New Year's Celebration log

["Martin Hirsch (Filarion)" <filarion@earthlink.net>]

This is the New Year's Celebration log from Jan 5th , 1999 plus some
interesting stuff happening afterwards.... special thanks to Praxton and
Boris for the great performance :)





Iason bows deeply as the two Siridari enter.

Ylena glides forward in a swirl of skirts to join her brother, her head
bowed gentilely.
Cesare hears the familiar laughter of the Baron Harkonnen and turns to
give him a bemused smile.

Boris says, "Ah, Ambassador Merx, good to see you, too!"

Iason calls out, "My lord Baron! An honor to see you present at this
occasion!"

Iohannes bows deeply to the entering Prince, and once to each of the
siridari present.

Sardaukar Lewis takes his position at the foot of the bridge. He flips
his sword into position, holding it along the back of his shoulder and
salutes towards the Emperor's direction.

Mahufi comes from the Reception Hall.

Mahufi has arrived.

Elrood bows back to Iohannes, slightly.

Mahufi slowly makes his way into the room, leaning on his can to keep
his balance.

Boris joins you at the table.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion bows to Boris once more as the Baron
joins the table. "My Lord Baron. Good to see My Lord here, too."

Mahufi takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

Praxton joins you at the table.

Mahufi slowly and with obvious difficulty sits down, his walk looks to
have tired him. He sets his cane across his knees.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena smiles at boris and greets him merrily. 'My
Lord Brother seems well this eve."

Sardaukar Lewis straightens and stands, straight like a statue.

At the leftmost patio, Boris says, "I'm well enough, Sister. Have you
ever seen so many damned stuffed shirts? We ought to have brought some
of those slaves with the big---Oh, good evening, Duke Atreides!"

At the leftmost patio, Filarion  stands once more as the Duke
approaches. Bowing deeply he says "My Lord. I am honoured."

At the leftmost patio, Ylena sweeps into another deep curtsy, then
murmers. 'Your Grace." Her cheeks begin to collor slightly, and the
fingers of one hand twist nervously into her skirts.

A horn, sounding off in the distance from the direction of the palace
sounds. Three clear tones followed by two short and one final long tone.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton responds to the various greetings with
polite smiles and bobs of his head. He stops with the Baron Harkonnen,
and says in good humor, "Ah, cousine, you look merry. Did you have the
one child for dinner, or two this time?"

At the leftmost patio, Boris guffaws madly and claps Praxton on the
shoulder. "You know my appetite well! And half a barrel of vodka to wash
them down!"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena's eye drift momentarily to the palace,
searching out the source of the noise. She worries her bottom lip
between her front teeth, then flushes more at the Duke's words.

At the leftmost patio, Boris says, "Here, Praxton old boy, you remember
my sister, Ylena. Go on, don't be shy, eh?"

Off in the distance from across the bridge, a brigade of flags can be
seen slowly making its way closer to the greens. The flags bounce all in
tune as the holders move with haste.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton turns to regard Ylena frankly, "Ylena..."
He stops for a moment, as if in thought. "At the Coronation, yes? You
were with the tall gentleman, with the stipes.... were you not? I
remember you well."

Ylena flushes slightly, then nods her head once. "Yes, Your Grace, since
then I have been away from Kaitain. I am glad to see Your Grace well."

Valentina climbs up the Stairs.

Valentina has arrived.

Valentina comes up the stairs, pushing down the hood of her cloak.

"Halt" A voice raises over the noise of the crowd. The brigade is now
poised at one end of the bridge. It can be seen now that each member of
the brigade is dressed in the identical uniforms of the Sardaukar. There
seems to be about a legions worth standing there. Only about 10 or 20 of
them are actually holding the banners.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion sits quietly as he observes the scenery,
his gaze on the flags.

Mintor climbs up the Stairs.

Mintor has arrived.

Iohannes takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton finally tears his attention away from
Ylena and shuttles off to find a place to seat himself, "It was a
pleasure to see you again, milady. We must talk more anon...."

Mintor bows deeply in the direction of the Emperor.

Mahufi slowly bows to the Ambassador.+

Valentina makes her way along the edges of the crowds, not moving
towards any particular party. Her eyes scan across the people, as she
tries to get a picture as to what is going on.

At the leftmost patio, Boris shrugs, "I spose I should go make my
obeisances..." He looks over where the Emperor is sitting.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena smiles warmly, then nods. "Aye, Your Grace,
as it pleases Your Grace." She sweeps again into an elegant curtsy, her
skirts making a soft rustle around her.

Mahufi says in a raspy old voice, "Hello, come to speak with an old man
then?"

Elrood notices that Valentina has arrived, and with an annoyed yank of
the bottom of his tunic, he scowls inwardly.

"Forward March." The voice commands again. In perfect formation, the
lines narrow so that they are now only 5 persons wide. They march as
such towards the greens. It can be noticed now that every other line is
capped at either end with a banner holder.

