A Question of Trust

[rassafraggin]

Merrisol didn't get the artifact back from Quinlan, who argued that while he wouldn't venture out again with it, he would only hand it off to someone without a speck of Minosian blood. After some heated squabble, the shell was passed to Rabe, good ol' reliable Rabe. Merri was displeased, but to his mind there were worse options, so he went back to working on a few outstanding items, namely: 1) reoutfitting gear at the general store, especially boots and spades or shovels; 2) finding the Commodore or some municipal desk monkey to cough up a registry for Stormborn residents; and 3) help Ryika with the strategic placement of her safehouse mirrors.

Mercier stands in the now mostly barren main room of the Observatory. Collecting whatever documents, papers, and records were actually /in/ the place, he's surrounded himself with a circle of them, each pile askew and held down by a small rock or object he obtained from outside to keep them from zipping away in the inevitable breeze that occurs when people come and go. Arms crossed, he turns his body this way, then that, fingers tapping along his upper arm in some strange pattern.

Merrisol has boots, and will travel. He's in his long study coat once more, and wrapping it closer about his torso with the lengths of chain that comprise his habitual weapon. As he tromps across the main room towards the doors, he glances over at Mercier and the records, and hesitates before speaking. "What are you looking for, Templeton?"

Mercier glances up as Merrisol tromps in. There's no friendly nod of recognition, simply a tilt of his hat up, out of his eyes as an acknowledgement of the man's presence. He looks back down to the papers, trailing one document to the other, then crouching and peering at one more closely, "Patterns. Or ancillary information. Or just some of those stupid little things that come into handy later." He says shaking his head and standing up again. Taking a few gingerly steps, he steps outside of his sphere of information, and stops at a lone table, picking up a small flask where it sits and unscrewing the top, "I'm not much use otherwise, at the moment, anyway."

Ryika has been, goodness only knows where, but she at least brings coffee with her, fresh and hot in a thermal carafe when she returns. Bribery, perhaps, for the fact that of anyone, she's got the easiest means of a bit of time away from storm isolation. "Anything new?" She asks as she glances over to where Merri and Mercier, neither of whom are current Merri or Mercier, are talking. Progress!

Merrisol nods to Mercier. "I don't imagine there have been any new charts drawn for quite some time," he remarks, "Although you may find proof of the gradual escalation of storm activity observed outside Antika, dating back months. We don't know how long this whole thing's been in the works, for certain." He moves on, then stops again, spotting Ryika.. and coffee. Tempting, but the daily dependency is getting out of hand. "Not that I know of.. although Quinlan will probably attempt another flying interrogation and will need coaching on more pointed questions, I suspect. I'm going out and down to the Commodore's end of the residential area, see if I can get a database out of him to find the other stormborn on the island. Later, I hoped we could visit your mirror sites and perhaps resituate them in more secure locales."

"I don't expect to find anything, but, one never does." Mercier remarks, neutrally. Yes, they're talking, but Mercier keeps a distence in his words, at least when speaking to Merrisol. "The Storm seemed to mention a dislike of Stormbloods... dislikes have causes, I was just hoping it might be something obivious, even if it looked like country folklore. Offhand remarks that they marooned a demigod, or some such nonsense." Mercier notes, before looking to Ryika and her wonderful coffee. He motions to it, briefly, in a questioning manner.

"I am reassured to hear that Quin hasn't played pendulum in the world's most frustrating flavour of twenty questions again." Ryika pours herself one of the happily addicting coffees and passes that mug to Mercier and then pours another for herself with just a touch of a private smile. She mms softly. "Do we still think she's ancient? Pre-Sundering? Or did that theory get tossed out somewhere along the way?"

Merrisol does get that sense of distance, listening to Mercier, but it only gives him pause for a second. His own dislike of the merchant only really becomes apparent during times of stress and nervous tension, and this isn't one of those times. Otherwise it's business as usual. "Quinlan's initial sense was that she was a she, and quite old. That's what we've been working with since. Whether she's pre-Sundering.. we don't know. Knowing that would help to solidify some theories." He takes another few steps to the doors, and glances at the windows to either side. "I'd like to know what this is all about. It feels to me that she's wanting to negotiate.. or sidetrack and stall us.. because we're getting warmer with our theories and closer to her flag."

"She has control over the islands weather, and influence on some of its inhabitants. And having picked up our freeflying friend, she may have started identifying us individually. While we shouldn't toss away the idea of subterfuge, I think we have to question if she's capable of it, or would even care to use it, given her control of the situation. Why lie when she could simply rain harder? She may not even be able to bloody understand us, at all. Simply because she was reacting to the magister doesn't mean she fully understood his inquiries." Mercier muses, "Unless we can come up with a more concrete and complex method of encoding or communication with her...." Mercier glances back to the documents for a moment, stalking back to the center, "Pardon me, just thinking outloud."

"Thinking out loud is a time honoured tradition around here.. and by around here I mean in these sorts of odd scenarios that I seem to discover myself in when travelling with this motley crew." Ryika takes a lingering sip of her coffee and looks between the M's who are not currently M's. "Her communication skills do leave a little somethign to be desired, I have to admit. And why now? What's changed that now she wants to chat it out. I'm all for chatting it out, but even I'm a little suspicious."

Merrisol puts his hand on one of the doors, though he lingers still. He smirks at Ryika. Even she? Always she! "Precisely." Unlike his reaction earlier to Mercier's 'why would Stormy need to lie and cheat since she's top of the food chain?' premise, this time he's willing to offer a reply. "Any entity with the cunning and ruthless ambition to create these.. tokens.. from her own essence, then tap into the storm-born in order to systematically have the tokens distributed throughout Minos.. whether by cajoling Dirk or compelling Maggie.. offering a sense of rightness while omitting the fact that once established on an island she would proceed to trap and beat the people silly.. is capable of further acts of manipulation when sheer force won't work," he run-on sentences. "Can she make it rain harder? Perhaps, if one of the other islands had been captured, yes. But she's tried, through brute power and Dirk-whispering, to get Maggie's shell off her island, and it hasn't happened. I submit she is is /not/ in control of this situation, at this point, Templeton." And now, after all that speechifying, he is going to walk on out and see if the storm bubbles away from him, like it did for Quinlan. "I'm going to see if I can find the Commodore."

