Varota's Command Performance, Part II of II

[Edward Pang <ogrek@home.com>]

(Continued from previous log)

Boris nods to Varota, watching him with interest.

Leondal joins Juseppe and Ilsabet near the pond

Anthony watches Varota intently.

Juseppe whispers to Ilsabet.

Scantily-clad slaves move about the garden, bearing trays of drinks, packets of
smokeable stimulants, pinches of inhalable intoxicants, and finger foods.

"My Lord Baron, most honorable lords and ladies", Varota says, in his easiest
stage manner, "It is a quite unseemly honor to have the opportunity to both ply
and play my wares for your most refined ears this evening. I hope not to
dissapoint, as the beasties in ze pond seem to have such sharp teeth..."

Leondal watches the performer intently

Anthony takes a green, foul smelling liquid from a slave and drinks it. No
expression comes to his face and he seems to enjoy it. He then asks for a
double.
Anthony smiles at Helen.

Nadira walks in from Traffic Loop through the Fanmetal Gate.

Boris lights a cigar and puffs a thick cloud of fragrant blue smoke into the
cool night air, watching Varota and chuckling.

On the coral bench, Helen murmurs, "Hopefully the music will be good enough to
make up for some of the company..."

Boris makes a little snapping gesture with his fingers towards Varota.

Nadira 
        A young woman in her late teens or perhaps early twenties, this young
woman is tall, with long, graceful arms and legs. Ebony hair is brushed back
and away from her forehead, braided in an intricate series of plaits that coil
to one side and leave the rest to drape down the front, dropping in a silken
length falling to her waist. Her face is somewhat angular, with high
cheekbones, a stubborn chin, and full lips cast in a light olive skin tone.
Perhaps most arresting are her eyes, a peculiar golden-yellow that seem almost
catlike, feathery raven brows arching above them expressively. Equally catlike
are her movements - taught, graceful, and predatory, yet without being
deliberate. There is a sense of energy about her, almost a ferocity
undercurrent and coiled within her, kept in check by the most strident of
wills. Her voice is low-toned and smooth, showing suprising nuance and tone.
        She wears a sleek white dress with a mandarin collar and long sleeves,
the piping at her throat and following her hem stitchedin silver. Draped over
her shoulders is a cloak that when closed around seems almost robe-like,
draping around her like the wings of a bird. She wears no ornamentation, though
the fabrics of her dress are the finest the Imperium has to offer. Looped
gracefully around her left wrist is a slender fan, white with ornate silver
stitching. Though it seems an unsual accoutrement, and perhaps not in the
current fashion of the ladies in the Impergium, she seems an artist in the
decorum of the accessory, and it seems enough for such a small, seemingly
insignificant thing to make her stand out in a crowd.

"As you see," says Varota, with a slow arch of his arm to encompass the
instruments on stage, "I have brought no less than three balisets, all
different and special in their own way, in a somewhat desperate attempt to up
my chances and rescue me from the fine gentlemen with the very large halberds."

Nadira steps in through the gate quietly, with a simple nod for any attendant.
She defers when an offer is made to take it from her as she slips in quietly
and looks about for a seat, the closed fan resting gently in her hand.

From one of the benches and seats comes a shout of, "Run him through! Let's see
how sweet his music is without his arms."

Juseppe stands near the alligator pond.

Anthony looks at the source of the insolent voice.

Leondal stands near the alligator pond.

Varota seats himself as he says, "So, without further ado..." He swings the
smallest of the balisets, setting the neck of it near his head and one leg
beside the bulbous voice box. "A short sonnet titled, 'Choir of Angels', by the
late Livas Alman."

Iason glances around quietly, nodding to Helen as he turns towards the gate to
bow a little to the arriving newcomer.

Boris makes a displeased sound. "Angels. How...religious."

Anthony sits closer to elen and Iason/
Anthony smiles broadly, as if he is familliar with the song.
Anthony gives and appreactive clap.

Nadira steps into the shade of the dogwoods.

On the coral bench, Iason murmurs, "This is off to a rocky start.

After a deep, steadying breath, and three taps of his foot to keep time, Varota
begins his rendition of the well-known sonnet. His long and conical fingers fly
across the fretboard, creating shattering vibrattos which are not so loud in
the original piece. His style lacks some precision, but it clearly has more
than it's share of life and energy.

Nadira sits down underneath trees, her fan opening in a lazy slide as she turns
attentively to the musician.

On the coral bench, Helen says, "Restrain your enthusiasm, Anthony... The
Harkonnen are contrary enough to kill a musician because he pleases a Ginaz..."
On the coral bench, Helen manages to say that in a sweet, demure murmur while
maintaing a polite smile.

Anthony glances at Nadira, and a look comes to his face.
Cesare looks over his shoulder and grants a generous smile to the Initiate.