*Thump Thump Thump Thump* The steady movement of feet across the bridge.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena finaly allows her focus to shift for an
instant to the impressive demonstration of Sardaukar, her eyes narrowing
thoughtfully as they go through their paces. "Most impressive." she
murmers, more to herself then anyone present.

Mintor travels along the center walkway.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion continues to peer into the direction of
the flags and the bridge.

Sardaukar Lewis flips his sword forward smartly, holding it before his
face in a saluting manner. He holds as such until the whole legion has
passed his position.

Mahufi slowly nods his old head, "It is a pleasure to meet you. I wish
both your House and yourself the best of luck and wishes in the days to
come."

Iohannes says, "And may the same be true of His Sublime Majesty's Court,
and my Lord's own family."

The Sardaukar spread out into several lines that extend about 2/3rds of
the flat portion of the semi-circle.

Mahufi says, "On such a special day as today, I have only good wishes
for all parts of the Empire."

"Present Arms!" The voice barks again. The sudden sound of many, many
swords becoming unsheathed is heard. A flicker of light comes shining as
the waning sunlight hits each, sending out a sparkle of light.

Joral bows to mintor.

Joral says, "Greetings my Lord"

At the leftmost patio, Boris finally gets the wine he's been craving and
raises a glass in a toast to the folk at his table.

Steffan climbs up the Stairs.

Steffan has arrived.

Cesare smiles proudly at the presentation before him.

Mahufi smiles, which makes his craggy face look like it is breaking.

"On my count. Begin." The voice notes. "Hut. hut. hut." The speaker
repeats in even intervals.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena settles in, then leans forward slightly
trying to catch a better glimpse of the Sardaukar trhough the throngs.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion observes the parade, his clouded gaze
not hiding his feelings towards them.

Joral says, "yes my lord, the strength of the Sarduakar is truly
impressive to behold. I am sure his Grace will be equally impressed at
this, the stabilizing influence of the Empire. They ensure peace of
all."

At the leftmost patio, Boris gestures for a guard to clear the view for
Ylena, and the man does so roughly, shoving a few well-dressed
spectators out of the way with a contemptous expression.

Iohannes moves his eyes along the rows of armed men, smiling with the
others... It does not reach his eyes.

Valentina moves to the Bridge of Emperors.

Valentina descends the Stairs.

Valentina has left.

Valentina climbs up the Stairs.

Valentina has arrived.

In unison and in time with each note, the legion moves into their drill.
First a forward thrust of the sword. Two steps forward. A pull back into
a side perry block with the dull edge of the knife. A quick turn of the
head and then a whirl to attack to the opposite side. Completing the
imaginary attacker from behind with a flick of the sword and a backwards
jab.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton is doing his best to look neutral, but it
is clear he is thinking uncomfortable thoughts.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena schools her expression to not show a
visable wince at the Guards rough handling of the people. She dutifuly
smiles at her brother and says softly. "Thanks you, My Lord."

Valentina takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

Mahufi speaks again in a rasp, "So, what do you think of all the young
men showing off for the girls? I think most military pomp revolves
around that."

At the leftmost patio, Boris smiles at his sister, slurping his wine and
watching the Sardaukar with a bore expression.

Steffan travels along the center walkway.

Valentina has disconnected.

Valentina has connected.

Mahufi bows, still sitting, to Valentina, light reflecting off his large
bald spot.

At the final movement, the full legion shouts, "Hazzah." Their voice
raises to fill the greens. As the single word dies in the wind, a
feeling of emptiness falls upon the greens.

Joral bows deeply to Steffan, "Greetings my Lord"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena's hands nervously arrange the folds of her
skirts.

At the leftmost patio, Boris snorts. "Hazzah. Well said, eh?"

At the leftmost patio, Filarion looks expressionless, his left eyebrow
twitching. He mutters something like "On all planets, eh?"

Cesare mutters to Fredhrick, "... Your... I don't... how... who...
witness... of grandeur and... has... firsthand... of... hold... an... in
their... isn't... place... my Emperor, but I... educating... the...
effectively end this..."

At the leftmost patio, Ylena purses her lips, her forhead creasing with
worry as she urmers softly, "So this then.." Her eyes dart to the
Sardaukar before continueing, "Is what runs roughshod over our two
worlds." A soft sigh escapes her lips, like a soft breeze.

Mahufi once again smiles his craggy old smile.

"Attention!" The voice sends the lines to suddenly all raise. The sound
of the blades singing in the air as they all are flipped into a saluting
position.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena winces slightly and sets back at the
whistling of the blades through the air.

Again, as one, the group presents their formal salute towards the
direction of the Emperor and await his recognition.

Fredhrick returns the salute to his soldiers with a semi-smile.

The swords sing again as they are resheathed after the acknowledgement.
The group breaks up into two flanks that jog on command down either side
of the semi-circle and then disappear behind the crowd.

Valentina descends the Stairs.