"Because we're fooling with her seashells." Mercier notes to Ryika, though not looking at her, his head bowed slightly in thought, "We're not opposing her goals... we're frustrating them." He looks up, "She attempted to communicate with us, possibly because /we/ tried to communicate with her, before, but an attempt at communication signals a belief that we are not here as her opposition. There are her goals, and our /struggles/ to understand them....." Mercier shakes his head, "We want the same things, us and her. For these storms to stop. Us, as an end goal, and her, as a result of obtaining her objective but...." He looks up, "Look, at how she tried to communicate. Dragging the magistar in the air, spinning him about like an errent top.. we've attributed something nefarious to her storm, but.... this could be the only way she /can/ exert any influence or communication at all. Her box of tools /only consists/ of destruction." He looks to Merrisol, "She has the tools she has. She may not be able to build new ones, and if all you have is a hammer and anger, we can hardly blame her for trying to tell people what she wants using a blown out building. She's not a person. She's bloody weather, and we can't go off thinking she's going to think like us."

Quinlan listens to everything with quiet attentiveness. For the moment, he's not weighing in - just listening.

"I have a lot of practice at being frustrating." Ryika notes to Mercier with a flash of a smile before she gets a bit more serious. "You do bring up a point, though.. if all you've got is a hammer, everything's a nail and all that. It's not wrong. It /is/ how she commuinates and she is weather, rather than a person. Except that weather doesnt pick out a group of people to beat the snot out of. Doesn't toss a ship like it's a bath toy.. a specific ship, not just ships in general, and doesn't provide compulsions. So she might interact as weather, but she's hardly just the jetstream interacting with a cold front here."

Rabe crawls out from wherever he's been hiding, a satchel over one shoulder. "Good.. insert-time-of-day-here," he says dryly. "Really can't tell with this storm."

Merrisol apparently has a huge well of nevergiveuppedness to draw from, as he pulls up his hood and strikes out into the storm, heading down the sloped path towards the habitations further down the hill.

Quinlan coughs quietly. "Um. I'd like to throw in here that we don't yet have the data to make a determination. I can probably go out and play twenty questions with the goddess again. We don't *have* to believe her. We don't *have* to accept her position. But learning what her position *is*, what her reasoning *is*, will probably make determining our own course of action in response an easier task."

When Merrisol walks out of the observatory, one thing is immediately obvious since the position of the observatory gives him a good view of the harbor despite the storm. There are no longer any ships floating in the harbor.

Merrisol notices this shortly and staggers to a halt, heart plunging out the bottom of his ribs in helpless shock. He swipes a hand across his eyes and looks again. Then he turns back and re-enters the observatory with a bang to approach the telescope facing the harbour. "The ships, the stormcraft ships.. they're gone," he growls, and tries to get the viewfinder to bring up the bay, scanning the waters and also the channel leading out to open sea.

Rabe glances over at Merrisol as he comes back in. "What?!" he exclaims, moving over to the door to confirm the sighting. Once it's clear that the ships are indeed gone, he comes back in. "I'm assuming that's not supposed to happen?"

"Do you think playing more twenty questions will help? I mean more information would be awesome, but it seemed like her answers were getting fairly random and hard to interpret." Ryika asks as she gestures Rabe vaguely towards the coffee carafe, if he's interested. "Its fresh, I just brought it back from Amber not that long ago." There's a pause as Merri returns in a rush and she blinks at him. "What do you mean.. gone? Poof? Gone? Sunk?"

Quinlan frowns. "Well, in part I suspect my questions weren't that good. I was kind of getting dizzy," he admits. "Are the ships *sunk*, or have they *left*?" he asks. "Because if she cut the locals some slack any captain with sense would've taken his ship out of range of Antika at the first opportunity."

Luckily, the ship Merrisol and company originally sheltered on was equipped with a storm orb so seeing it through the storm encompassing Antika is possible. It appears to be sailing around the near side of the island, toward Cameron. None of the other ships are in view or they just don't have storm orbs.

Merrisol reports this to the others in a flabbergasted tone. "She let them go.. I can see the Storm Faerie on the outside of the cordon, bound for Cameron."

"Well, that's better than people being dead!" Rabe says cheerfully. "Oh, hey, coffee..." he says, wandering in that direction.

"Gesture of good faith?" Ryika offers a touch skeptically. "Change of heart? Or the good twin just took over the storm goddess body."

Mercier blinks, "The ship's are gone..." The merchant frowns in thought, "Someone please correct my ignorance. What's the reason they call it stormblood, or stormsails or stormships? Is it a colorful moniker, or is there more behind it?"

"I'm not much help in correcting ignorance on that point, Templeton." Ryika comments as they puzzle through the whole ship thing. "It's not just a colourful moniker. There's a connection to storms, it's part of their blood.. hence the name. Generally they are unaffected by storms, the storm sails.. I think.. harness some of the power of storms and can toss them back. There's more behind it."

Merrisol steps back from the eyepiece so others can have a turn watching the empty harbour.

Mercier hrms, "Eh, just thinking. If they have storm in their blood, and this is the only storm that seems to phase them, maybe its the same bloody storm?" Mercier says, with a shrug. Who was he to understand the logic of these places.

"The usual assumption is that the storm goddess that the storm blooded are descended from loves them enough to shield them somewhat. Rilga, if I'm remembering her name correctly." Ryika muses thoughtfully. "Which we've been working on the asusmption that this storm isn't her.. but perhaps we're got it backwards. We're still at the stage of throwing theories at the wall and hoping something sticks. So far nothing seems to for any length of time."

Merrisol looks thoughtful. "Maybe she overheard what I said about her trapping the ships.. or knows that I promised Captain Stormheart we would solve the issue before his ship was sunk." Now that the Storm Faerie has limped to freedom, does that release him from the obligation to stay? "Good faith or not, she must want something in return."

