Dining Room -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
Lining opposite walls of the dining room are several BOOTHS, each containing its own table. Above each table is a dim glowglobe with a conical ray of light downwards. Set apart from these, at the back of the room, is the long table designated as IMPERIAL. Open entrances let in the brighter light of the lounge and lobby. The room is carpeted in a dark emerald color that matches the verticle stripes that run down the white walls.
Players:
Justine
Exits:
Corridor <SW> leads to Lounge -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
Arch <S> leads to Lobby -- Imperial Hotel (Kaitain)
Praxton enters from the hotel lobby.
Praxton has arrived.
A noble-looking man in his early maturity, of average height and slight build. His bold features are only slightly softened with age; his greying, close-cropped hair setting off the dark, intelligent eyes underneath chiseled eyebrows and the cleft chin. He is wearing a formal outfit of white starched shirt, straight-legged trousers in black, with a charcoal frock coat worn over the pine green sash of the Atreides ducal family. About his neck hangs the heavy ruby garnet and gold insignia of the Landsraad High Councilman. Although thin, his strong shoulders hint at a strength not long gone, and his narrow waist accents his trim figure, enhancing his presence.
Justine has already been seated in the dining room, placed in the far back at a table by herself. From the looks of things, she hasn't been here that long, as she still has water sitting at her table and she appears to be browsing the menu.
Looking somewhat worn but good-humored, Praxton Atreides walk towards the maitre d', who duly bows and welcomes him. "Capitan, I'm afraid I have no reservation. Could you possibly make room for one?"
The maitre d' fusses with the list in front of him, scrambling to find a way to seat the Duke in state. Meanwhile, Praxton looks about the Dining Room, apparently scanning for a familiar face.
Justine reaches around her menu and gropes the air a bit before she finds her glass of water and then retrieves it behind the menu, taking a sip. When she hears the maitre d', she casually pulls back one side of the menu to look and see who's at the door. She notices the Duke of Atreides standing there and goes back to her business but not before doing a double take in surprise. o O (The Duke?? No, can't be.) Her head shakes a bit, as if she's seeing things and then goes back to what she was doing.
The maitre d' bites his lip, then begins, "My deepest regrets, Your Grace, but...".
Praxton interrupts him, holding up a hand. "Capitan, is that the Marquise Ginaz?"
Mikhail enters from the hotel lobby.
Mikhail has arrived.
Nerissa enters from the hotel lobby.
Nerissa has arrived.
The younger man turns towards the end of the hall, then checks his list. "It is, Your Grace."
Praxton raises a brow. "And she dines alone?"
Another glance towards the list. "She does, Your Grace."
Praxton looks pleased, "Will you enquire if she would accept our company, Capitan?"
Justine suddenly gets the feeling that she's being watched and glances over her menu again, looking around the dining room slowly until she spots the entourage at the door. Her eyes lock on the Duke and a brow rises as she thinks to herself...o O (It looks like the Duke, but it can't be. He never leaves his embassy.)
"Toute ensuite, Your Grace," the maitre d' backs away with a bow.
Puffed up with the import of his errand, the maitre d' crosses the Dining Room, homing in on Justine's table. He makes a courtly half-bow, then clears his throat politely.
"Madame Ginaz," he begins carefully. "The gentleman yonder asks if he may share your table?"
Justine's eyes remain focused on the Duke until the waiter tries to get her attention. She blinks a couple of times and then looks up at him with curiosity and apologizes, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry." She looks back to the menu and hmmmmmms quietly before pointing at something and stating, "I think I'll have the blackened grilled salmon with a potato and house salad." She starts to hand the menu back when he makes it clear that he isn't here to take her order. Her brow rises in curiosity and looks over to the door and asks, "Which one? The Na-Earl Rastanyev or the other gentleman? And is that the Duke of Atreides or are my eyes deceiving me?"
Cromwell enters from the hotel lobby.
Cromwell has arrived.
The maitre d' glances nervously towards the Lobby. The Na-Earl too? To Justine he replies, "It is indeed the Duke, Madame. He has no reservation, alas," he adds, as if this would explain everything.
