Tea for Three

[rassafraggin]

Raphaela is sitting at a small stone seating set arranged with cozyness and refreshments, surrounded by gazeebo draped in wisteria that has started to bloom in explosion of scent. It is close to the chapel in the corner of the garden, and it seems her office is there today, messenger just leaving with a note written between tea smelling suspiciously of something else, and piles of paperwork. Visitors are escorted her way via butler who has turned more grey the more he has to deal with Dirk's advances.

A calling card is sent ahead from the harbour when the Wave Dancer docks in the early morning, and it is before teatime that Maggie and Merrisol arrive at the gates. After being announced or otherwise directed towards the gazebo, Maggie is immediately distracted handing off a purchase order to some accompanying officers. Captain Merrisol, as She will be known and addressed at all times whilst about the city, has donned the red waistcoat for the occasion. "Hello Raphaela," he says that Thari greeting with a sigh. Hello - a ridiculous word. Might be a bit cranky from plodding the streets in all this dry gravity, though it is more a psychological hassle than physical.

Raphaela rises and hugs, cause otherwise Butler would wonder "Merrisol, what would you care to drink?" she pulls back and gestures at seat.

Merrisol may not have been briefed on the hug, but it goes off without a hitch. Honestly, all these clothing layers: Coat, vest, blouse, undershirt; well, there may be a point, after all. Looking over the refreshment selections, he frowns and extends his hand to hover like a divining rod. "..This will be fine, thank you." Sitting at the bench, but lifting his eyes to scan the grounds between the chapel and the manor, he remarks, "The differences here have left the Rebman property behind in the Past, like a true relic." Merrisol probably chose the coffee.

Raphaela has best begman coffee! She pours "Sugar, milk?" she ponders "Red looks good one you, after all." she looks around and nods "I would like ot replenish that estate."

Finally returning from dealing with the order, Maggie returns and lets the greying butler bring her into the Baroness' presence with whatever level of pomp he wishes to employ. "Afternoon, Raph." She offers a hug for their friend before going further.

Raphaela hugs Maggie, and pours her her favorite drink of choice, without asking for details "Afternoon, Mags." she regestures at the seats - fluffy colorful pillows making stone benches warm and cozy.

"Neither milk nor sugar," because that's just the way he rolls. Though the Queen sekretly prefers it sweeter. Merrisol shuffles on the seat then remembers he has to do that trouser tug. Rising to do so coincides with Maggie's return, and he makes room for her on the seat. He smoothes the red hem of the red coat, frowning noncommittaly over its good-lookingness. "Have you begun any formal request for audience regarding that property?"

Raphaela says "Unofficial probing. I was not sure if Rebma would welcome it, regarding current tensions."

Maggie accepts the mug, her smile for Raphaela's prescience including a slight wink of approval. Walking with it to the bench, she settles a kiss to Merri's cheek as she sits. Yup. Part of their dynamic. Claiming the seat, she smiles at him, "Thanks, Kerf." Leaning back slightly, she listens to the discussion, "Hmmm. I think... that is an interesting question. From my perspective, I don't think that Rebma would mind. It would be nice to have the property renovated, for instance. How would Amber feel about an important House having property in Rebma? Or would they not care?"

Raphaela says "I don't see how I could fail to justify it should I want to." she sips, deadpan. Something about their 'dynamic' seems not to sit well with her, and if they see it, it is likely shown. "We are on task to reestablish our duties. I want to test my theory... and I asked Miriam should there be outing to Tir, to join if I may."

Merrisol says nothing more and gives away no reaction to the discussion other than mild interest, as it proceeds on that topic. When it moves on to Tir, he nods. "Lord Quinlan has stated that you are a member of the group bade by Princess Fiona to 'fix' Tir. Princess Miriam is not part of this group as yet. When we make that journey it will not be for the purposes of reporting to Amber, Raphaela."

