Guild Logs Take 2

[HYWASaint@aol.com]

Another Guild log for your reading enjoyment.  The matters to which they 
pertain isn't that important, but as all of you dwell on Kaitain ICly, you 
would be well-aware of the Guild's quirky representatives, and a bit of a 
taste of the sometimes bitter, never sweet Guildsmen would do all well in the 
unfolding TP.  Have fun.

--Antiochus
Theme Admin

[The new Marquis Ginaz goes to set his account right with the change.]

You walk through the Sliding Glass Doors.

Lobby -- Guild Bank (Kaitain)
The lobby of the Guild Bank is the picture of organized
activity. Guild representatives sit at their desks working busily
either with clients or with paperwork. 

This room is a vast expanse whose walls climb upward toward a ceiling
well over 50 meters from the floor. All things here are varying shades
of grey, even the dress of the employees. The holoscreens provide the
only color for this place. 

Players:
 Sessil                                             Tillip
Exits:
 Sliding Glass Doors  leads to Central Plaza -- Financial District (Kaitain)

The room is crowded with massive activity of swarming agents.

Deep inside the the crowd, at a desk, the Legate (hidden from most
view) whispers to Sessil, "We have a vistor. See to his .... ahhhhh
hmmmmmm needs"

Saiban steps into the bank, his entourage being somewhat pre-emptive
about clearing the Marquis' vicinity with look and muttered word. The
Siridar-Marquis himself gazes about thoughtfully, eyeing agents with
some more authorative shade of grey to them.

Sessil turns on heel as Tillip whispers to him. His "eyes" light
curiously upon the Siridar Ginaz. "Ah! Mahwkee Ginaz! A pweasure to
finawwy meet you." he lisps in a loud voice across the foyer of the
bank.

Tillip slinks back into his high-backed chair, actually the highest
chair in the whole lobby. He leans forward and resumes his work with
his documents.

Half of the Ginaz guard home in on the voice of Sessil traipsing
through the crowd. Saiban also cranes his head, and motions. As one,
the group plows forward into the crowd toward the greeting.

The flow of the agents parts a little to allow the Guild man, Sessil,
move freely through them. They also, more begrudgingly, permit the
Ginaz entourage to pass through.

Sessil frowns at the sight of all the Ginaz men. "Marquis . . . Saibo
is it? This is neutral ground, and there is no need for all these
guards. Please tell them to wait outside, as they'll otherwise
distrupt the flow of business. Quarters are tight enough around here
as it is." His lisp is noticably devoid.

Saiban's smile is wry as he corrects, when within a distance to do so,
"Marquis Saiban Suru Lear. Of course," he adds, signalling the four
uniformed men to take themselves outside. "The Guild flow of business
is indeed strong enough to serve its own protections, I'm sure. I am
here for a purpose, and wish to speak to the Legate on matters of
change."

[Sessil]
Sessil Moralin is remarkably well-preserved for his advanced age. His
hair remains a dark black, greying only slightly at the sides, his
muscles still taut and strong, his stature tall and straight, and his
skin unmarred with wrinkles. An almost ageless quality could be
attributed to him were it not for two small probems. Firstly, his eyes
are not those of normal beings. His are Tleilaxu eyes: cold, unfeeling
orbs of metal. He also bears the typical red stains of sapho juice
users. He dresses starkly in robes of dark purple, kept bound at the
waist by an intricate belt which serves mainly to house his spice and
other life support systems. Small lights blink and every so often a
beep may be heard as minute and wondrous gadgets monitor every bodily
function and system status. The reason for this highly expensive
treatment is evident upon looking at his right hand. For there, upon
his index finger, is a ring of gold, incised with the seal of the
Spacing Guild.

A woman, holding a ledger to her breat, nods to Sessil and makes
eyecontact.

Sessil positions himself between the Marquis and the Guild Legate's
desk, crossing his arms. "Well, Marquis Saibo, whatever you have to
take up with him, you may discuss with me first. I am Sessil Moralin,
his Chief of Staff."

Sessil gives a look of recognition to the woman, but no more than a
fleeting glance, as his attentions are raptly upon the upstart Ginaz.

The figure of the Legate rises from the desk, and slowly walks around
it. The figure stalks like a pnather quietly towards Sessil. He comes
very close to both men, remaining very silent.

Saiban has difficulty holding the pretense of eyecontact with the man
past the first introductions, and focuses somewhere on the other's
left eyebrow. "I'm afraid not, Mr Moralin." The counter is polite but
firm, and the man stands in the bustle as if content to be a rock in
the midst of it all.

The wheezing voice of the Legate speaks from somewhere behind Sessil,
"Is there ahhhhhhh problem?" Then he comes into view. The normal
bustle of people has vanished as they give the Guild's Legate a very
wide berth.

