Post Mortem

[rassafraggin]

The Grotto sees a steady stream of patronage during the day, so furnishes a light complement of staff to see to their needs and security. Live stage performances won't begin until much later, however, so the currents are relatively calm and quiet in this stylish enclosure. The wide view of the main street shows a fair amount of the population out and about, languid curiosity evident while they discuss the latest topsider invasion. Merrisol moves past them at an upright glide, catching snippets about whatever had occurred, but intent on hearing from someone who was definitely there. When he reaches the Grotto, he propels through the entrance and into the long pitch dark tunnel. It is meant to transition visitors between the urban setting outside, and this subterranean sanctuary that could pass for natural except for the.. well, the bar. But don't ever -call- The Grotto a BAR. It's a -LOUNGE-, okay?

Celeste is settled at a table and is mumbling to a doll which moves and seems to be talking-this of course seems to be attacting some glances her way though the conversation is softly spoken, on every few words carrying. Celeste has food, nor drink, having to come in here either to wait on someone or to conduct business.

Carmichael has no business being here. Really, he does not. No really, he doesn't! Except that this is not true. Anywhere in existence right now, is probably a lot better than being here - but... He enters the grotto devoid of cloak, but wearing pretty much everything else, walking through the city beneath with the same grace as an elephant in a garden full of crocuses. Underwater is not really his strong suit, although it seems at least he's weighted his boots so that he can walk at a very, very slow pace. In the entrance of the grotto, his eyes scan the room, his face as dour a mask as it ever usually is; there's no room for smiles at the moment, no room for anything but shuttered windows where his eyes ought to be. Spotting Celeste and Merrisol though, he takes a deep breath of water, exhales it without any comical bubbles and lumbers that'a'way. Into the LOUNGE.

Merri has found Celeste, yes, for it is he she is here to meet, yes? He carefully follows her cues on being greeted, knowing these are touchy (or no-touchy as it were) times, and of course recalling the last time he saw her she was tamping down on hysterical grief. Once he sits, he leaves his hand conspicuously open-palmed on the table between them, a subtle offer of commiseration. The blood doll gets a moment's regard. "Thank you for returning to meet with me, if you could tell me what exactly what we're dealing with with regards to the incident here, I'd be grateful," he says, with a glance to the elephant in the grotto. Sometimes it's a challenge to recognize faces deep undersea, particularly those of the barely acquainted set, not that Carmichael is bare at all. The gawky might help making him familiar, though. Merri directs Celeste's attention to him with a pointed look, questioning wordlessly: Uh... he with you?

Celeste looks up and murmurs, "Look, I'm going to have to call you back." she takes the crudely carved doll and sticks it in a stone box. She exhales, "Kincaid is impulsive, it'll pass..." She then notes Carmichael and her eyebrows lift, "Oh unicorn's blessed tits. REALLY?" She shakes her head, "Well this explains a lot about your difficultiees flying." she looks to merrisol, "Do you mind if Lord Carmichael joined us?"

Carmichael gives Celeste a slightly pinch-lipped look as he nears, his spectacles conspicuously absent, owing to a horrible habit of slightly lifting off his face underwater. It does make his hair look entirely like a dandilion though, wafting in all diections. "Captain Merrisol," is offered in greeting to mister tall blond and smexaaay, rocking his gawk like it's royal livery. "I don't like drifting off when I'm trying to stay still, I'm afraid..." he inhales, faintly frowning with it, then getting worse as it goes on. It does look a little like his eyebrows are trying to cede from his face and form their own nation where facial caterpillars can grow into moustaches and beards in freedom -- "...look, uh, I'm glad I caught both of you..." he nods to both of them, muscles at the corner of his jaws lifting and sinking with a tension that's got him wired tight. "I need to ask you both about what happened here. Not the most recent. To..." swallow "...his highness." And in a monotone that has absolutely no intonation whatsoever other than deep and emotionless "...King Random wants eye witness reports." And the sod asked CARMICHAEL to get them. Sigh.

