions to draw from that as regards how she'd want a report formatted."

Dirk says, "I think she wants the facts and to be called Mae with just one mae and not mom or Mae mae.'"

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol looks visibly relieved. "Oh, we've been... running through some worst-case scenarios and waxing political-philosophical," he eye-rolls briefly. "I'll tell him, certainly. You'll be back soon, I hope?"

Stepping out of one of the offices, Maggie is running her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to untangle some of it. Pausing as she takes in the charged atmosphere, she focuses on Merrisol first. Lingering there for a moment, she takes in his attitude and the clear relief on his features. Since he is on a trump call, she turns to the others, "What's happened?"

The image of Ryika nods to the trump. "I should be back shortly." She looks over at Mae. "Any other more direct messages for folks in Antika?"

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol ruminates a beat, then says into the pause, "Does Maereina know about the shadow island, Ryika? If not, you might suggest to her that she locate it and set a non-Minosian shore patrol to make sure no other Storm-bloods are lured there."

Dirk says "Hi maggie Moo."

Quinlan tilts his head at Merrisol mentioning a 'shadow island' - then nods as he apparently remembers what that was.

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol adds, "If she requires assistance, Maggie tried to chart its location, and may be able to find it again. I'll check with her."

Dirk is getting bored again and explores the observatory by pacing the perimiter of the room he's in.

The image of Ryika nods to something said via trump and then looks over to Maereina. "There's a specific island were one of the shell artifacts was found, I can see about getting better details about where it is. Maggie was compulsed to there to find an artifact, but we've been playing keep away with that one and the goddess. So far to success. It's in shadow somewhere, but if it would be possible to send some ships there to confirm that there's nothing weird going on there, that would be handy. I'll pass the message on to Dirk, certainly. I might see about going with him to Cameron, come to think of it, and be able to check on that island."

Mercier gives a bit of a wave to Maggie, "Evening Captain. Apparently, there's a possibility of some political complications to the mission. So... we were just discussing methods to alleivate those pressured, and hopefully continue on."

The image of Ryika mms to Maereina. "She wishes it to go to another island, and we're denying her that. She's less than pleased about it. I'd like to check on it, ensure that things are quiet, and there's no signs of the challenges Antika's got. Really, we're just trying to ensure we dont' miss anything. Traveling there by trump would be wonderful. I'd like to leave a mirror there temporarily, if you don't mind, so that I can go back and forth while this is going on."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol waits some more, listening in with a vague frown. He says preoccupiedly, "Quinlan, about the fortifications, it's been stipulated that any property damage will be your responsibility to mend." Or it's the lash for Fiona's darling boy! Just kidding. But maybe.

Maggie waves to Dirk as he heads off to pace. A frown begins as she nods to Mercier, "Oh? I... fail to see how our helping here could possibly cause consternation, but maybe I am missing some details? I submitted a report to Graham with a copy to Random..." Her expression turns contrite, "I hope that did not cause issues." Giving up on her hair for now, she reaches up and back to try and tame the mess of it into a ponytail. At least that will get it out of her way until she can find a pair of sheers. "Is that where Ryika is? Fixing it?" She harkens to Merrisol and her frown deepens.

The image of Ryika glances back to the trump contact. "I'll be back shortly. I need to do a bit of travel now. I'll see you soon."
Quinlan smiles tiredly. "I sent a report to Mae. According to Martin, it *did* cause problems. Ryika's off fixing them and I've sworn off writing reports."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol nods. "Very well. Travel safe, Ryika."

Dirk paces faster and faster but is rather quiet until he pipes up "I can write reports. They'd go like this. We went to Minos. we got wet we got thrown into the harobor. The goddess wants her shell removed. That's all I know for now. The end." Pacing speeds up.

"I doubt Minos, as a government, appreciates undue tromping about from several of Amber's /most nefarious/ agents." Mercier says, deadpan, and briefly, no, its not a chide against Merrisol, "I would hazard a guess that the appropriate people were not advised of our intervention."

Quinlan gives Mercier a surprised look. "Wait. Am I nefarious? Or am I one of the nameless reputationless people to throw under a bus? I'm lost now."

Merri stows his trumps again while looking around the door, clear-eyed. He spots Maggie and nods minutely to her, with a smile that reaches his eyes. "Ryika more or less handled matters and was free to leave," he relays to the group. "I think she intends to make a few stopovers but should rejoin us soon enough."

Dirk is just getting restless and fidgety.

Maggie touches her tongue's tip to her lips briefly, "Well. Really, we did not come here specifically to look into things. Or... That is not how it started. I came to talk to a cousin and to get a storm orb installed. This? Just... I got waylaid. Shanghied by a shell." Looking over to Merri, she returns that smile, her eyes sparkling warmly. "Ah, good. She is really good at that. It will be good to have her back."

About a moment after Merri says 'rejoin us soon enough', Ryika steps through the mirror. Perhaps a few moments. Or a few minutes. But not so long later. She even has a couple cases of booze in her hands, almost too heavy for her to carry, but she manages to set them down rather than drop them. "Alright. Short version. Quin, you have ot fix anything you break in the observatory. And you dont get to write missives anymore. Although it worked, so perhaps you do. Dirk. Mae would like you to give me her trump so that I can keep her in the loop on what's going on here. She also would like you to go back to the orders she gave you before about taking food to Cameron."

Quinlan considers this, looking around at the suspiciously thick and solid walls. "Er. Not a lot is *broken*. It might be more accurate to say it's misplaced."

Dirk folds his arms. "Everyone wants to take my trumps and never give them back. So if you don't give it back I will come after you and haunt you forever. Got it?" He growls and stands there very unhappily.

"When this mess in Minos is resolved, I will return it to you, Dirk." Ryika promises with a nod. "By and large, I can simply walk down the street and speak with her. A touch more challenging right at the moment."