Maggie slides a glance between Raphaela and Merrisol. Her 'tea' is either flavored and scented as a hot, buttered rum or is one in actual fact. The scent is warm and mellow, which is probably a good thing. Toying with the mug, she lowers it to rest the warmth on her thigh. "We will be meeting with Quinlan later, I think. I am concerned about the people of Tir. We don't want to blunt force anything up there if it will harm the people. I... am not going in order to report to anyone but Miriam, frankly. I know that Amber is kind of sponsering the group but Quin or Giselle can report in. They are the ones Fiona tasked with the job."

Raphaela gives Merrisol a dead, cold look he never had misfortune to be at the end of in his real self. And possibly neither Merri or Maggie have seen in person. It is meant for politics and rather nasty side of business, not friends, and it manages to coagulate a number of feelings into a diplomatic, lethal slash of steel over her cup, deprived of all warmth and emotion. "I am thoroughly suprised you would feel need to make a point out of that, here and now, captain." she sips, the non impressed look that follows had a very good mentor, although hers is a millenia of practice behind Ben's. She still learned from the best. Although for some reason, her eyes have a certain sociopathic tinge to it, that Ben's never did. Her voice is utterly cordial and cheerful, which somehow makes it worse. "I do hope that by then we will have pleasure of enjoying presence of you both in person. It is priority, after all. Any progress?" she tilts her head curiously, with a smile.

Rebma had expected nothing less from the formiddable Baroness of Sorgo, it seems. Instead of receiving the reply flatly, Merrisol smiles serenely, though not with intent to antagonize. He is not holding mirror up to Raph... yet. "Clarity should always be viewed in a complimentary light, Baroness, whether between allies or adversaries." He sips from the black Begman brew, an incomprehensible delight to the tastebuds. "Lord Quinlan himself began his proposal with a sensitive acknowledgement of the harm already done to Tir by the royals of Amber."

Raphaela offers "How do you enjoy Amber?"

Maggie settles back to sip her drink, though she nods once, "He did. Which was nice." She lets it go. Some things are just not worth even pointing out. However, she mentions, "When you see him, please remember that he hates being called 'Lord', Kerf. He's made a point of it as long as I've known him." Leaned back as she is, she is not easily visible to either of her companions. Merrisol's frame shields her face from Raph and he is not watching her.

Raphaela sips "I am pretty certain that was also shooting at Amber's own toes, as well. I do hope you find being in Amber pleasing, despite all." she taps her brow as if she was forgetting something, which of course she was not. She wonders then "Ah, almost forgot, was there any progress regarding the kerfuffle at hand?" she gestures vaguely at the becoated figure with her cup, as butler brings in freshly baked cookies.

Merrisol takes that point from Maggie with a slight frown and nod, at first unapproving, though a series of more complex reflections follow from there. "The Pathian is deprecating to a realm-encompassing extent. Charming, all things considered." Following Raph's gesture to notice the arrival of new delicacies, he looks at Theodore for a second before making a reply in his presence also. "Quinlan's Feldane brother is to use his talents to collect information towards a solution."

Raphaela plucks a cookie and bites, hooking her heels on the edge of her seat and resting arm idly on her knees as she watches Merrisol "Good. I do feel we are rather in a hurry."

Maggie purses her lips slightly, "It has to do with perception, actually. Or... I suspect that it does. He is powerful and well liked. I... think that as long as he is self-depricating, he is seen as less of a threat by some of our older kin." She does punctuate it with a shrug, "He said as much when I first met him and he was explaining how the family... works." If you can call it that. When the cookies are offered, she leans forward to accept one with a smiled, "Thank you." Turning toward Raphaela and, therefore, Merri, she adds, "I am looking forward to seeing what he can come up with." Leaning back again, she reclaims her semi-lurking position as she nibbles the cookie. Mmmm... Sorgo cookies...

Merrisol eyes the cookie tray and then sips his coffee to mask the need to swallow drool.

Raphaela's cookie cracks deliciously under her teeth. She pours more of something non coffeeish into her coffee. Smells smooth. "I have a bad feeling."

