Dressing Down

[rassafraggin]

Evening's blue has deepened toward night but has not yet given up the ghost. Stars wink in the east, silvery lights nestled into ebony blackness. Below the sky, the water tries to mimic the sky. Shimmering bioluminescent swirls gleam for a moment or two, then fall into darkness as the creatures sink farther into the water's warmth. The Wave Dancer rides the gentle swells of the surf as it rolls softly toward a glittering, crystalline white beach. The cove has wide, encircling arms that protect the ship from the worst of the ocean's violence should it be necessary.

Maggie is seated in one of many deck chairs that had been set there for the gathering by the young man known only as Mouse. A table has been set up with drinks of various types next to plates of nibbling snacks. Maggie is dressed in her ship's clothing, though she has not claimed her hat for now. Instead, her hair is woven into a clever braid, the sight of which might set some of her crew more at ease than might seem reasonable.

The distinctive murmur of argument raises over the whispers of the tide, coming form below and getting closer. "...let me carry this for you, Shao-san," Mouse can be heard begging for. "...are a pig-headed hardass," says another crewman. All stops with a double snapping sound; Shao's has been using his walking stick for something else than walking, once more. The former cook appears on deck, carrying an ornate ebony box under one arm, helping himself to the stick with the other. At the top of the stairs, Shao stretches his back, leaving the two crewman behind him hanging to dry in the staircase for the time being.

Maggie frowns when she hears the double snap. What the heck? Rising, she turns toward the stairs, her hands resting on her hips, "What's going on over there?" Spotting Shao and the crewmen behind him, she steps forward, "Shao-san." She did hear the argument so her curiosity is peeked. Motioning to the chairs, she smiles at her returned friend, "Come and have a seat, Shao-san? And tell me what just happened?" Her gaze floats back to the stairs where Mouse and the other crew member still watch.

Shao finds Maggie with his eyes and a smile relieves his traits of his late grumpiness. He nods to her and starts making his way, his walk almost getting a gait to it, if it was not for the occasional need to lean on his walking stick. "Maggie-san... Captain," he says, "If the crew keeps pampering me, I can never get stronger. I had to make a point." He gives Maggie a wink and he bends along his staff to delicately set his box on the deck. Then he seats himself, smiling still. "I wish Prince Benedict was still with us. Amber will never be the same, to me."

There's a space near the mast on the main deck that is kept clear of crates and rope, as it's designated as the spot where people tend to appear, when they use that unorthodox and exclusive unassisted magic card method, and nobody who works here is that surprised anymore when it happens. There's even a windowed box affixed to the aft side of the mast that might have been used to store a fire axe or grog, but now contains a selection of robes, due to the people popping in coming from Rebma half of the time. That is also why a mop is stowed in a chest under the rigging blocks. Rebmans!

Maggie nods, "I understand. I do. I just hope that no one will be reporting incidents of being hit by anything bamboo or otherwise. I trust that you did not go beyond noise with that point you made..." Since striking them would be the wrong choice. Still, she smiles as Shao comes toward her, "I am glad that you are back, Shao-san." She claims a chair as he closes the distance. Looking down at the box, she lifts a brow, "What do you have there, Shao-san?" Leaning back, she reaches over to claim a mug of something. As the evening has grown, a lantern has been lit nearby, casting a golden glow over the area. Maggie motions toward the table, "There is water, if you want some? I'm not sure what Celeste has said you can drink."

Shimmering in bright sparks tinted with all the prismatic hues currently in stock, the tall figure of Merrisol steps into being upon the deck. Bringing with him a thin layer of deep sea water, he stays more or less vertical while gravity snatches at the water and brings it pattering down. The mantling of gold-red kelp fronds likewise takes on a weighty drag, and drapes like a half-poncho from his shoulders. His dark green leggings and divers boots complete what is known in Rebma as Warden's Wear. Gaining his equilibrium after a moment in the cool evening air, he reaches up and flips wet hair away from his face, looking around.

Shao glances at the stairs' gate, where Mouse and the other crewmate were marooneed at. Now they have vanished to other parts, it appears. "Yes, more thunder than lightning, I promise," Shao says, following Maggie's gaze, from his mystery box to the table. "Water is fine, please. I can eat and drink pretty much anything, as long as I do not stuff myself like a pig," he adds. Using his staff as a prod, he undoes the black box's catch and pushes the lid open, just enough for glimps of glassware to catch the ambiant light. Then he drops the lid closed, intrigued by Merrisol's 'light and low tide' show of an appearance. At first, Shao frowns a little and the his eyebrows arch. He rises quicker than he should, so he has to steady himself at his walking stick. His hand raises halfway to pointing at Merrisol and that is how he remains, speechless.

Maggie nods and leans forward to pour a glass of water for her friend. Once it is set in front of him, she glances down at the box, "Ah. Is that your tea stuff?" Her voice fails as she notes Shao's attitude and that lifted finger, "What? We got rid of the ghosts long ago. Or... Most of them." Turning, she catches that hair flip and her smile blooms, "Kerf!" Rising, she moves from the table toward her husband, "Welcome home." Extending her hands, she offers the returning Rebman a hug.

Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie says, "This is Shao-san. He is the one I told you about."

Merrisol scans the faces of nearby crew who issue a polite greeting, and offers a single nod in return. The robe isn't needed this time, and he begins to walk slowly, dripping, from the puddle that slowly trickles for the rail with each gentle pitch of the deck. Until someone gets to swabbing, of course. Rebmans! Laying eyes on Maggie, he smiles reflexively all the way to his eyes. Approaching her and accepting that embrace, the height difference allows him to easily cast his gaze further and spot the standing Jadean, whom he regards fixedly. He nods slightly, perhaps in initial greeting. Upon straightening away from Maggie, he inclines his head. "Shao-san," he says quietly. "I trust you are well."

Privately, to Maggie, Merrisol receives the cue with a slight nod. Confident that the mantle buffers any surprise!reactions, the embrace is real but cut short by caution in the presence of the known/unknown.

Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's embrace is also honest and lingers a little as her arm lingers around his/her waist.

Privately, to Shao, Merrisol looks studiously at his old friend, one of his very first friends, as though reaquainting himself with the man's appearance. He addresses him with grave respect rather than real warmth, which is in keeping with the prevailing rumours. Captain Merrisol has not been himself for a while now.

Stubborn, Shao intends to stand to welcome his friend, even if it means straining his grip at his walking aid to compensate for his recovering legs. So far, all of Shao's parts seem to hold in place normally. Shao bows to Merrisol when addressed to, brisk and shallower than he wished for. "Merri-san," he says back, "Come sit with us so we can brag about our battle scars, so Maggie-san can make concerned grins and remarks." He gives Merrisol an almost serene smile.

Privately, to Merrisol, Shao's gaze on Merrisol is equally curious and the smile hides the shadow of worries very well.

Maggie's smile fades from the Kerf-only warmth it held while in his arms. She does leave her arm about his waist when the hug is released. Watching Shao, she listens and laughs softly, "Ah, well. Or, I can tell you of my own battle scars." One brow lifts and she angles a grin up to her husband, "Or not..." She winks and turns back toward the table. "Do you have time to sit with us, Kerf?"

Merrisol's countenance is collected, but allows some adjusting expectations to show through as he considers the situation. "Of course," he says to Shao. "There will always be a need for a tale well told." He comes back with Maggie to take one of the seats near hers.

Shao reseats himself right after Merriol is set, bracing himself with a hand at a knee to soften his body's descent. "It has been too long... Kerfu-san, you have been missed," he says, switching to this older moniker with a quick glance at Maggie. "Soon I should be strong enough to visit Rebma, if I am welcome to give a hand. I grow tired of being idle. Celeste approves of water activities over the more robust work of a sailor." He reaches for his water and takes a sip.

Maggie catches something out of the corner of her eye. She half sighs, "Please excuse me. I have to deal with something." Leaning over, she kisses Merrisol's cheek, her murmer not at all intended to be missed, "See you in our cabin later." Rising, she turns to Shao, "I am very glad that you are back, Shao-san. We will talk more later." Stepping from the table area, she turns and heads off across the deck to where Mr. Anderson looks apologetic. Speaking to Maggie when she arrives, the two continue down the deck toward the ballista mounts.

