RP Night 12/29/98: Rastanyev Winter Solstice Celebration

[Zami Wahye <wahye@yahoo.com>]

Social gathering at House Rastanyev's Embassy
-----


Reception Room -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

Filarion steps through the bright blue double doors from the courtyard.
Filarion has arrived.

Ylena steps through the bright blue double doors from the courtyard.
Ylena has arrived.

Old Lady is seated near the back of the room. She nods slightly as 
  people enter and wave them forward towards the seating areas.

Stepping through the doors, Ylena carefully unwraps herself from the 
  white silk traveling cloak protecting her gown. Her eyes carefully 
  sweep her surroundings as if familiarizing herself with them, before 
  handing the cloak to a servant to be hung.

Filarion makes place for the Lady Ylena and follows her, then.

The servant accepts the cloak and bows towards the lady. He turns to do 
  the same for Filarion should he need it.

Unwrapping himself from his silvery robe, Filarion hands it to the 
  servant.

The servant bows again and then disappears with the cloaks into another 
  room.

Andrei steps through the bright blue double doors from the courtyard.
Andrei has arrived.

Melchiorre steps through the bright blue double doors from the 
  courtyard.
Melchiorre has arrived.

Old Lady is seated near the back of the room. She nods slightly as 
  people enter and wave them forward towards the seating areas.

Filarion bows to the arriving na-Baron and gives Melchiorre a nod.

Ylena smiles, then makes her way over to her Nephew, before dropping 
  into her usual measured, graceful curtsy. "Ah, My Lord, I was wondring 
  if I would see My Lord this e'en?"

Melchiorre stands just inside the door, looking around, smiling 
  slightly. He nods in return to Filaron.

Turning lithely, Ylena once again sweeps into a curtsy, then replies 
  softly. "Good e'en, My Lord." to Mellchiorre.

Andrei enters, his face a shining expression of pure rage. He stalks 
  into the room, drops a sharp nod at Filarion before striding towards 
  his aunt. He comes to a stop, slowly exhails, and then murmurs out in 
  a voice, as controlled as he could make it; "aye, and had I known the 
  kind of reception I'd be reciving, you'd have more than /slight/ cause 
  for wondering.." A frown is deeply set all across his features, before 
  he adds; "dear aunt."

Melchiorre bows deeply to Ylana, rising with a smile.

Filarion waits beside a sofa until the others seat themselves.

With slightly nervous hands, Ylena carefull and deftly arranges the 
  folds of her skirts, feeling the strain of the seemingly weighty 
  silence.

Old Lady rocks lightly in her seat, resting most of her weight on the 
  walking stick she holds upright before her.

>From the Second Floor, Ivanova steps through a door at the top of the 
  stairwell. She looks down upon the crowd already gathering below and 
  nods her head to some before proceeding downward.

>From the Second Floor, Ivanova descends the Grand Staircase.
Ivanova descends the Grand Staircase.
Ivanova has arrived.

Melchiorre stands near the Old Lady, about to take a seat. Upon seeing 
  the Lady Ivanova, he hesitates, remaining on his feet.

Standing beside a Sofa, Filarion bows deeply to the approaching Siridar.

Ylena once again sweeps into the same graceful sweeping curtsy.

Ivanova moves easily with the familiarity of the room full within her 
  grasp as she greets one and another of the guest already gathered. She 
  is about to approach the group consisting of the Harkonnen and the 
  Moritani when a loud, metallic chime is heard.

 *BONG*

Andrei slowly turns towards Ivanova as she descends into the room. With 
  the same expression of having taken more than a little offense, he 
  eyes the approaching Siridar a few long moments before dropping his 
  head and upper body into a minimal bow, which he pulls back out of the 
  second etiquette allows him. Without a word, he finds a seat.

Old Lady sits upright, lighting her head to see over the heads of those 
  still standing and trying to catch view of what's ahead of her.

Filarion turns his head to localize the source of the noise.

Ylena's head darts up at the sound, apparently a bit unprepared for the 
  noise.

*BONG*

Melchiorre bows slightly to Ivanova as she approaches, then looks 
  around, hearing the gongs.

Ivanova manages a smile and a small curtsey to the final group and then 
  turns to make her way to her seat near the front of the room.

Melchiorre looks around and settles into the nearest open seat.

*BONG*

Andrei's expression turns slightly uneasy, and he shifts himself around 
  in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Upon the final ring, the door on top opens and several figures emerge. 
  The middle figure is one robed in a white robe with gold trim. He 
  wears a tall hat that points near the top. The other two that flank 
  him are dressed in deep blue robes of similar design.

Filarion finally takes a seat, still scanning the room with his eyes.

Ivanova says something into her communicator.

Old Lady opens her mouth slight, a smile managing to pull itself upon 
  her face.

Ylena settles herself into one of the empty seats, carefuly working the 
  folds of her skirts to lay flat as she sits. Her eyes drift up ti the 
  three figures, watching them closely.

Iason steps through the bright blue double doors from the courtyard.
Iason has arrived.

Most people are either seated or finding their seats at this moment. 
  Three figures stand at the head of the stairs, the middle dressed all 
  in white, seems about ready to speak.

>From the Second Floor, the man in the center raises his hands to quiet 
  everyone.

Filarion looks up and nods at Iason, gesturing him to seat himself.

Andrei studies the scene play out with the uneasy expression of 
  forbooding brooding all over his face. His arms, crossed over his 
  chest in displeasure, seemingly there as much to shield him from 
  superstition, as to make it quite clear to everyone, that the Na-Baron 
  is displeased.

Tearing her eyes from the white robed figure a moment, Ylena nods to 
  Iason, offering him a small smile. Her eyes seem to rake in her nephew 
  before returning to once again focus on the white figure.

>From the Second Floor, the man begins to speak. His voice booms across 
  the Reception Room, "Earth... " he begins, the slightest lisp in his 
  voice, "... that bountiful bowl. That wonderous miracle of life."

Iason steps in, and bows deeply to those who are present before taking a 
  seat.

>From the Second Floor, the man continues. The lips growing as his voice 
  grows louder, "We are here to celebrate the harvest." A pause, "That 
  bountiful time. That wonderous period where all else springs."

Ivanova looks up at the man, an eyebrow raising slightly as she watches 
  him silently.

