"The Cognac was delightful."

["Amit J. Sabnis" <ajsabnis@stanford.edu>]

In which the Viscount of House Alvstad and the Lady Regent of House
Rastanyev discuss current affairs over a glass of brandy.

===Ekaterina===

Her body is decked conservatively in a fitted walking gown of rich saffron
color. Such a color should rightly clash with the shade of her hair:
Instead, the hues in sunlight inspire thoughts of burnished copper. There is
little here in the way of decoration. Being neither flamboyant, nor
voluptuous, the modest cut of the dress seems fitting to her person.

The silken material retains only the faintest lustre from its slubby weave,
collecting light it seems. A strong contrast, her intense Rastanyev-blue
eyes give the impression of the sort of stillness that implies strong
currents moving just below the surface. The third finger of her left hand
carries a silver phoenix signet ring.

===Pers===

        Despite his thorough military training and many years as a
Warmaster, despite his rise to power being surrounded in controversy and his
rule as Viscount largely celebrated, Pers Alvstad manages to look like the
stately old grandfather with a certain panache when he chooses to. Now is
one of those times.

        His wispy straw-blonde hair has been carefully combed and parted to
the right, high above his murky gray-green eyes. A beard, groomed and
clipped short, covers his lower face and jaw, appearing oddly soft and
silken in most light due to its color. Occasionally, a thin-rimmed pair of
spectacles rest on the bridge of his nose, though he appears quick to remove
them and tuck them away into a pocket.

        He wears a well-tailored silk shirt of brilliant plum, the vibrantly
dark purple standing out against his pale complexion. A woolen waistcoat of
ash gray covers the shirt, buttoned closed across his abdomen, and he wears
pants of the same fabric. A seaman's cloak of thick grey felt hangs from his
neck, completing the outfit. The hilt of a knife is visible, its sheath
looped about his shield belt.

======
Courtyard -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)(#662RLt)

        The motor courtyard of the embassy is paved with glittering
fragments of crushed solidite, making for a unique first impression inside
the gates. Serving as a buffer, millions of white sandstone pebbles line the
drive. They form two barrier paths of uniform width around the intense blue,
leading to the cul-de-sac before the embassy arch.

        The walled in grounds are lush and verdant, and a grove of portygul
trees perfume the air of the rolling lawn with a citrus zest. Several
brilliantly colored peacocks and peahens lounge leisurely in the shade, and
octagonal beds of white tulips, too, make their appearance about the
grounds. A path to the west leads to the ornithoper pad.

        The embassy itself is an austere baroque structure of considerable
size, led up to from the circular drive by a white marble and solidite
stairway. It is three stories in height, with a galleried cupola crowning
the facade. There appears to be only this one formal entrance, grand arched
doors going northward into the interior of the building.

Players:
 Ekaterina
Exits:
 Front Gates <E> leads to Sheuset Square -- Embassy District (Kaitain)
 Arched Entrance <N> leads to Reception Foyer -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

The grounds of the Rastanyev Embassy seem relatively busy, even as the day
winds down. The gardening staff is in the middle of pruning in the orange
grove, and re-raking the drive so that it glistens attractively. The Regent,
too, is out, idly twisting a long peafowl feather between two fingertips,
which she swishes from time to time, watching the gate.

Pers steps through the front gates of the grounds, his standard honor guard
falling back after his entrance to linger near the walls that surround the
lawns. Security is a must, but a flechette pistol can work just as well from
afar as behind the Viscount. The man wears a benign expression, his gray
green eyes clear and lucid in the bluish light of the early evening. "Lady
Ekaterina," he says in a low greeting, bowing once in speaking range. "How
good to see you."

The presence of the Alvstad in the courtyard is greeted by a slightly
stiffer air from the Regent's own security staff, but as per their
instructions, they keep their watchful distance as well. They talk amongst
themselves in the background, gesturing down the way, to the Regent and
Viscount, and yes, the gate, seeming to have plenty to say, holding
themselves as straight as spears.

The lady Ekaterina, however, pays them no attention whatsoever. "My Lord
Viscount , how excellent you look. I'm honored that you have come." She says
politely, and offers her empty and downturned hand in mild greeting. "Can I
entice you and your men inside for refreshment, or would you rather remain
out in the night air? I hope you do not mind me asking."