Maggie lifts a brow ever so slightly, "I'll help you get replacement furniture and... Stuff, Quin." Turning back to Ryika and Dirk, she adds, "If need be, I will ask Captain Midnight if I may paint a trump of her for you, Dirk." Her tone is patient, relaxed and quietly firm. "Or for Ryika, if she agrees to the painting."

Dirk sighs and does not look happy as he growls and hands over the trump.

Quinlan gets dragged off for a bit by Ryika, and gets to copy notes for everyone so Ry can then go sleep. He then offers these notes to the group. "More questions...less answers than any of us probably would prefer. But a few, anyway."

He summarizes, "Stormborn, we're told, means claiming descendance from the storms, and that storms love stormborn and won't hurt them. There isn't any real reason, it seems, for 'why Antika'; normally Antika is shielded from storms by the presence of the island of Hacha, which gets storms all the time. Antika's known as the island where the real, um, sea-lovers train. People that really dedicate their lives to the sea. Possibly more useful - the storms were building up for months - apparently *before* Dirk planted the first shell here."

Maggie steps closer to Merrisol as Quinlan and Ryika pow-wow. It does not take as long as one might have thought for the debriefing to happen and so she does not address the issues she intended to. When Ryika heads out to get a hot bath (lucky!), Maggie reorients on Quinlan. When he finishes, she nods slowly, "Hmm. Not a lot new in there, really." Tucking her hands into her pockets, she turns to walk across to one of the windows.

Quinlan exhales slowly. "So the shells...are secondary. Whatever brought this storm god out to Minos, happened first. Then the shells gave it a specific target in Antika."

Merrisol starts to say something, then stops, and nods. He's been quiet after the trump call, leaning on a reinforced wall and monitoring the discussion.

Dirk says, "Someone should talk to Gerard too."

Maggie goes still for an instant then fixes Quinlan with a sharply focused look, "Brought the storm god to Minos? You don't think she originated here, then?" Her gaze lifts toward the ceiling as that notion plays around with the pieces of the puzzle in her head. "I still like the idea of relocating her to Alhambra."

Dirk sighs "I Guess I am out of here. Mae mae wants me to go to work."

Quinlan shrugs. "Unless this storm's been hiding on Hacha all this time...no, not really? The legends of Minos say storms *love* the stormborn. Not beat the tar out of them *and* the islands they're standing on. This isn't Rilga's grandmother. This is maybe Rilga's grandmother's jealous half-sister."

Dirk says, "So maybe we should send her to find Oberon?"

Merrisol glances around for Ryika, who is either off on another mirror trip or collapsed in a small snoozing heap. "The academia is amusing while we prepare, at any rate. Does any of this change our immediate plans, Quinlan?"

Dirk picks up his clothes and says "I am outta here see y'all later."

Merrisol lifts a hand in farewell.

Quinlan nods to Dirk. "Later man. Let us know if you run into anything unusual." To Merrisol, he says, "We may want to send Ryika to find out if Mae has any records of any unusual events around the time the storms started gathering. Beyond that, no. We need that other shell to get Antika clear of the rains."

Dirk concentrates upon a Trump, and begins to fade away.
Dirk fades into nothingness, leaving behind a rainbow afterimage.

Maggie inhales slightly, then huffs out the same breath. Glancing up at Merrisol and over to Quinlan, she offers each a smile though it is faintly strained. "I suggest that we all take some time to get some shut eye..." Wait. Didn't she just come out of that office? "We can get started in the morning." As she turns, she murmers something quiet to Merrisol, then angles for the office once more.

Merrisol looks up slowly. He nods and starts to follow Maggie away, but diverts to speak quietly to Quinlan.

Merrisol murmurs, "Mr. Templeton wasn't present for the soundproofed discussion, Quinlan. If you feel up to going over plans with him, we will be just about set to go once Ryika has done her extra research." He claps Quinlan's shoulder and goes off to do that shut-eye thing.

Quinlan nods to Merri, and when he's gone, looks over toward Mercier. "I think I need to catch you up on some stuff. You know. When you're ready. We can probably do hot tea first if you want."

* * * * * * * * * *

Merrisol is at one of the telescopes, wrestling with the wheels and fine-tuning, while the storm keeps throwing off the gross measurements every few minutes. Make it a bit difficult to see exactly where he wants to look, but bit by bit, he is scoping the harbour.

Breakfast was late. At some point either very early or very late in Minos, Ryika headed back to Amber and while she eventually does return with breakfast for shelters and heros alike, its later than usual when she steps through the mirror in the observatory. Likely later again still by the time people emerge and are conscious enough for conversation. She glances around, to see who is about, turning towards Merrisol. "Is Quin around?"

Merrisol steps down, barefoot since the harbour tossing. "Not this morning. He was up late reading and studying the artifact, so he might be sleeping in." He comes over to help unpack and lay the offerings out on a towel, since the fine tables, desks, and chairs have mysteriously vanished over the past couple of days.

Fortunately the floor is an excellent low table. Ryika helps lay things out and takes a deep breath. "So, I went back to chat with Mae again this morning. It felt like we hadn't quite had time for things to stretch out and ideas to blossom properly in the somewhat quick visit over irritation at Quin's letter. I'd hoped Quin would be around as I think he'll be very interested in some of what we talked about."

Merrisol nods to that, while pouring a mug of fresh java and picking out a hearty banana bran muffin. He leans against a window-less part of the wall. "What other errands do you have today, or can you take a load off and wait for Mister Beautysleep? I am also keen to hear what you've picked up, Ryika," he points out, before devouring the baked good.

"I'm thinking that I'm going to be island hopping today." Ryika mmms as she settles on the floor with a coffee of her own. "So, apparently in Minos' distant past there was a cataclysmic event called the Sundering. News to me, but what happened two years ago is still news to me, so Minosian history, not so much a surprise that it wasnt' familiar. It ripped Minos apart, and bits of it.. Minos.. were scattered through shadow. Basically like a giant version of the god shards, spread over many shadows, not just one. Which means nothing to you, but would help Quin.. anyhow.. she could ahve been part of the Minos pantheon from pre-Sundering, the these shells are bits of shattered Minos. Something hid those pieces.. that's lost to myth and ancient lore, and that's how the story goes.. but tell me that doesn't sound like our shells?"