Justine looks to the waiter as he speaks and then back to Praxton when the offer is finished. Without hesitation, she nods once and produces a small smile replying, "I would be most honored if he joined me, yes. Please show him over."
Bowing once more, the maitre d' excuses himself and scuttles off to retrieve the Duke. "As you will, Madame."
Cromwell strolls into the dinning room taping out his pipe has he enteres in the ashtray by the door. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the assembled high and mighty who have gathered to take an early dinner and gives his name to the returning maitre d'.
To Praxton, "If you would come this way, Your Grace? I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, please accept complimentary wine and cheese in apology for your time."
The na-Earl Rastanyev, and his Lady seem to have slipped into the dining room un-noticed. Though it seems Mikhail is being led around rather than doing any leading of his own. His expression is somewhat somber, his skin a pale white, the fire gone grom his eyes. His right hand remains somewhat tightly entwined in Nerissa's as he scans the packed room for a small empty table preferably somewhere quiet.
Praxton strides behind the maitre d', commenting, "Accepted, gracious Capitan. Comfoirieux '79, if you please?" He arrives at Justine's table and greets, "Marquise, you are quite kind in allowing us to sit with you."
Nerissa squeezes Mikhail's hand gently, her own expression somber. She murmers softly to the na-Earl, "My love, I don't believe there are any empty tables..."
Mikhail nods slightly, "Mmm," he says as a small mischevious smirk appears on his lips for the briefest of moments. He whispers softly to Nerissa, "We _could_ make one, somehow I don't think they would like that overly much."
Cromwell sees the somewhat somber mood of the Rastanyev couple and refrains from inserting himself into their conversation. He puts his pipe into the breast pocket of his frockcoat and leans against the wall waiting for his turn.
Justine's eyes follow the maitre d' back over to where Praxton was standing and while he moves to her table. Just before he reaches her, she stands and dips a small curtsey, out of respect, to greet him. She smiles and shakes her head, "Tis an honor, Duke Atreides. Aside from Congress meetings, the last time I had seen you was at your embassy when you announced the birth of your child. I am always pleased to be in company of someone such as yourself. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable."
Nerissa chuckles softly, nudging Mikhail with her elbow. "Let us stay out of trouble for now..."
Mikhail laughs softly, a little of the colour seems to return to his cheeks. "That's not much fun," he retorts in a low voice. "If you insist however, just this once."
At the corner table, Praxton settles himself into his chair, smoothing the front of his shirt as he does so. "Regretfully, Marquise, work keeps us too far removed from polite society. Just now, I repaired here from the Landsraad offices in hopes of getting some fresh air and cool drink.
Using Russkiy, Nerissa smiles and whispers softly to Mikhail. Her tone is playful. "... ... ... ... ... ..."
At the corner table, Justine swoops her hands under her dress just before she sits down and nods to you with a smile, "Yes, I know that you must be a very busy man. I barely get to see the Marquis myself and you hold more duties then he does. I do hope that all is well with yourself and your House, my Lord Duke."
Using Russkiy, Mikhail smirks, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red, though it's doubtfully anyone else understood a word that was said, "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..."
At the corner table, Praxton's expression darkens momentarily, but he masks his lapse with a motion to accept the arriving tray of wine, water and hors d'ouvres. "My House is as well as I could ask for, Madame." A pause. "I must confess that I have wanted to schedule a chance to meet you for some time now, but matters have been pressing..."
At the corner table, Justine's brow rises questioningly at that and asks, "You have?" She smiles a bit, "I must admit that I am both curious and flattered by that. Might I ask why it is I, that you seek?"
At the corner table, Praxton attempts a weak smile. "When His Majesty approached us for counsel as how best to rescue Madame from the ravages of her former House's wars, it was myself who suggested adoption into the Household Imperial. So I wanted to meet the direct beneficiary of my advice, as it were."
The maitre d' returns and nods toward the Chancellor indicating that his table is ready.