Old Lady coughs lightly, seeming to break the silence in the back of the 
  room.

Ylena's expression is a study in unreadablitly as she quietly listens to 
  the robed figure, her hands laying folding in her lap.

Melchiorre looks over his shoulder at the Lady's cough. He smiles a bit 
  and nods to her.

Iason glances around, listening politely.

Andrei lifts a hand up to his mouth, chuckling softly as he leans back 
  slowly. As he yet again drops his hand, his expression has changed, 
  from displeasure and a frown, and onto amusement, and a quite large 
  smile.

>From the Second Floor, the man seems to catch the glance from Ivanova 
  and nods slightly. He lowers his hands and then pronounces, "We 
  celebrate now the coming and passing of the darkness. Let us pray 
  now..." He bows his head and waits for others to follow.

Filarion seems to be listening closely, keeping his eyes at the man. His 
  expression shows a little bit of boredom, hardly noticeable.

Ivanova bows her head forward as she listens.

Ylena bows her head politley, her face remaining a statue-like mask.

Old Lady lowers her head forward with a slight bobbing of the head.

Melchiorre lowers his head, his hands in his lap.

Andrei lightly bows his head, again, just enough not to cause offense.

Filarion lowers his head, shifting forward to the edge of his seat.

>From the Second Floor, the man begins to speak in a foriegn tongue 
  filled with harsh notes and beats. He concludes with the lifting of 
  his head and a singing, "Aaaaammmmmmmeeeeennnnn."

Old Lady repeats with a hoarse voice, "Amen."

Filarion mutters something which sounds like an "Amen"

Ivanova raises her head. Her brow furrows towards the man at the top of 
  the stairs. Yet again she remains silent.

Melchiorre lifts his head slowly, his eyes scanning up the stairs again.

Ylena raises her head slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of 
  her lips.

Ivanova raises from her seat, seeming to suddenly ignore the figures at 
  the tope of the steps and takes a couple steps up the stairs herself. 
  When she is about two steps up, she turns to face the audience and 
  begins to speak.

Iason repeats that quietly, looking up.

Filarion shakes his head a little bit, then looks up as Ivanova stands.

Andrei raises his head as the prayer ends, slowly, he re-crosses his 
  arms back over his chest where they belong, and turns his face towards 
  Ivanova, an eyebrow raised in expectance.

Ylena's gaze follows the Siridar's ascent up the stairs, she leans back 
  into her chair, remaining passive.

Ivanova folds one arm across her chest. She lightly licks her lip as she 
  begins, "Normally... it is customary for this celebration to have... 
  my brother give this speech. But as you know..." She leaves of the 
  rest, "For those who join us anew today. Welcome. Let me take a moment 
  to explain what this celebration is all about..." Her eyes dart from 
  one person to another.

Filarion leans back in his chair a bit, his face now showing more 
  interest.

Melchiorre folds his hands in his lap, crossing his legs and watching 
  the Lady speak.

Taking in a deep breath, Ivanova voice raises again, "Winter Solstice 
  marks the one day of the year where night and darkness is longer than 
  day and light. It is a time to remember and rejoice..." She smiles, 
  letting her eyes study Melchiorre for a moment, "It is also a time 
  when each of us share something deep and personal with another person 
  we care about."

Andrei studies the Siridar-extra on the stairs, his face showing nothing 
  but apathy. His eyes however, are slightly narrowed, as if he was 
  quite attentive, for one reason, or the other.

Filarion raises an eyebrow at these words, his lips curling a bit.

Lifting her hands in a giving posture, Ivanova concludes, "My people 
  have done well for themselves in recreating a festival that overtakes 
  all of our Homeworld with the humble booths and vendors outside. I 
  invite you all to join us outside."

Ylena arches a brow, but continues to cultivate her unreadable fascade.

Ivanova departs from the steps, shooting one final threatening glance 
  towards the men at the top of the stairs. Her expression fairly 
  obvious if the reasons be not.

Iason cants his head, listening politely.

Melchiorre can't help but smile, leaning back in his chair.

Old Lady stands and begins to hobble out the doorway.

You step out into the courtyard.
Courtyard -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)(#662RLtJ)

Ivanova steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Ivanova has arrived.

Filarion steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Filarion has arrived.

Iason steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Iason has arrived.

Ylena steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Ylena has arrived.

Filarion slowly makes his way out of the doors, slowly walking over the 
  courtyard, looking at the works here and there.

Music pours out across the gardens, so loud it nearly blocks out all 
  normal levels of conversation.

Andrei steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Andrei has arrived.

Melchiorre steps out through the front doors, from the reception room.
Melchiorre has arrived.

Ivanova slows as she emerges from the Embassy. Her arms hang freely at 
  her side as a true smile warms across her face. Her eyes look out 
  across the crowds and booth and she sighs.

In a soft rustle of skirts, Ylena makes her way carefully through the 
  door, and out into the courtyard

Melchiorre makes his way through the door, approaching the Lady 
  Rastanyev from behind.

Already the vendors are yelling their wares, "2 for 1" "best on Kaitain" 
  "Many more". Some walk up towards the new crowd and begin to hold 
  items before folks.

Andrei walks out, his hold and expression much like that of a soilder. 
  He joins up with his aunt, offering her an arm with a faint smile.
 
Ylena smiles, gratefully accepting Andrei's arm. "Thank you My Lord." 
  she breathes softly.

A light grin forms on Filarion's face as he walks down the booths again 
  and looks for some that sell liquors.

Iason glides out of the reception hall with ponderous dignity, making 
  his way over towards the hostess to offer formal greetings.

A jewlery vendor walks up towards Ylena and bows, "M'lady. Such a 
  beauty... might I interest you in items that undoubtablely can not 
  compair to you beauty but would do this humble servant good to know 
  such a beauty wears it."

Melchiorre pauses, staying a few feet behind the Lady as others greet 
  her.

Ivanova tilts her head towards the approaching Earl and smiles, "Earl. 
  I'm pleased you could make it this evening."

A soft smile plays across Ylena's lips, and she nods absently, waiting 
  to see what wares the Vendor could offer. Idly. the fingers of one 
  hand trace across the large Opafire pendant she is wearing.