Valentina has left.

Valentina climbs up the Stairs.

Valentina has arrived.

At the leftmost patio, Boris watches the soldiers trot off, looking
distinctly bored. Turning to Praxton, he asks bluntly, "So what do you
think of Ylena, here? Isn't she a beauty?"

Valentina takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton's attention is snapped back to the here
and now by the Baron's voice. "Hmm?" A moment, then, "Oh, yes,
certainly, Baron. She is stunning."

At the leftmost patio, Ylena blushes furiously, her eyes downcast, as
the color rises uncontrolably to her cheeks.

Valentina descends the Stairs.

Valentina has left.

Valentina climbs up the Stairs.

Valentina has arrived.

Sardaukar Payne has arrived.

Valentina takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion lets his gaze wander into Praxton's
direction, his eyes dancing in amusement.

At the leftmost patio, Boris nods emphatically. "You're damned right she
is! And you, Ylena? Ever seen such a fine specimen of a man as this one?
He's Ginaz trained, did you know? Almost bested me on more than one
occasion!"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena continues to flush nervously then murmers
almost inaudably. "Of course, My Lord."

Sardaukar Payne marches against the movement of the others, moving
towards the palace.

At the leftmost patio, Boris polishing off his sixth glass of wine
easily, holds out his glass for a refill, which is promptyly supplied.

Fredhrick strolls around the green, stopping periodically to acknowledge
certain individuals.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton narrows his eyes at Boris, then looks at
Ylena, hoping to catch his eye. When he does, he shakes his head
slightly, almost saying, "Don't mind him."
Sardaukar Lewis steps foward. He turns to make a sharp turn to position
himself until he stands directly in the middle of the opening to the
Bridge.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena worries her bottom lip between her front
teeth, then nods slightly, managing a smile through her nervousness.

Fredhrick calls forth an aide and whispers a message.
At the leftmost patio, Filarion smiles lightly and allows himself a
glass of wine, too.

Sardaukar Payne marches to the other edge of the bridge. Then sharply,
he turns, and completes the choreographed march, meeting Sardaukar Lewis
in the middle of the bridge.

Sardaukar Lewis lifts his head as his voice shouts over the crowd, "Who
approaches the Bridge. Present thyself."

At the leftmost patio, Boris says, "Of course, he's not what he used to
be. Why in the old days, he and I together could have given those
Sardaukar a run for their money, eh? If we weren't always brawling, that
is."

At the leftmost patio, Praxton sits quite upright, leaning over to
mutter to Boris, "His Majesty wishes to join us at this table, Boris. I
think we might have to make room...."

At the leftmost patio, Boris says, ""Eh? Here? As long as he doesn't
drink all the wine, I say let him sit."

Boris gestures to some servitors to clear a space for His Majesty, and
then rises.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton pulls a face, and glances at Filarion,
mouthing the words, "He should go."

At the leftmost patio, Filarion nods. "I see of course. My lord, I will
be off to refresh myself then."

Boris shoos Filarion away from the table with a movement of his fingers.
"Count...Be a good fellow and rise, eh?"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena schools her features carefully, stemming
the rising tide of blushes fighting for control of her complexion. She
glances at the Duke, then the Count, then her brother and whisers
softly. "There are but four chairs My Lord."

Morgen climbs up the Stairs.

Morgen has arrived.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion quickly bows to the others, then walks
off towards another table.

You stand from the table.

Fredhrick takes a seat at the table located on the left-hand patio.

Boris calls out, "Your Majesty! Would you do us the honor of joining us
at our table?"

Mahufi smiles pleasantly to the Marquis and slwly painfully attempts to
stand up.

Iohannes offers his arm to the old man as he rises.

Cesare walks away from the cannon and towards the centre of the Cannon
Green.

Cesare travels along the center walkway.

Sardaukar Payne answers in crisp clear words, spoken with autbority
"Sworn Protector of the Bridge of Emperors, of the Elite Red Sharks
Third Batallion of His Majesty Fredhrick Coririno XIX, Lieutenant Kerwin
Payne reporting for duty, Sir!" He seems to straighten upright even
more, heels of the boots clicking together on the last word.

Filarion slowly walks over to the left part of the green.

Valentina gets up from the table to the right.

Mahufi descends the Stairs.

Mahufi has left.

Boris bows at the precise angle required,, averting his eyes. Good thing
he remembered his manners.

Mahufi climbs up the Stairs.

Mahufi has arrived.

Cristobal travels along the center walkway.

Joral bows deeply to the Count.

Valentina stands off to the side of the center walkway, waiting for the
Count.

Joral says, "Greetings my Lord"

Morgen enters with all the meekness which his withered frame will allow.
Looking a bit lost he near incesantly casts glances over to the solitary
female aide that has accompanied him tonight. Returning polite nods
smiles and the occasional bow he makes his way toward the familiar
company of his son.

Iohannes sweeps into the customary obeisance to Morgen.