Merrisol sifts through the drinks selection at the table, not yet curious about the box. His eyes are mostly on Shao, only briefly watching the frail manner of sitting and the dependance on the walking stick. When Maggie suddenly takes her left, the kiss leaves Merri looking slightly startled, but he gazes after her with a widening smile. Remembering the recent topic, he settles back and looks at Shao again. "You have personally served Rebma well in the past, Shao-san, and are one of the honorable crew of the Rebman Privateer, Wave Dancer," he says, coolly assuring. "You shall find yourself very welcome in the capital. The enchanted environment shall place a minimum of stress on your form, and the Rebman Mandrake Hospital, you may remember, will be there should you require any emergency treatment." Very factual, that response. Merri's a regular tour guide.

"Thank you," Shao says before wetting his lips again. He sets his cup back on the nearby table. "As good Celeste-san is at healing, I fear some memories got warped or lost over my time in captivity. The drugs in the water..." he explains, like he has several times before. "No rest for the Amnesia Crew," he reflects, giving Merrisol a try at eye contact. "Is Random still king in Rebma?" he asks, genuine in his question if a little hesitant.

Merrisol's gaze flashes from vaguely commisserative to affront in the space of two seconds. He has no trouble meeting Shao's one eye, but the pique fades from his own gaze before too long. "No, Random has never been King in Rebma. There has never even been a Prince of Rebma. However, Martin is the Lord Regent." He considers, then adds, "There is a scroll preserved in the Royal Archives which depicts his regental coronation. It was rendered by yourself, Shao-san."

Shao's lips press together, his face hardens at the revelation. "It was, wasn't it," he says, reading the horizon in quest for something that is not there. "The evening dew quenches both crickets and frogs but the moon is dark," he recites softly. "One would think it is easier to remember the second time around but we know better, my friend." He gives a scanning look around the bridge before sneaking a small gourd, carved off of an exotic melon type and he slides it across the table for Merrisol. "Saki. No one needs to know," Shao says on a discrete tone.

Merrisol listens with interest once he realizes it is some manner of strange poetry, except it only lasts those seventeen syllables and then it's over. He frowns, then settles back in his seat with a 'hmmm'. "There is..." he starts, then stops, as the elixir appears. A wary look enters his expression, and he lifts his hand to hold the gourd precisely with his fingers as though concerned it might tip over. "Some secrets are necessary. Saki is not," he states softly, studying it.



The water has that luminous clarity which means the Adeptus Custodial have been through the parlour recently to filter stray particulate from the environment, after the noon meal service. Servants have set out the customary decanters of warmed beverages and cool aperatifs for casual sampling until the dinner hour. The usual number of guests and dignitaries can be seen within the wing, lounging or preparing to set out through various exits to conduct their afternoon business with various members of the royal ministries.

Drifting backwards so that she can wave to someone, Maggie moves slowly enough to avoid running into anyone paying attention. Spinning, she scans the room for someone in particular and is quietly disappointed. Angling for the drink table, she surveys the offerings and chooses an imported coffee in one of the clever Rebman warm drink bottles. Sipping from the bottle, she kind of lets herself deflate for a moment, sinking until her feet touch the floor. Of late, she has been sticking to or near the floor level rather than swooping or soaring in from above.

Raphaela is in her so clearly out of the water fashion, clinging to walls, pretending to be a coral. She is in matte silver skirt pants - a flow of flowing material nipped below knee to ankles for easier control with bands of same material as a top curving around her neck. A clotted blood red. Her nailpolish is silver and her fingerless gloves as well, hiding arms below elbow to her tips. She is clinging to the walls. Floors count.

Merrisol distractedly waves away a trio of sea horses that wander through now and then like they own the joint. They might be the pets of that old gentlelady of House Dilwen who runs the nursery, but nobody really knows. Her Majesty is still masquerading as the Lord Warden apparently, so commands no special entourage or body guards, coming in through the main gallery with a mesh carrier of etched glass plates. Looking ahead into the parlour, she flicks her gaze languidly from one occupant to another.

Spotting Raphaela clinging to a bit of the archetecture, Maggie claims a second bottle of caffiene. Rather than draw attention to the Baroness' predicament, she intends drifting that way when her gaze is drawn like a magnet to Merrisol when he enters. The smile she had for Raphaela grows toward the brightness reserved for her husband but does not quite make it. before she turns back to the drink table. Tucking her own bottle into a loop of woven seaweed set to accent either side of her Rebman mini-shorts, she claims a third bottle of warm delisciousness. Lifting one, she waves to the Monarch-in-Merrisol, then motions toward the Baroness. It is clearly a 'join us' kind of invitation.

Raphaela is anchored to a bit of a wall with her foot and doesn't spot Maggie until she waves her caffeine. She waves.

Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie's smile warms all the way up to her eyes, her smile softening just a bit more than usual.

Upon seeing Maggie lingering amongst refreshments in the tall open chamber, Moire sets her footing more solidly to the hall-length runner of luxurious sea grass, and strides for the parlour with greater purpose. She is garbed in a circular mantle of wedge-shaped panels alternating subtle shades of pearl and blue, covering from the base of the throat to the shoulders and upper chest. Fine silver chain drips from the edges in scalloped patterns, the longest ones brushing against the silver-blue scaled sleeve clinging from elbow to wrist. Set low on the hips is a brace of matching chain which dips and supports in front and back a narrowing swath of the same satiny material as the mantle, edged with a darker, heavier trim to hold its shape and keep either piece from floating overly high. Straps of the same thin fabric as the sleeves clings to calves and leads to slipper-toed sandals.

Entering, Moire spies the shiny silver wall-crawler as well, eyeing her sidelong as she continues across towards Maggie.

Raphaela looks up, following maggie's new trajectory and gives a deep nod to Fuffynot.

Privately, to Maggie, Merrisol's eyes, when not ambushed by strange baroness-behavior, rest on Maggie with a simmering singularity of focus.

Moire places the collection of plate glass upon the edge of the table where Maggie is hosting afternoon drinks, greets the Warden's Wife with a caress to the cheek that doesn't look all that feigned, then turns to regard the Baroness again. What. Is she engaged in performance art?

Raphaela sighs and bounces off to head their way. She makes slow progress, and it is a tad odd. She has been used to Rebma by now and moves rather graciously. Or did. She must be having a day. As she arrives, she gives a little wave. Her clothes is looser than it should be, and she seems rather pale, but surely that is usual.

Maggie pauses as Moire comes closer. Her eyes open wider as the details of his outfit and she cannot help the way her eyes roam over his form. Drawing in a breath, she lifts the two bottles of caffiene and offers one to each. For her part, she is wearing a pale umbre rendition of her usual with the added "flair" of woven trim. As the Queen nears, Maggie half whispers, "You look fantastic." A faint blush touches her cheeks and she turns quickly to Raphaela, "Hello, Raph." The woman's locomotion is noted and she tilts her head just a bit as though to study it, "How are you today?"

Raphaela offers a faint smile to both, accepts her coffee with obvious grattitude as steel eyes glimmer silver in smokey eye make up (or is it just hidden tiredness) towards maggie "Ah, just could use some dry land, that is all. All this water makes me nervous today." ah well. Queen gets to listen on some stuff Raph would never share beyond intimate circle. Raphaela pointedly, does not oogle Fuffs.

Moire nods once gently, looking pleased. "As do you. If you are referring to the clothes, they are an Eiviglo design," she notes, while taking up the offered bottle. "My wardobe parcels came to the palace last night, with an attached promise for your items to be delivered today." To Raph, after a moment of neutral observation, she says, "You may have an undeveloped talent for prophecy in your blood, Raphaela."

Maggie nods slowly, though not to look Moire up and down again, surely. Surely. Inhaling, she clears her throat, "It will be interesting to see what she has come up with." Looking deliberately to Raphaela, she blinks twice, "Um. Well. It is ... I mean. You can, you know. Visit the land." Get your head in gear, Maggie. Really. "Er. I mean... What he said." It's easier. Really. No masking her fluster, is there? Nope. Drink your coffee, Maggie. It might help... Lifting the bottle, she hides a sheepish smile that blooms just before she takes a drink.

Raphaela twitches and gives Moiresol a look. "Why would you say such a thing?" as if Moire just wished all the puppies and kittens in the world to be kicked. She seems disturbed, but then she seemed so since beginning. She seems even more dimmed by Maggie's sheepish bubbleness in proximity. Her eyes dart between them, then to Merri's husk "What do you mean?"

The liquid drains from the bottle in a steady pull, as Moire downs the java casually, not appearing concerned by the accusatory paranoia governing Raphaela's behavior at present. "You are just self-evasive enough for it to be a distinct possibility," she says plainly. There's a moment where she might decide to take the coffee from Raphaela's nervous hands. Instead, she just extends her free hand, palm up, for the caffeine to be surrendered. "Your sleep has been less sound than you usually manage."