Andrei simply nods his head towards his aunt, with a faint on his face. 
  That very same face turns towards the vendor, set in a deep frown, 
  with an irritated gesture of his free hand towards the man, he sneers 
  out; "try and unload your garbage elsewhere, the lady is less than 
  interested." With a glance to his aunt, he repeats himself; "the lady 
  is less than interested."

Melchiorre disengages himself from Lady Rastanyev's entourage, striding 
  across the courtyard to inspect the wares of a particular artisan.

The vendor continues to speak calmly, "Oh but M'Lord. To deny such a 
  beauty woman this chance... could I but tempt thee to see my ware? I 
  assure you... it is the best in all of Kaitain."

Ylena flushes slightly, but differs to Andrie's better judgement.

Valentina steps through the main gates and into the Courtyard.
Valentina has arrived.

Old Lady hobbles towards the large stack of logs and takes a seat upon a 
  bench nearby.

Coming to a stop before the Lady Ivanova, Iason's head dips as he sweeps 
  his arm and bows deeply to the hostess of the affair. "Lady Ivanova, I 
  would not have missed this appointment for all the spice in the 
  universe. You are looking well, my lady."

Melchiorre is standing at a far side of the courtyard, ambling from 
  booth to booth, occasionally stopping to talk.

Andrei simply nods his head lightly towards his aunt, turning his face 
  back to the vendor. "The lady is not interested." His voice is cold, 
  holding quite an edge. "You'll have no difficulty finding others more 
  easily fooled, in this crowd." With those words, he gives a light 
  chuckle.

After not having found anything particularily interesting for him, 
  Filarion now scans the crowd, leaving an official greeting to the na-
  Baron.

Ivanova smiles lightly, catching sight of Melchiorre's departure. She 
  nods her head, "I am fine Earl. It seems that this celebration always 
  brings out the best in me."

An artisan looks up from her work to see Melchiorre, raising her voice 
  and a rug. "My lord! Purchase a fine rug for your home for a 
  pittance!"

A smile rises on Melchiorre's lips as he's addressed. He walks over to 
  the counter, looking over a rug, turning it on his back.

Iason's smile is formal, though he shakes his head as if dismissing the 
  title. "Nay, my lady. I am still an Ambassador for my Duke, though if 
  you must refer to the title, 'Lord Ambassador' will suffice.

The jewelry turns and catches sight of another potential customer and 
  repeats his slogan, "Please... let me show you my humble ware. It is 
  one of the finest in Kaitain."

Ylena quietly stands at her Nephews side, drinking in the sights and 
  conversations around her.

Ivanova smiles lightly towards Iason and curtsies, "Lord Ambassador." 
  She waves her hand forward, "I hope you enjoy yourself this evening."

Filarion slowly strolls across the place once again, occasionally 
  inspecting the artisan's wares.

Melchiorre chats quietly with the rugmaker for a moment, then moves down 
  to look over the wide spread of jewelry.

Andrei turns his face to study Ivanova for a few moments or so. His face 
  lights up in a smile, and he leans over, whispering something to his 
  older relative, his face a mask of amusement.

The rug merchant smiles almost slyly as Melchiorre walks over, spreading 
  the beautifully woven rug over the counter before her. "Ah, a man of 
  good taste you are, my lord. See my rugs, imported directly from the 
  world of..." and starts on her spiel.

Ylena bites her lip, stifling a chukle at something her Nephew whispered 
  to her.

Like a sudden opening of a flood gate, servants clothed in a deep blue 
  come pouring out of the entrance to the Embassy. Each carry trays 
  filled with flutes of clear liquor. The soon disperse through the 
  crowd handing out to all those that would accept.

Valentina walks unescorted in through the gates, her steps slow, while 
  her eyes drink in the sights of people and decorations and 
  festivities. If a frown crosses her face it is quickly hidden, and she 
  quickly moves towards the tents, avoiding the nobles as best she can, 
  keeping to herself.

Ivanova greets another guest before turning as well to the na-Baron. She 
  smiles and curtsies again, "na-Baron."

Melchiorre takes a glass from a passing servant, still conversing with 
  the rug merchant.

Filarion notices the servants with broad smile, immediatedly taking one 
  of the flutes.

Iason bows to Ivanova's retreating back, then makes his way over to 
  pluck a flute of liquor before heading elsewhere.

Andrei studies Ivanova a few moments, just long enough to make it 
  totally clear that he is displeased about something or another, before 
  he bows towards Ivanova. "It's a pleasure to see you, Lady Rastanyev." 
  He murmurs the words out without much feeling.

Iohannes steps through the main gates and into the Courtyard.
Iohannes has arrived.
Iohannes sweeps into a low bow.

The rug merchant nods to something Melchiorre says, then goes on. "See 
  the rich colors and designs, my lord...." and gestures to the rug.

Ylena smiles, then drops into a gracefull curtsy, murmering, "My Lady, I 
  do thank My Lady for the kind invitation."

Ivanova lets her eyes flitter light towards the woman at the side. Her 
  smile still upon her face as she tilts her head, "It was my 
  pleasure... Lady...?" She looks towards Andrei with raised brows.

An elderly woman with wrinkled skin and glimmering black eyes bows low 
  to Iason. In a quavering voice, she asks. "Would my Lord care to 
  sample my humble pierogies?"

The jewelry turns and finds himself before Valentina. He repeats, "Might 
  I interest the nice lady in some jewelry? Finest on Kaitain. Perhaps a 
  necklace... or a ring!"

Andrei glances towards his aunt for a moment, then back to Ivanova. With 
  a light chuckle, he says; "Lady Rastanyev, may I present to you the 
  Dowager Countess Grimyre, Ylena Harkonnen."

Ylena smiles, then replies, "Lady Ylena Harkonnen, My Lady, Sister to 
  the Baron." She sighs softly then continues. 'I have been long from 
  Kaitain, My Lady."

Iason arches a brow. "Indeed, good lady." he replies to the elderly 
  woman.

Filarion gives Iohannes a friendly nod as he passes him and makes his 
  way to a quiet spot, to savour the taste in quietness.

A server approaches the Harkonnen party, offering the flutes of vodka.

Ylena politely declines, and asks the servant for some mild wine.

Ivanova lowers her head again, "I am honored than that you have come to 
  join us Lady Harkonnen and hope that you will not make this your only 
  visit."