Varota is mostly motionless as he plays, only rarely consulting the partiture
in front of him. He makes his light, airy way through the somewhat demanding
piece, improvising where his technical skill is wanting. Near the end, he goes
through an impressive scale, from top to bottom, to come to rest at a sound
almost inaudible to the ear. A pause, then he rests.
Iason merely listens politely, his expression showing little to no change.
Valentina walks in from Traffic Loop through the Fanmetal Gate.

Valentina 
        The woman before you stands proudly at her height of almost six feet.
Her locks of raven black fall down to just beneath her shoulders in luxurious
gentle curves. A large gold band rests around her head like a crown. The scent
of her favorite spices surrounds the air subtly where she stands. The scent
matches her swarthy coloring as well; olive-colored skin reminiscent of a
culture past.
        She wears a dress made of crushed velvet, a dark red-wine in color.
Gold threads are woven along the arms, and the upper portion of the dress,
giving it an almost quilted look. A belt made of gilted gold rests against her
hips, accenting the smallness of her slight frame. The gentle scoop-cut of the
neckline is accented by a small golden chain, from which a tiny crucifix hangs.
        A hand reaches up, brushing back a few strands of her dark locks from
her face. Her emerald eyes glance back at you. High well-defined cheekbones
give her face a loving appearance. A small diamond-shaped red colored tatoo is
seen from her forehead, revealing to all the mark of her profession.
        Upon her hands she wears two rings. On her left hand's pointer finger a
small golden band, with a diamond and sapphire glimmers. A pinky ring worn on
her left hand, seems to be a cumbersome looking piece of gold. A dark
bloodstone is embedded along the falttened top, and a metal imprint of the
signet of the Great House Moritani is molded into the stone.
        If she is wearing any makeup it is impossible to tell, except perhaps
that her features are slightly more hightlighted; her eyes a bit more dramatic,
her lips a bit darker.
        A cape made of a heavy dark blue cloth is worn over her shoulders, the
hemline lined with a dark brown/black fur that is soft to the touch.
        Shoes are hidden beneath the hemline of the dress.

Anthony returns his attention to the music.

Nadira inclines her head politely to the Count, and then turns her eyes back to
the musician. The flutter of the fan seems almost reproving - as if to remind
somone that they should pay attention.

Nestor rises from the stone bench.

Valentina quietly enters the garden, listening to the music. She does not move
to join any of the others gathered, preferring to stay just on the edges of the
floating notes.

Nestor walks away from the Baron's side, gesturing for two Embassy guards to
take up the post in his stead, and heads with purpose toward the dogwood trees.

Leondal steps into the shade of the dogwoods.

Cesare quickly turns back around, a wry grin upon his face as he returns his
attentions to the concert.

Boris applauds quietly, and the slaves join in the applause.

Varota heaves a deep, relaxing sigh, as he opens and closes his frethand to
keep it limber. To the audience he says, "Sounds lovely, doesn't it? This," he
gestures to the baliset, "is Valerie, a soprano. She has been built with all my
trademarks, and I assure you, can turn even this brute's laboured toil into
something worth listening."

Iason inclines his head as Valentina steps in, lightly clapping in
appreciation.

Helen listens to the music, eyes half closed. She applauds the end of the song
politely. She then returns to listening, her fan held just -so-.

Nestor steps into the shade of the dogwoods.

Anthony claps, smilling.

Under the trees, Leondal says, "Leondal bows."

Valentina returns the polite nod to Iason, still keeping to the fringes of the
gathering. Her eyes sweep over those in attendence, lingering perhaps a moment
on the stone bench, though she makes no moves to join her Count, or the Baron.
She would not want to interfere with their business.

Boris says, "You're not bad so far, Varota old boy...Is he, lords and ladies?
Does he live to stroke his dear Valerie so far?"

Cesare winces slightly at the implication. "Methinks if I strummed a lady as
such, she would slap me."

Anthony looks at the Baron "He lives"

Helen says, "I, for one, would like to hear how Master Varota handles a
lady..."

Boris chuckles. "Thanks to the gracious Lady Helen, you may demonstate your
technique, eh?"

Anthony gaspes slightly and looks at Helen.

With a slightly amused look, Valentina glances towards the Lady Helen.
Varota takes his feet, swinging Valerie around to rest at his feet. He bows to
accept the audience's applause, then, as it wanes, turns to the largest of the
instruments. "I'm sure this rather ungainly contraption deserves some
explanation," he begins.

Cesare chortles, stifling his laughter with a hand. "If that's a woman, it must
be a Ginaz."

Helen's smile is half hidden by her fan.

Anthony says, "Or a Mortiani Count....."

"She is Talia", Varota explains, "And she is quite unlike her sisters in the
fact that she is a baritone. The most musically inclined among you will recall
that baritone balisets of any quality were not regularly produced until your
servant lucked upon a useful design, some twenty years ago."

Iason listens without comment, glancing around politely.

Carstairs clears his throat a little and leans in rowards Count Moritani. He
says in a significant tone, "Sire, I need to go about that ... job." He nods
solemnly and knowingly to Cesare.