Cromwell follows casually, noding to the Rastanyev na-Earl as he passes. On the way to his table he notices Justine and Praxton sitting in the corner and moves over to say hello.
Steffan enters from the hotel lobby.
Steffan has arrived.
At the corner table, Justine nods with a kind smile to Praxton and quietly states, "Yes, I know. The Emperor told me and I am so very appreciative to both you and him for helping me. If there is any way I can thank you, please let me know. I owe you so much."
Justine is currently sitting in the back of the dining room, at a corner table with Praxton and Cromwell heading her way.
Steffan strides in, a few of his guards remaining at the door. He smiles faintly as he makes his way over to the table.
Cromwell approaches the corner table, clears his throat, and bows slightly, "Excuse my interuption I wanted to stop and say hello to the Lady Lear. I am affraid I have not been able to pay any social calls recently and thought this might be an appropriate time."
At the corner table, Praxton returns the smile, in spirit at least. "Please, think no more of it. I am not a man to collect favors. And you went on to marry a man who I am related to, so we are now family, in a way."
Justine's head shakes to Praxton and says, "It wasn't my..." her voice trails off as Cromwell speaks and she looks up to him with a small smile, "Hello Lord Chancellor. I am surprised to see you here. Pleasantly so, that is. You aren't interrupting at all, I'm glad to see you."
When Steffan reaches the table, be bows to everyone. "Pardon my tardiness..." He then sits down next to Justine.
Justine's brow rises at Steffan, looking confused when he mentions tardiness. She quickly covers it up and nods briefly to him as she rises somewhat out of her chair and then sits back down again.
You whisper, "You sense Justine tense up upon Steffan's arrival." to Praxton.
At the corner table, Praxton stands to greet Steffan. "Marquis, it is good to see you albeit briefly. I was just making my farewells."
You whisper, "You sense Justine tense up upon Steffan's arrival." to Cromwell.
Cromwell bows as the Marquis approaches then returns his attention to the lady, "I am pleased to see that your.....condition has improved since last we spoke. I trust everything is well?"
At the corner table, Justine frowns to Praxton and asks, "Must you leave, my Lord Duke? You haven't ordered your dinner yet. Please, stay and dine with us. It is so rare that we get to enjoy your company."
At the corner table, Justine turns her attention to Cromwell and nods briefly to him, replying, "Things are as they should be, yes. I thank you for enquiring upon my well being, Lord Chancellor. Perhaps you'd care to join us as well?"
At the corner table, Praxton replies stiffly, "I'm afraid so, Madame. I quite seem to have lost track of the time, my secretaries will be expecting me back at the Landsraad soon." The Duke is clearly anxious to leave, perhaps not for the reasons stated?
Cromwell raises an eyebrow slightly, "If it is agreeable to the Marquis. I would not desire to intrude upon a romantic dinner?"
At the corner table, Justine offers a disappointed frown to Praxton but nods in understanding and quietly says, "Yes, I understand and apologize for taking up your time. I know that you are a busy man. Please, take care of yourself, my Lord Duke, until we meet again." Her eyes slide to
Cromwell and offers a slight sarcastic smirk briefly and then looks back to Praxton, honestly disappointed that he's leaving.
At the corner table, Praxton can only nod to Justine in farewell. To Steffan, "Cher cousine, you will be pleased to know that the Council will personally present His Majesty with its recommendation for a new Judge of Rite. You will have you war. And soon." His tone is bitter and his manner stiff.
At the corner table, Praxton can only nod to Justine in farewell. To Steffan, "Cher cousine, you will be pleased to know that the Council will personally present His Majesty with its recommendation for a new Judge of Rite. You will have you war. And soon." His tone is bitter and his manner stiff.
Cromwell tenses somewhat at the Duke's bitter tone but remains silent.
Justine's head lowers as her frown deepens and she hears Praxton's words. Now she worries that Ginaz has lost one of its powerful allies. o O (First, Cesare breaks his promise and now this.)
The na-Earl smiles softly and nods to Nerissa as she whispers somthing into his ear. "Of course," he says in an equally low tone, "go if you must." A sigh escapes his lips as he watches her leave. Mikhail ventures a few steps into the dinging room, nearly running into the head waiter.