The ancient woman smiles toothlessly as she passes a steaming pierogie 
  to Iason.

Valentina raises her eyebrow slightly to the jeweler and smiles 
  slightly, "I'm not interested in anything in particular... though 
  perhaps a necklace?" she says quietly to the gentleman.

Iason takes the pierogie carefully, tasting it.

The servant looks towards Ivanova, a slightly confused look upon his 
  face at the request.

Iohannes bows pleasantly in response to Filarion's nod.

Ylena drops into another curtsy before replying warmly. "I do thank My 
  Lady for the kind welcome, and I shall not be a stranger, if I am 
  welcome."

The jeweler smiles and and opens a pouch. From it he produces a necklace 
  composed of many clear crystals, "Ah... a wise selection."

Andrei glances towards the Servant, and then says with an ice-cold tone; 
  "we'll not be drinking."

Ivanova nods her head towards the servant, about to say something before 
  she turns back towards the na-Baron, "Not drink?" She makes a long 
  pout, "I hardly call that fair dear na-Baron... for I had a chance to 
  share your drinks... I had hoped to do the same." She claps her hands, 
  "Wine... now."

Filarion stands a little bit set aside, shielded against the gaze of 
  many, as he drowns the Vodka, grimacing with delight after he has 
  drowned it.

>From a far corner, Melchiorre laughs heartily at something shared in 
  conversation with an artisan..

Valentina glances at the necklace, and half smiles, "That's quite 
  lovely... but I am really just looking," she says quietly, as to not 
  upset the woman, but clarify that she probably won't spend any money.

Andrei chuckles very lightly as he turns his face back to Ivanova, 
  saying with a perfectly polite tone; "I belive the Rastanyev party 
  drank enough for both Harkonnen and Ranstanyev at our Fete, and for 
  quite a few parties in the future."

The rug merchant pauses to spread another rug.

Ylena purses her lips slightly, but tires to remain passive.

The jeweler continues, "Oh please do look... here... here is another 
  made of a deep red stone. Very unusual to this region." He holds it 
  up, "See how the light barely makes it through the stone."

Boris steps through the main gates and into the Courtyard.
Boris has arrived.

A man sidles up to Filarion, bowing so that his forehead touches the 
  ground. "Ah, perhaps my Lord might care to sample my plumb brandy, 
  eh?"

Iohannes bows politely.

Boris enters, ringed by the usual knot of surly Harkonnen guards. He 
  throws back his head and roars with laughter at the sight of all the 
  partygoers.

Iason purchases a few more pierogie, then sips at hs vodka as he wanders 
  on.

Ivanova tilts her head to one side and smiles, allowing herself a 
  stiffle chuckle, "Again though M'lord. It was us that took without 
  giving. Surely you would give me the honor in allowing me to show the 
  Harkonnen that we are at least somewhat giving... for the good of both 
  our House's?"

The ancient woman smiles, her eyes scanning the crowd for another 
  customer.

Iason's head turns up at the laughter, and he ends up bowing as best he 
  can - his arms out at his sides as he dips deeply, with a tall flute 
  of vodka in one hand and a small plate of pierogie in the other.

Boris says, "Ambassador Merx, I can't swing my arms without hitting you 
  lately, it seems, eh? Eh? Here; don't drink all the vodka, you Caladan 
  lush, pass some this way. And don't be stingy, eh?"

Valentina's head turns slightly at the sound of the unmistakable laugh. 
  She quickly turns again, and nods with the jeweler, "Indeed that stone 
  is quite rare...." she says, her hands reaching out to feel the 
  smoothness beneath her gloved fingers.

Standing beside Andrei, Ylena can not help but recognize her brother's 
  characteristic laugh. She smiles, then makes her way over to him, 
  before greeting him quietly. 'Good evening, my Lord Baron, I trust the 
  evening finds My Lord well?"

Iason straightens quickly enough, tilting the flute back to drain it 
  before tossing the glass into the air. He snaps his fingers to summon 
  a servant. "As you will, my lord." he says gravely to Boris, catching 
  the empty glass as it comes down almost into his hand.

Melchiorre picks up a work of sculpted wood from a table, questioning 
  the artist.

Andrei's smile back towards Ivanova is quite wide, and quite pleasant; 
  "no m'lady, I woulden't." His expression is quite amused, as he 
  studies her, and changes the subject; "I was rather suprised not to 
  find any kind of reception here, as my car arrived. Ofcourse, I've put 
  it down to house Rastanyev being far too occupied with this.." 
  Glancing around he continues coldly; "..party, to follow common 
  courtisy."

Iohannes sips at a flute of vodka as he examines a rug, his eyes intent.

Boris grins at his sister, gathering her into his arms warmly and 
  embracing her. "Sister! I'm glad to see you mingling here among the 
  elite, eh? Do you good to come out of mourning a while."
 
As Melchiorre moves on, the owner of the booth glances up. "It is of 
  fogwood, my lord. As you can see from the markings.."

As Ylena departs, Ivanova turns to follow her movement and catches sight 
  of the Baron. She turns her attentions back to Andrei, "No reception? 
  How odd for there were many already about. It shall not happen again. 
  For we hardly could have our good friends the Harkonnen assaulted 
  within our gardens."

A giant of a man with a hunched back bellows loudly at Valentina. "Ha! 
  If my Lady would care to see some jewelery worth wearing, let her look 
  at my amber, in the name of all that's holy!"

Ylena blushes at Boris' words, then nods. her hands once again sweeping 
  downward to smooth her skirts. "Aye, I do feel much refreshed by it 
  all, My Lord Brother."

A pair of servants rush over to the Baron Harkonnen, bowing as they 
  offer a somewhat larger flute of vodka and some delicacies.

The jeweler sneers, "BAH... " He waves his hand, "That is nothing but a 
  charleton ... worst in the industry."

Andrei turns his head as he now cant help but hear his fathers arrival, 
  he bows his head deeply in the Barons direction, before looking back 
  to Ivanova. He gives a light chuckle, and states with a perfectly 
  pleasant tone of voice; "I was quite happy with your quaint little.. 
  Ceremony." Chuckling softly, he adds; "such a shame that your subjects 
  can't seem to see the diffrence between times of harvest and times of 
  winter solstice.." Smiling still, he continues; "perhaps we should put 
  it down to those drinks we spoke of earlier, hmmm?"