Boris says, "Talia, a splendid name. My mother was named Talia!"

Anthony reserves his blapshemous comments to himself.

Cesare gives a dismissing wave to the Butler. "Go then, Carstairs. I've left
the limo back on the landing pad. Jameson should be napping. Just tap him on
the shoulder and tell him to shuttle you back to the estate, and then return
and await my departure."

Carstairs bows low and replies, "Very good, sah." He then straightens and
bustles off.
Carstairs walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.

Varota grins to the Baron, "A remarkable coincidence, milord. And one that may
yet save my Chusukien neck. For I will now endeavour to play on Talia a march
of my own inspiration, composed for the occassion of this evening. It is
titled, "Boris' Valour"." With a flourish, he prepares Talia, swinging some
levers and securing a kickstand into place to hold the massive baliset in
place.

Valentina joins you on the coral bench.
Valentina doesn't so much sit, as wander quietly towards the coral bench

Boris stomps his feet in delight. "He's a clever fellow, this Varota, eh?"

Nadira murmurs softly to Nestor as he speaks to her under the dogwoods.

Cesare nods approvingly at the shrewd musician.

On the coral bench, Valentina clears her throat quietly, approching the party
upon the bench, "Good evening, Lord Merx, and My Lady Helen. How fine you both
look this eve."

On the coral bench, Iason murmurs, "Well enough, my Lady."

Anthony looks at Helen and smiles, his face contrite

After a flurry of motion about Talia, Varota stills himself, then counts under
his breath to gain a tempo. He begins to play, a martial-sounding tune of
great, reverberating rumbles and smart, well-timed harmonies. He labours not so
much with fretboard as with fingers now, as Talia's strings are braided, stiff
cables.

On the coral bench, Valentina smiles, "I trust all is well, both with this
eve's performance, as well as your noble House?"

On the coral bench, Helen says, "Thank you, my lady... You are looking well
yourself... I trust you have been well?"

Boris hums along with the tune, his voice a rumble.

Near the climax of the march, Varota begins to use his free foot to firmly tap
on the side of the balisets voice box, accentuating in the way a snare drum
would. The effect is majestic, virile and powerful. Again showing a lack of
technique, but very strong in message and creativity.

Anthony listens to the music deeply.

Nadira closes her eyes, her chin lifting slightly as she enjoys the music,
perhaps far more then most. A smile lights her lips.

Helen smiles, her fan fluttering softly before her lips.

On the coral bench, Valentina looks distractedly towards her side as a tall,
muscular dark-skinned man appraoches her. With a toss of his long black hair he
speaks quietly to Valentina. It takes her a moment, but with a smile she speaks
with Helen, "As well as can be expected Lady. Tell me, how is your dear Uncle?"
On the coral bench, Valentina then turns and mutters quickly to the
black-haired man very quietly.

"Boris' Valour" ends with an octuple repetition of the motif, accelerated and
strengthened in each iteration, then a shuddering halt. Varota's queued hair is
slick with sweat, making him look quite like a sea lion, as he drops his hands
from the instrument.

Anthony claps loudly.

Leondal nods with approval and claps vigorously.

Anthony has disconnected.

On the coral bench, Valentina makes a small hand motion towards the black
haired man, to emphasize her quiet point.

Boris roars with his applause, rising to his feet. "Splendid, Varota!
Splendid!" he cheers.

The slaves and soldiers echo the Baron's approval a hundredfold.

Cesare has disconnected.

Juseppe claps loudly in approval of the piece.

Valentina makes sure to not clap. Indeed she folds her arms, showing perhaps
displeasure. Of course it could just be, she does not appreciate this style of
music. Who is to know for sure.

Varota lifts his ponytail away from his neck to cool it, then he smiles at the
Baron's acclaim, and bows humbly.

Helen applauds the song, smiling warmly.

Ilsabet emulates Juseppe clapping loudly.

Iason Claps as well, politely but loudly enough to show approval

On the coral bench, Helen says, "He is well... busy though I fear..."

On the coral bench, Valentina nods, "As is to be expected. I trust you are
keeping him from trouble?" she asks, with a slightly cheekish grin.

On the coral bench, Helen laughs softly, "As much as anyone can, I fear..."

On the coral bench, Valentina chuckles, and nods, "That is all that can be
asked. Please, send him my greetings, whenever you happen upon him next."
On the coral bench, Valentina then offers a polite nod, "Now, if you will both
be so kind as to excuse me? It has been a pleasure, as always Lord Merx. Lady
Helen, perhaps someday soon we can share a tea?"

On the coral bench, Helen says, "Of course, it would be my pleasure."

Scantily-clad slaves move about the garden, bearing trays of drinks, packets of
smokeable stimulants, pinches of inhalable intoxicants, and finger foods.