Sardaukar Lewis nods his head, "Duely noted." He too clicks his the
heels of his boots together and then takes several steps forward,
turning at a 90 degree angle when he comes aligned with Payne. He lowers
his sword and places it across both arms, presenting it forward towards
the other guard.

Filarion sweeps into a bow, too as he sees Morgen.

Sardaukar Payne reaches out, taking the sword. He then whips it upright,
forming a perfectly straight line, before lowering it to his side, "You
are relieved of your duty for today, Sardaukar Lewis, Sir," he says
crisply. Then he turns, and marches formally to reclaim Sardaukar Lewis'
original location alongside the bridge.

Iohannes gets up from the table to the right.

Sardaukar Lewis makes a quick nod of his head and then proceeds in the
direction towards the palace.

Iohannes takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

Mintor descends the Stairs.

Mintor has left.

*Boom*

Mintor climbs up the Stairs.

Mintor has arrived.

*Boom*

*Boom*

Valentina tightens her cloak around her, turning at the sounds of the
cannons.

Morgen has the look of a man who really hopes nobody saw that, as he is
quietly and tactfully reminded by his aide that the center is full. He
stops in mid stride and looks for someplace more hospitable.

Small whisps of white clouds curl up from the sides and then finally the
middle of the palace area. The source of the clouds are three cannons
that sit level with the ground.

Valentina slips out of the green, as the last echos of the cannons die
away.

Valentina descends the Stairs.

Valentina has left.

Cristobal steps off from the central walkway.

Mintor chuckles and grins "Quite well thank you. Steffan awaits you in
the walkway."

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" A small man steps foward and calls, "Thus marks the
hour of the new year. The 44th year of our Majesty Fredhrick Corrino
XIX."

Cristobal turns to face the monument to the Battle of Corrino,
applauding. He then faces the left patio, offering a bow to the Emperor.
Though he does speak, his words are indistuinguishable from the din
about him.

The light of the sun makes its final attempt to recapture the skies. The
final ray of light passes over the horizon and the darkness sets in.

A barrage of servants carrying torches come pouring out of the palace.
They run about the field, placing glowglobes in several locations.

Cristobal takes a seat at the table located on the right-hand patio.

Filarion silently observes, slowly making his way towards Iason as he
does so.

*Whoosh*... *Pop*

*Pop*.... *Ping*

Steffan steps off from the central walkway.

Iohannes inclines his head in agreement. "Indeed, my Lord Earl... The
fireworks are spectacular.

Another burst of light, this time white and gold patterned over it.

Iohannes says, "As was the exhibition of marshal valour... Truly a
glorious celebration..."

Fredhrick gets up from the table to the left.

Boris bows alongside Praxton as well.

Ylena quickly rises and swoops into another curtsy as His Majesty
departs the table.

Fredhrick whispers a few commands at waiting attendants, then returns to
the palace.

Fredhrick passes the Grand Entrance.

Fredhrick has left.

Mintor bows to the Emperor as He departs.

Iason rises to bow, as the Emperor departs.

Joral bows deeply to the departing Emperor.

Steffan pauses for moment to bow to the departing Emperor.

Iohannes bows low toward the departing sovereign.

Filarion strolls over towards the left table again, halting and bowing
deeply to the Emperor until he has left, then continuing for the nobles
at the table.

Mahufi slowly makes his way back into the palace, he looks tired.

Mahufi passes the Grand Entrance.

Mahufi has left.

Morgen bows as he is obligated to when the Emperor leaves, but his
attention is focused more so on his son.

Iohannes inclines his head. "Indeed, my Lord, indeed..."

Sardaukar Lewis has left.

Filarion bows to the Baron, the Duke and the Lady again. "May I take a
seat again My Lords and My Lady?"

Boris nods to Filarion. "Sit, sit, " he says impatiently.

You make your way to the left hand patio, taking a seat at the table.

Iason looks around quietly.

Sardaukar Payne has left.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton sets his drink down. He looks at Ylena
sorrowfully and replies, "We were not much enthused about it ourselves,
milady."

At the leftmost patio, Boris looks from Praxton to Ylena and actually
manages to chuckle. "No...but I'd wager they enjoyed their stay on
Giedi! Eh, Count Filarion?"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena nods again, then replies quietly. "I can
understand why Your Grace would be disquieted by such."

Mintor gently embraces the Marquis "Happy New Year, Uncle."

At the leftmost patio, Filarion grins a bit, recognizing the old topic.
"One should really think so My Lord. We offered them all amusements one
could think of."

Mintor steps back and bows to the Marquis and following with an smile to
Steffan. He steps to the stairs and tosses a wave to his brother as he
exits.

Morgen returns the embrace, looking quite content he nods "Happy new
year, to you as well nephew. May the Hand of God be with you and us
all."

Mintor descends the Stairs.