HA! And YOU would know about charlatans, you, you, THIEF!

A slight grin tugs at the corners of Valentina's mouth, at the words of 
  the over-eager merchant, and says to the amber seller, "I ... really 
  do not think ambers are in my color palette," her eyes still examining 
  the red stones.

Boris greedily seizes up the flute of vodka and gulps at it like water. 
  He guffaws and hurls the glass into the air, where it shatters on the 
  ground behind him. Then he takes up twin handfuls of the delicacies 
  and jams them with glee into his bearded maw.

The servants by Boris remain there, as their trays are yet to be 
  emptied.

The amber seller smiles. "But my Lady, they highlight your... fire!"

Iason glances around as he unbends, taking another flute before he 
  starts on the pierogie, Then he approaches the Harkonnen party again.

The jewelry smiles and leans forward, "For such a lovely lady... name 
  thy price. If it is fair... it is yours." in a whispered tone.

Valentina decides to leave the jewelery merchants to their squabbling, 
  saying quietly, "Perhaps I will return to make a purchase later, ... 
  there are many other wares to see first," as she steps back and away, 
  not wanting to get in the midst of whatever this squabble may or may 
  not be. She turns away from the gates, as to not have to look upon the 
  Harkonnen baron, and his every present entourage, instead meandering 
  towards a weaver and his cloths.

"That... was not one of mine na-Baron." Ivanova speaks as the malice 
  seems to hang heavy on each word, "I had as the good Cardinal of 
  Kaitain to help us out as we could not spare one of our own from 
  Homeworld at such a time."

Boris bellows at the servants, "Don't just stand there, you great slugs! 
  Get me some more of that excellent vodka or I'll rap your noggin 
  open." He chuckles.

One of the servants jumps and hurries off. Before he returns, another 
  steps into the now open spot with another flute of vodka.

The two jewelers turn to one another and continues their own personal 
  debate.

Ylena seems to be trying to blend into the background, finding herself a 
  somewhat quiet bench beneath a tree.

Boris accepts the next flute from the servant with a nod. "Ambassador, 
  good to see you, eh? You're enjoying this 'Winter Solstice' business?" 
  He punctuates his question with a loud belch.

Andrei simply smiles back to Ivanova. "Not one of yours?" He chuckles; 
  "amazing.. He spoke of harvest, and the whole universe do know that 
  house Rastanyev are quite good at.." He raises a hand into the air 
  beside him, his fingers pointing to the sky as he rubs them together 
  slowly, seemingly searching for words; "agriculture. Eh? Maybe he was 
  simply trying to make you feel at home, hmm?"

Iason bows deeply to Boris again, then to Andrei and the Lady Ylena. 
  "Indeed a delight to see all of you, my lord Baron, my lord na-Baron, 
  my lady Ylena.

Ivanova smiles lightly, "Perhaps... but then again, do we ever know what 
  runs in the minds of men. What truly runs there?" A single brow raises 
  slowly, "Shall we go and greet your father?"

For good measure, a third servant bearing a tray of vodka arrives.

Ylena smiles at Iason. "it is well to see My Lord."

Iason bows in Andrei's direction as he calls that out.

Boris gulps down the next flute, then tosses back another one for good 
  measure.

Andrei turns his head lightly to Iason, and nods his head towards him, 
  before looking back to Ivanova with a smile. "Oh no, I'd not dream of 
  interrupting my father when he's eating." Moving his left hand to 
  cover his mouth, he chuckles, and then taps a finger at the side of 
  his nose. "And we've got more things to talk about, eh?"

"Of course na-Baron." Ivanova smiles politely, "However... I would 
  prefer not speaking of such things on this night. Perhaps... in 
  private on another night?"

Iason puts down his empty plate, as he faces Ylena and raises his free 
  hand over his chest as he leans forward in a respectful genuflection. 
  "I trust you are enjoying the festival, my lady?"

Valentina pauses before a sample of the cloth. She fingers the deep dark 
  blue material, examining it's craftsmanship and quality. She turns and 
  inquires quietly for a price.

Andrei lays his head lightly to the side, amusement playing over his 
  features before he asks; "what matters? Have the Lady Rastanyev turned 
  into a mindreader?"

Ylena smiles to Iason, then replies softly. "Aye, I am, My Lord, 
  although I must admit me, It has been a long time ere I have seen so 
  large a crowd, It is a bit overwhelming."

Melchiorre leans against a table, smiling to the family offering their 
  glasswares.

Iason rakes the crowd with an alert glance. "It compares well to the 
  last stret festival." he comments, quaffing some more vodka.

"And if we have?" Ivanova smiles playfully, "What would the Harkonnen 
  say?"

"My lord, it is our great honor that you have chosen to partronize our 
  humble booth..." the grey-haired patriarch of the family says to 
  Melchiorre. "What is your interest today, my lord?"

Andrei chuckles softly again, "the Harkonnen would advice you to 
  practice, m'lady."

The old lady behind the table nods to Valentina and responds, "1/2 per 
  yard M'lady."

Ylena flushes slightly, color rising to her usualy pale cheeks, 
  softening her stern features somewhat. "So there are many festivals of 
  this size then My Lord?" she enquires softly of Iason.

Ivanova narrows her eyes for a second, tilting her head to one side as 
  she manages to maintain a smile. She finally clears her throat, "You 
  will forgive me na-Baron as I should really greet some of my other 
  guests?"

Valentina says to the lady behind the table, "I'll take ten yards, 
  please."

"Now and again." Iason replies, glancing at Boris. "I take it the 
  refreshments are to your liking, my lord?" he inquires, with just a 
  hint of wryness.

Andrei simply smiles towards Ivanova, and makes a gallant bow. "Ofcourse 
  m'lady." As he straightens back up, his eyes glitters faintly with 
  amusement, as he studies the lady.

The old lady nods her head and begins to unravel one of the bundles, 
  making sure Valentina can see each section of cloth as she does.

A young woman of with ruddy cheeks and blond hair approaches Iason, 
  almost genuflecting upon the sight of the siridari. "Perhaps my Lord 
  would care to buy roses for his Lady?" She indicates Ylena.