Maggie tilts her head as she looks between the two, a frown growing slowly between her brows. The obvious question is not asked as the answer is quite clear in the understanding she recognizes as existing between her companions. Speaking quietly, she eases back just a little so as to give the two some room if it is necessary, "Is there anything that we can help with, Raph?"

Raphaela blinks. Does this being even know Raph? And to make things worse, she does surrender her coffee. Goodness. World is coming to an end. "Self evasive. What a peculiar phrasing. And no. My sleep has been quite...back to normal pattern, I would say, after a period of unusualness." mind you, all who have spent some time with raph would be aware, especially on submarine etc, that she has had horrid nightmares whenever she would not faint from work or other...exertions. She looks at Maggie, then Merri "I have a feeling we are not thinking about same things here."

A small procession of palace footmen led by the deputy steward file in through a service arch, bearing a number of sturdy but ornately carved boxes from the central wing. They start to make their way through the parlour, but their leader notices the small cluster. He removes a small flat case from his vest pocket and bustles their way, after directing the servants to continue towards the Oyster Suite.

Moire takes that coffee and keeps it, because Merri is a caffeine-fiend! She regards Raphaela in silence, but nods in acquiesence to the woman's points. She is fine with being contradicted, because Merri likes being wrong about people. Or maybe it's that dossier on Raph that is wrong.

Seamstress Notes: Lady Maggie's lines and colours presented a pleasurable challenge for my fashion crafting. I imagine she could have quite a brilliant career as a dancer on land but for the bust measurements, which present their own set of issues whether on land or in sea. So too does the combination of varigated tresses of reds, bronzes, curls, waves, with a warm tone of skin tend to restrict the use of certain deeper hues and some styles. No matter, for these wonderful, sumptuous differences of features allowed Selkie Eiviglo to flex its creative brains. We know you will be enchanted by the results, and wearing our designs, enchanting to behold. -Ainras, Head Seamstress

Maggie watches Raphaela hand her coffee over to Moire, one brow lifted in silent astonishment. Inhaling, she holds the breath for a moment or two before releasing it, "Considering your usual sleep habits, I am not entirely convinced that you take care of yourself. But, at a guess, I would say that you have encountered the Dreaming. Again." Though maybe not recently. As she is sort of facing that way, Maggie notes the procession of footmen following the deputy steward heading for the suite she shares with Merrisol when visiting. She watches the boxes more than the footmen though smiles for the deputy steward when he heads their way, "I think... the delivery has arrived."

Raphaela studies Moiresoll a bit longer. Her brows knot together. Whatever she notices, does not sit well with her. "Not really. Or at least I hope my nightmares are not that...lucid." she doesn't use accusatory tone, or defensive for that matter. She just seems more confused than usual, at least among friend and 2/3rds. She seems to think about implications, then ohs "More outfits?"

The deputy steward bows to the three, "Lord Warden, Lady Raphaela... Lady Maggie? A shipment from Selkie Eiviglo for you. I'm to make certain you open this first." And he offers the flat box.

Raphaela floats aside so Maggie can open, and she can see!

Maggie smiles at the Deputy Steward and eases forward. "Thank you," she offers as she accepts the flat box. Glancing a little nervously at Merri and Raphaela, she sort of stifles a smile before easing the box open to see what is within.

Moire observes, then states, "I shall direct the placement of the chests. Excuse me," and off he goes with the footmen.

Raphaela watches after the... Queen? Looks back at Maggie. Raph isn't sure anymore.

Maggie watches Moire head off to show the footmen where to put the crates. Catching Raphaela's glance, she looks back, one brow lifted in query. She nods ever so slightly, though as she is distracted, who knows if her interpretation of Raphaela's silent confusion is accurate.

Tucked in the treated wooden box and nestled within a bed of inky satin is an elegant business clam and a note inscribed on a delicately curled mother of pearl parchment:

Part two of seamstress note to the good lord warden and lady Margaret,

Lady M's lines and colors presented a pleasurable challenge for fashion crafting. I imagine she could have a quite a brilliant career as a dancer on land but for her bust measurements, which must present their own set of challenges whether on land or sea. So too does the combination of variegated tresses of reds and bronzes, curls and waves, with a warm tone of skin tend to restrict the use of certain deeper hues and styles. No matter, for these wonderful sumptuous differences from the norm of Rebman features allowed Selkie Eiviglo to flex its creative brains. We know you will be enchanted by the results, and wearing our designs, be enchanting to behold.

-Ainras, Head Seamstress

Raphaela doesn't actually looke at the note, but rather focuses on Mags to see what is it.

Once she finds the note tucked so carefully where it is, Maggie slides it free. Reading it, she first arches a brow and darts a glance after the retreating footmen as Merrisol has likely vanished within the Oyster suite. Looking back at the note, she scans it and halts at a specific phrase. Going back, she rereads it more carefully. A blush creeps slowly up her throat to color her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. She sliiiides a glance over to Raphaela and clears her throat. Setting the card carefully back into the box, she fingers the satin. For a moment, she wonders if she should lift the thing from the box. Then, squaring her shoulders, which does not help anything, she lifts the fabric gently into her hand.

Raphaela tiltfloats in and arches both brows. Well no matter how stressed she gets or how off char confused, she doesn't lose her sense of humor. She bites her lip so she doesn't burst in laughter.

Maggie carefully tucks the lid back onto the box, then slides the entire thing beneath her arm so both of her hands are free to spread out the satin. When she turns a glance once more to Raphaela, she notes the suppressed laughter and her blush only deepens. Not fair! Now her freckles stand out like sprinkled dots of gold. "RaAaph." Yes, it is drawn out like that, a bit of emphasis on the middle A.

Raphaela turns around, folding over and placing both hands on her mouth. Thank Poseidon tears are not visible in water. SHe does sort of tumble though She wiggles her hand in the back as in apologetic go on gesture.

Maggie shrugs once and puts the satin back into the box, the shell on top once more. Turning, she spots Raphaela doubled over with suppressed laughter. Sighing, she shakes her head twice. Slowly. At least she can provide her far more sophisticated friend some amusement. Maybe Raphaela will sleep better by imagining Maggie all flustered and embarassed because she doesn't deal with fashion very well. Maggie <- Not a girlygirl. "I guess I'll go see what they sent..." Because. Challenges.

The servants disperse from the fabled Oyster Suite, glancing curiously at the adorably blushy Lady Maggie and the.. weeping..? Baroness Sorgo along the way.

Raphaela smiles and coughs up "Whatever it is, surely you will look stunning in it." girly girl? Really? Raph? Nope. Moire is girliest of them and she's a dude. Dude.

Maggie slides backwards a little, "Okay. Are you going to be okay?" The compliment just makes the blush flare up again, "And... See you later?" Because in about two seconds, she is going to escape into the Oyster suite with whatever dangers are held within.

Raphaela waves "Go, go enjoy yourself. I have work to do."

Moire returns, following the deputy steward out of the suite. They both dodge Maggie as the woman retreats to the privacy of the suite, kelp drapes flapping shut behind her. "The transaction will be personally settled, thank you," she says, sending the other Rebman away.

Raphaela chuckles to herself, plucking another drink, not noticing M. Just yet.

The monarch gazes at the suite archway for a moment, but turns away to pace across the parlour to where Raph seems to think she's going to drink some coffee.

Raphaela twitches as she's about to sip, then stinky side eyes the approaching party pooper. Sip sip sip.

It's totally still the Queen because she actually holds Merri's big mitt out for the bottle. Fuffmeister, he prefers the term Fuffmeister, would have let Raph get away with almost anything, even overdose. "You do not always have nightmares," she states for her case coolly.
Raphaela rubs her forehead. It is very hard to tell ancient queen in your best friend's outfit to piss off. She breathes in and turns around. She slaps bottle on the mitt. "Is that so. Mind telling my nightmares that, perchance?" she smiles politely.

Moire must have left the other coffees in the suite, but now she has Raphaela's. She seems just a lttle curious that it was given up that easily. "I have been informed of your sojourn into the dream of Lord Sorensen. This suggests you have some lucid facility in the Dream Realm. You can learn to alter your private experiences.

Raphaela never forgets she talks to a queen aparently. Her mouth might be full of attitude, but when it comes to behaviour, especially when she is alone with Moiresoll, it is very obvious, comparing to how her body language is with actual person. Original one...s. If queen wants her coffee, she will not disobey. It is only respectful. "Restricting yourself in reality has to have side effects. If I go about restricting my dreams, how longer will I be able to call myself human." she is dead serious.