Mintor has left.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton points to the crowd, "There goes my
brother Minotauros. He is just returned from Caladan... I had to send
him there to marshal the Guard and make sure nothing got out of hand,
although there were many incidents..."

Joral descends the Stairs.

Joral has left.

Joral climbs up the Stairs.

Joral has arrived.

Joral passes the Grand Entrance.

Joral has left.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena sighs, then enquires softly. "I hope that
His Majesties troops did not do Your Grace's world too much harm?"

At the leftmost patio, Praxton blinks and heaves a small sigh. He
replies, deadpan, "Nothing we can't fix, but would it had never been
broken in the first place. My House is not rich like yours, milady."

At the leftmost patio, Boris rolls his eyes, "Oh come now, cousin," he
says, mirthfully. "Precious Caladan? Not rich? You're knee deep in pundi
rice!"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena blushes deeply, then falls silent, her left
hand twisting nervously into her skirts.

At the leftmost patio, Filarion remains silent, not intruding in the
Siridari's talk.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton lifts his brows, "Not so much you could
not eat it all by yourself, dear Baron," he replies, clearly rising to
meet the barb.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena fidgets slightly, obviously wishing to
distance herself from the sparring match of jibes.

At the leftmost patio, Boris laughs, holding his hands to his ample
waistline, "Oh, I'll allow I'm not in the shape I was when we met, eh?
But that's a lot of bloody pundi rice." He shakes his head. "Come to
think of it, you're beginning to get that jowly sort of Atreides look
too." he says good-naturedly.

At the leftmost patio, Praxton blows his cheeks out, clearly amused.
"Would I had a lusty Geidian woman to keep me in better shape, Your
Lordship. But I can still hold a sword. Where as you, if I may say, look
like no menace to anything but a dumpling."

At the leftmost patio, Ylena closes her eyes a moment and swallows hard,
drawing in a deep shaky breath, somehow maintaining her composure.

At his table, Boris gapes at Praxton. He sits up straight and his face
darkens. Setting his wine down, and he says hotly, "Why, you dog! I
could still give you a scratch you'd not soon forget, I can tell you. I
did it more than once, when we were young, eh? You never could wield a
kindjal."

Steffan walks down and approaches Morgen, "Shall we depart father?"

At the leftmost patio, Filarion sits straight, his eyes dancing between
the combatants.

Morgen nodding his head as old people do "Yes my Son. Thankyou." and he
begins the journey home.

At the leftmost patio, Ylena's eyes dart fearfully between Boris and the
Duke, before stating calmly. "Now now, both of My Lords are still in
fine shape." She is visably shaking as she tries to smooth over the
stormy waters.

Praxton bolts out of his chair, upsetting it. He levels a steely gaze at
the Baron Harkonnen, but his tone remains cheerful, "Get up and stay
-that- again!"

Ylena jumps up and implores, "Please, My Lords, I beg of you, please.."

Iason starts over, shaking his head lightly.

Filarion gets now up, too, his eyes searching for Iason.

Steffan nods gently and smiles as he begins follow his father out. After
hearing Praxton words, shakes his head breifly and continues to walk
away.

Iason walks over towards Praxton and Boris. "My lords! I pray, let there
not be fighting on this joyous occasion!"

Boris bares his teeth, rising, in full temper now. Eye to eye with
Praxton he snarls, "I said, in case you're going as deaf as your gray
hairs would indicate, I said, Duke, you wield a sword as a blind man
might swing a wet flag. Or don't you remember the whipping I gave you
the night before finals?"

Blood draining from her face, leaving naught but white behind, Ylena
begins to tremble wildly. "My Lords, -please-!" she again implores, a
slight edge of desperation creeping into her voice.

Filarion clears his throat, then continues to observe, not daring to
intrude.

Praxton is not intimidated, although he does take a half-step back to
accomodate Boris' bulk, "I was fresh from a field exersize and well you
know it, you fat old bag! And in case you've forgotten, your baronial
bottom left that arena with a scratch a foot long!"

Ylena takes a fearful step back, her left hand rising to her throat, her
form still trembling near uncontrolably.

Iason says, "My lords! May I suggest a peaceful compromise?"

This is true, but facts never intrude in one of Boris' arguments. He
bellows, "Fat? Old? I should have wrung your scrawny neck! If you were
half a man, you'd pick up a blade and face me again. Then I'd show you
who will scratch who, eh?"

At the leftmost patio, Ylena points out shakily. 'My Lords, this only
serves His Majesty's interests, Do not fall so easily to this!"

Iason looks around for some servants, flagging two down and whispering
quickly to them. Then he sends them scurrying off, heading for the
ruckus.

Morgen pauses upon hearing the rather vehement exchange between the two
Siridars. His gaze takes on the guise of concern as he observes intently
from his vantage point.

Praxton steps up almost into Boris' face, his volume rising higher and
sharper, "Alright! Half-shields, second blood, kindjals and short
swords! Name your date!"