"Of course not, my Lady," Pers answers with a minimal smile, taking the
Regent's hand and lifting it to his lips for a kiss. Funny -- one would
expect the Alvst to be either extremely cold or extremely wet, though the
Viscount's kiss is warm and dry to the sense of touch. "The choice is
welcome, and I find the breezes that accompany evening in the Embassy
district quite enjoyable." He releases the Lady's hand, turning his head in
a quick survey of the grounds. "Perhaps a less...open enclosure would be
preferable?"

"Yes-- I do believe it is the sweetness of the water of Lake Corrin that
makes it so pleasing. Surely though, your own view is quite superior." Her
hand does not tremble, though it is very small. Her smile does not falter,
as she responds to his words, saying, "Da, yes. Please, come with me." She
angles herself to lead into the walk with the slightest gesture over her
other hand.

Pers smiles once more, that smallest folding up of the lips that accurately
communicates what must surely be the slightest perturbation in the almost
statically calm man. Letting his arm drop into the folds of his cloak, the
Viscount follows the Regent with carefully placed steps, one foot ahead of
the other at a measured distance -- just enough to keep apace, neither
stepping ahead nor falling back. "Perhaps it is wasted on me," he muses, his
words soft. "I find it somehow...improper to see the boundaries of water
when I look out across it. A most irrational sentiment, but one which has
stayed with me despite many years offworld."

"Perhaps, given time on Tsarkoye, I should return to Kaitain thinking much
the same," she responds with the level alto which rises and falls in
accenting as it wills itself. She certainly does not seem ashamed of the
imperfections. Ascending the stairs, the doorway is held open for her by
cossacks on either side. On the thresholds, she offers her arm.

Ander has arrived.

Ekaterina stands on the threshold of the Embassy, doors held open, offering
her arm to the Siridar-Viscount Alvstad as the evening fades slowly into
being.

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

Pers inclines his head in answer, accepting the Regent's arm with a
prefunctory sharp nod to the Cossacks -- old habits die hard, and it's only
recently that the Viscount has ceased acting as his own Warmaster.

Ekaterina steps through the bright blue double doors, into the embassy
proper.
You step into the bustling formal reception room of the Rastanyev Embassy.

Reception Foyer -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

        The foyer is hemispherical, wood-paneled walls rising some 30 feet
before reaching the row of octagonal gallery windows, and the first-level
ceiling. There, a chandelier swings, very finely wrought. The floor is dark
blue, constructed of high-gloss solidite tiles in spiral arms from the
center of the room. Coruscating paua inlay at this center creates the
massive silvery emblem of the Rising Phoenix.

        A wide set of ornately carved bronze doors lay to the north, where
some sort of large hall can be seen. To either side is a small alcove,
containing white marble statuettes on pillows of blue and saffron gold. Too,
the banisters of the twin rosewood staircases have been festooned with
lengths of blue and gold silk. The stairs turn a slight spiral as they
ascend to the protuding mezanine over the foyer, and the floors above.

<OOC Note: Use +places/help to utilize the embassy's joinable locations.>

Players:
 Ekaterina
Exits:
 Heavy Bronze Doors <N> leads to Hall of Boyars -- Rastanyev Embassy
(Kaitain)
 Arched Doors <S> leads to Courtyard -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)
 Rosewood Stair <U> leads to Second Floor Hallway -- Rastanyev Embassy
(Kaitain)

Ekaterina thanks the cossacks who held the doors... by name and byname, as
she shows the Alvst party indoors. The way closed behind, she gestures to
the hall of Boyars with a nod of her head, and continues on through.

You step through the heavy bronze doors, into the Hall of Boyars.

Hall of Boyars -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

        Friendly yellow light eminates from globes set in brass sconces
along the white plaster walls, with their dark wooden beams running high
overhead. On the eastern and western sides hang two enormous tapestries.
Alabaster statues stand on a low granite pediments to either side of the
expansive southern entrance.

        A long trestle table cut from dark-inlayed Garrashu firs runs down
the center of the room. Equally long and elegant in their simplicity, the
matching wooden benches on either side of the feasting table. The room
fairly vibrates with the shades of half-forgotten memory. To the north, a
small post-and-lintel door is the only other exit.