Merrisol blinks, frowns, and looks again at the man in the weighted boots. "Not at all," he murmurs, managing to project the soft words beyond their table. He stands to greet the fellow with a dipped nod. "Lord Carmichael, of course." He quiets to listen to the man's purpose and only passingly observe the coiffure rebellion in progress. Does that mean Carm is the Hair Apparent? "Ah.. does he.." Merri pulls his gaze back down to Celeste. "I'm guessing the news spread in a less than cautionary and perhaps accurate manner," he remarks, troubled. He hasn't been indiscrete, he knows that. He gestures to an empty chair for Carmichael. It is similarly weighted in the feet, and its functionality is worked into the carving, so that one may hook their heels and anchor themselves sitting thusly. "Can I get you a drink from the bar, either of you?"

Celeste is sitting in the grotto, she too hasn't slept and grief's so etched she looks as if she's physically ailing, pale and drawm, "Your Majesty, pardon the intrusion. I'm informed you wish details on your brother's passing."

Celeste is of course focusing on a random trump

Celeste grunts, "I didn't say anything and I'm not going to."

Carmichael looks at Merrisol levelly, under those rebelling eyebrows as Celeste starts in on the business, sitting himself down on the chair. And because there's a certain curiosity abounding about how one actually drinks underwater, he nods. "Something stiff and horrendously bad for the liver, please Merrisol. And no, it's not tremendously well known. I... knew it was happening, as it was happening. Father sent me a message, just as it started. By the time the devastation had abated, I already knew. He gave me just enough time, to minimalize the casualties, with Caine. That's all." He leans forward, resting both his elbows on the table and puts his face in his hands, hair gripped at the temples, eyes turned oriental by the pull of his palms against their sides. He simply stares at Celeste's homonculus box.

Celeste sighs, "Just don't make me tell his child. please. I'll give you all the information you want, just...please, your majesty." She looks sidelong, "Please permit me to grant your request some other way than telling his son. I can tell you in person, or perhaps arrange another witness to an interview..." the pleading sugegsts she either can't refuse his majesty or is unwilling inspite of her earlier emphatic refusal.

Celeste looks relieved, "Thank you, your majesty." She swallows and murmurs, "I should beg for forgiveness failing your brother, and you, your majesty." The look on her face suggests she doesn't deserve either-so she doesn't even ask, "Is there anything you require of Mandrake before I leave you to your duty, your majesty?"

Celeste says, "Yes, your majesty."

Carmichael has been listening to this, the entire time. At some point in it, his eyes just closed, face bent to the tabletop.

Merrisol nods acknowledgement of the request for a dangerous Rebman concoction, and there are a few. Contrary to topsider notions, Rebman are not fish, but they do tend to drink like fish. He lingers by the table to hear the explanation of Carmichael's knowing, and combined with the one-sided dialogue from Celeste, manages to confirm the fellow's parentage, if it had not been volunteered before, during a more genial time. Probably had not. He mutters, "I'm.. sorry," to Carmichael, noting the tired posture. Considering the revelation, he departs to speak to a server, then returns shortly after Celeste completes her call.

Celeste tucks the card away and looks to Carmichael and rubs his shoulder, "We're not doing this. I'll get written reports, and submit them to His majesty. You-not doing this." She exhales and looks around, "let's get this man a drink."

Carmichael drags his head off of his hands lowering them a moment, only to raise one to the bridge of his nose, rubbing there at the straightness. "I'll... just note, I'm a pattern walker. I know what happens when you fail to walk it. I know what it does to a body. I've... no illusions. But thank you. I did not have to -hear- it. And to be truthful, my task has been accomplished." Which is has, he's gone to get the eye-witness accounts and they shall be done. And of course, right at that moment, a very disoriented looking and confused one-eyed crow manages to swim its way into the bar. It drops a note, which sort of floats down toward the table. Carmichael snatches it out of the air, reads it, snorts and scrawls something furiously on the back side of it, scowling like a pro and sending it off with the crow, to save on postage.

"Already on it," says Merri as he settles back into his seat. A trio of glasses are soon delivered to the table, exquisitely blown glassware with nary a chip or scratch. The top forms a spout for sipping, with an embedded valve that stops seawater from mixing in, so evidently there's a slight trick to drinking underwater. The glasses are a bit bottom heavy, and settle upon the table with satisfying clacks. The table's polished surface is shot with veins and chunks of lodestone, and clings to an attractive quality in the glass base. Currently, they are more than halfway filled with a light green tonic infused with yellow beads of something or other. Absinthe is detected more than any other flavour, along with a bite of citrus.
Merrisol appears to accept the decision to not speak of the thing Carmichael had originally come around to hear, and looks instead to Celeste. "About Sir Kincaid..?"