Watching Raph as she speaks, Moire appears to fade back in a subtle flinch. A nerve has been struck. She refocuses and considers the baroness again. "To allow vulnerability in one aspect of yourself, to suffer from it, is human.. unless you believe that aspect is inconsequential, and therefore may be sacrificed," she says, still sort of mulling it over as an argument.

Raphaela rolls a shoulder "It is not necessarily phylosophical matter on large scale. For me myself, torturing myself is how I know I still haven't turned into stone....or lately, how I know I have not been overtaken by the complete monster yet. For a while, I thought I was beyond repair. It took a lot of effort to remember myself." she speaks of it openly, despite it obviously being something very deep and personal. "My nightmares are a part of who I am. They are in direct correlation with my waking self." a keen observer, and on top of that, one refusing to lie to herself.

Raphaela mutters "Whatever is sacrificed can be lived without, but is never inconsequential."

Moire starts to lift the bottle absently for a sip, then lowers it with a small frown. She nods acknolwedgement of the mutter without a tone of agreement to the gesture. They have touched on this topic in another form already. "It is a dangerous game to court the monster while staying a move ahead, instead of exorcising her. To fuel ambition and duty.. or vanity."

Raphaela says "One plays best hand they are able with cards they have." not 'are given' cause cards can also be obtained. She looks at Moire "Everyone has their own calculations and risks they are willing to take, for something they think is worth." she has a long pause, although Raph doesn't seem to find silences awkward like some people. Then she looks at the Queen again. "I do have something to say, and I will say it now and never again." she takes another coffee bottle. "I do not hold the right to judge any outcome or sideeffect of this situation. I understand, more than I'd like to, all of the people involved. And more than I like to, how each of those standpoints feel." she headtilts "However, unlike all of the other people involved in this, my loyalty is only to one set of two. And nobody, nobodies else can fill in that coat." she takes a sip as silver eyes lock in on Fuffy wanna be. "There is only one person ever that was so important to me that I gave him up. And I want that one back." deadpan. "If you would excuse me, Warden." She lifts her bottle in a toast, gives a deep nod, and floats away. Aaah, the selfish agendas, no?

Maggie has tucked the slim box with shell-calling card and highly embarrasing note away in a seaweed carryall that has taken the place of her Minosian Captain's dufflebag of doom. Now she sort of floats in the room, not bothering to anchor herself to the floor. She is looking at the chests that have been set in the room. There is a slightly pensive look to her that Kerf might recognize as memory struggling to assert itself and become part of this version of her brain. However, it fades away, leaving her expression clearer. Anticipation works its way from her core outward. A glance to the door hints that she might be waiting to see if Moire will join her or... not risk it.

A dozen minutes might pass before a soft finger-drumming upon the kelp privacy screen emanates into the suite. Moire had been speaking to Raphaela at some length, across the parlour. She'd confiscated another coffee bottle from the Baroness, but by the time the tete-a-tete is over, Raph had claimed yet another. Ducking out of the Queen's long reach as though expecting reprisal, she had departed the wing shortly thereafter. Standing there alone, not watching Raphaela leave, Moire had given in to a bout of introspection, but eventually noticed that Maggie hadn't yet emerged. And this is her at the door to the Warden and Lady's own suite, tapping first, before parting the fronds enough to speak through the small gap. The parlour isn't empty of guests, so she goes with: "..Maggie. Shall I enter?"

The light tapping calls Maggie's attention to the fronds and the soft query sparks a smile, "Sure. Though I have not been brave enough to open any of them, yet. Perhaps you could help me decide which to open first?" She is now seated on the edge of one of the molded coral seats, her hands clasping in her lap. "Is everything okay?" Rather than leaving her hair as it was, Maggie set up a mirror in the room. Using it, she managed to weave her hair into a series of small braids that were then woven into an interlocking pattern of darks and lighter reds that terminate in a smallish bun at the base of her head. It is not as intricate as the wreath Moire had given her, but it will keep her hair contained while she tries on the garments. As she finishes speaking, she lifts a frond covering from the base of the mirror all the way to the top. It is tied in place with a smallish bow and the entire thing is tucked into a slightly recessed alcove. Once there, she lowers a mini-tapestry to cover it entirely. Kerf so hates mirrors, you see.

Mirrors definitely give Kerf the heebie-jeebies. The bigger the worser. And that's fine, since they are currently high on the list of Moire's Least Favorite Things. The Queen parts the screen and steps through with a cautiously eager, or eagerly cautious? A definite anticipation in her eyes. "Oh," she then realizes as the explanation for Maggie's remaining in the original umber ensemble catches up with her Merri-brain. She smiles reassuringly though, her focus sharply noting the change in the woman's hair to an up-do. "I... Yes. The Baroness is clearly not at her best, however I am well. Are you?" Sealing the kelp curtain, she hesitates, then rolls the door closed as well. Then she turns back and paces across the main room to regard the line of casks thoughtfully.

Although Maggie is not prophetic in any way, there is, for an instant only, a strange juxtaposition of her beloved and the slender shape of the Queen she recalls vaguely from her youth rolling that door closed. It fades quickly enough though and concern replaces the mish-mash of reactions to that, "Raphaela?" She rises, the concern for her friend chasing the ghosts of memory that vie for her attention away. "Does she need me?" The reaction is quick and automatic, closed door notwithstanding. Though... she hesitates for if there was a real issue, Moire would have sent for her. And there are those casks... whose mysterious contents so unnerved Captain Flame that she actually did her hair rather than hover over them...

"She has already departed, Margaret," notes Moire, calmly, keeping her own gaze lowered to the delivery. "Lady Raphaela is confident in her ability to address her personal challenges. It would take a more determined amount of meddling for her to accept outside aid, I suspect. More than I was prepared to offer, all things considered."

So much for that. Maggie's blush had faded over time, but with the reminder of 'personal challenges' it returns in full glory. "Uh. Right. She... is determined to be independent." She inhales slowly, trying to ease the heat in her cheeks. Drifting closer, she looks down at the crates as a viable distraction. Though her own personal challenges are visible in the lower part of her vision. Determined to ignore that and them, she lifts a hand and begins pointing at the crates in turn, "Eeeny, meeny, miney mo." It is one way to choose where to begin and so... When she stops speaking and pointing, she moves forward to claim the indicated crate. "This one?"

Moire nods pensively over the thoughts trooping through her mind, nice and orderly thanks to the Warden's regimented brain. The ages-old choosing rhyme brings her awareness outward, however, and she observes Maggie's moving hand with a small grin of realization forming. Glancing to the side, she loses all control of the grin momentarily, and her mouth just sort of falls ajar. Freckles. They're like... built in bling! Traveling, tracing the trail of that rosy blush with eyes grown somewhat hazy with an answering sort of flush, she finds herself staring along the graceful sweep of Maggie's exposed neck, the excess heat seeming to mist off the soft, sensitive skin. She sees herself reaching up to touch that secret-ish spot.... and then, Maggie is moving to pick up the chosen cask. Oh. Thank Lir. Moire drops her arm with a swish. Nobody saw that, right? Right. "Hm, ahh.. The plaque on that one, reads: 'Bronze'," she obviouses, then quiets to watch what Maggie does with it.

Unaware of how close she came to being touched just there, and maybe there or here and possibly... Just possibly... Maggie takes the cask to the wider of the two benches. Setting the cask on the bench, she motions for Moire to join her. Perhaps to sit? The offer is there at any rate, "Bronze." Turning the cask, she lets the plaque face her. Gently lifting the lid, she settles it with care almost as though she thinks that it might break. Her fingers tremble just a little as she looks down at the intricately woven chains. Her expression faulters as her mouth opens in an 'o' of surprise and delight. "Oh... goodness." Moving with cair, she lifts the top up and out of the cask. Glittering, sparkling, intricately woven, and an absolute miracle of engineering, the halter is impossible. Maggie should blush just to look at it and kind of does. But its beauty is alluring and entrancing and she is clearly itching to put it on. "This is... amazing." Gently, draping the halter over one arm, she moves the silk seperating the top from the bottom and draws the bikini-like bottoms out. "Oh.. my goodness. This is beautiful. I've never worn anything even remotely like this."

Merrisol is seated upon an ornate stone bench within this palace bedroom suite, most likely located off the parlour in the guest wing. He has been gifted suddenly with a pair of elegant black bikini bottoms that have just been unpacked from one of several ornate casks lining the walls. Giddy Maggie needs a hand free to bring her caller through, after all. Poor Merri. Other men get to hold purses.

