From the perspective of Ysanne. RL Date: March 19, 2002.
A meeting with Clio in the Ginaz Embassy with Jacob making a special guest appearance.
Clio's Atelier -- Ginaz Embassy (Kaitain)
A rectangular room constructed of Marcinko alabaster marble. Thick, woolly rugs in a deep vermilion protect the cold marble on the floor while hangings and paintings cover the ivory walls. Absent any windows, subtle, recessed lighting provides ample, indirect amber-colored illumination.
Two short steps down and several plush chairs and a divan form a sitting area. A tea table sits in the center of the arrangement. Fresh flowers perpetually grace the table. Behind the sofa, on a small table sits a figurine. Off to the left of the sitting is a writing desk well stocked with the necessary tools and solido-recording apparatus. Kept immaculately neat, the sole items on the desk are three crystalline-bound books.
Two steps back up and towards the far end of the room an opaque, cinnabar curtain divides the rest of the room from a large bed.
Players:
Jacob Clio
Exits:
Small Arch leads to Jacob's Gardens -- Ginaz Embassy (Kaitain)
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Jacob:
Two things about this man are instantly striking. First, he towers over most normal folk, clearing seven feet in height with several inches to spare. Second, and equally unsettling, he appears to be completely and utterly hairless. His clean pate shines dully and his face is similarly smooth. A very faint scar traces a line from his right temple down across his cheek to end a couple inches above his jawline.
His face is mostly unexceptional, but his large eyes are sharp and attentive. From underneath the hairless ridges that serve for eyebrows, they emote fiercely, their color seeming to shift between dark, stormy gray and rich, deep brown.
His height further accentuated by a wiry frame. Lean muscles are packed tightly onto his bones, as if a sculptor had taken handfuls of clay and pressed them onto the appropriate places without bothering to smooth them out. His fluid motions are offset by his stooped posture, as if he seeks (futilely) to minimize the impression of size conveyed to any onlookers.
He is currently clad in only a fluffy white towel, which rides low on his hips and covers him to below the knees. His physique, thus mostly revealed, is indeed lithe and muscular, and he does seem to be totally hairless, as well as can be seen.
Clio:
This tall, willowy woman stands just a hair under six feet tall. Pale and freckled, she has dark green eyes flecked with shards of gold and encircled with a ring of pale gray. A long angular nose gives way to full, pink lips, slightly puckered in their natural state. All these features are surrounded by a corona of apricot-colored hair.
She wears a dark purple gown, cut squarely at the neckline, providing ample evidence of her endowments, and gathered directly below in a high, empire waistline. The velvet fabric cascades down to her feet which are, as usual, unshod.
Ysanne:
Skin once smooth and free of blemish is now marked with a patchwork of wrinkles and lines as age has taken its inevitable toll. Still, her features retain some of her youthful qualities; her profile is as defined as ever it was, patrician features chiseled and refined into distinct curves and angles. Her eyes, brilliant cerulean, show only hints of the shadings of melange in their whites. She is of average height for a woman, her build perhaps a little on the spare side. Hair long since gone to a salt-and-pepper grey has been left to grow, its length reaching well down her back when left unbound.
Long black aba robes grace her form, the fitted sleeves reaching down to her wrists a contrast to the otherwise flowing nature of the garment. A voluminous hood has been pushed back from her face, its folds blending in to the uniform darkness of the rest of the aba.
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As Ysanne enters, her wizened eyes are greeted with a curious scene. It seems that Jacob and Clio are caught in the act, or perhaps just before or after said act. Jacob is clad only in a towel, whereas Clio is slightly more clothed (but just barely). As Ysanne enters, they quickly disengage, and Jacob smiles awkwardly, and offers a low, apologetic nod.
If the scene before her disturbs the aged Reverend Mother, she gives no notice save the rising of her white brows. Her blue eyes flick from one party of the duo to the other until eventually she inclines her head in a nod of greeting to the Marquis.
Raising her eyes to her Mother Superior, Clio Scarlette smiles gladly. Bare-breasted, she leans over, kissing the Marquis deeply one last time, her hand around his neck. She then rises, unabashedly, dropping a curtsy. "Ahh, Your Reverence. I hadn't expected you so soon."
Clio pages: The pose is of course an utter lie. She knew very well when you were due.
"Evidently," Ysanne replies archly, her attention directed towards the woman curtseying nearly naked before her. "Shall I return at a more...convenient time?"
Clio senses, "Ysanne has pitched the tone of her voice to be utterly, completely flat. This is, as you know, far more dangerous than her voice being raised. The Mother Superior is far from amused."
Jacob stands as he is untangled, and greets Ysanne more formally. He grins again, and perhaps blushes faintly.
Arising from the curtsy, Clio's dress slips further down, revealing her small, yet burgeoning belly. "No, of course not, Your Reverence." Shifting her adoring eyes to Jacob, she smiles winsomely. "We were just entertaining ourselves." She gives the Marquis a coquettish wink.