Merrisol swallows his mouthful and mutters, "God shards," to himself to anchor that strange term in his mental files. "The shells, or the shadow island that offered the shells," he nods. "It was a smallish island, could easily have been a chunk off one of Minos's islands, or the mainland, if everything used to be one large mass." He looks at Ryika with excited intrigue. "In the center of the Minos Sea, between all the major islands and the mainland, is a large vortex. I wonder if that is the placeholder for the cataclysm's epicenter.. In any case, as you said in your prior research you found storm gods and goddesses to be numerous.. could they themselves have been divided from a single deity during the Sundering?" He shakes his head. "Pardon me.. it's difficult to keep from speculating on such an intriguing tidbit. Please.. go on, if there's more to tell."

"God shards is wht we call them in Alhambra.. as one of our gods shattered, rather than our world splintering, but it feels so akin, it's how it resonates in my own head." Ryika explains as she can't help but smile as Merrisol gets the same sort of tangent excitement at possibility as she did. "I was thinking the shells, but it could be the islands themselves, I've no clue. The cataclysm was a long time ago, so I think we'r emore coping with ongoing and potentially never ending aftermath, as we so often are.. and I dont know if one diety split, or if there was always many and some got trapped outside Minos when it all exploded to bits.. no clue." She quirks a smile. "Speculation is what we do, really. Mae also noted that the storms got worse.. fogs and the like, before this storm got spectacularly bad. Minos and storms are pretty much like 'yeah yeah, day that ends in y', so didn't think much of it, but there's the potential that the goddess has been quietly working for a while and it simply was brushed off as normal storm activity. The seas near the mainland got roughter, and odd fogs and the like before this storm went insane. Months."

Merrisol listens quietly while he finishes his mini-breakfast and washes it down with coffee, then nods slowly. "I'd heard there was trouble throughout Minos before Antika got the quarantine treatment, though... months?" he frowns. "Might have already been a cordon forming around the edges of shadow too.. Commodore Eamonn said his fleet had sailed out to check on the stormwall, and when things went to heck on Antika, they became trapped on the other side of the Minos-wide stormwall... which suggests the power spike here worsened things everywhere. We set off for Minos in the Wave Dancer almost immediately after It'rla, and by then things were bad all over and Antika was tied up. Of course, that was also when Maggie was drawn off the shadowpath to go to the little island in the middle of nowhere." He goes back over her words, in reverse order as usual. "We still don't know if it is one goddess working alone, or a team effort." Like theirs! "Or what is the purpose behind it all. Perhaps they are trying to undo the cataclysm and put shattered Minos back together.. another speculation to add to the heap of speculations," he smiles wryly. "Since it seems to be spelling bad things for the current civilization any which way, I know where duty lies. But I do see your point about giving the shells due respect, Ryika.. and for the record, I am not in line with shipping them off to Alhambra. Anything else?"

"In the shipping of them off, Alhambra's a better bet than Banyan. I'm not sure either's a great bet, but Banyan pisses off Corwin, and while most view that as a feature, there's also more people in Banyan. There's larger swaths of Alhambra that are barren." Ryika follows Merri's trend of working backwards through conversation. "I don't think she's /good/ for Minos, or the Minosian people, but you dont have to agree to be respectful." She considers and then nods. "I dont' quite follow the purpose. I think she's alone, there's no real signs that there's other gods involved, but who knows. I'm thinking of spending my time hopping to various islands and seeing what research I can dig up on ancient Minosian history. I couldnt find much outside Minos, but I might find something within Minos."

Mercier yawns, entering the main area from whatever floor he happened to have been sleeping on before, straightening his tie, glancing betwee the two, "Still on figuring out the means and meanings and methods of some silly gods?" Mercier asks, rubbing one side of his face and peering out whatever window might still be visible.

Merrisol watches Ryika curiously. "So you have had mirrors placed, or that slow star chart thing you were speaking of before?" He glances towards Mercier's approach, and nods affirmative to his question, before looking back at Ryika. "Only evidence for a department-wide directive I'm figuring is the fact that the storms still rage across Minos and the stormwall around Minos holds, that I know of, while this goddess focuses here. And if there are more with access to Minos, why aren't /they/ putting a stop to her antics?"

"I have a mirror on Cameron now, and from there the storms aren't horrible, and I can catch a boring mundane ride, I think. I hope? That's the current plan." Ryika explains and then shakes her head. "The stars aren't distinct enough for my purposes from one island to the next. My gradation isn't that precise, clearly. Alas, it was a hope."

Merrisol headtilts, unable to fathom Ryika's starry purpose, but he has concerns other than understanding her talents precisely. "Your research is going to take you out of range of Antika.. and we have urgent plans that depend on your presence and participation here," he reminds, somewhat frustrated. "Although I suppose we can rearrange some tasks so it wouldn't be necessary. Templeton.. did Quinlan bring you up to speed last night?"

"Lirre. You have my trump. I am as far away, in all honesty, as I would be if I was at the bottom of the mountain on Antika. If you need me /right then/, then call me and I will return." Ryika points out. "If you'd rather I not try and figure out who this goddess might be, that's fine. I can stay."

Mercier shakes his head at Merrisol, his tone a mission-purposed neutral, "I don't believe I have firm grasp on new developments. I know we have two stones, one that wants to be here, one that doesn't, a goddess who can influence the storm-blooded here, and a lot of bloody suppositions, but few hard facts." He notes, before motioning to Merrisol's coffee with a questioning look that asks, 'Is there more of that?'