Varota rises from his bow, face flushed with pleasure. He spreads one arm,
then, as the applause dies down, "As an encore, I would like to avail myself of
Joanne. She is a remarkable mezzosoprano, upon which I am essaying a new
innovation in Varota's trademarked designs." A pause. "Will it please milords
and ladies, I will play a derivation of a love song from Chusuk, old as time
and Chusuk itself. I had reserved a more classical piece for Joanne, but..." he
smiles guiltily, "The presence of a very beauteous lady in this garden of
earthly delights has won the better of me."

Valentina rises from the coral bench.

Boris takes his seat, again. "Let's hope it will keep you out of the alligator
pond, my friend."

Valentina quietly makes her way towards the Stone-bench, as the musician
speaks.
Valentina sits down at the stone bench.

Helen fans herself quietly, hiding her blushes behind it.

Varota half-grins as he sets himself, then nattily replies to the Baron, "Even
a stalwart as yourself, magnificent Baron, would brave worse for the sake of
the loveliness I have beheld this eve."

As he has twice before, Varota takes a lungful of air to steady himself. After
the energy and violence of the last tune, this ballad seems gentle and
intangible in consistency. When the motif appears, however, it carries its own
slew of emotions.

Varota's queue comes undone, head swaying as he plays. The ballad comes to a
sensous, voluptous close, like a promise of unspoken pleasures to come. Varota
is still, fingers frozen over the boards and strings, eyes closed in serenity.

Boris grins broadly, applauding slowly at first, then more loudly.
Boris says, "Grand! Grand!"

Iason claps as well, with enthusiasm, though he restrains himself.

Varota rises to take his bow, hair a-tumble and jacket in disarray. But he
looks more than pleased with himself.

Juseppe claps not as loud as before but with sincerity.

Nestor steps out from under the dogwoods.
Nestor makes his way back toward his Baron's seat.

Boris rises, approaching the stage and Varota. He hefts the largest of the
balisets like a child's toy, shaking it and roaring with laughter.

Valentina claps very dantily, and politely.
Valentina moves away from the bench.
Valentina rises from the stone bench.

Helen applauds politely, a faint blush to her cheeks.

Boris turns to the crowd. "Well, what say you all? Does Varota get to keep the
skin on his bones?"

Juseppe steps away from the pond.

Ilsabet steps away from the pond.

Words float across the garden, "I am surprised you ask others their opinion,
Baron." The sacrasm is heavy, the Lady's voice, unmistakable.

Nadira applauds attentively. While graceful, the applause is heatfelt, so not
quite as delicate as it otherwise might be.

Valentina continues to work her way around the crowds, looking to leave the
gardens.

(OOC) Boris says, "Who's voice is unmistakable?"

Nestor sits down at the stone bench.

Juseppe walks away from the pond with a slight sight of sadness in his face...
But quickly returns to normal.

(OOC) Valentina says, "Me :)"

Boris rises from the stone bench.

(OOC) Valentina says, "Who else would dare, Boris?"

Nadiras fan flutters with interest.

Varota grins broadly, stepping aside and behind his rambuctous host and patron.
He hastily rebuilds his ponytail and smoothes his jacket.

Nadira steps out from under the dogwoods.

Ilsabet moves her way through the crowd to retreat back into the embassy,
quickly departing.

Ilsabet walks to the south and passes through the Burnished Doors.

Nadira steps to the side, not quite leaving yet, but certainly withdrawing to a
degree, watching the display.

Helen's fan flutters before her lips. "I would say spare him, Baron..."

Boris grins.. "Custom! If they were displeased, it would be fun to watch them
have their way with Varota, here--" he looks about for the man to either side,
not seeing him behind him. "A hundred angry folk can shred one musician with
ease, eh?"

Valentina slips away from the crowd, disinterested in the Harkonnen custom.
Valentina walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.

Varota shouts, mouth shielded behind a hand, his voice pitched upward several
octaves, "Spare him, spare him!"

Nadira hides her soft laugh behind her fan, studying the Baron with catlike
golden eyes.

(OOC) Helen sighs and has to vanish, for half hour or so...
(OOC) Helen says, "I apologies greatly, I can not stall RL any longer"
(OOC) Iason bows.
(OOC) Varota says, "Oh, drat. :)"

Nadira watches the musician and the Baron with a small, Cheshire cat smile,
lazily fluttering her fan.

Boris sets down Talia and raises his arms. "He lives, then, eh? For 'Boris'
Valour' alone, I think...what a glorious title." He finally spots Varota and
claps the man's shoulder, roughly.

Nestor rises from the stone bench.

Varota theatrically wipes his brow, looking dwarfed beside the Baron. "Most
greatful, Sire. I see you've taken a liking to my corpulent ladyfriend there.
Would you do me the honor of keeping her, with my utmost and respectful
compliments? At least, in thanks for my skin and other attached organs."

(OOC) Varota says, "All would know how outrageously expensive my balisets are.
Doubly so the rarest ones."