Another arrives, sending little ripples of water ahead of and behind her as Ryika glides her swimming way into the bar. She looks faintly surprised at the collection of people within, angling her approach to head towards the bar.

Celeste's hand soothingly stokes between the man's shoulderblades and nods, her gaze haunted, "His majesty pulls any more of that you let me know. Everyone's hurting, and our duty is to serve..." her jaw sets, "But I've been Amber's errand girl, and it's not kind, so. any more, let me know, make sure you accomplish your duties without being anyone's...well, anyway." She exales, "I'm so sorry for all of this." She looks up, "ah, yes, of course. When he comes to, he may or may not still be stupid-I'm guessing likely not. He's just grief ridden. I will keep him out of Rebma's hair. There's nothing to research, there's nothing to investigate."

Carmichael looking up at the drink when it arrives, Carmichael offers a very solemn nod to Merrisol for the service and there's even a very slight twitch of his lip on one side, as if it had a nervous reaction, because that surely was not a smile. He may have two humerus, but that does not mean the man has a funny bone and his father was down one. "Ingenius," to the drinking mechanism, it's clear he's drinking it in with his eyes first, to disassemble it in his brain, a sure sign that he has a knack for such things. Then, with a sip, he looks to Celeste for her rampant kindness and seems about to offer something else, when to his absolute shock and to Ryika's hair-swept buzzing ... not one, but three birds arrive all at once. One is white with blue fringed feathers and the other two are similarly confused one-eyed crows. The letters flitter down all over Carmichael and the crow's ones in his lap. "How many of you bastards does he have?!" is exclaimed to the corvids, as he fiddles with the papers, reading all of them. There is a facepalm. HARD. "Why did I have to end up ... gah. Finking." The one not from the King? Well, that one just has him staring and scribbling a little reply to go off with the white bird. "I swear, the growth of my popularity could be compared to that of mold." Is said blackly.

Martin pages: and ryika and i don't mesh enough scene wise to make it easy to get things through. That is the main reason I had chosen Salin. Our times were easy to work. I never did choose Ryika as an amabassador. HE did.

Merrisol nods to Celeste, partially mystified by the dismissive trend in the discussion, but not willing to force any issue in the present company. He leans away in his chair, hooking one arm over the backrest, and raising the glass to his mouth while he stares nonplussed at the birds flopping and whizzing like wannabe kingfishers. There's a noticeable trill of breath from between his lips as he applies the glass spout, and the valve flutters as the drink is pushed out into his mouth and swallowed. Merri glances towards the bar then and spots Ryika, lifting his arm from the backrest and offering a wave.

"My expereince says that there is a rather infinate number of birds." Ryika comments with an edge of dryness as she draws up to settle at the bar, not quite invading the space of the trio there, but near enough to make snarky commentary. "Its even better when they have to line up on a windowsill to get in, then the absurdity gets pretty spectacular." She gestures towards the bartender, nodding her agreement upon the what of her drink and settles.She offers Merrisol a wave and barely there little smile, including the other two in it as well. "Should I even ask what and who we're keeping out of Rebma's hair?"

Celeste eyes Carmichael, "Can I help?" her heat tilts and she studies the young man, apparently can I help is dragon for 'who do I need to maul?'. She smiles gently, "It comes from being reliable and competent in the face of adversity. Develope a bad habit and gets...earily silent." She looks to Merrisol and sighs wearily, "I take threats, legitimate threats to Rebma QUITE seriously. Perhaps I misunderstood the concern. We've reconstruction efforts, I've got the hospital to rebuild, patients tending, our raw supply routes over land are a mess due to unrelated matters, not to mention contributions and support to our allies. Forgive me if I have misunderstood what your concerns with Kincaid are. perhaps the better question is: what are your concerns, and what would you LIKE for me to do, Merrisol?" her tone betrays a frayed edge.