Merrisol looks annoyed by Ryika's response, and doubly frustrated that he cannot really offer details while they are without Quinlan's sound shield. His gaze slips the other way when Mercier responds, and he nods, directing Mercier's gaze towards the newly delivered breakfasts and coffee thermos, laid out on a towel on the floor. By the time he regards Ryika again, his temper is back to an even keel. "When you put it like that, Ryika, what can I do but ask your forgiveness."

"I can postpone reading, if it'll make you stress less, Lirre." Ryika considers him for long moments. "We've gotten this far, waiting for a few more hours to potentially learn nothing, I don't even know if there's anything. Still, I'm going to go fill in my notes. Can you let Quin know what I found out when he gets up? If you need me, you know where to find me."

"I shall, yes." Merrisol nods to Ryika, taking a deeper breath. "It's difficult to know what requires the first order of priority.. and knowing more about the goddess and her origin will become important information to possess once we have achieved our next goal.. but that goal is vital and has been put off a day longer than it ought have, already. As it is, there is still the Commodore to deal with - I can try to tackle that after Quinlan." He offers a smile as she goes off, then refills his coffee, grabs another muffin, and takes it away to the office where Maggie is sleeping.

Mercier gives a nod and pours himself a cup of coffee, not bothering to put anything in it. He takes a sit, and looks to Merrisol, "What about the Commodore? Has he been displaying a need to hinder us? There are ways around that."

Merrisol pushes the door wider and looks inside, then leans back out and says, "One moment," to Mercier. He proceeds inside, a moment or three passes, then he emerges without coffee or muffin. He has the grace not to offer a smile over his temerity. Hey, what happens in Antika, stays in Antika, amirite? "The Commodore? has not been back here in the past couple of days, to my knowledge, Templeton.. but then, with the storm's focus on the hill, he may be avoiding the trip." And cursing their false names, likely. "Once Quinlan awakes and has time to grow a soundproof bubble around us, there are a few things we have to share with you, with reduced chances of being overheard."

Ruby wanders into the observatory. From the sate of her sodden self, she's been trying to brave the elements. Her hair is almost completely plastered to her scalp and shoulders, looking like she's wearing a particularly soggy octopus on her noggin. She was easily detectable at the point of egress. Colorful curses and the howl of wind haunted the entrance before the door was shut and only her voice disturbed the environment. There were some squelchy stomps of her feet and then the sound of something being viciously shaken or throttled. Next thing, she was in view and looking disturbed. "I don't recommend outside that bloody door." A very soggy looking piece of folded white paper drooling a dark brown resin slips from her bottom lip and spluts to the ground.

Reaching into his coat, Mercier produces a cigerette case and pops it open, obtaining a cigerette to have with his cup of coffee. Breakfast of champions. He gives a glance to Ruby as she comes in, and frowns at the giant wet woman, "Ah, bosun, how're you this fine seaman's morning?" He asks, flipping the case over and offering it out towards the woman. He gives a nod to Merrisol, "All well and good. Its not as if I have any place to jaunt off to."

Merrisol swings his gaze to the door as well when Ruby comes back, staring in surprise. That's what happens to cigarettes when people flush them in an attempt to quit the habit. And Ruby is what happens to the people who change their minds and dive in after it. "May as well do it here if you must smoke," he mutters. "Smoke damage'll go on the list of things Quinlan is fixing before we leave."

Ruby narrows mismatching peepers, the cloudy colored one a bit more milky of late, especially when compared to the black coffee hue of it's partner. She reaches up and rubs under her nose vigorously, casting droplets this way and that. At this rate she may need to invest in a dreaded hat. She wanders over towards Mercier and raises her hand, which is also dripping. She frowns and curls her thick lips. Doing a quick squant she palms the ground and wipes her hands until it's not such a moist threat to a perfectly dry cigarette. Bounding up, she pinches a smoke between two fingers. "Can't tell if you're joking...Thanks for the thin-roll. Appreciated." she grunts and places the cigarette delicately within her lips, like the precious treat it is. She turns to Merrisol and then takes stock of the room. The laugh that starts to shake her large frame threatens the perilous way the cigarette perches in her yap.

Mercier produces his long, thin cigerette lighter and reaches... up to offer the flame to Ruby, before applying to his own cigerette, "Oh, a little tabacco never blighted a property." Mercier says, taking a puff and replacing the lighter in a pocket, giving a nod to Ruby, "Good tobacco and fine brandy are two things to never joke about." Mercier cautions, before looking to Quinlan, "Ah... well, I'm sure that won't be too hard what with the connections of our little Corps. What're we on about then?"

Merrisol's attention centers on Quinlan when the mage appears, assumedly from an office-turned-dorm-room. "There you are. Ryika was just by from another visit with Captain Midnight, and there's an interesting ancient legend she likened to the "Godshard" legend from Alhambra." Apparently she expects Quinlan to know the reference, because Merrisol looks puzzled over it. He takes some steps towards Quinlan, while continuing, "In Minos, there was a cataclysmic event called The Sundering, from which bits of Minos went scattering into the Shadows.. adjacent or near ones, I would suppose."

Quinlan nods. "What's the full story of that legend, as she told it to you?" he asks, curious.

Ruby leans closer to Mercier to accept his light, the flame illuminating her skin and tattoos briefly before she's leaning back. Holding it in a reverse sorta cup, as if she expected wind inside, she inhales. The first drag consumes almost a quarter of the cigarette, cheeks going a little concave. She traps it in her lungs for a few seconds. She expells it through her nostrils and closes the lids of her eyes almost completely. She gives a few appreciative nods and mellows.

Mercier provides a smile with one side of his mouth, the otherside busy with his own cigerette. Speaking around it, he gives a nod to Quinlan's urging, and looks to Merrisol, "I think I see where you might be going with this..."