Maggie is holding a delicatly woven ornate halter of bronze chains, spangled with beads and bangles. It is a wonderous confection of glitter and spangle that might be considered part of a garment. In Rebma. It also seems to have been designed with Maggie's coloration in mind. At this point, her hair is a weave of crimson and auburn and flame caugut up in tiny braids that form a clever 'head cap' sort of do. This terminates in a smallish bun held at the base of her skull. "Shao!" Her smile is quick and easy as she hands the bikini briefs to her hapless husband, then turns to extend a hand so that there is room for their friend to 'land'. "Come on over?"

Shao appears in the rainbowy and flashing fashion of trump card travels, holding Maggie at the wrist. "Thank you, Captain, I was out of my mind pacing the Mandrake charity all this time," he says, turning his gaze on Merrisol right away. "Merri-san, good to see you here." From his sash, he pulls a band of silk with chestnuts hanging from it, each end of the band ending into a loop. "I made this," he says, "with little lead weights inside the shells. I tested it at bath time."

Merri is dressed more unusually than, well, usual, while in Rebma. A crisply paneled medallion mantle rests over his shoulders, alternating pearl and misty blue panels. Instead of trunks or briefs, he's rocking a fancy schmancy loincloth of matching drapes. Silver-scaley sleeves on forearms and matching sandals. Maybe Rebma's in party-mode /again/ and the big worry is how to smuggle more booze out of Amber with the free trade agreements tanked? Looking up from the smallish swim garment to attempt a greeting for Shao, he clears his throat, swallows, and stares quizzically at the cook... and then the offered invention. "Pardon me, Shao-san," he starts to hold the bikini bottom out as if to make a swap, hesitates, then sets it down upon his lap. "I do not understand," he murmurs, reaching again for the.... belt? Tamborine? Bolas? "Explain, please."

Maggie is currently wearing a set of Rebman swimmies with a matching tube top. Turning as she releases Shao into the water, she watches him with the shells, "Uh... Right." Taking the bikini bottom from Merrisol, she motions both of them toward the door, "Okay. I need to try this outfit on. If you will both scoot? I will call you when I am ready to let you see it. Okay?"

Shao passes one hand into a loop of his string of chestnuts, closing his fingers at it. He hands the other end to Merrisol. "Let us show Maggie-san how it works, Merri-san. I hold on this end and since I can barely swim, you hold onto the other and pull me with you, wherever we go. The nuts help to keep the rope leveled, in case one of us loses their grip. Easier retrieval." He gives a headbow to Maggie. "We are just a shout away, Captain."

Merrisol rises from the bench with the one loop of silk in hand. He seems slow on the uptake, looking to Maggie a bit helplessly. She wants to try on her new garment, however, so he frowns over the explanation given by Shao, and nods. "I see. It is like a toy." Without being slowed by the water at all, he sets off for the door wtih Shao sailing in tow. Sliding the door aside, he parts a screen of hanging kelp, and draws the other man through that as well, to emerge into the parlour. "You do know, in the enchanted zone of Rebma City, you do not need to depend on swimming skill," he reminds, although he continues to pull Shao towards the buffet service table. Hmm. Shao Kite-Balloons are sort of fun.

Shao says, "I do not?" Shao answers, his voice showing marvel, wonderment. "Thank you for reminding me. All the same, I tire very easily... and if an emergency occurs, I have to rely on others." Passing the doorway, he almost looks over his shoulder, past the threshold in the direction of Maggie, but he restrains himself. "I will have to see Betta about an eye at the back of my head. My neck suffers from paranoia, lately." He browses the food table with his one eye, his lips pressed in a tight line. "This is heartwarming. Maybe I will try this," he says going for the shrimp and changeing his mind for a piece of algea. He tries a puny nibble of it. He turns his gaze to Merrisol. "What did Martin-sama do this time?" he asks, showing a hint of a smile."

Merrisol is quiet, thinking, while they linger by the dinner service. A small smattering of guests, Golden Circle dignitaries and a few Rebmans nobles are present at various tables, engaged in light chatter. Some sets of eyes do seem to follow Shao and Merri for a moment or so, but then turn away. The latter selects a mystically stay-puffed pastry, filled with shallots and minced salmon. He pops it into his mouth just as that question is also popped. "...Martinsama..." he mumbles around the mouthful, before chewing and swallowing. He starts to fill up a covered tray with random foods for them to take to a table, while noting calmly, "The Lord Regent's actions are a matter of public record. There are rumours to be had if one goes about Amber... and it would seem you have seen or heard something that has made you nervous to be in Rebma, Shao-san."

Shao tries another smidgen of algea, for the forms. "It's Amber's king, Merrisol. He's undone what Martin and Radom had worked to hard to put together, what we helped with. If Caine really plans on profiteering from discontent before new deals or even trying to ignite a war, Maggie, you and I are in his way." Shao gives a bow of his head to a young woman of Rebman origins who had been watching him all this while, through small peeks she thought discrete. The woman smiles and answers back with a shallow wave from the wrist. "I promise I will redouble my efforts to find out about current gossip, Merri-san. The charity is not the best social venue. I will sneak out when Celeste is not around."

Hey, no grazing directly from the baskets! Merrisol collects their meals onto the tray along with some stoppered sip-bottles of liquor. Almost all the drinks in Rebma are at least partially alcoholic. Because who really wants to ingest /water/, right? With the silk loop now on his wrist, he takes the party over to a table that has a good view of the door to the Warden and Lady's bedroom suite. "Prince-Regent," he corrects somberly. "Amber has no King. This instability has not affected Rebma in the traditional manner, even though it cannot currently be said that Rebma herself is healthy. The Lady Vialle has been assigned to bring Caine to his senses. It must be done soon."

Dinner is being served in the parlour, a buffet counter along the west wall. A small smattering of guests, Golden Circle dignitaries and a few Rebmans nobles are present at various tables, engaged in light chatter. A Rebman lady is eyeing Shao discreetly... perhaps she remembers him from parties past? The men formerly (or still? perhaps never..) known as Captain Flame's Hotties, have claimed a table with a good view of the door to the Warden and Lady's suite. A sheltered tray of bite-sized foods and bottled drinks sits between them.

The door to the chamber where Maggie has been putting on her new outfit finally opens and the kelp parts a bit but no one exits. Perhaps she is peering to see who else is in the parlour. Perhaps. The peering is not entirely useful, as those she seeks are seated at a table. As are others. And... Okay, Maggie. The outfit is amazing. It was designed for you. Square your shoulders, lift your chin and... She steps out into the parlour, bronze filigree glittering from her waist up over her chest to her throat. There are even sparkly slippers on her feet and bangles here and there on her arms and legs. Her immediate embarassment fades a bit, though not enough to hide the dusting of gold freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. And yes, she angles across to join her Hotties at that table.

Something manages to surprise Shao, so says his wide open eye and his stunned expression, his lips trying to forms words for a while before finding the right ones. "...is this Maggie?" he finally asks Merrisol, unable to unlock his gaze. "Your beloved wife Maggie, our Captain, I mean?" he adds. A piece of algae floats before his nose, the same piece he has faked eating all this time that evaded his grip for a moment. Is free floating food bad etiquette at a rebman banquet, he cannot remember. To be on the safe side, he quickly recaptures the sea veggie.

Merrisol had been checking the door between bites, and doesn't appear to have been counting Shao's nibbles. The Rebman is looking serious over their current conversation, but when Shao doesn't hold his end up and only guppies, Merri is alerted to a change in the environment. He, like pretty much all of the dinner attendance, and attendants, turns to gaze at the woman just now crossing the parlour floor towards him and Shao. His own reaction may as well be happening with slow-motion significance, for all the nuances that build upon an expression of riveted, breath-forgotten, and heart-kerthudding admiration. He kind of floats up off his seat in the circular booth, and holds out his hand to his beloved wife, Maggie. His Captain? Sure. Yes. That too. He'll agree to anything right now. His eyes have been traveling, lost, but now they rise up to meet hers. "I cannot find the words," he admits, "for how exquisite you are." Oh, there's one. Then, he looks at her a touch urgently. "We should sit." And he makes to hand her into the booth seating before joining her.