Mercier frowns, "If she does, we're still under the problem of not knowing what she wants, aside from moving about that shell." He looks to Ryika, "Not to be blasphamous, but, what evidence did we have that this storm goddess and that storm goddess are not the same? Or, siblings, or something?"

Quinlan nods. "It's possible she simply became aware that punishing the people of Antika wasn't going to get her what she wants. Whatever that ultimately is."

"We have no evidence. There's no golden fish here." Ryika answers Mercier simply enough. "Any single one of our theories could be utterly and completely on crack and well deserving of being asked 'wtf are you thinking?'.. So nope. We made that guess based on the fact that she's been actively attacking the stormblooded, but now that she's stopped? It starts to throw that theory out with all the rest of them."

Merrisol says, "There doesn't have to be something other than leaving the one shell where it is, and putting the other shell on another island. There can be no doubt that is what she wants."

Mercier just kinda looks at Ryika, as she starts using... strange phrases, "As in, on some kind of precipice...." He shakes his head, "I'mm... not quite sure what you mean, but... as I said. All she has is her destructive tool. It could be right, she simply could understand that an attack on the island will not accomplish her objective/"

"There is no doubt that she wishes the other shell on that other island. And the shell that's here, to be here." Ryika nods to Merrisol. "I'm not sure we've got new questions to ask, or if she'd even answer if we did, but its starting to feel like we're out of random theories to throw about without some sort of new hard evidence, or doing something." She pushes herself to her feet. "Perhaps I'll go down to the cantina. There's likely to still be arak there, no one but me and captain dark likes it."

Quinlan nods. "My own question is - what hard evidence do we need to decide either way what needs to be done?"

Merrisol says, "I'd like to get down to the Cantina as well, Ryika, so I can talk to the Captains. I saw so many shipwrecks on my way in, I had assumed a great many sailors had perished. But if it turns out they are alive and well in the city shelters, then." He shrugs. "I'll have a lot less to hold against the lady."

Quinlan nods. "There's a plan then." He waves to the two of them. "Go! Do that! It's good information and it'll stop us all dying of overspeculation." He grins. "This is why you HAVE ADVENTURES, guys. It's adventuring - DOING - that turns questions into answers. So go do!"

"Well then. Trump me in a few. I'm going for a drink." Ryika comments as she heads for a mirror to head down to the city proper without getting irretrivably wet, or at least not crazyily so. Her mirror down there isn't right in the Cantina, but isn't so very far away and she steps into the mirror without a second thought.

Merrisol waits by the window, taking out his trump for Ryika. He tries her shortly and ends up at the Cantina. He starts striking up conversations with the mariners to find out if crew managed to make it ashore before their ships went down.

Quinlan remains behind at the observatory. He's got his own work to do.

Ruby stumbles inside the Cantina from the outside world, storm-lashed and soggy. She shoulders the door open just enough to allow her to duck inside before using her heel to close it. She sputters something unintelligent and moves further inside the establishment, looking for familiar faces. Upon seeing some, she wanders up to Ryika. Her expression is grim, and it's a popular one she wears, though this one has a harder edge.

Ryika looks up as Ruby arrives at the table. Merrisol off being social. She lifts a bottle of alhambran booze towards the woman. "Can I pour you a drink?"

Most of the captains in the Harbor cantina have some crew who made it ashore but none of them had their entire crew survive because someone was left aboard to try and save the ship.

Ruby turns her glance to the bottle and her eyes gobble it up for moment. She makes a sucking noise with her tongue and teeth and shakes her head. "Nah. But you can help me get that bloody shell." she grins, but it isn't the friendly sort. Ruby starts to nod slowly, as if this could somehow subliminally start everyone to start agreeing with whatever escapes her yap.

Ryika pauses only a moment at Ruby's words and then Ryika takes another generous drink of her glass. "Which one?" She asks, not quite as irrelevant a question as it might initially seem.

Mercier rubs one side of his face, before accompaniing teh rest of the band down to the Cantana. Arriving, he does give Ruby a quizzical look, considering her grim expression.

Merrisol takes an extra moment to learn the names of the Captain's ships, to compare them against the harbormaster's logbook. He tells those at Ryika's table he's going to take a walk to the dig site just to see what a few days of being out in the weather have done to their original efforts. He doesn't get too close to the fallen tree, just examines the site in general.

Ruby raises her arm and jerks a firm finger in the general direction of the Observatory. What she thinks is the general direction at least. "The one we got a thumb on." she snarls. "The one we have wrapped in swaddlin clothes of hocus-pocus like a wee baby needin a tit." Her raised hand curls into a fist and squeezes. "It's no use to /us/. But it's use to something else. Start thinkin like that big monstah in the sky. She don't want to talk...Oooo, aye, that's fine. I bet things turn right around and we be sitting at the same table if you give me slack." She clacks her teeth together like a trap snapping on the hindleg of a rabbit.

Time has washed a great deal of dirt down into the hole they dug.

"For the moment, the shell isn't in his hands, nor any of the stormblooded we've got with us, and thats a prudent decision." Mercier notes to Ruby, cocking his head a bit, "Do you have a plan? We're hitting a bit of a wall up there."

"Well, as much as this answer is likely to have the almighty snot beaten out of me in a moment. Sorry, but nope. I'm not willing to pass it off to one of the stormborn who a particularly pissed off goddess has a fondness for compelling. Good, bad, otherwise, getting mind controlled by a pissed off goddess is just not cool." Ryika looks up at Ruby. "So while tempting to stir things up, and see what happens.. I dont think its a good plan." She nods as Mercier says the same thing, far more succinctly.

Merrisol trumps Quinlan to update him on the state of the land. "I'm not sure it's still even in there, or has been moved by an obliging Storm-blood. You were able to sense it down there before though, I recall? Would you do so again?"