Maggie eats her cookie! Not quite defiantly. But, though she wants a second, she does not go for it. Instead, she reaches over to add coffee to her drink. Eyeing Raphaela, she lifts a brow, "Something wrong? A bad feeling about Robert's visit?"

Raphaela shakes her head "In general. I just don't know about what."

Merrisol won't be bewitched by crispy discs of dough chock-filled with lumps of congealed scrumptiousness! He nods, setting the coffee cup and saucer aside to weave his fingers together upon one thigh. "Instinct for self-preservation," he states. He frowns at the cookies. Then hits Raphaela casually with: "..Are you aware of the Shadow of Juicy Burgers?"

Raphaela gives Moiresol a what the...chaos...looks "I don't have instinct for self perservation. Ask Mandrakes. And Feldanes, come to that." she headtilts "Sounds delicious. But no." she offers a bowl of cookies to her. Come on. Now it would be impolite to refuse. COOKIE WARFARE!

Merrisol's hands unclasp to take the whole bowl. Stupid Warden and his stupid nerve impulses. "Thank you. It has a 'jukebox'."

Raphaela plays a bit of tug of bowl before letting him have it "I have jukeboxes."

Maggie chokes on her drink, leaning forward to cough into a hastily snatched up napkin. The drink almost sloshes as she reaches over to set it on a nearby table. "The shadow isn't called that. It has Martin's favorite restaurant and they serve juicy hamburgers. I apologize, Kerf. I did not realize that I was being cryptic."

Raphaela ponders "I haven't visited those kind of shadows in a while. Kincaid liked them. I liket motorbikes and jukeboxes. Have a collection in basement." dragged them over, she did.

Merrisol pauses over the claim of a jukebox being nothing terribly unique. He looks at Maggie spluttering into the napkin then glances down at the bowl of obviously poisoned cookies. But then she recovers! Resume drooling. But is it for cookies or burgers? The issue is successfully confused! "It is a place for 'downtime', however, is it not, Marg-.. Maggie. Where bad feelings may be put aside."

There is a squeek of a parrot as it flops through wisteria and on Raph's shoulder, bringing a note that has very chunky large frog shaped confetti in it and says "your contribution to the society for the prevention of frog consumption has been appreciated. thank you for your support." She chuckles and lets it drop onn the table.

Maggie clears her throat and swallows more than once as she nods. "It..." Her voice is still a little squeeky, though she tries again to clear it, "It is that, yes. It is a place where we go just to have fun." Lifting a hand to wipe her eyes with the napkin, she sighs, "Gods. Okay. You should come, Raph." Then she blinks, "I didn't know that you have a jukebox. Or boxes. really? And motorcycles? We should look at them." Maybe she means now. "I have decided that Kerf and I should ride double on a motorcycle." Decided. Muahahahaha. "With leather jackets and sunglasses. Or... maybe side by side. Oh! With a side car!"

Maggie notices the parrot and her eyes narrow. She does not recall sending Raph a parrot... Ah, but then she notes that it is missing the tell-tale distinctive mark and eases. Not her parrot then.

Raphaela ahs at Maggie "Sorry, Dirk. Told him I ate frogs he sent. Yeah. It's basically overcomplicated music box." she doesn't offer entrance to her laboratory "Yeah it is fun, did that with Kinky." she nods idly, pauses. she then wonders "Out of curiosity, Mags, and no offence Captain, but which Kerf?" it is a legitimate question, if a bit cruel. Her eyes settle on Maggie, but it is soft, molten silver that studies her.

All the delight in the idea of a motorcycle ride with Kerf drains out of Maggie's face as Raphaela asks that question. The question about Kincaid dies unspoken as she focuses on the Baroness. It is as though the merriment she put forward was a fascade, a mask, something for the public to hold onto so that they do not look too deeply into the woman's eyes or peer into her soul. Then again, she did spend a fair amount of time leaning back so that she could not be easily or directly observed. Her breathing faulters and fades, "My Kerf, Raphaela."