Maggie's approach slows as she nears the table where her beloved husband and lost-and-found again friend sit. Shao's reaction warms that blush to her cheeks once more and she murmers a quiet, "Thanks, Shao-san," to him. Her eyes, however, are all for her husband and it is his reaction that decides her. This outfit is a keeper. She takes his hand, her eyes meeting his as he finishes looking her over. She hasn't even turned around yet! But that's fine. The backside of the outfit can be looked at later, right? Right. Nodding agreement at his urgent request to sit, Maggie lets him hand her into the circular booth. Scooting in, she rests one hand in her lap. She is suddenly conscious that her companions are not the only ones in the room and that theirs are not the only eyes on her. The blush deepens though she smiles a slight, vaguely self-conscious smile, "Thank you, beloved." That is darted to Merrisol. If clothing makes the man...

Shao cannot help himself but admire once more Maggie halter, the work of it, the materials, the composition and, unadmitedly, Maggie herself. To say that the whole is greater than the sum of its composants is an understatement. From a blind man. In another country. He reaches for a drink, going at random for that sipping cup and praying for something top-shelf (or under the counter) strong. A glance across the room informs him that the flirting Rebman woman is now all about remurdering the giant crab on her plate with a vengeance. Shao sip from his cup.

Merrisol slides right into that seat, bracketing Captain Flame in between himself and the prodigal ship's cook. He doesn't look up to stare down the diners who might still be looking. Besides, it's Rebma. They could all be innocently murmuring amongst themselves, 'My word, is that a Selkie Eiviglo Original? I do believe it must be! How lovely.' He appears to be re-establishing his cool, layer by layer, while his hand goes to over Maggie's at the table's edge and gives it a caressing pat-pat. "Now you see the quality and workmanship produced when the artist is made to take her time," he attempts casually. Topic.. topic.. they had one at some point. He looks at Shao sipping away. "Ah. Drinks.. here." The small selection of alcoholic beverages on the tray is pointed out. "And.. we had been speaking on the matter of the Prince-Regent. Shao-san believes his move to destabilize the realms has a profiteering motive."

Maggie glances toward the buffet table yonder where two young ladies are chattering away, no doubt about the Selkie Eiviglo original and why didn't they order one or three last week? There is a thin gentleman just behind them, trying to decide what to take from the plethera offered. Still, every now and then he darts Merrisol's table withering looks. Withering! Maggie looks back, her expression a mix of delight at her friend and husband's reactions with a dose of 'I'm not going to notice and maybe he'll go away' on the edges. When Merri pats her hand, she glances down, then up again. Her hand turns beneath his to close a gentle squeeze around his. Her free hand lifts as her attention is directed to the tray of drinks. Hmmm. Leaning forwrd in this halter is problemmatic. Or would be, but for the clever ways the chains and beaded glitter is held in place. She will get used to it! Experimentally, then, she leans forward to claim a bottle, "Thank you." Ah, good. Something easy to drink, but holding a kick. As she lifts it to claim a sip, she is stopped by that conversational gambit, "Wait. The recent bit with Her Majesty?" Turning, she watches Shao, "I presume you mean Caine? Explain, please?" Finally she takes that drink.

Shaos is delighted he has found not only something strong enough to warm his cheeks up but also smooth, with a hint of cherry to its caramel base. If someone did mix up the good stuff with the bad, he is not one to telltale once he is properly bribed. He sips again, his mind drifting some, probably to the blossoming trees of his youth in Penglai. Maggie's question brings him back to reality. "Yes... this is what I said. The previous agreements bettwen Rebman and Amberite parties would only favor the Random clan. The easiest way to get the whole cake would be to break all treaties, political and commercial, then reforge new ones," he explains. He glances toward Merrisol, just for the time to consider everything. "If not for himself, maybe one of Caine's entourage is exploiting Caine's weaknesses to make it happen."

Merrisol's gaze darts over to Maggie once, but she's not talking at the moment, let alone saying anything startling. It's never a wasted trip, though. He starts to imbibe his own drink, but then she does speak, and back his attention zips again. Any old excuse, right? Oh wait, it turns out to be also startling. "Pardon me.. Her Majesty, bit, who..?" Oh Lir, so distracted right now. Whoever's still glaring at their table could be pouring out ear steam and he wouldn't notice. But he does manage to listen to Shao, and blinks slowly at him. "If the treaties are reforged under the new regime, it is only correct. What is certain is that there are exploitations at work within Amber, to keep the realms off balance. Perhaps to sweep in further changes while the current climate allows." He considers his drink for a moment, then looks up at Shao again, focused. "You once believed that Prince Caine had involved himself in the removal of the Queen from the Throne of Rebma, did you not, Shao-san."

Maggie blinks at Shao's assessment, "Oh. Oh! Right. I am sorry, Shao, I thought... I... Okay, wait. Wait. Prince Caine terminated the treaties with Rebma after Martin and Miriam's wedding. After that fog envelopoed Amber." She pauses then to not only take a sip, but to think about the events from a different light, "You know? He could have used that as an excuse to break the treaties with Rebma in the hope of gaining something more for Amber but... It is good to remember that he is not in his right mind a lot of the time. So, he could havae done it because he believes that an alliance of sea and sky would crush the land just as the prophecy says." Turning to look at Merrisol, her gaze lingers longer than it should before she drags her attention back to Shao. Even as she focuses on the Dancer's cook-returned, she eases a hair closer to her husband.

"I was not aware of the fog," Shao says, impassive. "Unless we find the origins of the phenomenon, we are swimming in speculations. Also, us Caine could be hiding his cleverness in plain sight under the guise of madness. Just a thought." A very disturbing one, enough for Shao to forget to drink cautiously. He sips once, twice, thrice from his cup before setting it on the table. "Amber can take care of itself, like always... how is Rebma doing? Has the crew been asked to lend a hand to the sea again?"

Merrisol regards Shao as the other man seems to steadily seep inside his bottle. Whether it us impatience, his own drink getting to him, or something entirely different, there appears a flush to add colour all over his skin. His hand around Maggie's continues to stroke restlessly, but he settles down enough to say, "The Wave Dancer serves Rebma, Shao-san, while Captain Flame carries a Letter of Marque. All ships in Rebma's Navy are called by the Lord Marshal to maintain the borders of the Triangle, for the military and naval pacts may be the next to fall." While so dedicated to the topic of international political intrigue, he regains a calm look and complexion. Not eyeing Maggie sliding closer beside him little by little, also helps. "It shall not come to that, ever. Amber shall be made to feel the power of the Sea and be reminded of her dependence upon its support. So it has been for centuries upon millenium." He finishes his drink, and places it in the middle of the table. Giving Maggie's hand a small squeeze, he starts to slips out and stand from the table. "The time approaches. It is good that you have returned to Rebma, Shao-san. Your friends will have need of you. As will Rebma Herself."

Something said may have triggered an answering flush from Maggie's cheeks. She does nod over part of it, "The Dancer is helping above for now. The fog... Well, rumor has it that the wedding was reflected into Amber's throne room as it happened. As to the source? I... really do not know. Princess Miriam was going ot ask the Voices of Tir, but I do not think that she has yet." Then she turns to look at Merrisol as she considers the rest of what he said. Addressing the final words, she nods, "It is good that you are back, Shao-san." Following her husband from the bench, she adds, "Excuse me, Shao-san, please. I need to change. This is not designed for High Adventure and I sort of think something is winging our way." Pausing, she touches Merrisol's hand, "A word, when you have a moment, please, Kerf. It isn't urgent." Stepping past with a quiet, "Excuse me," she heads back to the suite. Thus, Merrisol and Shao are given a chance to see the back of that outfit.

Shao does have a good look at the back of Maggie's dress and the back of Maggie at the same time. "Of course, captain," he agrees to her taking off to change. He gives Merrisol an odd look, a look of concern and he leans closer over the table to talk in a low tone. "Are we in trouble? Maggie's hunches are serious business. I cannot remember her being wrong about danger coming our way." Hopefuly, the cherry flavor drink comes to his rescue, spilling warm comfort down his throat and across his cheeks. With delight, he realizes he has been quite thrifty in his drinking and a good three quarters of the cup's content remains to be enjoyed. "This is some rich drink," he confides, before coming back to a sort of verticality.

Merrisol remains standing and speechless for the moment, having slid from the booth to make his exit, only Maggie has beaten him to it. And hers is... such a good exit. He can't follow that - well he /could/ - but it's not a good idea at the moment. "Yes.. you have seen many dangers together, as a crew," he agrees preoccupiedly with Shao, and... ends up sitting down again, like so.