Filarion nods, taking Ylena a few steps aside, "Indeed, it does no good
to dig up long forgotten arguments My Lords.." he sighs, seeing no point
in further trying to interfere.

Ylena glances imploringly from the Duke to her brother, as if somehow
willing them not to do this thing.

The two servants return and move to Iason's side. The ambassador steps
forth, to move between the two as best he can. "My lords, may I suggest
a better means of settling this dispute?

Boris shakes his head. "No, no. You're jumping the gun, old hawk! It's
full shields first, and daggers, remember? First blood, so neither of us
goes home in a box. Then half-shields..." He sighs. "How about two falls
out of three, daggers and half-shields."

Morgen letting one hand comes to rest atop the other on his cain he
raises his voice so that he can be heard by the other two Siridars, "Do
My Lords wish to ruin this night for the whole with childish exchanges?"
His face is the picture of serinity "There is a better time and place
than this."

Praxton replies defiant, in a flat, even tone, "Full shields with
daggers, half-shields with sword and kindjal. First blood, in an arena.
If it gets to a third, we'll let the crowd choose final arms."

Discomfort evident in every fibre of her being, Ylena again murmers, "My
Lords, please do not do this thing, I beg My Lords." her tone is quickly
becoming driven by desperation.

Boris chides, "You can't use a kindjal, Praxton, and you know it. You're
a longsword man!"

Iason frowns and listens.

Praxton shakes his head slowly, "You brought it up, Boris. Now put your
blubber where your mouth is. Or are you.... afraid?"

Iason takes a deep breath and bellows, "ENOUGH!"

Ylena reels slightly, a deathly white palor settling over her visage.

Iason says, "My lord Baron, my lord Duke, that is enough! You may have
me hanged later, but at least let me suggest a weapon that you both may
agree on!"

Filarion looks up, obviously surprised to hear such words from Iason.

Boris inhales to shout back at Praxton, then pauses at Iason's
intrusion.

Ylena's right hand clutches desperatly at the back of a nearby chair,
allowing her to steady herself.

Iason has dropped the soft words, and now steps forward, flanked by two
servants carrying hand-kegs. "Here, now. Take these weapons, and may the
last man standing win!

Morgen looking more than a little disturbed by the exchange his comment
is to loud to be a mutter but more a chide "Peace between the House of
the landsraad indeed." turning on he exits with as much elder statemenly
grace as he can afford.

Iohannes gets up from the table to the right.

Praxton levels a finger at Iason, "Step back!" He looks back to Boris,
considering, "I had not thought this argument was unsettled... or could
it be...? Boris, are you still upset about.... Christina?"

A servant thrusts a hand-keg into Praxton's hand.

Cristobal gets up from the table to the right.

Steffan nods, "very well father...I shall..."

Iohannes makes his way toward the would - be duelists, bowing to both
siridari.

Cristobal makes his way across the green, toward the shouting.

Boris steps forward, hands balling into fists, "You rogue. I don't need
a sword, I'll rip off your arm and beat you with it!"

Clearly, Christina, whoever she was, is still fresh in both men's
memories,

Ylena continues to lean against the chair, her form swaying slightly.

The other servant pushes his own hand-keg into Boris' hand. Iason raises
his voice again. "The last man standing after downing a full hand-keg of
Amnian rum, the strongest brew known on Kaitain, walks away. The loser
will be carried back to his estate!"

Filarion sighs to himself, his gaze clearly saying more than a thousand
words.

Praxton takes a step back and to the side, the grin growing wider and
wider. "She was truly delicious, you know."

Cristobal is not a little shocked to see the two Siridar at the root of
the commotion, "Ahh... Most incredible."

Morgen climbs up the Stairs.

Morgen has arrived.

A Ginaz Staffcar pulls up near Morgen.

Iohannes clears his throat, smoothing the front of his tunic. "My
Lords... In the name of the friendship and resolve of purpose so
recently being seen among Landsraad Houses... A duel such as this would
injure us all..."

Iohannes bows once again, gravely...

Filarion nods at Iohannes' words.

Iason nods to Iohannes, as he silently tries to get the men to take the
offered hand-kegs of alcohol. Perhaps an unconventional strategy will
work better.

Ylena nods, her voice soft yet stern. 'My Lords, think beyond pety
insults, to the good of us all!"

Boris 's hands reach for Praxton, choking on his own rage. He knocks the
servant with the keg to the ground. When the man falls, he pauses.
Spilled beer. He looks at the puddle, then to Praxton, and, after a
lengthy pause, chortles. His chortle turns into a laugh, then a bellow
of glee.

Cristobal yawns before speaking, "Siridar-Cousins.. What is this
display?"

Boris says, "Yes! She /was/ delicious, wasn't she? Eh, cousin? Eh?"

Iason shakes his head, sending off the servant for another mug.

Filarion adds, relatively loud "That is not a matter between House
Harkonnen and House Atreides, as far as I see the situation. Official
politics should not be part of this little...argument."