Players:
 Ander
Exits:
 Elacca Wood Door <N> leads to The Oval Room -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)
 Bronze Doors <S> leads to Reception Foyer -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

Ekaterina arrives from the reception foyer.

Pers moves with deliberate slowness, both affecting a stately air and making
his keen interest in Rastanyev architecture known: so different from the
'modernism' of Alvst taste, it's the difference between wood and metal,
between woven tapestries and painted silks.

Ekaterina seems... not distracted, but distant. It is not so much that she
takes what is here for granted so much as that she seems to feel so very
much a part of each room in the Embassy that she goes through. She leads the
Viscount at the leisurely pace toward the small northern door.

You depress the handle of the elacca wood door, and push in smoothly, but
with effort.
The Oval Room -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

        An oval dining room about forty feet long, and twenty feet deep.
Both ceiling and floor are trayed, three stairs down from doorway to base.
The floor here is composed of honey-colored wooden tiles, inlayed with a
much darker mahogany. The patterns have been oiled and polished until wood
seems inwardly luminescent. Similar treatment has been applied to the
paneled walls, only with light inlay on dark wood.

        Centered in the room, a table is carefully laden, dressed with a
white tablecloth and saffron silk runner. The surrounding chairs are each
carved from single pieces of wood, polished to a beautiful sheen. A royal
blue cushion and also the phoenix motif appear somewhere on each, and all
unique. The lights of the room burn warmly in welcome.

Exits:
 Curved Door <S> leads to Hall of Boyars -- Rastanyev Embassy (Kaitain)

Ekaterina arrives, stepping down into the room from the Boyar Hall.

Ekaterina waits until the door has been fully passed through before
reliquishing to Pers his arm and its full possession. She closes the curved
door then, and steps down the trayed stairs only after she has palmed a
place on the wall, and made a discreet request for refreshments.

"Please, do make yourself comfortable, My Lord Viscount... It is late in the
day to stand too much upon ceremony. Not good to keep a guest standing,
either, for me." She walks to stand behind a seemingly random chair.

Pers needs no more encouragement. He trots down the stairs in a casual
jaunt, crossing to one of the chairs towards the head of the table. Flipping
his cloak over his shoulders, he folds it and extends the heavy felt piece
on his arm for a servant to take care of.

The Viscount rests his arms on the back of a carved chair, leaning forward
slightly: a decidedly un-Viscountic pose to strike. "Ladies first," he
suggests, a dry tone of humor creeping into his voice. "It is indeed late,
but I'd rather not have any consider us...uncouth in each other's company."

"God forbid," she purrs, either in jest of earnest. It is unclear which,
even if one dimple does show in the interim. She waves a hand to dismiss the
bulk of the attendants back to their other duties, and turns about once,
smoothly, and sits with her skirts thus neatly wrapped about her legs.

"Etiquette must, of course, be satisfied to the satisfaction of our esteemed
guest. I regret, I do not have any Alvst beverages on hand, though...
piteously bad form of me. I do apologize."

Pers seats himself, a surprisingly fast and lithe gesture that hints at just
how active the old man has been staying in his 'retirement' from active
Naval duty. Overall, he gives the odd impression of being a bizarre mirror
of Ekaterina's own movements as he lets his hands drop into his lap. "They
are a bit of a 'niche' specialty, my Lady. Rather unlike the standard
Grumman beverages which most keep on hand at all times, and which have in
recent days undergone unexpected price hikes." Leave it to an Alvst to
mention economics when the topic at hand is booze. "Something between wine
and vodka in potency would be appropriate, I think."

Ekaterina lays her hands on the armrests of the chair, and leans back
comfortably. "Sherry will suffice then, I trust? Or Cognac?" She waits for
the tray with supreme patience. "I try not to think about the ridiculous
prices. It only raises my blood pressure to think of the mere mixing of
spice with anything being considered fit for a sommalier."

Pers's pale golden eyebrows lift in surprise. "It has been quite some time
since I've had the pleasure of sampling a good Cognac," he admits. "As for
the business of sommeliers...I leave that to the Moritani, along with their
wines. I largely suspect the art has never been fully grasped by an Alvst,
though the noblemen do profess a quaint attachement to it all." He leans
back, affecting a contemplative yet warm expression.