Ivanova turns towards the cloth table and Valentina. A light smile is 
  upon her face as she tilts her head forward in greeting, "M'lady. I'm 
  glad you could make it out this evening to join us."

Ylena blushes, and avoids looking at the woman selling the flowers.

Boris watches Iason to see just how diplomatic he can be.

Andrei looks over Ivanova for a few moments, before taking himself over 
  towards Boris. Once he reaches his father, he comes to a halt and bows 
  deeply. "Greetings, father." He speaks the words clearly, and with 
  respect.

Iason glances at Boris, then Ylena and around again before he turns his 
  full attention to the lady. "If you do not object, perhaps a few roses 
  for all the noblewomen present would not be out of the realm of 
  possibility. Yes, I will take a half your stock for the Lady Ylena." 
  he says smoothly, pressing several solarii into the girl's hand. 
  Reaching into his sash, he pulls out a small pouch and drops it into 
  the lady's hand. "And take a few each to the rest of the noble ladies 
  present, please."

Valentina turns her head slightly at the greeting, her eyes revealing 
  that she is unsure at first, if the greeting is even for her. She nods 
  slightly, her eyes returning to watch the labors of the cloth maker, 
  and she says, "The festival sounded like a fun time to be had by all, 
  M'lady Rastanyev." Her head turns slightly now, glancing at the 
  others, then returns her attention again to her cloths. To the Lady 
  she says, "I do hope... House Rastanyev also enjoys this eve... 
  dispite the clouds that sometimes descend on such ... occasions," her 
  words trail off, leaving a clearer message to be deciphered.

The floral vendor smiles broadly and bows low, taking a few flowers to 
  each lady present.

More color rushes to Ylena's cheeks before she can surpress it. So much 
  for remaining quietly in the background.

Boris grins and applauds the absurd gallantry of the Atreides.
  
Iason tilts the flute's bottom up, emptying it before dropping it on a 
  passing servant's tray to be replaced.

The Baron's retinue of servitors breaks into like applause, as if on 
  cue.

Ivanova tilts her head and smiles as she attempts to answer, "But I had 
  so kindly asked the Guild just this morning to assure there were none 
  over our skies." She answers with a light chuckle that fades into a 
  smile she nods her head, "This is a fine cloth that you purchase 
  here... I hope you enjoy it."

Andrei's expression is slightly pained, but he turns towards Iason and 
  his aunt, and breaks into the same applaud, if not with as much 
  feeling.

Boris nods to Andrei, not without amusement. "Son. You're enjoying 
  yourself, I hope?"

Iason offers the Lady Ylena, then the Baron a deep bow in quick 
  succession, without spilling his drink.

Iohannes would cheer, but he appears to have fallen asleep beneath a 
  tree.

The old lady looks up at Ivanova and makes a curtsy. She then completes 
  the cut of the 10 yards and folds the cloth into a neat square.

Ylena's attention drifts almost imperceptably to the two women 
  conversing, it seems there is perhaps something of more interest here 
  after all. She studies them covertly, all the while her attention 
  seemingly tuned on Iason. "My Lord is too kind, I have not words for 
  such a noble gift."

Andrei turns back towards his father, and offers a silent nod of his 
  head, his back stiffening as his father adresses him.

Valentina keeps her smile hidden, as she accepts the brown-paper wrapped 
  package from the cloth maker, her cloth now secured inside. She passes 
  the require coinage to the woman, and quietly thanks her, before 
  turning again to the Lady Rastanyev, "The cloth seemed a safer 
  purchase, rather than jewels from those thieves over there," she says 
  with a slight grin, her tone clearly gently joking. She carefully 
  links her fingers of her right hand through the strings that hold the 
  package closed, the slightest clinking sound heard as she manhandles a 
  hidden lever on her special finger, making it bend into a half-circle, 
  mimicing the similar position of the other fingers that hold the 
  strings.

Iason shakes his head. "Words are not necessary when the gift is 
  warranted, my lady. Your thanks are sufficient."

Iason's eyes scan the crowd for the flower vendor, and he waves her 
  down.

Boris calls out, "Lady Rastanyev! How splendid of you to throw this 
  party, eh? We're most delighted to be here!" He bows to the Lady 
  briefly.

Ylena continues to flush slightly, then aises some of the roses to her 
  face, breathing in thier heady scent.

Moves toward Iason, her brow furrowed slightly. "My Lord?"

Ivanova lets her eyes flint down towards the hand for only a second, but 
  that is enough to have her eyes visibly drop. She smiles and then 
  turns as she hears her voice. Ivanova replies with a deep curtsy, 
  "Baron Harokonnen."

The flower vendor moves toward Iason, her brow furrowed slightly. "My 
  Lord?"

As the lights of the day wane, someone walks up to the large pile of 
  wood and sets it ablaze. Soon a good bonfire has begun in the middle 
  of the garden.

Iason slides a hand into his sash, and takes out another small pouch. 
  "If you can procure some more roses, see that some are sent to the 
  Harkonnen embassy, and that more are brought here for our hostess."

Valentina quietly works her way away from the Lady Ivanova. She crosses 
  behind the blazing wood pile, pausing a moment to inhale the scent. 
  Then she moves towards another section of tents, again, deliberately 
  selecting her path to avoid conversation with most of the nobles 
  there.

Boris says, "Yes, yes. "Winter Solstice.' indeed. Any excuse for a 
  party, eh?"

The floral vendor bows low, accepting the money. "As my Lord wishes... I 
  will go now and arrange it. My brother should be here in a short 
  while, while my father will bring them to the Embassy..." She moves 
  off, counting the coins.

Melchiorre passes Valentina as he rounds a corner, pausing only to nod 
  to her, more interested in the goods and their purveuors.

Ylena purses her lips for a moment, lost in thought, then scans the 
  crowd for the woman selling the cloth.

Iason merely offers Ylena a smile, as he scans the place, and backs off 
  with a bow.

Ylena smiles up again at Iason> "Again, My Lord, My thanks."

Boris appears to notice Melchiorre for the first time. He gestures to 
  one of his servants to approach the man.

Valentina nods slightly to Melchiorre, also not especially interested in 
  his company. She pauses near a booth where a person paints some small 
  handcrafted wooden boxes, admiring the simplistic design of the boxes, 
  but the beauty of the inlaid paintings upon them.