Nadira smiles at the musician - she seems to commend the gesture.

Nestor approaches his Baron and the musician Varota, a very pensive look on his
face.

Boris nods, laughing. "I'll store it away, Varota, and when you come again
you'll play 'Boris' Valour' again and again, eh?" He barks at s slave, "Get him
some wine!"

(OOC) Iason says, "Hell, yes. =) Of course, if Boris kille dyou, they'd be
worth more. ;)"

From the stage, Varota catches Nadira's smile and returns it. Quite visibly.

Iason clasps his hands before him to bow to Master Varota at the gracious
gesture.

Nestor steps up to his Baron. "Perhaps a slave could hold My Lord's new
baliset?" He automatically gestures for a young slave to approach.
Nestor says, "My Lord's hands must not be unnecessarily encumbered during his
own fete..."

Nadira lazily flutters her fan, watching the interaction with the vague
interest of a cat.

Juseppe watches the action from the top of the garden while leaning on his
cane.

Iason rises as well, glancing around as he plucks a glass off the passing tray
of a slave, then takes a pastry as well.

Varota
A dark-skinned, well-built man in his forties. His black hair is slicked and
swept back into a thick ponytail, emphasizing his open brow and beautiful
almond-shaped black eyes. He is long-limbed and wide of shoulder, of
elegantly-made head with chiseled fine features. He is dressed in the manner of
a fine gentleman; his large, expressive hands emerging from tailored cuffs of a
smooth white shirt, a jabot around his neck, smooth trousers ending in fine,
silver-buckled shoes. Atop the ensemble he wears a burgundy-colored jacket with
small, fine details in goldthread embroidery. He has an easy, engaging smile
and a merry tenor voice, speech slightly accented of his native Chusuk.
Your first glance reveals a middle weight man, measuring about 2 meters in
height. His arms and legs are muscular, but not bulgy. It is a more lithe look,
giving him the look of an agile, quick, and deadly man. His moves suggest that
every step he takes is with caution, almost a testing or probing movement. He
would not be easy at all to trip up or knock down. Overall, he seems to be
capable of killing rather easily. The rapier at his belt reinforces this
thought. But at a second glance, you notice something more startling, perhaps
even more dangerous. Its his eyes. They are light blue, and they have a
distrustful air to them. His eyes dart every- where, taking every factor in at
once. Surprise isn't an option with him you realize.
Carrying:
rapier

Leondal
        Before your eyes is a man that appears to be about fifty years old.
His features are darkened with a lazy right eye lid and a bald head. His
torso is covered with a long black over coat and uniform. The uniform is
detailed with a pouncing purple panther on the left collar and one gold
triangle towards the right collar. His pants are a black uniformely look.
While his boots are the spit and shine type. Watching his movements close
enough; one would notice the cane is compensating for his left leg.
Boris Harkonnen is a great bear of a man, his body a great slab of muscle now
turning to fat with age. His head is shaven bald, his full white beard twined
in braids that spill down his barrel chest. Crystal blue eyes glint maniacally
under bushy white brows. He's wearing a capacious silk obi, of sky-blue, with
an ornate silver ram's head insignia on the back; the obi is belted with a
black sash about his broad waist. He's wearing black tabi boots on his big
feet.

Boris passes the baliset to the young slave, and nods to Nestor.

Juseppe walks over to Nadira and bows, "M'lady"

Nadira looks somewhat suprised as she is approached. "Lord." she nods her head
in quiet greeting, her rich alto carrying range, yet not harsh on the ear.

Leondal steps out from under the dogwoods.

Varota has connected.


Nadira lazily flutters her fan, watching the interaction between musician and
liege lord with the vague interest of a cat. As Juseppe approaches and greets
her with a bow, her response is a solemn nod and a quiet, "Lord." in greeting,
her rich alto carrying through the garden, yet not harsh on the ear.

Boris passes the baliset to the young slave, and nods to Nestor.
Boris says, "Well done, Varota, and there's much to be said for the idea that
the only art comes when one is fighting for one's life, eh? What will you
drink, then?"

"The sweetest quaff you may have, Lord Baron," Varota replies. "I feel my
vigour waning a tad."

Varota is brought a tall mug of frothy mead.

Nadira looks to Juseppe inquringly, her fan fluttering a bit more rapidly.

Iason sips at his wine, listening.

Leondal has disconnected.

Nestor makes sure to remain by the Baron's side as he moves.

Juseppe talks out of the side of his mouth to Nadira while still watching the
Baron, "A good evening is it? m'lady"

Filarion walks in from Giedi Hall through the Burnished Doors.

Nadira smiles. "The music was sweet to the ear, yes." she says. "I was
especially pleased to be gifted with the voice of the mezzo - so rare, these
days."

In a rather unseemly display of either thirst or gusto, Varota disposes of the
mead in one. He smiles a sated smile, then reins in the inevitable burp. "Thank
you kindly", he says.