Shao arches an eyebrow, noting Merrisol'd distraction, for Merri's answer was not an answer. "You know Merri-san, all this time I was in prison, I had to build an idea of the Wave Dancer, with you, Maggie, Mouse, the sailor missing almost all his fingers... and you would help me fight the visions in my head, because of the drugs," he tells, nursing his drink now and then. "At first, I had other people too, coming to help... Martin, Prince Benedict, Lilyana and Cyndre. As time went, I kept forgetting and in the end, I had you and Maggie."

There's still more Maggie in Maggie's new clothes walking away to observe, yet something in the way Shao recounts his memory of losing his memory that draws Merrisol's gaze back to his tablemate. Slow, whereupon it lingers intently. The telling has a lyricism to it that he nods to slowly. He watches Shao sip his drink, holding on to the silence for a long moment, then he says, "What is true of the Past is destined to happen again, Shao-san. What happens again and again defines truth. And you shall have your two oldest friends, together, again. Soon."

It is now Shao's turn to listen, adjusting his point of view to the one he is being offered. The mental gymnastic has a sobering effect on him, somehow, perhaps because it uses mechanisms he had not used in a long time. "The wyrm eating its own tail is whole. Its past has become its future and its way has become its living," he recites. He then smiles to Merri with gratitude.

"In this way does the circular line symbolize stability and constancy. What was great before shall return to greatness." A note of sadness accompanies Merrisol's own smile back. A decision has been made, and he follows through with it. "The Queen has returned to Rebma, Shao-san."

Maggie steps back out of the suite, closing the door after her. Alas, she is no longer wearing the fabulously stunning outfig made to accentuate her curves by the amazing artistry of Lady Ainras. Her hair is still done up in the weave, though so all is not lost. Now she wears a more circumspect outfit meant to blend in rather than stand out. At least, as much as someone with that hair color can blend in. The bikini briefs she has chosen are pale blue with an equally pale gold trim. The bikini top matches the briefs in color and accent. Rather than a half skirt, she wears a short cape of filmy, shimmery gauze. Once the suite is closed, she gently smooths the fronds protecting the silences and sounds from being heard into place. It is a gentle gesture, and kind of useless since no one rests within. When she turns to glance back at the table, she pauses. Less notable, or so she believes, she takes a moment to watch the two at the table. Somehow, she must bring Shao into this. She only hopes that he will forgive her. Not because it is an evil thing to be involved in... but because it is... weird.

"Queen Moire?" Shao asks and as he does, he realizes the question was the answer. "Queen Moire. She has awoken." He frowns a little, thinking. He takes a sip and frowns more. "Oh. Will Martin-sama have to step down?" he asks. Maybe this question has the answer too... no, maybe not. "This could change a lot of things. We have to get to know her... we need to know who she is." His traits become stern, as something inside of him closed on his heart.

Merrisol watches Shao's reaction, and breathes a little more quickly. A touch of stress joins the sad already present, and his hands curled collectedly upon the table begin to wring slowly. The flicker of ruddy vibrance in his periphery causes him to glance quickly to Maggie, this time not about to be distracted by flirtatious fashions.. or lack thereof. Need you here for this. "Shao-san," he says, to get the man's full attention, "Satoshi Shao."

Maggie notes Merri's silent call in that glance and walks quickly over to the table. She looks between the two people sitting there, each dear to her. There is a kind of resonance in them, though it it slightly out of synch and the dissonance is nigh-deafening. Sighing, she smiles at Merrisol, reaching over to take one of his hands to take it in hers. "I've got this." Turning to Shao, she sobers. "Shao-san." She keeps her voice low, "Once upon a time, you swore to keep my secrets. Remember? Well. I am in need of that now. Your silence. Your intellligence. Is that vow still in effect?"

At the call of his name, old reflexes of his training in Jade pulls the full focus of his mind at Merrisol. He reaches for the bandage that hides an eye that is not his and pulls it up, so he can look at Merrisol fully. Seeing Maggie flanking him from behind, he understand something is about to happen. "I, Satoshi Shao, renew my vows, to you and Merissol-san both, Maggie-san. What..." he asks, the shadow of fear showing on his face for this occasion, "...How can I help you?" He glances to Merrisol, anxious.

Merrisol takes Maggie's hand securely in his and monitors the conversation, frowning, as its focus shifts to Maggie and Shao. Then, as the Jadean's distress amplifies, the answer cannot come soon enough. "We shall begin by starting over. It is not Captain Merrisol who asks, though as his wife Captain Flame does ask on his behalf. It is Moire, of the Royal House of Lir, who sits here before you, and.. hopes for the same trust, in time."

Maggie remains standing as Moire introduces herself. She is indeed holding Moire's hand in Marri's guixe. "Shao-san. We are working on returning Her Majesty to her own body and recovering Kerf. For now, Her Majesty is masquerading as my husband and our friend. I would ask you to help us in the endearver but more so... You are one of our oldest friends. It would make sense for Kerf to 'hang out' with you. I now your abilities of old. I am asking you, Shao-san. Employ them on Moire's behalf. To keep her safe as you once did for me." Hah! Moire has the very best bodyguard Maggie can arrange for her.

Shao looks from the imposter to Maggie, back and forth, choosing Maggie in the end. If one expected detachement, impassivity from Shao in the face of duress, Maggie finds unfathomable sadness. A few drops of blood mist away from his hand as he relaxes his fist. "I understand," he whispers, giving the Queen a dangerous look. "I understand, Captain. I only ask that you help me with Dame Celeste? My treatment must not stop or I would fail you, down the road."

Moire keeps her gaze steady at first, but after Shao addresses his captain and friend, the Monarch drops her gaze a little, considering the remainder of the dinner on the table with reduced appetite. "I do not relish the masquerade," she says the word distastefully after Shao has spoken, then she pauses, and amends more softly, "The deception of the Rebman people, and such personal instances as this. The further delay of justice to the deserving. That is what grieves me. For the rest.. for the inconceivable opportunity to awaken from a state near death.. I am grateful beyond the power of words." She had been looking at Maggie mostly, but now focuses on Shao. "What threat has been made to your recovery, Shao-san?"

Maggie nods once, a frown beginning, "I am sorry, Shao-san. I fear that I failed to take your recovery into account. That was inconsiderate of me. Please forgive me for that oversight." Turning to Moire, Maggie's gaze softens, her hand turning to twine her fingers with the Monarch's. It is a familiar, gentle gesture. "We will find the solution soon. But, we also need to see to your own body." She smiles for the other woman and it is as gentle as her touch, warm and as relaxed as can be. Returning her gaze to Shao, she nods to Moire's question and does not add to it, waiting on their friend's answer. Noting the faint misting of blood, she frowns a bit. Her free hand lowers to her belt and she removes a small vial. "Here. This will clot the wound. Let a little out into the water. It will carry the blood to the floor." She has learned! Blood in the water is a dangerous thing.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," Shao says, even though grief still lingers in his voice. "My recovery is not a problem for as long as I get forcefed in a timely manner and that I exercise and rest." The blood does as prophecized, coagulating with the mysterious liquid offered by Maggie. "I can be your bodyguard, Queen Moire, and I will keep you safe. My concern is that if I remain weak, I may not be able to fight or even swim hard enough if you were to be discovered. I take my duty seriously and I do not underestimate the opposition."

Moire nods to the application of coagulant as a matter of course. There may be a few curious looks from the diners around the room, but once the blood is gone, interest fades. It takes some seconds before Maggie's intentions sink in for the monarch, at which point she repeats, "..Bodyguard.." and sits back. Her gaze skates coolly between the two while the initial startle and concern dissolves behind a veil of detachment. She nods belatedly to Shao's statements. "Duties of protection include as much the detection of threat and its deflection, as the defense and retreat necessary upon failure to adequately resolve the threat," she notes. Sliding from the seat, she rises to stand beside Maggie, and makes a quiet gesture towards the gallery, suggesting they depart the semi-public and -busy area.

Maggie nods to the statements from both Shao and Moire. When Moire rises to stand beside her, Maggie fades back only enough to give Merrisol's form room with her. She gives Moire a quick, almost apologetic smile, nodding again to the silent suggestion. For her part, she has not yet eaten, but shows no interest in food whatsoever. Motioning for Shao to join them, she surreptitiously glances around. What she notes does not really give her pause, though it might have another day. Merrisol, all decked out in his bling and glory, is definitly being given more than a few looks. Then again, so is Shao. Captain Flame's Hotties strike again and Rebma's elegible are stricken. Maggie does not seem displeased by this. "Come on. Let's find someplace quieter."

Merrisol re-covers the tray and picks it up to take with. The Queen might be distracted from dinner, but Merri needs food.