Merrisol starts to answer, then stops. "Which one.. Alhambran, I know next to nothing about. She only mentioned one of those gods as having shattered. As for Minos, there's not much else. Minos was ripped apart, and bits were strewn through a multitude of shadows. She said something hid the pieces, but what or who is no longer known. She went on to speculate our goddess here is part of an ancient pantheon and the shells are some scattered bits of Minos. We also came up with the notion that perhaps the island or islands giving up shells to the storm bloods, are the bits of Minos."

Quinlan thinks this over. "I'm familiar with the stories of the godshards. It's related, but only distantly, it seems." For safety's sake, he flies up out of easy jumping reach before he takes out the little skull shell to study it. "Part of a god...yes. I can definitely sense that. Part of *Minos*?...I'm not so sure. Did she say anything else about these shards, this story? You can leave out the bits about Alhambra if it helps."

Ruby listens to the two fellows speculate and share theories. She offers streams of smoke to the discussion and then leans over to Mercier conspirator-ish manner. She rasps, which isn't exactly cloak and dagger stuff as loud as she does it. "You buying this Mistah Templeton? We grave robbin a goddess and she gettin all time 'o the moon on us?" She narrows her eyes as she takes another long drag into her lungs.

Merrisol shakes his head, the angle of his gaze lifted along with the mage. "The rest of what I can tell you about it is conjecture, Quinlan. The vortex in the center of Minos' sea may be evidence of a cataclysm that broke apart a main landmass into the five islands we have today. The Sundering may have been responsible for the apparent multitudes of storm deities, all born of a single ancient figurehead. It got me wondering if there is more than one god involved in this shell venture, and their purpose is to put Minos back together in its original image." He pauses for a cleanish break from the brain-storming, then adds, "The other thing that Maereina gave details on was the progression of the weather leading up to the Antika storm. How they got worse and worse over a course of months, but nobody thought it was unusual since it was Minos. Ryika takes that to mean the goddess has been working up to this level of power for quite some time, and I agree with her. When the shell was set on Antika, it had a marked effect on the whole of Minos.. and no doubt had Maggie succeeded in getting that one," he nods to the shell in Quinlan's possession, "onto another island, it would exacerbated things that much more. The act of laying each of these artifacts on an island bears profound significance somehow."

Quinlan nods. "Agreed," he says simply. "So the question is - do you want to help this goddess or not? Or do we need more data to make that decision?"

Ruby takes the cigarette from her mouth and pushes her tongue between her teeth, ejecting a bit of wet paper and grit to the floor. It's a very minimilistic gesture, not overblown like her usual mannerisms. The smoke is reintroduced to her lips and she squints her eyes against smoke that curls into her lashes. She looks about the room to note those present. She then murmers lowly, "Unless you're already knucky-knucky with one, I wouldn't recommend it. Bad things happen when you shake hands with that sort 'o thing." she goes all introspective. "You'll draw back a stump."

Merrisol pauses at the question, turning his gaze towards Ruby and attending her words of wisdom with frown. Not that he was inclined to doubt her, but.. she is very convincing about it. He nods acknowledgement over that, and looks back up to Quinlan. "As far as I'm concerned, whoever she is, whatever her grand scheme... her time in Minos is done, Quinlan. The current inhabitants are nothing but vermin to her. If you could see all the ships she's sent to the bottom of the bay and channel.." Evidently that gets to him both as a Minosian and a Rebman.

Quinlan nods. "Then we enact the plan as we sorted out yesterday," he says, contemplating the skull in his little turbulence-bubble. "I want to study it though, when we get it dug up. I want to test a few guesses that, I'm afraid, are such total guesses I'd be reluctant to share yet."

Ruby finishes her cigarette by smoking it down to a nub, the calluses on her fingers registering the heat before she decides to drop and stomp it. She tilts her head and looks down as she smushes the remnants into an ashy stain, rubbing her foot back and forth until it looks like a little swirling arc, and then goes side to side, making a little impromptu sign. The last of the smoke drifts up into her soggy locks before curling around the obstacles and dissipating. "Aye...what is the bloody plan? You two ready to put it under me heel and let me gr...crush it into pieces?"

Mercier nods with Ruby's question, "It seems like you've got a cunning something or another sorted out...." He looks to Quinlan, then over towards the window, before turning his gaze to the group at large, "So what are we supposed to do, specifically?"

Merrisol nods agreement with Quinlan, though he glances tensely towards the windows, as though looking for that banshee-mad visage come to press her ear up to the glass. His gaze flickers over to Ruby, and he takes a determined breath. "No, Ruby.. we're not that that point yet. Everyone has their own tasks to fulfill for this next step, and it's best that Templeton and I speak alone at this point, on a certain issue. Quinlan.. can you give us some privacy?" he asks pointedly, walking closer to Mercier and making a twirling gesture with his finger to describe an enclosure.

Quinlan nods, waving a hand toward Merrisol as he murmurs a spell. "You can hear, but not be heard. Ruby, if you'll go stand near Lirre? You'll feel when you pass through the sound-ward. The air will feel different for a moment."

Merrisol pauses, says, "Just Templeton, please." Oh my gawd Q, ix-nay on the Ormbloods-Stay!

Ruby looks up and around. Okay, this is new. Her bottom gets sucks into her mouth and then popped out, protruding twice as much. Ruby-pout. All suspicious and paranoid, she crosses her arms under her chest and if anything, looks even more defensive. Her nostrils flare at the indignation of being left out of some super secret stuff. Her muscles tense up and she remains where she is, a grumpyish looking statue.

Quinlan coughs. "I meant Templeton. Sorry." Blushing redly - which given his coloration is impressive - he shakes his head. "Forget my own head next, I swear." He gestures to Mercier. "If you would please go with - with Lirre?" At least he got one name right. Probably.

Ryika has been somewhere, with her the question of where really is a question. Still, Ryika roams up to the group as Quin goes scarlet and she quirks a curious brow.