Praxton tosses the hand-keg aside non-chalantly. He watches Boris laugh,
and strives mightily to keep a straight face. But ultimately fails.

Ylena begins to scowl, her frame still shaking from the tension of this
whole affair.

The Duke of Atreides breaks into an unseemly guffaw. He tries to cover
his mouth with his hand, face turning purple from the effort of both
breathing and laughing.

Iason takes a deep breath, as the other servant, sodden, returns with
the beer. "Then drink, my lords." he says, more calmly.

In a swoosh of skirts, Ylena whirls away from both men, her shoulders
heaving up and down wildly as she continues to steady herself by
clinging to the back of a chair fro balance.

Between laughs, gasping for air, Boris chokes out, "She was...
magnificent! She had lips ...tasting of wine, and breasts like the full
moons of Lyshaba! And the skills...of an acrobat!"

Iason says, "DRink to the memory of this Christina."

Iohannes sighs. eyeing the brew spilt on the ground. To know one in
particular, he murmurs, "There is no use weeping over spilt beer..."

Filarion allows himself to smile again, peering at the Siridari. "So you
both enjoyed yourselves My Lords? Then there's no reason for anger, is
there?"

Praxton heaves a final laugh, then stops as he considers Boris' last
comment. "A moment..."

Boris steadies himself, laying a massive hand on Iason's shoulder,
squinting across the space to Praxton, drawing in great lungfuls of air
as he tries to stop laughing so hard.. "Tell your Duke...he still can't
wield a kindjal. And if he'd meet his old rival and sometime friend over
blades, I'll prove it."

Iason replies softly, "I shall. Now let us see you both drink, and
decide whose stomach is stronger, shall we?"

Praxton chokes on another burst of laughter, finally taking refuge on a
lawn chair near Ylena. He responds, "Iason! Tell His Lordship that if
half the rival and a quarter of the friend he says he is, he will!"

Ylena tries to still her trembling, sinking weak-kneed back into the
chair.

Boris shakes his head. "We're not angry, are we, your Grace? No. If both
of us were angry, you'd all of you tremble and the crust of Kaitain
would split. Is it not so, Praxton?"
He says to Iason, patting his shoulder, and accepting the offered drink,
"Tell your Duke--oh, never mind, I'll tell him myself. Let's cross
swords, old hawk! I've missed beating you up!" He raises the glass in a
toast to the Duke.

Iason says, "I shall, my Duke. Now if you will excuse me..."

Praxton wheezes some, then turns to Ylena. Drunk on hilarity, he asks
her, "Milady...? You look pale... don't mind your fragile windbag of a
brother, he couldn't fight his way out of a brothel of choir boys!"

Iason, with very controlled motions, summons a servant to get a glass of
wine. He goes to tend to Ylena, kneeling by the chair.

Iason asks Ylena softly, "My lady, are you well?"

Her former palor being replaced with a flush of pink, Ylena murmers,
"Why do I think My Lords enjoyed that?"

Cristobal looks toward whomever is nearest, "Is this commonplace? Such
brinksmanship?"

Praxton grins broadly, apparently relieved he could make the lady
merrier, "Because... we did?" He takes his feet and turns to the Baron,
"So be it, old friend! Name your time and place and we'll invite the
whole present company to watch your disgrace!"

A servant returns with a wine glass, which Iason hands to Ylena. "Sip at
this slowly." he instructs.

Ylena winces, then sighs, asking the skies apprently, "Why must men
always be determined to best one another?"

Ylena smiles at Iason, and accepts the offered goblet. 'Thank you My
Lord Earl."

Boris smirks at Ylena. "Fat old bag, he called me. Hmph." He drains the
tankard in his hand and laughs some more, for punctuation. "Very well.
Be in my arena, in five days. And I shall be more gentle with you than
you deserve, eh? I'll carve a B in your widening arse and send you home
with a souvenir."

Boris bows in courtly and exaggerated manner to the Atreides Duke.

Cristobal smirks to the woman's comment, "Why must women always ask to
the reasoning of men?"

Ylena raises her free hand to cradle her head as she hsakes it, her
shoulders slumping defeatedly.

Praxton returns the bow in a more controlled form, "If you drink enough
wine, Baron, you might just dream you will!"

Iason shakes his head, doing his best to comfort the lady Ylena.

Boris hands the empty tankard to a slave and moves to depart, surrounded
by his customary knot of soldiers and retainers. "Good eve, your Grace."

Filarion shakes his head slowly, chuckling.

Praxton replies, eyes on Ylena, "Five days, Your Lordship. Be well, old
friend."

Iohannes bows low as he makes his exit, inhaling the night air.

Iohannes descends the Stairs.

Iohannes has left.

Iason rises to bow to the departing Harkonne, leaning over to murmur
softly to Ylena.

Cesare walks back in from the Reception Hall, his right hand cupping a
goblet of wine which he has fetched.

Boris grins. "And you."

Ylena shakes her head slightly, then sighs out, "I wish my Lords would
not insist upon this challenge."