The immediate attention Moire gets as Merrisol is registered. Shao has one eye but that eye sees lies and oddities better than most pairs. "Yes, we must," he agrees, not forgetting his cup. And that other sipping cup, which has the same top-shelf baby seal brain brandy, or what not. "I wish to be by Merrisol-san's side, he has my swimming handle, Captain." As he rises, he offers the room a bow in farewells.

Moire quite capably keeps the tray in one hand while fishing up the silk noose in the other. Weee, Shao Kite Balloon. "I have looked upon the capital, in all its altered glory," she says as they set off, without a glance towards the other occupants of the parlour. "I have viewed some of Amber, which I had never the occasion to see Before. It follows that the next destination shall be Tir-na Nog'th. This shall require a new journey through the city above, when the moon is right."

Maggie steps to one side while Moire takes up the string for the Shao-Kite-Balloon. The two get a smile that is just a little on the quiet side. As Moire handles both the tray and Shao's swim-kite-string, Maggie falls in beside the Monarch. Her hands scoot down her hips as though seeking pockets. Not finding any, since her shorts do not have them, she clasps her hands at the small of her back. Tilting her head toward Moire, she nods, "There are some interesting places above that I do not think that you have seen. If you want to look around, it could be fun. Or educational."

"There are a lot of things I can do, Merrisol-san, but flying is not one of them. Yet," Shao says, looking over his shoulder to assess Maggie's position and maybe more. Ow, that neck still has paranoia. He helps with swimming the best he can, meaning he flaps his feet now and then for a short spell. "I must see someone soon, she may know a way to make it safe to visit this other Amber."

Moire nods to all these things as though in tacit agreement mode. The gallery, being in actuality a hallway of doors into guest bedrooms not as extensive as the suites, is wide and decorous, and carpeted by a runner of the same luxuriant sea grass. One discrete Rebman guard posting within the arch is supplemented by two sentries outside, both Tritons. They are speaking amongst themselves in their gutteral but rather beautiful warbling tongue, but return to attention when others draw near. Moire takes Shao and Maggie beyond the outside steps towards the landscaped pathways of the eastern gardens, whereupon she begins speaking again. "You spoke before of having contacts within Amber, whom you might learn the origin of the whispers concerning Rebma, particularly the conspiracy to poison her Queen. While you are in the city, it would be well if you also quietly saw to this, Shao-san." Then she removes a stay-crisp pastry from the carry-out, and extends it to him. "Eat, if you please."

Maggie takes note of the guards in passing, nodding a silent greeting to them as she goes. The way through the gallery is taken as she moves along with Moire and Shao, her attention kind of divided between her companions and the doors. Then, when they are out in the gardens, her manner shifts to a wider alertness that encompasses a bubble around them. When Moire speaks again, Maggie flickers a startled glance toward the Monarch that slips to Shao speculatively. While she does not comment on the rumors or Shao's source of intel, he is given an encouraging smile. She does, however, comment on the pastry, "Oh, those are good. I recommend them."

"Yes, I will," Shao promises, on both eating the pastry and shaking Amber for its loose change in gossips. He nibbles a corner of the baked good and gives Maggie over there a smile. His eye closes for a moment and he forgets to pedal. His eye reopens suddenly, just in time for him to grab the pastry he let go before it is out of reach. Shao secures the pastry at his sash but he does not need to see to do so, therefore his eye closes again. Total Shao-swim-balloon achieved.

Light pastry layers around savoury salmon mousse and chunky shallot filling, the perfect food for recovery. "Appetite comes with eating," says Moire, frowning as the Jadeaen stows more than he consumes. She gives him another piece with the confidence of a grandmother wielding a wooden spatula. Then she dips into the tray for another, starting to consign it to her own mouth... but then turning to offer it to Maggie instead. The maternal look fades as that more prevalent sentiment rises upon the meeting of their eyes. "I never see you eating, Margaret," she says quietly. Meanwhile, the tame and rogue fish in the gardens come mooching around in hopes of stray crumbs.

Watching Shao, Maggie looks concerned that their friend is not eating. She almost encourages him as well when she notes Moire is also not eating. At the moment. When the pastry is offered, she lifts her hand to accept it, though does not pop it into her mouth as might have been hoped. Her eyes meet Moire's and the concern for Shao fades in favor of a warmer gaze and a faint smile, "I... have not been very hungry of late." Still, she does lift the pastry to claim a bite. The flash of sharp, white teeth closing on the flakey pastry is brief, lost when she closes her lips so that none of that amazing filling is lost. The bite turns into another as the enchantment of the pastry fills her mouth with deliciousness. After chewing and swallowing, she murmers, "Thank you." Maybe she will seek another after all.

Moire nods once slowly, understanding. Her eyes light up with some combination of pleasure and interest when Maggie takes that first bite, swallowing along with her in unconscious sympathetic encouragement. She muses, "This past week has been one of revelation.. wonder.. admission.. and above all, restraint. It has not stopped me personally from eating, however; the Lord Warden's body does not seem to have the same emotional ties to food as it does to.. other.. needs." She looks down, sifts around the other offerings on the tray, then brings up a stuffed green shoot capped with a soft coating of cheese. "I find his taste palate to be somewhat underdeveloped.. perhaps because it is only some handful of years old. New tastes, though they should not have been new to me, are shocking." She places the bite-sized shoot in her mouth and closes her eyes as well while chewing, trying to take her time to experience the flavours. When she opens her eyes again, and sees Maggie has just finished the entire morsel, she smiles with renewed pleasure. Which fades into a sort of comical pique when a kissy-lipped little fish darts in to steal a tiny fleck from Maggie's tasty lips. Heyyy! That was...! She wanted..! Not fair.

The flavor lingers lightly on her tongue, even after the morsel has been swallowed. A nod is halted as her eyes are drawn first to the rotating tray, then follows the appitizer to her beloved's mouth. Inhaling, looks determinedly up to those eyes only to be startled by the oportunistic fishie. Wouldn't you know it? That tickles! And makes her blush, "Hey, now..." Lifting a hand, she gently shoos the fish away, then runs the back of her hand over her lips. Her first words are sort of muffled behind the touch, "I fear that it did not occur to me that an educaiton would be needed." Which is... Typical. Then again... "I sort of thought that he would be able to tap into the experiences of those within. But now...? There is so much to show him. And you, actually." Her eyes lift again and she stills, perhaps noticing Moire's discomfort. The kissy-lipped little fish seems unrepentant, hovering nearby in hopes of getting another helping. "Um." Break eye contact. Just do it. After another moment, she glances down to find one of those shoots with cheese. Lifting it, she brings it to her mouth and pops it between her lips.

Moire blinks as Maggie goes for another bite, and watches the shoot disappear. Then she narrow-eyes at the little fish for a second.... and scoffs quietly, just a faint chuckle from the base of her throat. Dredging up some crumbs from the bottom of one of the tray corners, she extends her hand away from herself, finger out. Immediately, a flock of the critters are swirling around, nibbling. And it /does/ tickle. She smiles at Maggie then. "Taste memory is one of those individualistic things which only develop from joint mind-body experiences. His body is not bereft of discrimination," she assures. "It is simply mismatched with my mind in that regard. You have no doubt done very well as a... sensuous educator, Margaret." After retrieving her hand from the harmless kissing mob, she shares out more of the delicious culinary wonders, mindfully reconstructing the diminished appetites of her companions.

Maggie watches the mob of kissy-fish nibble at Moire's finger. Her smile is warm and only a little whistful. When she realizes it, she releases a faint half chuckle and shakes her head. Hopeless. Her gaze trails up the gentle arch of his arm to his shoulder, then toward his throat and instantly up again to Moire's eyes. One side of her lips twitches into a half smile, "Ah, well. Maybe so. But, I have made myself a promise to do a better job." Because. "Anyway. We should talk about..." As she speaks, she claims something unseen from the tray as it is offered. "...whether we should go to the burger place before going to Tir or after. Miriam and I spoke of a possible way to repair Tir's floor. I want to give it a try. Timing, though... I feel it will be important." Bringing the whatsis to her mouth, she glances down to see what it is. She holds what appears to be a ball of pastry coated in glittering sugar beneath a clear, crispy coating. Expecting it to be sweet, she pops it into her mouth to chew. Instead, the crisp coating cracks gently releasing a faintly salty precursor to a rich and savory filling made from eel pureed with seaweed and a salty-sweat sauce with vague hints of peanuts. She blinks, surprise warming her eyes. When she swallows, she licks her lips, "That? Might be my favorite. You should try one."