Sessil blinks in surprise, and frowns all the deeper, a scowl which
looks natural on his wrinkled face. "I am afraid /so/, Marquis. All
business to the Legate must come through me first. Follow the channels
like everyone else."

Sessil shakes his head at the Legate and says something in a low tone.

[Tillip]
This man's skin is very pale, and his eyes are brown, but seem to have
no spark of life in them. The sides of his head are shaved leaving the
yellow brown hair only on the very top of his head, and it runs back
down the base of his skull into a ponytail held together with
Krimskell fibre. Over his mouth is a black triangular mask that looks
like the muzzle of some terranic beast, or the mask worn by some
divers on such planets as Caladan. It completely covers his mouth and
nose. The mask is secured to his head by two straps which crosscross
behind his head. From the apex of the mask a long segmented tube runs
down to a large boxy device on his chest. The tube can move flexibly
as need arises, allowing the wearing full mobility. The boxy device to
which it is attached sits squarely on the wearer's chest. The tube
runs into it at the top. It is black like the mask with only a few
buttons and knobs on it. Only one button on the device deviates from
the collour scheme, it is green. Near its extreme edges are two
cylindrical bulges. 

He is wearing a long grey suit. The jacket, which zips or buttons up
on the inside right, is solid light grey. The chest has been cut out
to allow for the dark black boxy device he wears. This exposes the
shirt he wears underneath the suit. Its a very bright white with a
very long delicate collar. The jacket comes down to mid thigh, and the
same belt that holds up the light grey slacks -- with the black piping
-- also weaves through holes in the jacket holding both articles of
clothing. His gloves and his shoes are spotless obsidian black. 

Sessil mutters to Tillip, "... lesson,... me... him, Sir."

Saiban crosses his arms on his chest, comfortably, with that
impression, still, of firm stance. He looks to Tillip, baldly stares
at him a moment, and quietly looks between them with calm patience.

Tillip ignores the mumble, as if it never happened. Instead he looks
at Saiban, "Permit me to offer a .... *wheeze* diplomatic
alternative?" The Legate's left hand snakes quietly to his device. He
resumes, "Under most circumstances my Chief of Staff would be correct,
but ewith the CHOAM director's meeting pending, all our times are
limited. perhaps you would care to tell us both, my lord
.....*wheeze*..... Marquis?"

Sessil simply walks a few steps to one side, opening the passage
between Marquis and Legate, his stainless still eyes unable to move,
and looking almost to be focusing on both at once.

Saiban nods, as if coming to some inner decision, and relates, "What I
have come to discuss with the Guild is fairly common knowledge. Your
Chief of Staff," and here he crosses himself with one hand, "Is
welcome to hear it. Someplace quieter for business, perhaps?" He holds
an almost sublime smile.

Sessil sighs almost incredulously at the Marquis' offer, and swivels
his head towards Tillip.

Tillip blinks and stares at the Marquis. After a long pause
impreganated with his heaving inhales and exhales, he queries, "Am I
to understand you ask for ...." he cocks his head to one side,
"Privacy, My Lord?"

"Unless you are morally, ethically, or personally opposed to such,"
Saiban replies politely.

There are some raspy rapid barks of chuckles from the Legate's
mask. He shakes his head and says, "I am not opposed." After a single
blink he simply snaps his fingers at Sessil.

Sessil nods his head at the snap and immediately turns to face most of
the bank. He opens his mouth and bellows at the top of his lungs,
"CLOSE THE BANK!"

A klaxon rings out, and agents begin closing ledgers, tellers slap
their teller windows shut, and agents begin to actually run about the
room to lock things away. Within minutes the room begins to be
noticably emptier. And several minutes later only papers and a clean
up crew remain along with the three men.

Tillip stares unflinchingly at the Marquis. He then says simply, "Speak."

Sessil remains calm at the closing, as though it's an everyday
occurance. A slight grin alights his face as he once again looks to
the Marquis, the cause for the disturbance.

Saiban looks around him carefully, as if trying to surprise something
out of the corner of his eye. Vaguely, he is impressed at something,
be it the speed of shutdown, or that the Bank just closed. He clears
his throat, refocusing on Tillip and clasping his hands behind his
back. "Quieter, thank you, sir. The mantle of House Ginaz has been
recently given over to me by my brother, the former Siridar-Marquis
Morgen Lear. I have come to see that the accounts and forms are
settled in this new arrangement."

Sessil inquires blithely, "Do you have proper documentation for this,
Marquis? Papers, seals, authorizations, urinalysis exams?"

Tillip nods once. He places his two hands behind his back, "Very
well. Would you like to examine your account, Lord Ginaz?" He
unblinkingly continues his scrutiny of the Siridar.