"Lady Ryika," the voice is familiar and Carmichael glances that way to the blue haired Rebman. That hair colour just looks rather fetching underwater, it must be said. He gives the woman a polite nod, then a wry, dry chuckle follows it at her observation of birds. However, reminders of recent things that are related but not the same as the disaster have his jaw twitching again at the ear. The temper, it is there, flaring, riling against things and telling him to do bad things with blades and lots of blood. He inhales, looking up at the roof of the grotto, then down to Merrisol first, for the man's bemusement seems to rumple his calm a little, then Celeste, with a shake of his head. "It's fine," to the tune of if help is required. "I have a knack for communicating /effectively/ with his Majesty. He decided to accept my statement with good grace and a suitable amount of Random inserted, for good measure. However, on the matter of Kincaid..." he inhales and THAT is where the anger is flaring. "Grief is one thing, Celeste... but if I never see the knight again in my presence, I will not count myself an unlucky man. How. DARE he. How /dare/ he." Funnily, there isn't a raise of voice, but a lowering of it, to a very dark level.

Merrisol turns his wave into a beckon, since Ryika seems interested in joining the discussion, as disjointed and hinty as it is. He stands from the table to inquire, "Have you met Dame Ryika Ygyrayne, the acting Ambassador to Amber?" between Carmichael's reply-scribblings. It turns out he has, then. Merri leaves them to it, sinking back down to turn his gaze across the table towards Celeste then, a somber frown broadening his dissatisfied look. "I don't even know what happened, Celeste. I came here to find out, not to be reassured that it wouldn't happen again. You said it yourself, you're up to your eyebrows in too busy." He stops, and turns to listen to Carmichael's froth, then settles back again, grimly. "What did happen? The man has earned the Rebma Court's Favour from past service, but if rumours are to be believed, he has certainly depleted it."

Ryika reaches for her drink, her question going unanswered and simply looks between those present as she settles to picking things up via context and growling answers to other questions. She sips thoughtfully, quite capable of simply listening, watching the trio as they converse. She nods to Merri's introduction of her, murmuring quietly into things. "We've met, unofficially, but we've met." The other Rebman has asked the relevant questions well enough, leaving the Ambassador to enjoy her drink.

Celeste nods to Ryika, "We've met. Ambassador." She grimaces, "Forgive me, Merrisol. Basically, he learned of Benedict's death and decided he had to investigate. He had to find a way..." She swallows, "He took sad news poorly. He only wished, desperately, to see for himself there was no way to fix this."

Celeste's reply is a lot more diplomatic than Carmichael would be able to muster at the moment and as such, having had his moment of not-quite-there with the lid on his emotions, they're grabbed and jammed back into the core of his person with a solid whomp and some solder around the brim. He still doesn't look particularly happy about it, drawn in a way that bespeaks such things, but he doesn't -say- anything.

Merrisol had been introducing Ryika, unnecessarily, to Carmichael. Of course he knows Celeste has met her, he was there, and responsible for the head lump the one had to examine on the other. No forgetting that. "And Rebmans.. did any come to harm in the course of his attempts?" he asks Celeste, with reluctance. It may not be specifically obvious given the complications of short temper, grief, and protectiveness in the current mix, but he is kinda fond of Kincaid, knight errant.

"It's not news that many people take well. Its hard, and challenging, and unexpected and tragic and sad and many other things all lumped in together." Ryika comments quietly into that diplomatic answer. No matter that she, apparently, has an iron clad grip on her own emotions, presenting a calmly neutral .. normal even.. expression to the world. She nods at Merrisol's question.

Celeste looks to Merrisol and nods once, "I swear it. I broke his news, and we scuffled, then Princess Marlene got involved. Lordn Carmichael and Prince Gerard also arrived, I was called away on an emergency but I understand Kincaid's been taken to Amber."

Celeste looks to Merrisol and shakes once, "I swear it. no rebmans were harmed. I broke his nose, and we scuffled, then Princess Marlene got involved. Lordn Carmichael and Prince Gerard also arrived, I was called away on an emergency but I understand Kincaid's been taken to Amber."

Carmichael shakes his head to Merrisol. "No," is said very quietly, admitting it with his drink being lifted and drinking it dry in one long breath-whistling pull. It's set back down as he rises to his weighted feet, thonking to the floor of the Grotto with it. "There were a few that gathered to watch, but none were in danger." He looks at the drink, back to Merrisol and Ryika, the two other rebmans, then Celeste with a thinning of his lips. He nods at her. "He has. I... should go. I have things I have to do. Probate. He listened to his Highness," pause "no other." That said, he gives a curt little nod all around, along with a stiff bow, then takes his trump-deck out and after flipping the plastic coverings, disappears into a shower of sparkles!