"Pru-dent. Pru-dent? You've got no plans...I've got a plan." Ruby laughs and places her hands on her chest, eyelids fluttering to Ryika and Mercier. "I am not going to keep it. No, I'm afraid you're mistaken. You will not pass shite off to me, you can deliver it to my feet and I'll do the rest." she makes little hand puppet gestures with her hands, "This. That ain't done shite. Think. Or don't, actually. You've talked. Talked at an angry cloud. Talked with each other. You tell me you've got one clue that you can follow and I'll gladly help...or not since apparently me blood is like second-hand undies. Don't mattah, we ain't relations or have strong ties yet...but this sitting on arses is /not working/ and you've got nothing to go on. I've got an urge...and it'll tell you more even if it /doesn't/ work."

"Actually, doing so now, Merri," says Quinlan dryly, from somewhere...actually quite dark. Possibly even underground. "Mind you, all I can get from here is that it's there."

Mercier furrows his brow at Ruby as she mentions urges and action, and tilts his hat up a bit to look at the woman closely, "So you've got an urge. What've you got an urge to do? As much as I prefer action to inaction, sometimes, one has to wait for the circumstances themsevels to change and make your plans more palatable."

"And when Dirk had a similar plan, it started it all. So forgive me if I'm willing to be a boring pain in the arse, and potential punching bag." Ryika notes to Ruby. "I don't think you're going to keep it at all. That's perhaps the problem, all things considered." She pushes herself up to her feet, bringing her drink with her. "Nope, I don't have a plan. I'm generally just the transport."

Merrisol is too perplexed for a moment to remind Quinlan to call him Lirre. Not that that matters, wherever that foxhole may be. "Alright.." he says slowly. "Be careful. Do you think you're going to want that whack-a-mole deployed, at some point?"

"If you think you can get your hands on the second stone without setting off the mother of all pissed-off-storms, you have my blessing to proceed," says Quinlan cheerfully. "For my part I've asked all the questions I can think to. So it's time to start the experimentation phase, step one of which is 'what happens when I get my hands on that rock?'"

Merrisol says, "I'm referring to the one we have, in Ryika's hands. She could go get it from Rabe."

Ruby heaves a sigh and looks a Mercier flatly. "I'm going to do what usually finishes things, one way or another. It's time to barter the thing up. Either the storm backs off...starts to talk...or finds out how far I'm willing to take things. I'm going to smash and burn the damn thing to dust. How's that grab your garters?" she turns to eye Ryika and the large amazon nods curtly. "This is a chance to actually put a wind up it's skirt, Ryika. Be more than transport. I'll be the big bitch takin the risk. It gonna go after you? Naw. I'm not taking the piss here. I'm ready to /do/ something that will makes something happen. We're sailin in a circle."

"Thats answering destruction with destruction... not a bad idea, in the scheme of things, but she's tried to communicate with us. She's trying to make us understand, for better or worse.... smashing the bloody thing seems.... cruel, and laden with misunderstanding." Mercier responds, "If she starts beating us about like a mistreated horse, yes... but I would prefer to focus on refining our communication."

Ruby glowers and hinges her jaw left and right. "You're a proper bloke. A gent-ill sort. Mistah Templeton." she stresses the name. "So you gotta pardon me puckered lips." she steps closer, looming a tad. "Gods don't give a /shite/. Truth." And her lips do indeed pucker with the T word. "Gods'r cruel, they ain't refined. They respond like a bloody shark. Power...threat...fuck'n...and blood. It's a pred. Let's...punch it in the fook'n eye. It doesn't /respect/ you."

Quinlan nods slowly. "You want to start that game right now, then?"

Merrisol considers. "I suppose it won't be very effective anymore, since Stormy doesn't appear interested in blowing at the location it is in, anymore. So carry on what it is you're doing, so far so good."

"I've lodged my complaint to the action. Whether or not she respects us is one thing, but her reaction to our work is something else entirely. If she sees the destruction as a threat, we move from confounding her intereasts to opposing them, and the storms may very well increase, hindering our other efforts. I'm in no position to stop you, however." Mercier notes, with a bit of a shrug, "And there is a benefit to expirimentation. Do what you will, and we'll see what mess that leaves."

Quinlan nods. "At the moment, mindless physical activity as an aide to thinking. I don't do sitting still very well."

Merrisol nods back. Yup. "It didn't do any of us any good, Quinlan, although my thoughts on the matter haven't changed. I hope you succeed."

Ruby nods slowly and squints. "See...I can sense the fear. It's burbling and whatnot. That's what it sees, and you can call me Russel if it isn't so." she steps back to allow more private space, not intruding so much. "Ever since I got a hint of what's going on here...there's never been a thought to con-founding. The way my darlin peepers see it...It's /killin/ people and ships. You con-found murderers, aye? Nah...Nah, ya don't, do ya?" She half-turns and sets her sights on the door. She even appears to deflate a little, if such is possible. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

"I dislike murderers, yes." Mercier says, sternly. Merrisol gets a slight look at this pronouncement, before he returns to Ruby, "Given context." He finishes, "But we have no indication that destorying the shell will do us any better then leaving it be. Bold action has its reward, but don't assume what you'll do will be our successful. Whatever you plan, be on it then." Mercier notes, to the departing woman, "We'll have to be with you either way."

* * * * * * * * * *

It is not a sunny balcony. It's not a balcony. Or sunny. There is, however, coffee and just outside the observatory, it's not actively raining. (unless it is again). Still a momentary pause from soaking gloom to just be damp gloom is sufficient for celebration to 'enjoy' coffee just outside the observatory, watching the sky, the world and generally loitering.

Merrisol loiters determinedly outside with a brooding cup of coffee, which he sips, intently. It's definitely not enjoyment, but then, he would rather be seen here than draw any focus to the interior where an impromtu cellar has been excavated through the floor. He is going over the harbormaster's logbook, noting the comings and goings of ship names that did or did not make it out of the harbour before the storm hit, going by the reports of Captains in the Cantina.

"Is that actually providing any new insight, or are you hoping that if you stare at it long enough, the magic picture behind the names and words will appear?" Ryika asks as she comes up to stand by Merrisol's elbow where his coffee is brooding. "I can provide more arak if you want a bit of help in seeing things that aren't there."

From Merrisol's notes, he can tell that some 150 ships were likely anchored in port when the storm closed in around Antika. From what he saw when he arrived only around 20 were still afloat when he finally arrived at the Storm Faerie, but it is entirely possible that all 20 of those escaped when the Storm Faerie did.