Mercier looks at Merrisol with a hefty suspicioun, before nodding to Quinlan, taking a step forward to the pirate, and crossing his arms, shaking his head a bit as he passes through the sound barrier. He furrows his brow at Merrisol, "Alright, make quick with the plan, then."

Muaah, trapped in a magic bubble with Merrisol, where nobody can hear them bicker and seethe. "As I mentioned before," he notes first to Mercier, with a slight roll of his head to indicate the invisible ward outline, "this is a precautionary measure. I'm not certain it's necessary, however this plan depends on the goddess not being immediately aware of what we're up to. And that includes being able to get the details out of one of our Storm-blooded friends, through no fault of their own. It means, we are agreeing to keep them from learning the details long enough to reach our goal." He pauses to make sure Mercier is on board with that.

Mercier is quite aware of the perdicament that Merriol's madcap want for privacy puts him in. He gives a nod to the barrier himself, "A prudent move, assuming I don't find anything overly untoward about your plan." Mercier comments, arms still crossed as he circles Merrisol a bit, in the constraints of the bubble, "And you'll have to ezcuese me, I'm not generally used plotting the demise of a diety."

Quinlan just quietly maintains his spell, looking sheepish.

Ruby does not a lot in terms of explanation other than to stare at the secret conversation and lip-read complete nonsense from what she sees. It's hopeless and so she turns to Ryika. "Aye...Private convo. Can't hear it cause it's probably about me. And you can call be Rowdney if it isn't so. Truth. It'll all come out in the wash though. See if it doesn't."

Merri glances outside the proofed barrier, trying to subtly, though somewhat guiltily, scope out Ruby's position and attitude. Yeahup, she's indignant. He blinks back to Mercier, taking his response as a tentative We Do What We Must... Maybe. He glares briefly, but outlines things succinctly enough: "We have observed that when Stormy turns her windy focus on specific individuals, the storm's force wanes in other areas. The Storm-born are her preferred targets outdoors.. them, and anyone holding that shell, and of course, anyone attempting to get at her precious Antika-bound shell. We tried to get it and she foiled us with her powers and our own people. The new plan therefore is to have Ryika takes the shell and use her mirror travel to keep the goddess pursuing her between safehouses. Our Stormbloods will be sent out and about the island on their own missions to further fracture her focus. In the meantime, Quinlan and Rabe, you and I, and Ruben if he's still about, will head back over to that dig site and rip the bloody artifact out before she realizes what's happening."

"I think the silent private convos are less wierd than getting half a conversation when someone's on a trump call." Ryika muses to Ruby as she considers the silent bubble and then looks up at the other woman. "Most things do come out in the wash. They work out by the end, and if they havent worked out yet, clearly it's not the end yet."

Mercier chews the bottom of his lip in contemplation of Merrisol's plan for a moment, "Is there anything we know that indicates this goddess has finite attentions to begin with? Even if she does, assuming she'll remove all portions of them from Antika's shell... something she's despearte to keep here..." He shrugs, shaking his head a bit, "Well, its worth a try, anyhow. What do we do with this place's artifact once we have it?"

Ruby widens and narrows her eyes, which stare, but go a little unfocused. "Aye...But look. You see how they look back or don't. Shifty. That means trouble. Shifty fancy man with fancy secret plans. And look, that's more words than needed for any sort of plan that doesn't require bloody pacts or strange rites. Aye! I swear to the drowned chest 'o bog, I think 'e just said 'fish-food'. Fish-food is chum...Chum is like friend. We're...all friendlah." she thinks hard and then spouts. "Someone's for the chop. It's a big circle, but spiral swoopy...and it all comes back to the start before spinning out like a bloody pinwheel 'o..." she coughs and clears her throat, giving the rant a pregnant pause. "You're probably right, Ryika. Truth." she heaves a big sigh and wriggles her toes.

Quinlan smiles. "It'll be fine in the end. Well. At least for our parts."

"There's not a lot of fish food here, or chum." Ryika quirks a smile. "I should check on a few things. I'll be right back."

Merrisol can't help smiling at that silly question. "Run like hell, I believe. She won't be tossing us in the bay once we have it. We'll regroup with Ryika and take them both off the island.. and hopefully the storm will have to lift from Antika, with nothing to hold her here."

"And follow us?" Mercier asks, looking towards a portion of the window thats still providing visibility to the outside, "If the shells are part of her, and anchors, we're going to dealing with quite the hurrican. Do we have a place we're going to slip off to to see if she /can/ follow?" He asks, "I assume Alahambra is the most logical place, if we can find a barren spot."

Merri nods. "Good point, but I was thinking, without the island under her influence, there would be a reverse effect on the severity of the storms around Minos, even the great stormwall itself. However, a contingency for fleeing Minos ought to be in place. Something for the group to decide as a whole."

"We're winging it, here, lets acknowledge. We've got more speculation then fact... but doing what she doesn't want to be done seems to be a prudent move as anything else... we'd better have the means to decide quick then. For all we know, the thing could explode in a bout of sleet when moved outside of Minos." Mercier takes a moment to consider, "Alright. And whats our timetable? Is this something we're planning on doing today? Tomorrow?"

Abruptly, very abruptly, the raging winds battering the observatory suddenly stop.

Quinlan frowns at the sudden cessation. "...I'm having trouble believing you've had a sudden change of heart, lady," he says quietly, dropping down to the ground to head to the door for a carefull peek.

Outside the observatory it is still storming just as fiercely as before but not one iota of the wind is actually striking the observatory. Either she has indeed had a change of heart or at least a change in strategy.

Merrisol sighs as it gets down to the nitty-gritty details. "There is some pre-planning still to do, but I'm thinking we'll aim for tomorrow. Ryika says her mirrors about town are discretely placed, but I still don't want to risk her coming out into a room of stormbloods while she's.." Around that time, the perpetual howling of the barrage ends, and the comparative silence left in its wake is stunning. Merri glances around and at Quinlan. He looks then to Mercier, shrugs a little, and takes a sidestep out of the Arcanis air chamber. "What gives..?" he asks warily.