An aging man wakes Iohannes, belabouring him with a cane. "Wake up! Wake 
  up! The sun struggles to live and you sleep! A pox upon you you 
  wretch! Heh!"

Iohannes jumps to his feet, spilling his vodka.

Ivanova smiles lightly towards Boris, the smallest nod of her head. She 
  moves deliberately towards Melchiorre who is now close on her 
  position.

Ylena raises a hand to her lips to hide her giggling, moved by the 
  antics of the old becaned man.

Melchiorre is engaged in conversation with a woodcarver, who falls 
  silent as Ivanova approaches. Melchiorre turns to look, the smile 
  staying on his lips as he sees Ivanova.

Andrei glances towards his father, a frown on his face. Leaning forward, 
  he murmurs something to the Baron, while studying Melchiorre.

A tall dusty man with a long stride moves across the courtyard. He bows 
  low before Ylena, red roses in his hand. "For you, my Lady, if you 
  please, from an admiring gentleman..."

The tall man gestures toward Iason.

Ivanova returns the smile and then leans closer to whisper something to 
  Melchiorre.

Ylena arches a brow, then smiles and takes the roses, drinking in their 
  scent. Her eyes drift up to Iason, then she smiles.

Iason looks up, then discreetly waves towards Ivanova, the hostess.

Melchiorre nods quickly to Ivanova, then smiles at the artisan and steps 
  away from his table. He whispers something in response.

Valentina quietly asks the painter if she might have the honor of 
  decorating one of the boxes.

Iason inclines his head as Ylena looks over.

Iohannes moves toward Ivanova, bowing low to her, a grin creasing his 
  case. "An excellent festival, my Lady. Truly wholesome and enjoyable."

Ivanova turns towards Iohannes and nods her head, "I'm pleased you 
  enjoyed it Lord. Thank you." As she concludes, she nods her head to 
  Melchiorre, "Later... tonight."

The dusty man also takes a few roses over to the Hostess. "And these to 
  my Lady, who has made this great day possible." He bows low, a 
  reverant look upon his face.

Accepting the flowers with a bow of her head, Ivanova almost immediately 
  begins again to circulate among the people in the crowd.

The slightly stunned painter nods, and nods to his apprentice, who 
  rushes around to the other side of the table with a stool for 
  Valentina to sit upon. She does so, placing her package at her feet. 
  She pushes up the sleeves of her dress, and removes her gloves, 
  placing them on her lap. The painter then passes her a series of small 
  brushes, and a small palette with several different colored paints on 
  it. He places a small tin of water next to a medium-sized undecorated 
  box, and says with a smile, "Take your time, M'lady... there is no 
  rush."

A stout looking man of middle years enters, crooking his finger towards 
  the dusty fellow, shouting, "Feodor, come!"

Ylena rises from the bench she has been occupying, and fetches up the 
  roses, then picks her way through the crowd over to her brother.

Feodor, the dusty florist, moves swiftly. "Yes Father?"

Melchiorre nods back to Ivanova, smiling warmly as he turns to watch 
  Valentina.

A muttered but swift conversation passes between the two men. Finally, 
  the elder makes his way toward the Baron Harkonnen, his face eyes 
  darting about nervously, keeping them to the ground as is proper when 
  addressing nobility. "My Lord Baron? Ten thousand pardons for 
  disturbing my Lord Baron, but I am a humble florist... I was to 
  deliver flowers to my Lord's embassy, to my Lord's noble and 
  illustrious sister... There are many flowers, my Lord... To which 
  official at the embassy ought I, a humble florist unschooled in the 
  ways of the powerful, entrust them?" He bows once more, very low.

Valentina carefully selects a small brush, dipping it into a dark green 
  colored paint, and turning the box onto it's side with her left hand, 
  she slowly begins to paint with her right. The painting itself is 
  delayed a moment as she switches an unseen level again, and with a 
  slightly audible click the finger is bent again into a half-circle, to 
  allow her to move her hand as naturally as possible.

Ivanova finally completes her rounds as she moves towards the Baron 
  Harkonnen. She slows as she nears, catching some of the conversation 
  from the florist, "What seems to be the problem here?"

Boris scowls at the florist, looking left to Andrei, then right to 
  Ylena, then back to the man. "The..flower official, of course, you 
  fool. Hrmm...Who would that be, Andrei?"

Andrei raises a brow slightly, a hand lifting to his chin as his other 
  arm goes over to rest against his chest. "Hmmmm.." He murmurs out for 
  a moment or so, before he smiles; "I do belive.. Father, that a 
  responsability of such magnitude, only could be entrusted to our.." 

Chuckling lightly, he continues; "chemist."

The florist turns to Ivanova. "My Lady, I came to ask direction of the 
  most noble and illustrious Lord Baron Harkonnen. He and his son have 
  given it unto me..." He bow low once more.

Boris laughs broadly, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Chemist! 
  Imagine Mikael's face, eh, when he sees this weasel here with all his 
  flowers."

Ylena fidgets slightly, uncomfortable perhaps with all the attention.

The florist shouts at his son. "Run, and tell the workers, the chemist, 
  you half wit!" He bows once more, for good measure before departing.

Ivanova looks between the two noblemen as she curtsies, "Lord Baron 
  Harkonnen." She smiles lightly, "Wise decision."

Andrei eyes the Florist for a few moments, a grin spreading acrossing 
  his features. "Aye father, I idly suspect, he'll be so overcome with 
  pleasure at seeing this man, that he'll invitie him to stay for a 
  while." He laughs softly, his expression turning slightly uneasy as 
  his shoulder is patted.

Both florists leave, sprinting, the elder berating the younger for his 
  folly. "I told you that the great have an official for every concern, 
  heh!"

After a few moments, Valentina turns the box.... and after a few moments 
  again, until finally a stripe of this dark green lines the edges along 
  where the top of the box meets the base of the box. She then rinses 
  that brush, and selects another, slightly smaller, and examines the 
  paints before her. She says something quietly to the craftsman, who 
  produces a small pot for her. She dips this new brush in the pot, 
  while waiting for the green to drive.