"Can't say I've ever tried Arak in coffee.. but then, in my experience most coffee /is/ Alhambran, so the two must compliment one another." Merrisol comments and offers his cup to test the theory before returning his attention to the book. "This is giving me a clearer sense of the harbour under the waves. As it turns out a great many of the ships' crews made it to shore, although a portion from each ship stayed behind to try to keep them floating and consequently went down with them. But it does mean the bay and channel are not so much of a biohazard graveyard as I feared."

A flask is extracted from a pocket and Merrisol's coffee gains a healthy dollop. "Breakfast of champions." Ryika mutters softly, adding some to her own and then looking over his shoulder.. elbow.. to peer at the book she knows well. "I was thinking of going for a swim. See what's down there while the weather is, comparatively, mild."

"You will find the force of the storm reaches far lower than expected. But once you go deep enough, there's no difficulty. Those parameters may have changed since the conditions changed to allow the Storm Faerie her escape. Her and 19 other ships lucky enough to have some manner of stormcraft." Merrisol tries the coffee now and makes like a dog with peanut butter on the roof of its mouth while he assimilates the enhanced texture. "...Also, it may be she selectively chooses who gets a hard time in the water. Especially with your wave control, you are likely as not to have no problem diving in."

"She seems to generally pretty much ignore me. To the best of my knowledge, I have absolutely no connection with Minos whatsoever." Ryika nods at the mention of selective hard time. "I mean, I can't precisely /ask/ my mother, but I've filled in those pieces fairly well, and Minos wasn't there. So I might have a bit more luck than you did. You said you needed a suit basically right away? I might try without just to put a toe in the water, so to speak, and go get one if I need to later. I'm not expecting to find anything, honestly, but it feels a bit more proactive than sitting around the observatory waiting for Ruby to attack Rabe for the shell, if she hasn't already."

Merrisol frowns. "Ruby's after the shell? She must be.. 'under the influence'." He shakes his head. "I'll find her.. and talk to her. If she goes after Rabe they'll all be in danger. Better warn them." The logbook slips shut and tucks under his arm. "As for the water, I didn't need a suit, I simply held my breath and didn't wander too deep. It was probably safe enough, back then.. but I didn't know at the time."

"I think it's more bored frustration than unthinking influence." Ryika comments with a touch of a shrug and then a nod. "Right, so I should be fine to at least confirm that I'll be fine. I'm going to go for a swim. If something exciting happens, you know how to find me."

Merri finishes his coffee and nods. "Can you find me, Ryika? I mean.. do you still have Maggie's trump of me? Not like you can take a mirror with you and there should be a way everyone keeps in touch." He picks up some of the outdoor coffee service to bring them back inside.

"I do." Ryika nods at the question. "She said I could keep it, at the very least for the length of this particular extravaganza, if you're alright with that."

Rabe comes up from the cellar at this point, running a hand through hair that is sticking up all over the place. "Mo...rning?" he ventures caregully.

"Of course," Merri smiles down at her, opening the door. "I'm certain it's yours for good, if /you're/ alright with that. It's a trump well-earned." His gaze turns to the interior as Rabe emerges. "Ah.. more or less. Close enough," he nods, looking the Custos over carefully.

"I dare say if anything, this particular endeavour has rather proven how much I've accepted that irritating little poke in the back of my head, oh papa dear." Ryika quips at Merrisol with a twist of a rueful smile. She lifts her 'special' coffee in Rabe's direction. "Morning enough. Has Ruby hunted you down yet?"

Rabe tilts his head curiously. "Hunted me down?" he asks, confused. "Is this about the shell?" he asks as he beelines for a safe seat. "But no, she hasn't.."

Merrisol leaves that explanation to Ryika, not having all the information evidently, and comes indoors to wait and listen. He opens his trump tin to withdraw a card. "While on the topic of the shell, I'd like to speak with you and Quinlan. I'm going to ask again that you give the shell back to me for a time."

"Yes, and yes." Ryika answers simply enough. "Ruby wanted to get that shell, to see what would happen. She wanted me to ask, I declined. I half expected to get smacked into next week, but instead I just walked out. She's bored and frustrated with talking rather than action. I can't say as I blame her, exactly. I feel much the same. So if we dont want to see what the goddess' current plan for the storm blooded with the shell is, keep that in mind. On that note, I'm going for a swim." She heads in to drop off her coffee cup before heading towards just exactly that. A swim. A dive really.

Rabe nods to Ryika, glancing back to Merrisol. "It is entirely down to Quinlan. He has given me the shell and told me to keep it safe, I will do so until I am told otherwise."

Merrisol nods, having expected that sort of response. "Understood. But I have my own reasons to present once Quinlan is around to hear them." He glances at Ryika as she heads off, but has already said all he needs to about that.
Rabe nods slightly to Merrisol again. "Yes, of course. I have no issue with that."

It's a glorious day for a swim and a dive. Ryika clearly doesn't find the water or the weather too onerous for her exploration of the harbour as she's out there for a healthy chunk of time. She comes back up a few times, mostly to fetch a few sacks, and then to bring them back up once they've acquired /stuff/, setting them on the dry (ish) land to wait for her to finish.

Merrisol of course tries for Quinlan by trump, because he has become trump-dependent, and some day Ryika will too, just wait! He shakes his head after a while and busies himself checking on the trapped fleet's position outside the Minos storm wall, finding and counting their storm orbs. He checks on the harbour through another scope and spies activity near the quay, but can't quite make out what the loot bags are about.

Presents! Didn't anyone ever mention that Santa is actually a tiny green woman? Eventually there's enough bags that Ryika struggles to bring them with her as she emerges from the water and drips her way out of easy view of the observatory. It's only a moment or two before a damp and sack loaded Ryika emerges to drip on the observatory floor. "I figured I'd at least pretend I was being social while sorting out which stuff goes with which ship."

Rabe looks up from the floor, where he's been staring for a little while. "Presents?" he asks, looking rather pleased, grinning.