Quinlan puts his shell in a pouch, which he ties firmly to his waist so he's not touching it but the wind won't blow it away either. Stepping carefully outside the observatory, he addresses the sky: "Lady? You want to try *talking* now? Or is this the windup for a bigger punch?"

The bubble of winds that aren't touching the observatory expands to exclude Quinlan from the storm.

Merrisol looks rather alarmed when Quinlan decides on venturing out of the observatory, and /with/ the shell on him. "Heyyyy.. wait. Quinlan!" He departs the sound barrier completely, if it yet exists without its master nearby, and heads for the doors. "This has got to be the oldest trick in the book..."

Quinlan huhs, eyeing the weather thoughtfully. "I'm not storm born. So there's no blood for you to talk to. But you're a clever goddess, I'm thinking. There's more than one way to communicate. You wouldn't by any chance know sailor's light-code?" He grins. "I could totally carve a ouija board in the ground for you to roll rocks on if you want."

Mercier nods before.... the silence. That damn storm had been raging for days, and for it to just stop is certainly jarring. "Murphy, you unscrupulous cad." He says as Quinlan.... leaves, "She might as well dangle a worm on a hook." He mumbles, before following Merrisol to follow Quinlan, "There's no guarnetee she'll even bloody know Thari."

Before either Merrisol or Mercier can reach Quinlan, the winds close around him and simply yanks him off his feet and rapidly up into the clouds above the observatory. The bubble of no touching remains around the observatory. He wanted to fly right?

Merrisol feels perhaps Rabe-levels of despair when he opens a door and steps out after Quinlan... too late. He grates out an expletive and spares one last look at the no-touchy phenomenon, before he hurries back inside, digging a pocket for his trump tin.

Quinlan *can* fly, though, so he's not actually worried about being hauled up into the air. He's willing to go with it just to see what happens. Of course, possibly the storm will try to throw him to another island, or outside her boundaries - and *that* he will fight - but until then he's willing to go with it and see what happens.

Indeed, for the moment, she does not seem to have anything particularly sinister in mind. Quinlan is lifted up until the air starts to get a little thin and cold then simply held there, bobbing slightly.

Mercier stares out the door as Merrisol shuts it and goes for his trump deck, and he just looks... neutrally ponderious. "Tosh." He mumbles, before walking back to an existing chair, and sitting down, he lets Merrisol go about his business while he just... pauses for a moment, to consider the situation, "You may wish to start pulling what you can back here. If he doesn't come back, we will need to accelerate."

Quinlan answers the issue of warmth and breath by surrounding himself in a nice bubble of warmer air. "I don't *necessarily* need to breathe, ma'am," he says. "But it helps with the whole talking thing, which for now I'm choosing to assume is actual communication and not me chatting at myself."

Quinlan abruptly swings to the right then back to the spot he was in.

Quinlan 'whoa!' yips for a moment, in surprise. "Okay...swing to the right for 'yes', I take it? Which would make left 'no'. Just for argument's sake, though, if I'm correct then one swing to the left, please."

This may be a bit too much abstraction because he swings to the right again instead.

Merri prowls the interior wall, trying to catch a glimpse through the windows of anything green and ridiculous up in the sky. All the while, he's sorting his deck and pulling up the trump of Quinlan. When he stops walking since he is not great at that walking while trumping jazz, and concentrates on the image. "He'll come back," he mutters. Um.. Merri. This is Quinlan, not Maggie.

Quinlan runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah okay. Um. Smaller. Do you bear ill-will toward this island?"

This question actually produces a wild swing to the left and a bit of a drop.

Quinlan yips again. "Well! News! That's good." He considers his options. "Okay. I think I need to project a list of options here. Just for easier communication. It's my magic but it shouldn't hurt you. And it'll broaden my pendulum options." He thinks about it, and projects...an illusion of an ouija board, large enough for himself to play the part of the pendulum, and with the addition of 'warm' and 'cold' in the bottom left and right corners. "Clumsy but workable, I think you may agree?"

Merrisol keeps focus on the Quin trump card, with no results thus far. "Damn that foxwizard. /Why/ did I give the shell to him?" he growls, self-beratingly.

Nothing happens to confirm or deny whether or not this works for the conversation.

Quinlan sighs, but leaves the illusion in place for now. "See, this is where the questions get complex. Because if you bear the island no ill-will, why have you made life on it so miserable for most of the people here?"

Why is obviously not even remotely a yes or no question. This might bother her since he briefly drops then rights again.

"Because who the hell else would you give it to?" Mercier notes, standing up from the chair, "He'll live or die up there, and that's his business for the most part. If you can trump him, do so. Otherwise, we wait, and adapt our plan."

The door to the office opens quietly and Maggie slips out into the main room. She scans the area, then pauses when she spots Merrisol. Her gaze eases away from troubled toward warmth and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Looking around again, she waves to Mercier as well, "What plan?"

Quinlan nods slowly. "Yes or no only, right." He banishes the illusion, as it's definitely not going to help here. He gives this some thought. And then, briefly, sends a whisper into the wind - just not at the storm - before returning to silence. Yes/no questions can be so misleading after all. "...Okay. Are you aware that your ferocity in this locale has caused the people to suffer, be unhappy?"

Quinlan swings briefly toward the right then back and right again.

"Okay, that's a yes," Quinlan muses, for the benefit of the other end of the line as much as to confirm he's following the storm's efforts so far. "Are you willing to reduce your ferocity over the homes and harbor, so that the people can take care of themselves again?"

This produces rapid-fire swinging to both sides before an abrupt stop.

And also results in the mage making sounds normally associated with people riding roller coasters. "I am *so* downing the dramamine after this. Okay, so...indefinite but emphatic. Important, then. Have the *people* done something, to maybe deserve this response from you?"