Raphaela nods. Perhaps she wants to make sure some of that pressure is poked free out of Maggie before she blows, perhaps she is just unkind. Surely, there is a reason why Maggie was trying to stay out of her sight. Then again, Raph's one virtue is that she is always straightforward. At least she conducts herself by the same rule...for better or for worse. She nods, then "He would enjoy it. It is very loud." she ponders "And you end up eating a lot of bugs." she explains to Moire "It is very fast movement, so you smack into bugs on the road. If you have helmet," she gestures at head cover "At least you don't get them between your teeth." she ponders "Oh, and avoid shootouts with gangs." she umms "Although that was kind of fun." Raphaela is not quite sane.

Merrisol appears to be disinterested in frog-shaped communiques carried by birds. He has a cookie out of the bowl and is staring it down. He sits between Raph and Maggie, tuning out the talk of motorcycles, so barely aware of the soft-spoken tension arisen from probes and shields. Until Maggie says Kerf in that particular way, and he sets the cookie down to gaze down at her queryingly, transferring his hand onto her knee. Holding the bowl in his other hand, he reaches to place it back on the table, then stares at Raphaela. Explain what you just did there, Bright Eyes.

Maggie's face is almost devoid of expression when she feels Merri's hand settling on her knee. She looks at it, then up to briefly catch his eyes. It is brief because he looks over to Raphaela and maggie eases back again into the confines of the couch. One hand drifts to rest against Merrisol's arm while the other falls to curl a little impotantly on the other thigh. Her lips part to fill the silence, then close again as the silence grows. Her brain had been going at a reasonable clip. Keeping up with the conversation and finding things to be enthusiastic about and now? It feels as though it has shut down, as though she is drifting in a haze of loss and impending darkness. Again, she tries to make a suggestion and it dies away. Then, she turns her head to look out over the lovely grounds, her eyes focused inward all unseeing.

Raphaela headtilts at Merrisol's reaction "If she keeps behaving well and polite for sake of everyone else she will break one day, and I will not see it happen. I know what it's like." she looks at Maggie "if she hurts, she can bloody well show it, rather than keeping it all in, all the time for your sake. I want her to feel sad, angry, depressed, anything but to push it all down. And although I have full respect for current occupant, I put priority on her because that is something she would never allow herself to do. And since she has to be with you all the time, I have no idea how else to protect her than to make sure you realise it and protect her in his stead."

Merrisol appears to be listening intently to Raphaela, all the way through. There's a glimmer of something in the light green gaze that definitely responds to those words. But that's all the response Moire puts out. "I believe it has gotten late. There is still much to do, Margaret," she says, making to rise and bid Raph farewell for now, pleasantly so.

Maggie looks up as Merrisol rises. She half frowns, then turns to offer Raphaela a quick half smile and a shrug. Rising in her turn, she does not speak, but begins manufacturing her pleasent fascade once more, "See you later, Raph." Then she walks out with Merrisol and things at least might appear to be 'normal'.

Upon leaving Sorgo Manor hand in hand, Moire had stood outside the gates and gazed back at the property consideringly, mentally comparing it to the falling-down structure on that Rebman upper city plateau. Those neighbourhoods of large homes and gardens, so level and orderly, yet bearing hauntingly familiar stoneworks, just in the wrong spots, had been both intriguing and daunting. But she'd turned Maggie and studied her, then asked to return to the couple's cottage to rest a while, though it was way on the opposite side of uptown. A carriage ride could take care of that, if a trump couldn't.

Maggie squeezes Moire's hand gently as she waits while the comparasson is done. It is not intended to get the other's attention but to offer a hint of warmth. Whatever the Monarch is thinking, she is not alone. For whatever that is worth. Once Moire is ready to return to the cottage, Maggie hails a carriage for them both and gives the address.