Merrisol offers to help, although if she didn't label the finds there might not be much he can do. "How was swimming?"

"Swimming was surprisingly good. Basically no storm action, a fair bit of debris, which is unsurprising. I tried to keep each ship to its own sack, but I'm sure I've got unhelpful crap in with the stuff. Presents are not for us, Rabe, but ideally to return to their captains and crew." Ryika explains as she settles with her loot bags. "Although there were a few ships that I found that .." She gets to her feet again, to reclaim the log book from where Merrisol's got it and double check her memory.

Merrisol repeats, "No storm action.. oh. Under the waves. That's interesting. And this is a kind gesture, Ryika." He looks into each bag to get a sense of what she figured was of importance to the ship-less Captains and their crews. "A few ships that which..?" he prompts after Ryika has had time to look over the entries.

"There were ships down there that aren't here." Ryika gestures with the log book back at Merrisol. "Ones that didn't look any older than the others, but there's no mention of Trego, or the Julyan or the Saresyn. I know I saw all of those down there."

Merrisol listens and nods. "Those might not have had a chance to put in at a berth yet.. there were likely around 150 ships occupying the harbour at the time, including the 20 that survived the storm. The folks at the Cantina would likely know if there are crew from those ships in the shelters."

"Probably exactly that, Lirre." Ryika nods and closes the book. "So, there's a few that we haven't recognized, and while Captain Dark was the last into port, not the last into the harbour, more than likely. That being said, I didn't find anything that lept out as being artifacty, but I also have no means of telling a trinket from an artifact. I doubt there's anything, but it would be nice to at least give them some of their stuff back. I figured I'd take it down to the Cantina tonight."

Merrisol smiles at her. "Good. Y'know.. the storm hasn't always given you a miss, but a lot of those times you were with one or all of the rest of us. Do you recall for certain that she's always let you be, when you were traveling alone?"

"I mean.. when it was storming over the entire island, I didn't stay dry." Ryika points out with a touch of a smirk. "But to the best I've noticed, that's about all the mind she pays to me. I don't get rained on, or wind swept or anything else any more than a window box or a bench left outside."

Merri points out, "I only got rained and winded for the most part until she gut-punched me outside the Cantina when I tried to address her directly. And, of course, at the digsite she was generally unhappy with me, and then really pissed off when I had the shell. I don't know if it's because you're a complete other to Minos, or if you've just stayed off her short list all this time," he ponders. "That might change if we give you the shell to hold and taunt her with all the back and forth. Perhaps you are better off as a bench," he smirks.

Ryika laughs softly. "Well its true, I havne't poked her with a sharp pokey annoying stick.. which is likely why she's largely ignored me. I've had the shell, but I was on a ship at the time, so she couldnt get ot me directly and I havent touched it since. I'm no help digging, and generally I'm doing something else when folks get an urge to have a tete a tete with her. So it's not all that surprising, I suppose. Still, it does make distributing stuff easier."

Merrisol nods. "Well we'll see if we can rearrange things to keep your current status.. no pun intended. I'll be trying to get everyone organized and moving on the modified plan this afternoon.. If you're still in the Cantina or shelters at the time I'll trump you before we begin."

"I don't mind taking my share of goddess ire, it only seems fair to spread the love around, so to speak." Ryika notes as she gathers up the tokenly sorted stuff. "Let me know when you need me. I wish you luck in the cat herding."

Merrisol nods pensively, then looks wary. "..Wait, what. Is Dirk back, then?"

Ryika laughs as she stands. "Not to my knowledge, which should make the herding ever so slightly less random. Certainly fewer penguins."

Merrisol gives that some thought. "Oh... right, yes." Cat-herding. Heh. He helps her get the sacks over to the mirror, then goes to wait for Quinlan to come back out of his foxhole.



Merrisol has already spoken to Rabe about wanting to be given the shell again, and of course nothing of the sort happens until he speaks to Quinlan as well. A bunch of time passes, which gives Merri time to think, and by the time the mage re-emerges from the surprise cellar, he admits, "Hey Quinlan, as I told your Custos, I'd like you to reconsider letting me hold the shell again... but I think I've changed my mind. I thought it would be dangerous for you two to be taking it with you down there, if you were trying for secrecy. And I heard Ruby is on the warpath for the shell and might hunt you down and give your position away." He frowns uncertainly. "But now I'm thinking.. Stormy has no line on the shell, when a non-Minosian is holding it. What do you think?"

While Maggie has spent most of her time up in the observatory making use of the various telescopes, she did finally venture out into the rain for a walk about the near parts of the island. Her aim was not to find the others, though she did leave Merrisol a note in the office they claimed explaining that she would be back. Her jaunt took her down the hill, then around to the opposite side of the hill from the cantina. From there, she walked toward the shore, then around and back up the hill again. Having long since gotten used to the drowned rat look, she only wipes her face off when she enters the observatory once more. Nodding a greeting to those within, she does seek Merrisol for a longer look and a faint smile.

Quinlan smiles. "I think she's got a basic idea where the shell is regardless of who's holding it," he says. "It is *of her*. But I also think she's got a harder time influencing people who have no Minosan blood. I find the fact that the people that are asking for it to *have* Minosan blood to be indicative, don't you?"

For his part, Quinlan looks rather neat and clean and in most people that might mean recently bathed. But mages can be strange creatures.

Merrisol smiles rather tersely at Quinlan. "This Minosian /gave/ it to you freely, if you'll recall." He pauses, glancing over as he sees Maggie. He smiles at her quickly, inclining his head to beckon her closer, then looks back at Quinlan. "There was a foreign thought in my head at the time, that when I realized it ran contrary to my own real sensibilities, disturbed me so much I gave it to you in haste, Quin. But there was no sense of being forced to do anything. That's neither here nor there now, but it's something you should keep in mind." He turns and gestures to a nearby workspace on the floor. "Here... something that might inspire you with the lady in the sky should she ever deign to speak with you again..."
He has started a list on the back of an old weather chart, questions Quinlan could bring to said madwoman:

1) Are you a God(dess)? (Templeton's)
2) Did you exist before The Sundering of Minos?
3) Did Storm-bloods exist before The Sundering?
4) Were Storm-bloods created by T.S.?
5) Did S.B.s CAUSE T.S.?