Boris nods to Ivanova. "Thank you, thank you." He adds, thoughtfully. 
  "You know, I don't like the way that fellow spoke to me, eh? It's not 
  seemly for such a wart to approach me and my family that way. He 
  didn't even avert his eyes! You will correct him for his 
  outspokenness, won't you?"

Iason raises a brow, as he sips his vodka.

Ivanova tilts her head to one side, a smile curling its ways onto her 
  lips, "The man was merely being himself. It isn't uncommon where I 
  come from." Neither an apology nor a confirmation that she might do 
  anything about this.

Andrei smiles towards Ivanova, giving a chuckle he says; "aye, the 
  Rastanyev are famous for being themselves.." Glancing to his father, 
  he adds in the same pleasant tone; "it's a shame they've never managed 
  to be anyone else."

Ylena raises one hand to her left temple, her eys fluttering half closed 
  a moment, before reopening. She leans in and whispers something to her 
  brother.

Boris says loudly, more to his fellow Harkonnens than in response to the 
  Lady, "Isn't uncommon? Isn't uncommon?" he chuckles. "Well, that does 
  explain so much, eh?" He smirks at his son's comment.

Melchiorre walks over to the bonfire, taking a seat at the eadge and 
  watching the flames.

Valentina continues to paint, finishing the edging decoration, a thick 
  green stripe, with a silver stripe atop it, and a thin black stripe in 
  the middle of the silver one. She then places the box back on the 
  tabletop, and begins to work on decorating the top.

Boris nods to Ylena, extending his elbow to her. "Shall we depart this 
  little bazaar, Sister dear?"

Ivanova lets herself dart a glare towards Andrei but reserves a smile 
  towards Boris, "I believe there might be a better means that would 
  please the Baron far more... perhaps you would enjoy keeping this 
  subject... for other events? I am sure his services can be... 
  retained."

Ylena smiles, then takes her brother's arm > "Aye My Lord Brother, I 
  fear that I am as yet still unused to so much excitement, and am 
  lacking the stamina for it."

Valentina continues painting, starting with the silver colored paint. 
  Slowly the shape of a bird is outlined with a fine brush.

Boris says to Ivanova, "Of course, Lady." In a louder voice, he calls, 
  "Good night, all!"

Andrei chuckles softly, then comments to his father as he turns to 
  leave, without bothering with a bow towards Ivanova; "the Lady Ivanova 
  has made herself famous by retaining her services to a large number of 
  men." He chuckles, shaking his head with amusement as he follows 
  the Harkonnen party towards the doors.

Valentina mutters something to the artisan and his apprentice at Boris' 
  most recent loud words. The three do their best to supress giggles.

Iohannes sweeps into a low bow to the baron Harkonnen, and bows low to 
  each member of the departing Harkonnen party.

Iason bows as the Harkonnen party leaves.

Boris steps through the main gates and onto the path leading to Sheuset 
  Street.
Boris has left.

Ivanova curtsies towards the departing Baron and then turning. The smile 
  gone from her face already.

Ylena sweeps into a curtsy before leaving, then smiles at Ivanova. 
  "Again, My thanks for My Lady's hospitality."

Ylena steps through the main gates and onto the path leading to Sheuset 
  Street.
Ylena has left.

Andrei steps through the main gates and onto the path leading to Sheuset 
  Street.
Andrei has left.

Valentina continues to paint, eventually the shapes come into complete 
  view. A stylized hawk in silver, profiled against a field of pine 
  green. The hawk emblem has its

Valentina continues to paint, eventually the shapes come into complete 
  view. A stylized hawk in silver, profiled against a field of pine 
  green. The hawk emblem has its wings outstretched, the head turned and 
  beak slightly opened is slowly seen.

After the folks have departed, Ivanova turns and moves towards the 
  bonfire. The faintest sigh is released as she makes her way through 
  the crowd.

Melchiorre is seated around the far side of the fire, perhaps not 
  noticing, at least not acknowledging, the conversation.

Iohannes moves toward a bench, enjoying the heat of the fire.

Valentina smiles, finished with the box. While it dries she discusses 
  some painting techniques with the artisan, and eventually, they also 
  talk of a sum for the box, and for the use of the paints.

As Ivanova nears the fire, she smiles towards those about and slows as 
  she steps before Melchiorre. She extends a hand forward, "Come... 
  now."

Melchiorre's attention is drawn from the fire. He looks up and takes the 
  Lady's hand, rising in silence.

Ivanova turns, letting her arm linger behind, as she slowly pulls you 
  towards the interior of the Embassy.

An old man, his face creased, moves over to Iason. "Would my Lord care 
  to buy a wicker man? My family has burned them at this time of year 
  for generations, to remind us of the death of the old year, making way 
  for the new."

Melchiorre follows Ivanova inside, staying close behind her.

The old fellow produces a small straw figure.

Ivanova steps through the bright blue double doors, into the embassy 
  proper.
Ivanova has left.

Melchiorre steps through the bright blue double doors, into the embassy 
  proper.
Melchiorre has left.

Iason nods once, and pulls out some solarii.

Eventually, the box that she has painted dries completely. She pays the 
  artisan easily triple what the box is worth without a second thought. 
  She then carefully carries it in one hand, and her small paper package 
  in another. With a smile she carefully makes her way towards the 
  gates, after gazing one more time to the bonfire.

The old man smiles toothily, handing one to Iason. "My thanks, noble 
  lord!"

Iason just bows a little to the old man.

Iohannes moves away. He too, produces a straw figure. Smiling, he tosses 
  it into the fire. "The Winter lives, and the Winter dies!"

Valentina slips out of the courtyard, back to the streets.
Valentina steps through the main gates and onto the path leading to 
  Sheuset Street.
Valentina has left.

The old man bows low in return, leaving. He swipes a tear away from his 
  cheek as he leaves. "Poor Samuil the Florist... Ah, the poor fool..."

Iason turns to the fire, and shakes his head as he throws the wicker man 
  in.

Iohannes bows low to Iason as he leave. "A fine evening, no, Lord 
  Ambassador?"

Iason inclines his head. "Indeed.

Iohannes smiles, but sighs. "But there is always a little tragedy mixed 
  in with joy, eh?"

Iason just nods once.

Iohannes pondering that, leaves.

Iohannes steps through the main gates and onto the path leading to 
  Sheuset Street.
Iohannes has left.