Juseppe nods, "Indeed it is... Plus a little side attractions seemed to rounded
the whole evening as well.

Juseppe nods, "Indeed it is... Plus a little side attractions seemed to rounded
the whole evening as well."

Varota looks about, searching for the young woman that smiled at him.

Boris slaps Varota's back as he belches, good and hard, chuckling.

"That's the nature of social events, though." she says seriously.
(OOC) Juseppe says, "sorry about the first one... (talking to all who are
logging)"

Helen has connected.

Helen rises from the coral bench.

From the embassy, the Count Lankiveil walks into the gardens, his face composed
and his steps slow. After taking in the surroundings, Filarion slowly makes his
way over to the group that enjoyed the music until recently. Diving into a low
bow, he greets his Baron. "My Lord Baron, my excuses that I could not attend
earlier, but...events, better left out now forced me to avert my attention from
the more pleasant side of the evening until now."

Boris frowns at Filarion. "You missed 'Boris' Valour,' Count."

Iason sips at his wine, standing with the Lady Helen, turning to bow to Count
LAkiveil.

Standing next to Boris and slightly behind him, Nestor bows slightly to
Filarion. "My Lord Count," he says by way of greeting.

Helen curtseys in time with Iason, perfectly coordinated.

Varota wanders away from the Baron, giving him space to take care of his
guests, and himself leave to seek out more amiable company.

Nadira looks to Juseppe in startlement. Then she recovers, and says, "I would
start by finding one and asking her. The Emporer has one, I hear." she smiles
lightly.

Straightening, Filarion examines those nearby more closely, his eyes darting
around curiously under quirked eyebrows. "My Lord Baron, all excuses are now to
no avail, I am sure. But nonetheless I do hope that those present were blessed
with a performance of epical character."

Boris grins. "They'll not soon forget it. And Varota even made us a gift of one
of his creations. Her name's Talia, same as my mother."

Nipping a plate of sweetmeats from a passing servant, Varota winds his way
through the throng of guests, making polite headnods as he passes those
uninteresting to him.

Nadira simply inclines her head. "I'm sure if you speak with her secretary, you
would be able to make an appointment with her and notify her of your interests,
Lord." she withdraws a little, seeming to conclude the conversation. She
demurely waves off a servant offering her wine, and seems to be considering
withdrawing for the evening.

Juseppe waves off a servant girl and bows to Nadira, "Thank you for the
information."

Helen shakes her head no to a servant offering her a drink, and stays close to
Iason.

Varota pops up beside Nadira, bearing the sweetmeat tray, impersonating a
slave, "Candy for madame?"

Juseppe walks over to Boris, "My Lord Baron, This evening has the best that I
have been invited too in a long time."

Nadira nods her head, and starts to stroll through the garden. She turns, and
starts to defer, then pauses. "Ah. Lord Musician. No thank you, I am little for
sweets this late in the evening." she smiles.

Juseppe walks over to Boris, "My Lord Baron, This evening has the best evening
that I have been invited too in a long time."

Focussing his attention on the Bene Gesserit for a moment, Filarion simply nods
with a smile at the Baron's words. Wiping off mutual dirt from his cloak, the
Count makes his way through the audience which is now chatting idly, nodding or
bowing here and there, according to ettiquette. The goal of his wandering
remains unclear as he changes directions here and there.

"Nonsense," Varota replies. "The evening is, indoubitably, the absolutely best
time for filling one's mouth with sweet things." He pops a morsel into his
mouth and grins, just so.

Nadira then says with the smooth care of a feline, "Your music provided me with
the sweetest sustenance the evening could offer." A small smile, and the fan
slowly opens.

Boris chuckles, slurping his own wine."Good, good, Chancellor. I know you
probably don't get out much, eh? I'm glad we brought some joy into your pale
existence." His voice is warm and sincere.

Juseppe nods at the Baron's words, "My life is a little better than pale.. But
as always when I am here I learn a new thing in the ways of excitement.", nods
to Nestor and bows back to Boris, "I must now leave Baron for a pale figure as
I.. need to prepare for the next day of excitement."

Boris nods to Juseppe. "Sleep well, Chancellor."

Varota blinks slowly, lips curling a bit further at Nadira's remark. "But you
knew me better, milady, you might reconsider that evaluation of the sweetness
of Varota's viands." And with that, he strolls off.

Iason glances as Juseppe, bowing a bit to the Chancellor. "A good day to you,
Chancellor." he bids, before returning his attention to the rest of the
gardens, taking another flute of wine as he finishes his first.

Juseppe bows to Iason, "Good day to you m'lord."

Boris approaches Helen. He says, "Lady Helen, I'm so glad the daughter of my
old friend the Duke could join us."

Varota nearly bumps into the Atreides party, then looks from Helen to Boris,
evaluating the prudency of a tactical retreat. He stays.

Juseppe walks out of the garden with his cane leading his steps.