Cromwell takes the Marquis' silence as consent and takes a seat
The head waiter manages to Narrowly avoid the na-Earl, and begins to apologize profusely. However, one of the blue robbed Rastanyev guards puts a hand up and says, "His excellency apologizes. You were clearly not at fault young sir." The guard points to a recently vacated table and leans closer to Mikhail, "M'lord," he begins, "I believe there is an empty table over there." The guard points to a small secluded area of the room.
At the corner table, Steffan lifts a brow at the Duke's words, and says rather calmly, "Very good. " He picks up a menu and starts to glance at it, "its about time. Wouldn't want to violate the forms. Besides, someone else should keep an eye on the Moritani too. "
Cromwell speaks up, "Excuse me Duke Atredies, might I inquire as to the indentiy of the Council's recommendation?"
At the corner table, Praxton clearly is put out at Steffan's dismissal of him. He puts a hand forward to take the menu from his hands, then lowers his head to mutter. "It may not be my place to say this to you, young cousin," although he thinks it is, "but if I had your youth and the half of your freedom and carefreeness, and a wife half as beauteous and kind, I'd hie myself off to my homeworld and live my life in peace and content." He takes a breath, "You make a deadly mistake in not suing for peace."
At the corner table, Justine keeps her head lowered as Steffan speaks, taking in a deep breath as he does. But when Praxton replies to him, she blinks and looks up with a small smile, showing her approval and agreement, yet says nothing.
Mikhail manages to overhear very little of the conversation between the group at the corner table as he pushes through a knot of people on his way to a table.
The Rastanyev guardsmen leans close to Mikhail again, you can perhaps over hear only bits and pieces of what he's saying, "M'lord... wise... be .... Earl Josef ... death."
At the guards latest comment, Mikhail scowls furiously a look of anger crosing his brow. He looks as if he were ready to smack the insolent guard.
Steffan sips a bit of the water from a goblet that had been placed there earlier. His glance rises to meet Praxton's. He takes a deep breath, his mind preocupied, "Im sorry cousin, I don't mean to be irreverent, but you must understand, there can be no peace. I shall have my revenge. The Count would cut my throat at the first chance he got. I won't run away and hide like a frightened old woman. I can't, not with all that has happened. I understand what you are saying but Im afraid I can't oblige. In fact..." he voice trails off as if afraid to say anymore.
At the corner table, Praxton presses on, disappointed but expecting this display of stubborness, "Yes?"
Justine quickly takes hold of her water and begins to drink it as she averts her eyes away, as if she isn't hearing any of this or even at the table.
Steffan sits up straight in his chair, a faint smile appearing on his face, "Well, since you insist, ....our two Great Houses have been allies for a millenia. I could you your help, political or otherwise to defeat them. I wouldn't expect you to defy the forms, but our two houses could place them in a position that would force them to settle."
At the corner table, Praxton holds silent for a long moment, then straightens. "This is neither the time nor the place for further discussion, Marquis." He bows his head, "By your leave. Madame," another bow to Justine. "Thank you for keeping a peace-loving old man company."
Justine rises from her chair and dips a curtsey to Praxton with an apologetic smile, "T'was an honor, my Lord Duke. I'm sorry that it wasn't as pleasant as we hoped. But do stay well, you and your beloved House."
At the corner table, Steffan nods disappointingly, "no, perhaps not. "
Cromwell says, "My appologies but I too must depart. If your Graces will please excuse me." He rises and bows before he departs."
Praxton turns on his heel and departs, leaving a dumb-founded maitre d' and a roomfull of curious onlookers.
Praxton passes through the arch leading into the hotel lobby.
Praxton has left.
Cromwell has disconnected.
Steffan rises and bows to everyone as they depart.
Mikhail takes the opportunity to make his exit as well, he's not that hungry after all.
Mikhail passes through the arch leading into the hotel lobby.
Mikhail has left.
Justine slowly sits back down, picking up her glass of water as she does and takes a long drink.