Maggie walks closer at Merrisol's gesture. She looks over at the list he has begun compiling and frowns slowly, "I really hope that the answer to five is no. But... Well, I suppose we shall see. Perhaps it was something more recent, though." Narrowing her eyes, she looks up suddenly, her eyes no longer focusing on the paper, "I... Wonder if Remi's involved in some way. Eh. Maybe not. I am not even certain he has the same heritage that I do. But. Probably." Shaking her head then, she looks back at the list, "It will be interesting to get the answers to those questions, that is certain." Another pause that stretches to silence.

Quinlan looks the list over. "...So we're really sure that current events tie back to the Sundering and it's mainly a matter of figuring out how?"

Merrisol looks up from the list. "You said yourself she's really old. And, the island or islands giving shells are off in Shadow somewhere, not Minos. That sounds like Sundering jazz, yes?"

Merrisol then crouches and picks up the marker to jot more questions. "If you're heading up there, one of us will trump you and coach you, if you want."

Quinlan smiles a bit. "I'll go," he says. "Give me a call on the cards once I'm up there okay?" he says, and heads for the door.

Maggie says, "I'd go if I could fly. Good luck, Quin." Kneeling next to the list, she reaches for her pouch. Teasing the wet thong open, she fishes out the slim, but growing deck. thumbing through until she finds Quinlan's card, she slips the rest back into the pouch. Ready."

Quinlan steps out, and finding no immediate response, flies up into the air over the observatory. "Halloo? I don't suppose you'd still care to chat?"

When Quinlan begins flying up from the ground, the winds immediately grab him and yank him back to where he was the last time.

Merrisol looks up at Maggie again, checking out her soggy attire as she squelches down beside him. "Did you get any pointed attention while you were out? She's left our little headquarters alone, and set the remaining ships free. And Ryika tells me she was able to swim the harbour with no harassment." He leans over and writes a sexth question.. err.. sixth. SIXTH! And then a seventh and eighth.

6) Are you alone? (Are there other gods like you?)
7) Are there more shells? (Are there shells for every island in Minos?)
8) Are you trying to FIX Minos?

Quinlan lets go of his own spell once the storm scoops him up. "Okay!" he says, trying to sound cheerful as well as surprised. "Um. We've had time to come up with more questions. So hopefully...well, hopefully we can get to the root of things." He takes out a little notecard. "Obvious things first, I hope you don't mind. Are you a deity?"

Quinlan immediately spins to the right and keeps going for several annoyed circles.

"Yes, yes got it!" yelps Quinlan. "Please don't make the messenger lose his lunch here, I've no idea who it'd land on. Um. Did you exist before the Sundering of Minos?"

Another swing to the right but she graciously makes it only a little swing.

Quinlan exhales in relief. "Thank you for playing gently," he says. "Yes. Got it. Um. Did the storm-bloods exist before the sundering?"

Merrisol is nudged up against Maggie's hip, when the trump call is established, so he lurches a little when the acrobatics begin. With a shake of his head, he steadies and concentrates on sorting his dual-localities and writing beside 1) YES! and 2) Yes.

Another swing to the right. Racking up the yes answers here.

Maggie looks up at Merrisol, smiling just a little. Her soggy attire does not really bother her. "Not really. No. No increased attention, no extra winds, no torrential downpours. So, if she was mad at me specifically, she did not say." Looking down as he writes, she nods, "I was just wondering about number 8. It would make sense that she might be planning on pulling the land together again. Though devistating to those living there. If the answer to that one is yes, I wonder if having the land together is ..." She hushes once Quin answers to keep from distracting him.

Merrisol says absently, "Quinlan, that means you don't have to ask whether the Sundering created them. Or you might get a shaking."

Quinlan nods. "Yes," he says. "...Um. Did the storm-bloods *cause* the sundering?"

Quinlan slowly swings back and forth several times as though she either does not know or cannot make up her mind.

Merrisol writes 3) Yes, and crosses out 4) as irrelevant. After he frowns and writes, 5) Doesn't Know, he reads off the additional questions to Quinlan.

Quinlan huhs. "Inconclusive or unknown," he says. "Okay. Um. Are you alone?"

Maggie leans a bit against Merrisol, though not overtly. "Huh. Maybe. Maybe not. Okay." Waiting for Merrisol to read the questions to Quinlan, she adds, "Did the Storm Blooded contribute to the Sundering?"

Quinlan wobbles then drops very slightly before being grabbed again.

"I mean, are you the only goddess like you," Quinlan clarifies - or at least, tries to clarify.

Merrisol hisses, "Specify, Quinlan. Are there others like her?"

Quinlan gets another set of violent swings to the right, probably for the presumption that there might be someone else like her.

Merrisol nods, "All right, noted." And he writes Maggie's addendum to the IDK question in as 9).

Maggie sighs, "Ask this, please. Are there other gods or goddesses in Minos that you are aware of."

Quinlan "Right, right!" yelps Quinlan. "But are there other gods or goddesses in Minos?"

A tiny swing to the right dignifies that question.

"Yes. Huh," muses Quinlan. "Um. Are there more shells than just the two we know of?"

The winds drop Quinlan. He falls several feet before she catches him again.

Merrisol frowns at the latest question..

9) RE: The Sundering, did the Storm-bloods contribute to The Sundering.

Then writes:

10) Did the Storm-bloods HIDE the broken shards of Minos?

This one he reads aloud to Quinlan quickly.

Quinlan yelps momentarily as he's dropped. "Okay, okay!" he calls. "Last one for tonight then. Are you trying to fix Minos?"

Quinlan gets a tiny swing to the left before he is thrown toward the ground in what must be a fit of anger or disgust.

Quinlan quickly enacts his own spells to avoid hitting the ground at very literal breakneck speed. "Yeah, I know. We're stupid monkeys. But we're trying." He gives the storm a wave and descends. "Thanks for listening."