Quinlan swings so hard to the right that he goes an entire 360 before he stops.

Merrisol standing by one of the windows, and is looking at Quin's card, clearly upset, but at least being quiet about it now. After some of that silence, he shakes his head minutely in disbelieve. "I've got him.. but he is.. playing some kind of weird game with her. Quinlan, do you even know if she's telling the truth? Clearly, she is worried we're on the right track here, if she's trying to make peace."

"Definite yes, gotcha!" yelps Quinlan, taking a few steadying breaths after that trip. "Well. Everyone's got a right to plead their case." A few more deep breaths. "I'm going to hold up fingers for 'how many' people, okay?" he says. "How many people did something that deserved this violent a response. You just let me know when I hit the right number, unless it's 'more than ten', in which case, say so now."

Quinlan swings around in a circle again.

Quinlan hns. "Is it more than ten?" he asks, after sorting his balance out.

Unfortunately this is clearly a subject she is vehement about as this time Quinlan does 720 instead of 360.

Quinlan yips startledly, and focuses on not getting motion sick. "Okay...let's go max...is it something *everyone* on the island is responsible for?"

For a moment nothing happens then there's a very brief bob to the left.

Merrisol groans with frustration and discomfort while he spectates on Quinlan's questions and gets a tumultuous mental sensation when the swinging gets underway. "Join me if you want to listen to this pointless jibber-jabber," he says to the others, his free arm sweeping out in a c'mon gesture. "Quinlan.. be sure she's not just trying to shake your scrawny butt out of your belt.. and.. hell, ask her if she is trying to restore Minos to its former stormy and underpopulated glory.."

Mercier raises an eyebrow at Merrisol, "Shes got the whole island controlled, and the stormblooded at some of her whims. Why in creation would she lie now?" He notes, before sighing to move up and drop a hand on Merrisol's shoulder to join in the contact. He blinks, "Well thats one way to do thigns..."

Maggie walks closer to Merrisol curiosity in her expression. When she nears, she waits for Mercier to claim a side and a contact spot. Moving up to Merrisol's side, she murmers, "Thank you for breakfast, Kerf." Then she reaches over to touch Merrisol's arm. Joining the contact, she relaxes into it. Thet sensations of swaying far above vie with the solidity of the floor for precidence. As Merrisol has offered a suggestion she keeps quiet for now.

Quinlan makes a small, relieved sigh. "I don't know...how much sense this will make but I'll try. Does the offense trace back to some or all with the blood of storms?"

Once more Quinlan swings in a right-ward circle perhaps a bit more vigorously than he would like.

Merrisol luckily has to keep his eyes on the trump card, or he'd have targeted Mercier with a truly disgusted glower. As it is, he only draws in a long-suffering breath, while waiting for Quinlan to run out of his own questions and get to his. Although.. "Quin. When you want a pull-back, say... 'tut tut, it looks like rain' and hold out your hand so I can get you back quickly."

Quinlan nods. "Is it *all* of the stormbloods?"

Quinlan starts to swing right then back to the left, then back to the right and so forth as though she cannot make up her mind.

"So...uncertain. Do you have any *specific* people that caused you to pour wrath on this island?" asks Quinlan.

Quick swing to the left.

Maggie stiftens at that question. All of the storm blooded people? All of them? Her gaze narrows just a little as she contemplates that. But the reply is not an emphatic yes, so she lowers her hackles and listens a bit more. "Hmmm. A lot of people, no one specific, might be storm blooded... But it was a specific thing done. Or was it a specific thing they failed to do? An action not taken?"

"No specific people...but stormblooded people," Quinlan muses. "Are you angry that they have *failed* to do something?"

That's another swing to the left.

Quinlan 'whoas' a moment as he's swung. "So it's something the stormbloods have *done*, not failed to do...Where on the island did this action or actions take place?"

"The goddess may not see it as a failure so much as an active impetus not to act?" Mercier considers, "Wait... ask her if she's a God..."

Quinlan begins swinging in a circle to the left and then bouncing up and down.

Maggie leans her forehead against Merrisol's upper arm so she can think clearly. "Okay. Storm blooded who did something that angered her. But, not known specific storm blooded people. Is it something that we all just... do anyway? Something new in our behavior that was not true before?" Watching Quinlan through the trump contact is a little jaring.

Quinlan looks down. "Huh. Just to be clear - are you referring to the people I came here with? Because we came in *response* to your storming, that was already going on. I just need to be sure here."

Merrisol shakes his head slowly. "I don't know why you're dwelling on this topic," he says, aggrieved. This is not just an Antika-centric storm.. its everywhere, all of Minos, Quinlan. Why would she be surrounding all of Minos if she is angry with Antika? Why have another shell sent to another island? Think, damn it."

Another vigorous swing to the left. Either she's getting annoyed or she just wants him to be very clear.

Quinlan nods firmly. "Right! Gotcha. Not us. Okay. Then - perhaps the Commodore? He looks like this." And Quinlan provides a helpful illusory picture of Commodore Eamon, who's the only one he's met.

The storm abruptly drops Quinlan then grabs him again after a brief fall then violently swings him around and around to the left. He's definitely missing something.

Quinlan doesn't answer right away, as all this jostling is very much like riding an invisible roller coaster without a terminus and he's got to get his bearings again after every twirl. "Okay...okay. Um. Are you angry at the people, the stormbloods, for being on the islands?"

Quinlan abruptly gets shaken as if in the mouth of a giant dog for a moment and he RAPIDLY descends to the ground where the storm leaves him and resumes ignoring him. Either she doesn't like the questions, she's frustrated with him, or one of the other thousand possible reasons for ending his interrogation session.

Quinlan only acts to control his descent insofar as it will prevent injury; he's more than happy to go along with 'ground' for now. "Thanks," he calls back up to the weather. "Um. I'm willing to try again after I get my brains out of the blender, if you are. Tomorrow maybe?"