"Not to foist pleasantries upon us, Lady Regent," Pers adds after a moment.
Was that last word accented? "But...how fares the Family Rastanyev? We've
heard some interesting tales from the Palace, and no official word to
confirm the...infirmity of the Duke Mikhail."

"To run the risk of bluntness, my lord, that is not at all surprising to me.
Her Majesty was in... quite a state when I left the Palace, the night the
news broke, and other rumors suggest now that she is unfit to make such
announcements. Apparently, her brother's disgraceful behavior is my fault,
as all other unpleasant things are."

She takes a glass of the Cognac from the tray as it is delivered, and
personally hands across the other one. "Haven't you heard? I make the wine
lose its taste, the sugar clump, dance naked under the full moon in the
forests of Ecaz, and keep the moon often hidden under my skirts."

Pers manages to maintain a serious tone as he accepts his own glass of
Cognac. "I imagine that becomes inconvenient on full moons; one must dance
naked in the forests beneath one's own skirts." He lifts the glass to his
lips, taking a delicate sip of it -- so much more grace than the man usually
affords his alcohol. "Exquisite," he pronounces after letting the beverage
pass across his tongue. A dry smile pulls up his lips. "I suppose one might
consider it a blessing that our beloved Empress has not made any public
statements towards these ends. Does His Majesty hear such rantings?"

Ekaterina can be heard to laugh with an equal dryness, but half-smiles over
the rim of her glass, "I daren't speculate at what passes between His
Majesty and his wife in the privacy of their palace... But he certainly did
get an earful that night. She was quite.. vehemant in her shouts about my
getting out. I'm shocked you couldn't hear."

Pers treats himself to another sip from his glass, a deeper pull this time,
though still restrained. "After years of service in the Noble Alvstad Navy,
my Lady, one learns to be a sound sleeper," he explains. His smile expands
briefly, revealing a neat row of polished white teeth, before he sobers
again. "Despite the screaming, though, what is done is done...is it not? I
expect there is none more qualified than yourself to ascend to the Siridar
of Garrashu IV, unless our Empress wishes to renounce her Corrino name."

Ekaterina raises a slender eyebrow, and uptilts the stem of her glass to
pull a mouthful of the sweet liquid over her tongue. She is well accustomed
to it. "You yourself have experience with what happens next, if I remember
accurately? Rastanyev will have to be patient, I suppose."

"Exquisitely so," Pers agrees, setting the fluted crystal glass down on the
table with a gentle 'clink'. "I was in the beneficial position of replacing
a Siridar seen as generally odious by Throne and Landsraad alike. While
Mikhail's...'demise' was quite clearly a vice of his own doing, there will
understandably be resistance." He brings both his arms to rest on the table,
leaning gently forward and clasping his hands together. "I fully expect your
mentat has begun calculating all the variables involved in this maneuver. He
may count Alvstad's support amongst them."

Ekaterina finishes her glass and sets it comfortably down on the table
before her, the clink muted by the fine table linens. "My Lord Viscount, you
are too kind, and that is only to be expected, because you behave as I wish
all noblemen would. But are *you* confident that I am better than what I
replace? If you do not, don't support me in this. Because I know you care
for the state of the whole, and not just the parts. I would not ask Alvstad
to do such a thing. Not if I were unworthy."

Pers dips his head slowly, acknowledging the posed questions. "And I would
not consider placing the assets of our House behind an irresponsible leader,
Regent, I assure you. How does one measure the effectiveness of a leader?"
He picks up his glass once more, spinning it lightly back and forth, careful
not to slosh the Cognac too much.

"Shall I point to CHOAM records which indicate the continued prosperity of
the Ecaz contract, one of the highest-risk ventures in the Mercantile's
fold?" The Viscount pauses to bring the glass to his lips, but pulls it away
before drinking. "Or the recent victory of House Rastanyev in the Landsraad
High Council elections despite having a Siridar practically in hiding on his
homeworld? Or perhaps the continued neutrality of Rastanyev political
aspirations in the face of escalating intra-Landsraad and Landsraad-Imperium
tensions?" He offers a mirthless smile to conclude his summation of the
facts, at last taking the desired break and draining his glass of Cognac.
Still holding the empty flute aloft, he adds, "I'm sure Master Galen and
Lord Avendryst could discuss the finer points of the situation for quite
some time. Perhaps they should, at that; but on a gross, first-hand
approximation, my Lady, the facts are quite clearly in your favor."