Tillip turns his head slowly to Sessil. He speaks slowly, eyes
narrowing ever so slightly, "His papers have already been forwarded to
me. Your new arrival has made you ... unaware." The Legate turns back
to regard the Marquis. But he speaks to Sessil still with, "Fetch the
Ginaz account."

Saiban glances, unwillingly and with some odd inner flinching, at
Sessil. He waits for Tillip to set the man straight, before he asks
curiously, and with some of the same dread, "What does examining
entail?"

Sessil nods and walks to a large file cabinet. He scans several and
finally comes upon one in particular, which he opens and extracts
three large, cumbersome tomes each looking to contain several thousand
pages. He brings them back forward and plops them down on the Legate's
desk.

There are some loud exhales from the Legate before he replies, "We
shall set you down at a desk, and in private you may examine
-every-..." He pauses and resumes, "every debit and credit in the
entire history of House Ginaz."

Saiban leans forward a bit, or his head does, and he asks,
incredulously, "Do you suppose I am a Mentat, Legate? There is no
other order to the information? An index, at all?"

There is again the rapid barks for metallic discharge that signify
chuckles from the Legate's mask. he replies, "My dear lord Ginaz. All
of this information is perfectly comprehendible to us. Sessil, who has
training in this regard can .... walk you through it."

Sessil seats himself to one of the long ends of the desk and takes a
tome. "Do have a seat, Mentat . . . err, Marquis Saibo."

Saiban fairly growls, "I would sooner expect me to comprehend the
vastness of what is represented there than expect your Chief of Staff
to recite Scripture. Do you expect this of all of the Guild's
customers?" he adds, frowning.

Sessil says ironically, "Oh, ye of little faith."

Tillip lifts his right eyebrow, "Which scripture would you like us to
quote? Wheat and chaff? Goats and sheep? How about the measuring rod
you measure with shall be measure back to you?" The Legate lowers his
right eyebrow. He says with a weary sigh, "Tell the Marquis his
balance, Chief."

Saiban spends a good minute composing himself, and brushes at his thin
beard, studying something beyond Tillip before bringing himself to
look back to Sessil, expectantly.

Sessil sneers as he opens the book to a page, the exact one he was
searching for. He uses a stylus and points to a figure, reciting. "You
have precisely two solaris to your name. Boy, aren't /we/ rolling in
the money?"

Sessil snickers to himself and quotes the correct figure.

There is a single exhale, before the Legate explains, "Guild Humour,
My Lord Marquis. Please -forgive- us our little weaknesses."

Sessil adds, "As we shall forgive you your many."

Saiban smiles faintly. "I am glad to see the Guild also understands
commerce. And this account bears my name as the responsible party? The
Guild's accuracy is not quite in question, just the paperwork." he
notes. The Marquis is starting to look a little stretched, or perhaps
just patient.

Sessil sighs and replies, "The Guild would hardly name you as
responsible, Marquis."

The Guild's Legate nods, almost a bow really, to the Siridar. He says
quietly, "Yes, all the necessary changes to the Ginaz account have
been ... affected. Is there anythinbg else the Guild can do to serve
your ... needs?"

Saiban gives Sessil a hard look, one that sizes up a man out of habit,
but he turns his attention to Tillip, his tone booming in the
stillness, "Nothing, for now, Legate. I trust your operations can
sustain frequent visits from me?" He motions about the empty chamber,
questioningly.

Sessil nearly topples out of his seat as his comm unit beeps, sending
him reeling back in his chair in surprise and almost piching over
backward. He manages to resteady himself and bring it up to his ear,
whispering to it after a few seconds. He rises from his seat and bows
to the Legate, completely ignoring the Marquis. "You will pardon me,
Legate. They require my presence at the CHOAM Headquarters in their
preperations for the Board of Directors meeting."

Tillip makes an idle motion to Sessil, not taking his attention away
from Saiban. The motion is dismissive in the same way one might
dismiss a fly. The Legate, instead says to Saiban, "Indeed, the
Guild's vast resources are always at your disposal, my lord. Please
schedule future visits with Sessil's staff." The Legate nods his head
and becomes silent.

Sessil turns and walks out, saying to the Marquis as he passes, "Good
evening to you, Mahwkee Saibo."

Sessil walks to the south and passes through the Sliding Glass Doors.
Sessil has left.

Saiban does not mark Sessil's passage, but as the Mentat disappears,
he crosses himself again. "I'll do that. Good day, Legate." He
inclines his head, the stiffness easily mistaken for formality by
some.

The Legate does not bow, but instead walks back to his desk, and sinks
back down into his chair. He resumes his work and as he does so, as if
by some hidden signal, the lobby begins to fill again with agents
returning to work.

Saiban sets his jaw, and pivots, stalking through people (brushing
elbows, bumping) to the exit and out.

You walk through the Sliding Glass Doors.
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