Merrisol takes the responses seriously and looks relieved. That Kincaid has a broken nose via Duchess and is a pain in the ass to his cousins is hardly Rebma's concern. As for the rest.. a lengthy indrawn breath held, and then released as Carmichael makes his hasty goodbyes. "Very well. Take care, Lord Carmichael," says Merri, half-standing, then reseating back into a relaxed posture. And since it's just the three of them, he remarks, "There's nothing left to revive, I realize, but. Why did it happen? It may be a different Pattern than it used to be, but if anyone could walk it, you'd think..."

Celeste swallows, "Benedict never expected to survive." the hollow of her throat flutters and her hand curls in a first, "He wanted to make very, very certain, ALL of him..." she rocks just once, briefly before she steels herself, "..would be totally destroyed. I don't understand the metaphysics, but he did. He knew exactly what would happen."

"Take care Carmichael." Ryika replies as the man digs out a trump and just before he vanishes. She nods to Celeste's accounting of scuffling and mms softly. "Most Rebmans are, honestly, fairly adept at holding their own against a grieving man, as well. Thank you, Celeste, for adding yet another thing to your plate." She frowns a little as the Duchess continues, and then deeper still. "The facade was merely for others' benefit then?"

Merrisol watches Celeste carefully at first, although his concern is overtaken by surprise at the woman's revelation. Ryika's question gets a bewildered nod, not in answer, but agreement that there was some manner of deception. "He.. tried to push through," he adds. "But he did, knowing it would reject him? That only doubles the question of why did it. If this happened due to the timeline shenanigans, I..." Well, he doesn't give up, no. But it does make things that much more unpleasant.

Celeste's jaw flexes, "Sure the hell wasn't for mine. You don't need a DOCTOR to die." her jaw flexes, "I...I was linked...with him while it was..." She swallows and shakes her head, "True to form it was for his own damned benefit. Those homes destroyed, the lives lost, I can't imagine who's benefit the facade served. Certainly wasn't anyone left behind." the tendions of her next stand taunt with caged tension, "Forgive me." She mumbles, "I have people to look after. Excuse me." without ever answering Merrisol's question.

Ryika settles back as Celeste gets up, only half answering, and then leaves without fully answering. She watches the Duchess go and then looks back to Merrisol. "Alright, a couple potentially bitchy points, but I put them forth quietly, rather than to the face of the grieving. Since when does Rebma require Mandrake to 'protect' us from an errant Knight who has gone off the deep end, even if its Kincaid's characteristic so far off the deep end, he might as /well/ end up in Rebma. For two.. Okay, I dont think I have a two, other than more questions about Ben, and a number of things not adding up."

Merrisol stands once more, head bowed and peering obliquely while Celeste makes her raging exit. He then takes his drink over to a bar chair beside Ryika's. "They don't add up.. I have no doubt that Benedict's failing at the Pattern walk instigated that flood in Amber.. but I don't buy that he did it knowingly. Yes, he gave Carmichael warning, but that was on the spot, and it could be argued he knew he was doomed only at that point and knew there would be consequences to others," he says, cycling more of the citrus drink into his mouth and swallowing. "As for Kincaid.. Celeste has seen herself as a staunch champion for Rebma for a while.. she gave over and above Mandrake's due observance when Martin put out a call for support, the beginning of the year. And what Kincaid did, was in reaction to her telling him of Benedict's loss, so no doubt she felt responsible for stopping him."

"And I get that.. on the Kincaid thing, but there's a certain tiny portion of me that while grateful, is less grateful when she attempts to make us feel guilty for her above and beyond, or somehow implies that it's not because she wants to, but because we need it, as poor Rebma, they can't take care of themselves." Ryika holds up a hand. "Which might be my own issues spilling out into something that's not actually there, which is why I'm rambling it out with my pseudo-Papa, rather than getting into a snit with Celeste over it." She takes a sip of her drink. "Benedict's fall and the flood in Amber are entirely too closely timed and just.. if that was coincidence, then we should just surrender on ever figuring anything out about this crazy world we're in. The facade that I was referring to, that Celeste didn't acknowledge.. when they first arrived.. Benedict had arranged for Liyandra to trump him. He said where he'd hoped he was going. He /sounded/ like he had a plan, and that plan was not suicide. Was that a facade for Liya and us? As apparently Celeste knew he expected to die?"