The horses wear bright headdresses with feathers, beads and sequins sewn into the leather in the colors of the carriage company. The doors sport the crest of the company's founder; a brown horse's head with ebony eyes and mane haloed by a golden six-spoked wheel. Lamps sit at all four corners. The carriage's body is shapped like a half pumpkin in gleaming black topped with a gilded bird's cage suspended by springs in the center of a wheeled frame. All of the metal is gilded and shimmers with polish. The carriage woman is chipper, but respectful, calling the pair 'M'lord'n'lady' as though it was all one word.

After the driver assisted them into the carriage's cozy interior, she climbed up into the driver's box and got the horses moving. The drive took them through the elegant neighborhood near Raphaela's home, turning to pass by the nicer shops and fancier restaurants. The trip is guaged to give the couple the most chances to stop and shop or otherwise spend money as possible. But the day is fair with that soft Spring sunlight and faint breezes that are so encouragingly typical of the season.

The request to return to the cottage had been fairly immediate, and the first part of the luxurious carriage ride does offer a quick look at the other noble estates in passing. Moire gazes at the moving scenery in silence, the gentle bump and sway of the carriage frame felt acutely despite the well-padded seats. The open window offers fresh and interesting scents and sounds, but the assurance of privacy for addressing a personal concern? It's challenging to gauge such things in so alien an element as air. Once the clopping of iron shod-hooves and the grinding of the wheels over cobbles mingle with the heavier ambiance of the market district, she develops a determined expression and turns upon the seat to face Maggie.

"Margaret? I presume the Baroness knew of what she spoke. You and she have had prior discussion of some depth, regarding these.. difficulties you face, is that not true." With voice pitched low, the deep tone still expands within the cozy interior, but can't possibly spill out the window or reach the coach driver.

Although she has visited Raphaela a time or two, Maggie has not really paid that much attention to the neighborhood. Her gaze is aimed out at the window, but how much she really absorbed is difficult to guage. Probably not a lot as the angle of her gaze does nor vary much from one view to the next. When she hears her name spoken, she turns to look up at Moire.

The look lingers until the question is asked then falls away and drifts toward the window again. "Raphaela is probably the first person that I met here after Kerf and Shao-san. She is a very good friend." None of which answers the question and she knows it. Call it background... Her voice is soft, really, with an edge to it. "Still. She does not really know me very well. I told her a little bit about the dream I spoke to you about. In turn, she told me about one she had. Hers was not as long as mine for she woke on recognizing the other in it." Pausing, she draws her gaze back, "Lady Petra's younger son. That is who she saw. But... Me? Personally?" She considers that for a moment or two, then shrugs, "She was there when I had my freakout when you first awoke. For which I think I owe you an apology, by the way. Beyond that, I have told her that it is still difficult. But I have not discussed particulars."

Moire looks puzzled by the response, and no amount of silent gazing is going to provide comprehension. "You owe no apology," she starts, but the focus shifts, searching for the answer to the original question. "Then, do you mean she was mistaken and you are not concealing your true thoughts and emotions, for my sake? For it is my own wish you do not conceal them from yourself, whatever you choose to show the world."

Maggie looks back up and blinks twice then sighs. She shifts to face her carriage companion more fully, "Thank you." Almost as an afterthought, she reaches forward to take one of Moire's hands in hers. "The answer to that is complicated and..." She half smiles, "Uh. I am sorry that you had to ask twice. I think that she wants me to ... rage against what has happened or... Weep in inconsolable pain." Her smile warms a bit as she adds, "Well. Maybe not." Her second hand folds over Merri's as she sobers, "But she wants me to show the world that this is killing me." As she speaks, her eyes shimmer with tears and one slips from the corner of her eye. "But, Moire... While that is true, I don't work that way. I... know how I feel, but there is no reason to subject people to it. That really will not help anyone, least of all me." Another tear trails the first. "For one thing, it might distract people from the business of finding the solution or... Or make them feel badly when there is really no point. It isn't the sort of pain that can be eased by seeking to affix blame to anyone. I want to show you that living is fun. How can I do that if I am tied in knots with agony over Kerf's absence? So... Short answer? I die just a little every night when I go to bed without him and again every morning when I wake up and he is not there. But that will not help bring him home."