Ekaterina offers to him another glass from the cut-crystal decanter, and
though she says nothing for what seems a long moment, her very young smile
takes it place. "Yes. But Mentats do so love to belabor the point. I was
born of the old blood, and it is time that a Rastanyev sat where now a
Stalinsky soils himself, forgive the expression. It will take time... no
doubt, someone else will have to call for it, eventually. But with the
Empress so..." She pauses and refills her own glass. "Beside herself... I
cannot trust that any such urgings that reached his majesty would do any
more than incite anger. No doubt-- it can wait. But what of your house... I
hear nothing about it these days! You are lucky to escape being dragged
through the mud as so many of the great houses seem to be."

Pers smiles flatly as if in answer. He replaces his empty glass on the
table, silently composing a reply for several beats. "Neutrality -- or at
least the believable impression thereof -- does a good deal in that
direction. The Houses being dragged through the mud have entirely themselves
to thank for it...the Imperial House included."

The Viscount draws a deep breath, looking down and then back up at the
Regent as if approaching the situation afresh. "Our own agenda remains as
straight-forward and un-intrusive as it has been. CHOAM matters regarding
Arrakis are drawing our attention at present, as are the political
machinations of Moritani and Ginaz. Have you any opinion on that particular
matter at this time?" he inquires, his brows furrowed in curiosity.

"On Moritani and Ginaz, and their troubles? No, forgive me for saying it. My
colleagues in the Landsraad High Council-- issues are such that I needn't
say anything. Things speak so well for themselves. But I am coming to
believe what they say about inevitability, and dancing too close to fire,
da? I do not envy either the Contessa, or the Marquis." Ekaterina takes a
short pull on her beverage, and offers, "However, I am told that things are
becoming more and more strained between two other houses. Harkonnen and
Bajazet."

Pers arches a single eyebrow, an involuntarily fast action. "Further tension
in that direction? How...troubling." He settles back in his chair, his lips
pressed together in a tight grimace. "The Countess Moritani and I had both
agreed to apply...subtle pressures towards a more firm resolution of past
conflicts, though I fear Lady Ophelia's attentions have become
somewhat...distracted. What, if I may ask, have you heard?"

"That Bajazet is gone a-courting votes... and that they were most singularly
offended when Ambassadors of Ginaz may have mentioned that they favored a
Harkonnen vote. And then, that row in the street. Master Muradin... was
apparently most insultingly handled. And I do mean that in the most literal
sense, my lord. And that the Lady Ulricke was slapped. And we hear nothing
at all from the Barons... which I find strangely unsettling." She braces a
crooked finger neath her chin, and says, "When I was a girl, my father said
that when you stop hearing words between two enemies, you know that blows
are not far behind. I begin to lose hope that we might avoid another kanly
in the Imperium."

With each of the disclosed incidents, Pers's expression flickers, passing
troubled. "Kanly is as much a way of life as is the Grand Convention, my
Lady," he says at length, lips tautly held together. "Still, your father's
words are true as any I might speak. I shall address the matter with Lord
Boris, post haste; additional Bajazet-Harkonnen squabbling will lead nowhere
until a War of Assassins finishes one or the other off." He wrests his hands
on his chair's arms, palms down, ready to push off. "It would appear that we
have a good deal to consider, my Lady, towards common ends. It is my sincere
hope that we may approach future situations with a similar shared intent."

"Of course. I look forward to dealings with you, my lord Viscount. God
willing, we may be able to make some progress. It has been a bad year for
Kaitain... I want so much for next year to be a better one. Even for those
who I would not call friends." She rises from her seat, and holds across her
hand on it. "Thank you, for coming."

Pers rises himself, accepting the proferred hand in a tight clasp, shaking
it firmly: a businessman's conclusion to a meeting between equals. "And
thank you for your hospitality, Lady Rastanyev. The Cognac was delightful."
Withdrawing his hand, the Viscount executes a tight bow before retiring from
the chamber, flanked by his guard upon leaving.

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