Boris descends the Stairs.

Boris has left.

Cesare sees several familiar faces over by the left patio and proceeds
that way.

Cesare steps off from the central walkway.+h :waves night. "Great
performance

Cesare joins you at the table.

Praxton shrugs one shoulder in dismissal. His face still wears that wide
grin of hilarity, making him look decades younger. "Why? Do you honestly
think we'd harm each other, milady?"

Filarion bows to the approaching Cesare.

Cesare gives a warm grin to the Harkonnen Diplomat. "Good eve."

Ylena blushes slightly, then replies, "I would certainly hope not, Your
Grace, for neither of our Houses would benefit from it, peace and good
relations is what serves us best are they not?" Upon seeing the Count,
Ylena rises, still a bit shaky, then drops into her usual elegant
curtsy. "Good E'en, my Lord."

Filarion is still chuckling. "My Lord missed a quite extraordinary
performance here."

Cristobal raises a brow, "Have tensions come to a point where banter
between two friends can raise such anxiety?"

Cesare cocks his head to one side. "I had to step out after the
Sardaukar had finished their manoeuvers. What else happened?"

Iason rises and bows deeply to Cesare.

Praxton takes a deep breath, and he composes himself a bit as he
exhales, "Certainly not. But we are evenly matched, I think, and we've
sparred a half-hundred times before, without doing each other grevious
harm...."

Ylena remains silent, twisting her left hand into her skirt nervously.

Cesare seats himself and sips his wine genially. "What is this talk I
hear of a duel?"

Filarion grins widely. "My Lord, it cannot be told correctly, but it
seems that Duke praxton and My Baron had some um...long forgotten
stories to argue over and even threatened each other."

Cesare frowns deeply. "It seems as though they parted on terms genial
enough."

Ylena's palor can attest to the truth of Filarion's words.

Cristobal shakes his head, "I've been absebt from the Palace for too
long... There is so much to catch up on.. So many intracacies."

Praxton chuckles as he remembers the 'stories', then shakes his head. He
mutters, "Christina.... indeed."

Iason looks back to Ylena. "Do you need another glass of wine, my lady?"

Filarion shrugs lightly. "Luckily it turned out that it was nothing to
get really upset about M'Lord, so they settled the matter with an
appointment for a friendly sparring."

Cesare blinks several times in rapid succession. "Really?
How...amusing."

Ylena sips at her wine slowly, then fingers of her left hand moving up
to idly trace the large gem suspended from her neck, before replying,
"No, thank you My Lord, but I have not yet finished this." she nods
towards her goblet slightly.

Filarion takes a glass of wine from one of the servant. "It certainly
did not seem amusing during the quite...direct...argument."
Iason nods quietly. "Perhaps, my lady, you wish to recuperate elsewhere?

Still smiling, the Duke refreshes himself with a drink from his glass.
He turns to regard
Iason and Ylena frankly, then casts his mind back to a time long ago.
And he smiles.

Ylena smiles, then nods. "Perhaps it is time, I did go home and seek my
rest."

Cesare shrugs. "The good Baron and the Red Duke will likely make it an
event Kaitain will not soon forget. I'd say that the duel will likely,
knowing both men," the Count says as he eyes the Duke,"bind them closer
together in friendship than it will tear them asunder."

Iason nods quietly to Ylena, and looks over at Filarion.

"Would that all old arguments were as easily settled, Your Excellency,"
Praxton declares, raising his glass.

Cristobal yawns, "All of this posturing, this bravado act of personal
might. Though I do say I missed the meat of the matter I can't say I'm
dissapointed that I did."

Filarion nods silently to the Count's true words, then, having overheard
Ylena's wish, bows towards her. "I will, of course, accompany you,
M'Lady"

Cesare gives a good-natured chuckle and raises his glass as well, "Ah,
indeed! Here's to old feuds settled and new ones avoided!"

Ylena gently sets down her goblet on the nearby table, then rises before
sweeping into another curtsy. "My Lords, if you will excuse me, the hour
grows late, and I find I have not the stamina that I used to."

Praxton can't help but grinning at Cristobal, "The 'meat' of the matter
was, Lord Cristobal, pride and the love of a woman... two things no man
should be without, ever."

Cesare adds wryly, "And two things the Baron and Duke never lack."

Iason nods quietly, bowing to Ylena. "A good night, my lady."

Filarion bows deeply to the two Siridari, then nods at Iason and
Cristobal, before joining Ylena for her departure.

The Duke is very, strangely, silent in response to Cesare's declaration.
He drains the dregs of his goblet.

Cristobal swallows, "Ahhh... Perhaps not." He looks toward the cannon
memorial, "If only all men could have in their lifetimes."

Smiling somewhat, Ylena nods to Iason. "And to you, My Lord Earl." She
silently dissapears in a soft rustle of skirts.

Ylena descends the Stairs.

Ylena has left.

You descend the Stairs.