Merri listens, smiling bemusedly while he considers that point of view. He pauses to hear the rest, and makes a noncommittal gesture with his head to that last premise. "She says she's bonded to him. But her interpretation of his intentions can still be skewed by her own guilt in the matter. She kept saying it was her fault, she should have been able to save him, and other unreasonable grief that survivors tend to latch onto. And therefore he must have wanted to die," Merri points out more thoughtfully, "though perhaps what he really wanted in the end was to die -alone-, without all the backlash and friends throwing themselves on the Pattern to save him." He seems to have convinced himself that this was the mindset Celeste had seen and taken for an abject deathwish.

"Obviously Celeste is an extraordinary woman.. a matriarch, a military General, and a wife and mother," he smirks then, looping back to the more entertaining thought. "I expect she's had a lot of time and cause to work on her -tone-, one you naturally rebel against, daughter of mine?" he grins, suddenly mischievously amused by the comparisons. I suspect I must wield some sort of -tone- myself, if I've.. doted my way into an honourary parental title."

"She tried to throw herself at him, and he pushed her away. She holds a lot of guilt, and I dont know enough of their relationship, working or otherwise, to comment on the bond." Ryika muses thoughtfully as she takes a lingering sip and then nods slowly. "That feels the most reasonable, although associating the word 'resonable' to any of this seems a stretch. Still, he knew by the end that it wasn't going to continue, and perhaps that's what she's working with." She can get behind that and then adds. "I.. he's an elder. It's the pattern. Why would it kill him? I thought that was the /point/. That the pattern didn't kill those of royal blood." She smirks at him and raises a glass. "It seemed slightly less awkward then calling you and Maggie my babysitters. Even if it's no longer the case, so much.. damn kids, running off and being independant. I do naturally rebel against it. It's a pride thing, I suspect."

Merrisol raises his own glass to salute her, before draining the rest of the liquid contents and leaving a bottle of air on the bar. "That might be a question to put to our mighty Pathian friend. Whatever else the Rebma Pattern is, it was drawn by a Princess, daughter of Oberon. It ought to have recognized Benedict's bloodline. Unless his blood simply does not match," Merrisol says with a bleak sigh. "That is why I thought maybe it was because of the supposed mix of Future King Benedict from another timeline."

"Well.. I did posit at one point in my puzzling over this that perhaps that Benedict was a clone. Corwin didn't think so, or at least the Benedict he's dealt with most recently didnt make him go 'hrm.'" Ryika muses absently, the mention of Corwin a casual thing, her thoughts largely elsewhere. "Well, I should expect that our dear Pathian friend is going to be some mixture of distraught and curious as a dozen catfish over why and why and why." She drains the last of her drink as well, a manta ray that somehow as sprouted a blue feather arriving with a message. She looks skeptical as she reaches for it, reading it a moment.

Merrisol catches Corwin's mention in there, of course, and his gaze sharpens all Eagle-Eyes, though perhaps not Daddy-Eagle-Eyes. "The Rebma Pattern looks backward, not forward," he says with no true understanding of the mechanics of that fact. "There's a strange logic to it balking at a walker from the future.." His thought trails off when he notices the manta ray with that feather, and his mouth drops open a tad in pie-eyed study of the use of not-a-bird. Squee?

Ryika quirks a touch of a smirk at the sharpened gaze. "I do, periodically, chat with my boyfriend upon more than the weather." She notes to him and then turns her attention to the message as the feathered manta ray swims off. "Apparently Martin's decided to change things up with his birds or not birds?" She tucks the note away, clearly it doesnt require an immediate response. "Backward.. not forward.. mmm."

Merrisol looks bemused for a moment to be caught red-brained, before he remembers his head is ridiculously transparent. Gotta see to that sometime. "Weather is a fascinating subject," he points out sagely and diplomatically! He takes a Morfilod trade-pearl from a small pouch at his arm strap, and pays up whatever tab he's built from all those drink-and-dashers he seems to encounter.

"I could try and make you blush about other topics that I might discuss with my boyfriend, but as much fun as it is to make my pseudo-Papa blush, I shall leave it at that." Ryika grins at him, clearly teasing as she nods to the barkeep about putting it on her tab, rather than needing to actively keep pearls upon her. That she's not wearing. "I should deal with Martin's desire to keep me working. Thank you Merri. Someday, I am going to corner you for a good drink and chat. I dont know when, but I will, dammit. Someday." She blows him a kiss as she moves to extract herself from the bar. "Take care Merri. Give Maggie my love."