Merrisol narrows his eyes reflexively as Quinlan plunges, then breathes out a sigh as the mage gets himself sorted out. He chews his bottom lip and leans over to write in the rest of the responses. 6) Touchy-touchy.. Yes (Yes, other god(desse)s); 7) Does Not Like This Q; 8) NO. He sits back, and reluctantly gets to his feet while stepping back from Maggie, and turns to the door, waiting for Quinlan's return. "...Huh. So.. no to the drawing islands together. That's good at least, right?" Then again it was such a tiny left swing.

When Quinlan is sent tumbling, Maggie lifts a hand. It isn't that she does not trust her cousin's magic, it is just... Well... That is how she is. She can't hold him up, so she will offer an escape. "We know that she is not trying to fix Minos. I guess we can presume that means she isn't trying to draw the islands together. Which is good for the people living on them. But... I don't know. Her answer still leaves me feeling uneasy."

Quinlan wastes no time getting back *inside* thank you once he touches down. And then finds a seat on the ground. Nice, nonmoving ground. If it's spinning it's only in his head. "She can be *really* emphatic. But I found your phrasing a bit misleading. After all, you could say *we* are trying to 'fix' Minos. It's all in the perspective." A few quiet, deep breaths. "Oh that's much better. Flying, I enjoy. Turbulence, not really so much. So now you have more than you did, at least. She didn't want to admit there are other deities in Minos."

Merrisol nods, capping the marker before wagging it around. Unlike Maggie, he's not in the habit of unintentionally drawing on his own face. "And that last answer was a qualified denial, if ever there was one."

Maggie is, sadly. It comes from being either very absorbed in what she is doing or markedly careless with her own skin. Judging by her currenly soaked condition, it... could be either. "I... can't tell if she was reluctant to admit it, Quin, or we asked the questions in such a way as to leave the interpretation ambiguous. I suggest that we are more careful with that in the future."

Quinlan looks wry. "I'm just playing messenger in this case because I really don't know what to ask, but I can ask without putting myself in any real danger of more than a round of nausea. We've probably got another day to think up carefully phrased questions. And we've got something, at least, to go on. So I'd call the session productive on the whole."

Merrisol nods, pensive. "She didn't want to answer the question about the shells. That says to me there are, or will be, more." He leaves the list lying there, and lays down an empty sheet beside it, along with the marker, so people can write down more questions as they think of them. They will be filtered onto the official list before the next Spin The Quin exercise.

Maggie shifts a little on the floor, then frowns, "Ugh. Right. And more shells means more storm blooded bringing them in to put them on the islands. Which makes me wonder if that is already happening. Which could be why she is talking to us. It could be a delaying tactic while some other unsuspecting person walks the shell to one of the other islands." Drawing in a breath, she adds, "Quin, would you mind sending the water on me and the water that I have dripped onto the floor outside, please? I don't want to soak our lists."

Quinlan smiles a bit. "I'll just evaporate it. Quicker, less runny." He murmurs a spell, and while it's not as pleasant as being caught in a warm wind, she does end up dry.

Merrisol is gazing down at the list of questions with the responses marked beside. He glances over as the magic speeds up the drying process on Maggie, which is fascinating to observe. "Thank you for putting yourself out there, Quinlan," he adds. "I'm glad you came here to help. How.. ah.. goes it in the mines?" he inquires, trying to be discrete even though there is a nice obvious cellar hole there in the floor nearby.

Quinlan shrugs. "Another day or so and I'll have *probably* repaid the commodore for the damage I've done to his possessions in the course of this adventure," he says.

Maggie's clothing stops clinging as the water is dried. Her hair re-curls into tighter and tighter whorls that threaten to become corkscrews of flame-colored hair but don't quite live up to the Shirley Temple promise. They poof into frizzles instead, which are no where near as appealing. Her expression turns wry, but smooths out after a moment or two, "If you need help, don't hesitate, Quin. I did say that I would, you know." Leaning back, she rests her upper body on her hands, arms extended behind her. "It isn't fair that you bear the entire burdon."

Merrisol hms, impressed by Quinlan's code-speak. "Try to gear our next batch of queries somehow towards seeing just how vital it is to find that motherlode. Maybe the Commodore will be okay with the changes. And she has apparently dialed back her own destruction. There are still people dead from all this, though not from as much wholesale malice as I previously thought." He glances between the two cousins. "Can you do that power battery thing that Brand did when he was breaking the wards on the Kelpie's cage?"

Quinlan laughs quietly. "That's where I'm *not* bearing the entire load, you see," he says. "I ran out of questions the first day. It's the whole yes-no format, it really pretty much completely throws me. I'm just asking what the rest of you decide needs to be known." He tilts his head. "And I don't think I was there for that. What power-battery thing?"

Maggie lets the two speak code. She mimics Merrisol's glance between her and Quinlan only with Quinlan and Merrisol. Focusing on Quinlan, she nods, "You were there, Quin. Just... under cover, sort of." Slowly, she rises, hair sproinging as she moves, "I can break wards. What we did was just let our power flow into him. I think I can do that, but have not tried. Quin? Do you want me to loan you my power next time you talk to her?"

Quinlan shakes his head. "I haven't been using my own magic except when she loses interest and tosses me at the ground," he says. "It's...*sort* of a trust exercise, in that, though not so much that I'd trust her with any of you guys. She sort of gets rough, tossing me around. But it's still not *my* magic in play there."

Maggie nods once. "Okay. Good that it is not your magic." Turning, she starts toward the office, "Excuse me? I think that I saw a pair of shears in the office. I think it is time to tame my hair." Walking toward the other room, her poofed hair does sort of sproing and whirl. Aggrivating.

Merrisol's focus dart's sidelong while the ruddy cumulus cloud floats off towards the office. He squints slightly to consider how serious that statement had been, then apparently decides negotiations are in order ("Let go of the scissors, Hotstuff. We can figure out your hair.. together."). He nods to Quinlan, and quickly starts off after Maggie.

Quinlan runs a hand through his own hair. "Like a commodore wouldn't have buckets of wax and pomade about for his moustache and beard," he says.