Nadira looks amused as Varota withdraws, and then starts to glide to the back
again, still ambivalent about leaving, when watching is so delightful.

Idly running his fingers through the long hair, Filarion leaves the immediate
center of the gathering, seeking out a more quiet spot of the gardens. Clasping
hands behind his back, he inclines his head towards the sky, once again
disappointed, as the skies over Katain are never dark enough to stargaze.
Slumping down on a bench, the Count sits there with furrowed brows, here and
then casting a glance at the small crowd.

Juseppe walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.

Helen says, "How could we refuse such a gracious invitation? I am sorry that
affairs did not permit my father to attend... I hope that my presence is an
acceptable substitute?"

Nestor watches the Lady Helen, no real look of emotion on his face as he does
so.

Iason smiles as Helen talks, glancing about.

Boris chuckles. "Of course? As a matter of fact, more welcome! Who wants that
sour-faced old hawk about, always reproving, always lecturing on morality..."
he teases.

After a short while of quite unproductive staring, Filarion gets up, vanishing
in the gardens for a moment, reappearing near the exit down to the Traffic
Loop. There he chooses a shadowy spot, leaning against a plastbeton wall that
marks the boundary of the embassy. A flash of light and a small cloud of blue
smoke over his head denote that the Count just lit a pipe.

Helen laughs softly, "But Baron, I thought we were discussing my Lord Father...
not a my Lady Mother..." She smiles coyly at the baron, "I did bring a modest
gift as a thank you for the invitation..."

Nadira decides after a moment, that it would be rude to leave without thanking
her host herself. She moves up to the Baron, maintaining just the right
distance to indicate her desire for his attention, without interfering in his
present conversation.

Varota nudges up besides Iason, anxious to join the conversation in some way.

Boris says, "A gift? Splendid!"
Boris looks sidelong at Nadira as she approaches.

Watching Nadira edge closer, Varota turns his head just enough to wink at hear,
slowly and lasciviously. He wraps his lips about the last piece of chocolate,
all the while grinning.

Nadira arches her brow at the Baron, and sends him a very pointed message: No,
-she's- not the gift.
Nadira's fan continues its lazy flutter, though her eyes dart sidelong at
Varota in amusement.

Helen accepts a box from Iason, and opens it. Very carefully she removes a
statue from the box. The figure is of a dancer in some perfectly clear stone.
She has been caught mid-spin, veils falling from her form to reveal the glimpse
of a hip, the curve of a breast. The face of the figure holds some emotion...
agony? Fanaticism? It is hard to name, though powerful... Then Helen turns the
statue ever so slightly, and it seems to light with fires within... brilliantly
red... then orange... it shifts through the spectrum as she turns it ever so
slowly, letting the colors dance inside. "Opal contra luz.. an elusive form of
the stone."

Boris takes the statue in his big hands, admiringly, with the look of a pirate
who's just opened a treasure chest. He doesn't say anything for once.

"Impressive", Varota mutters. "You have been much feted tonight, Lord Baron."
He takes a small, precise steps that brings him almost shoulder to shoulder
with Nadira.

Small puffs of smoke continue to emerge from the exit to the Traffic loop,
curling upwards in the light of the bright lights around the guardpost there.
The Count Lankiveil, origin of these clouds, stands silently, too far away to
really catch anything worthwhile from the general mutter emanating from within
the gardens.

Boris nods. "We thank you for your gift, Lady Helen." he says with a chuckle.
"It's truly delicious."

Helen smiles, and says demurely, "I am glad you appreciate it, Baron... we
thought you would..."

Boris says, "Her pain's quite exciting, eh? I knew there was some bloodthirst
in you Atreides!"

Nadira reguards the young Atreides woman with interest, studying her
thoughtfully for a moment, before returning her attentive gaze to the Baron as
he err, exposes himself to art.

Varota whispers to Nadira.

Helen smiles, "I'm sure that both of our houses hold... depths not commonly
seen."

Nadira replies to Varota quietly, "I have been told that my range is
astonishing." before turning her attention away again.

Boris hands th statue to a slave and turns to Nadira. "And who might you be, my
lovely?"

Nadira simply inclines her head. "Lady Finn, your Lordship. I simply wanted to
thank you for permitting me to attend this evening." she has a disconcerting
habit of looking at people right in the eyes.

Varota coughs loudly, nearly choking on the caramel he was swallowing.

Helen exchanges glances with Iason, and the pair steps back a little from the
Baron.

"Varota would thank you for that too, my gracious Lord," chips in the
Chusukien.

Boris nods, sipping from a glass of medicinal-smelling liquor. "Yes, your
gratitude is expected. Will you join in the orgy later this evening, my
beauty?"

Iason steps back with Helen, starting towards Varota.

Varota perks up visibly, jaw slack as he mouths, "orgy?"

Nadira blithely ignores Varota's delayed reaction to her response to his
murmured question as she attends the Baron's interest. She defers, "I'm afraid
prior obligation requires that I decline, Lord." she says. "It's past my
bedtime, and if I am not back behind the ChapterHouse's walls soon, I turn into
a punpkin." She refers to an ancient fable.

Boris darkens, "ChapterHouse? ChapterHouse? Nestor! Who let this witch within
these walls!"

Nestor smiles calmly. "I would have thought that having a witch in attendance
would be amusing."

Not sure which of the revelations weigh more, Varota stands there, open
mouthed. A quick glance at Nadira, and an upturned brow, do his speaking for
him.

Nadira seems to take the nomenclature with a grain of salt. "The Mentat
graciously allowed me to foster my love of musicianship, Lord. If my company
distresses your sensibilities, I shall leave now." she curtsies low - it might
be mocking, and then it might not. "You are a most delightful host." and with
that, she steps back, turning to withdraw. To Varota, all she does is offer him
a mild shrug.

Slowly hitting the pipe's head against the sturdy walls, Filarion starts to
clean the utility throroughly, only occasionally glancing up to catch a rough
overview on what is happening. Storing the pipe back in a pocket of his belt,
the Count nestles at his pendant. As the so-called 'witch' approaches, the
Lankiveil nods once to a guard, which promptly lets him out of the embassy
proper.

Filarion walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.

Varota takes refuge from the Boris-storm behind the nearest convenient
obstacle. In this case, Iason.

Boris growls, "Damned mind-reading witches." He turns to Nestor. "I'll decide
what is 'amusing' in my Embassy, mentat! And that does not include some Bene
Gesserit mind-reader!" He gestures to some soldiers to escort Nadira from the
grounds, then turns to go. He announces, "My guests! The orgy will commence in
fifteen minutes, I trust you will all partake!" He departs in a cloud of
servitors and hangers on.

Nadira seems to ignore the soldiers, the Cheshire cat's grin never leaving her
face. She quietly leaves, without further ado.

Nestor bows slightly to Boris. "But of course, My Lord Baron." He steals a
smile at Nadira...who knows why.

Iason turns to Varota and bows a bit. "A fine performance, Master Varota." he
murmurs. "Truly, your work is remarkable."

Boris walks to the south and passes through the Burnished Doors.

Nadira walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.

Thankful for the distraction, Varota replies, "You are too selfless with your
praise, Ambassador. A man but does what he does." He tugs somewhat
uncomfortably at his collar.

Boris pages Iason, Filarion, Varota, Nestor, Juseppe, and Helen: Thanks for the
rp, and good night!

Helen sighs softly, "Unfortunately, this means that it is time for me to
depart." Sometimes, being 15 and the daughter of an honorable house means you
don't get to have any fun... though she does add impishly, "You are welcome to
stay, Iason.. I will send the limo back for you..."

Nestor makes his way slowly up to Varota.

Iason glances at Helen, playing the perfect straight man. "I will only be a few
minutes more, my lady. A journeyman should take the time to pay his respects to
a master of an art, my Lady."

Varota sighs dreamily at Helen's announcement. "What a pity", he says,
returning her smile, "but one must but look at your resplendant face to
understand: the Lady Helen is built for quality, not speed."

Helen blushes at Varota's words, "You flatter me, Master Varota... perhaps we
will have the chance to speak again. I have some small skill as a scholar of
ancient music and verse... I would be interested in discussing your art."

"And I, sweet lady," Varota replies, "would be most interested in discussing
everything else. I lodge in the Imperial, whenever you feel like slumming it
with a rank commoner such as myself."

Helen says, "I will speak with the Duke... perhaps you will perform at our
embassy someday. Though our entertainments are more... sedate, I promise you
will not need to fear living to see the end of them."

Nestor produces a small case from inside his coat as he approaches Varota,
remaining silent so as not to interrupt his conversation.

"If that evening should also end in your departure, milady", Varota declares,
"I would as certainly fear for my life."

Helen smiles a bit, "Ah, but you must, Master musician... for as the dawn seems
brighter for the night, so will my presence seem sweeter for my absence."

Varota says, "Only to the blind, milady. Only to the blind."

Iason inclines his head, offering his arm to Heleen. "Shall we depart?"

Varota turns slowly around to face Nestor. "Ah, sir Mentat," he chirps. He
looks at the case in his hand and, divining his purpose, allows himself to be
ushered off to a more discreet spot.

Nestor bows to Helen and Iason at the suggestion. "I certainly hope that the
representatives of House Atreides enjoyed the performance by the esteemed
Master..."

Helen murmurs, "Of course, Iason... Forgive my delaying..." She takes her place
on Iason's arm.

Iason turns and bows again. "As always, Mentat."

Helen murmurs, "It was most memorable..."

Nestor bows again. "As was your presence."

Helen blushes prettily.

Iason gently guides Helen out of the garden.

Helen walks to the northeast and passes through the Fanmetal Gate.


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