Clio pages: The implication is that (being pregnant) the work is done, all that is left is to play.
Jacob grins again, and shuffles his feet, his glance obviously straying to Clio's ample charms. "Can I offer you refreshments, Your Reverence?" He brightens, seemingly happy to find some way to draw attention away from his embarrassment.
"Refreshments," Ysanne says, "would be welcome, Your Excellency." Her eyes move only briefly to the Marquis out of courtesy, and flicker back to Clio almost before she has completed her sentence. Seeming at a loss for a motion to make, the Reverend Mother tugs absently at one of her cuffs, straightening the sleeve of her aba.
Clio senses, "Ysanne flicks her fingers in a flash of words too quick for the untrained to notice: Be rid of him. This is between you and I."
Clio slips her arms into her sleeves, wiggling into the dress and restoring herself to a more appropriate appearance. At the words of the Reverend Mother, she leans over the divan, activating a servants' bell. Straighting, she negotiates into the arms of the Marquis. Lifting slightly on her toes, she whispers enticingly in his ear. "Darling, have you not a meeting with the Mentat? I do promise to do the dance for you later."
Jacob grins brightly again, and leans down to peck Clio on the nose. He nods again to Ysanne. "Indeed, I will be down in my office if you have need of me. I'll be certain to send the servants in." He quickly departs, heading presumably for his room and some clothes.
Jacob has left.
Clio watches her bonded Lord disappear through the door with sly smile on her freckled face. As he is gone, her eyes shift to the Mother Superior. "Won't you please come, in Mother Superior," her manner humble and contrite. She's clearly playing games. All the same she's kept the Gamont accent. She slips into a seat, as though enticing her latest conquest to bed. Perhaps she has an inkling how much the pose bothers you after all.
Ysanne's expression tightens visibly at this wanton display. "What games are you playing, girl?" she asks softly, making her way towards a chair. She imagines the rumours that will abound as a result of this visit: elder Bene Gesserit supervises lovemaking! A grimace threatens to override her features as the wagging tongues of servants echo in her mind.
Clio lifts an eyebrow at the Reverend Mother, playing stupid. "I do naught but what you have contracted me to do, My Mother," she says in a plain tone, devoid of dialect. "If I am required to work hard at it, it is only because I lack a full entourage of tools." The implication is clearly that you have failed to provide all the necessary tools.
Sinking into the chair with an inward sigh, Ysanne notes, not for the first time, the tightness in her muscles that arises from the simple task of standing. She is loath to up her spice intake and yet... Words intrude on her reverie. "Whatever you lack, Clio I will see that you have, if it is within my power." Her gaze lifts to the face of the child she remembers comforting once so long ago. "Do not be threatened by the Princess."
Clio tosses her head proudly, laughing coldly. "Threatened? By a twenty-something virgin princess? You've taught me better than that." She smirks, to further indicate how little she feels threatened by Jenaa.
Ysanne's visage darkens, a rare outward expression of emotion usually kept so well hidden. "You should have," the Reverend Mother says slowly, voice pitched low. "She awakens from the dead and plans to re-wed the Marquis and you did not pay the woman any mind save her sexual exploits?" Scorn ripples through the words. "She has been neutralized as a threat to the recognition of your children as heirs to the Ginaz House but only by this much," Ysanne illustrates the point with a thumb and forefinger placed a hair's breadth apart.
Clio smiles widely like the cheshire cat. Like the prosecutor who's just gained a tactit admission of guilt from the defendant. Slipping into an ancient, war-like tongue, she drily observes, "One often builds a house without a hammer." In this language, the word house also means fortress, imbibing her statement with layers of meaning, suggesting that no only was she improperly prepared for this assignment, but that she's engaged in a war.
Silently, Ysanne curses the damnable timing of the Princess' disappearance. Not only was havoc wrought in the archives and the breeding program, there was not a soul who could find the woman. A Princess! And then the fugitive turns upon the Bene Gesserit doorstep...whatever chain of events that led to the event being given thanks for profusely by the Reverend Mother. "We failed," she admits, a silence hanging heavy in the air after the pronouncement. It is no point of pride for Ysanne, or any Bene Gesserit that no contingency plan was made for this. But who could have known?
Clio regards you suspiciously, looking for the traps, trying to discern your full meaning. Her eyes narrow slightly and she grasps a little bit. "Failed to keep her under wraps." It's said a statement, but in fact, she's guessing wildly.
Ysanne nods, indicating the veracity of the guess. "She eluded us." Her tone shifts subtly as she asks, "Now, what tools do you lack?"
"Information," Clio admits plainly, dropping all pretense. "How long did you have her? What does she intend? Everything." She uncurls her legs sitting up straight, apparently ready to deal plainly.
Ysanne inclines her head in acceptance of the request, and makes one of her own in turn, "Might we perhaps see some sign of the aforementioned beverages? It is a tale I would rather tell with something to ease my throat." The words and their warm tone, said with just a hint of a smile are meant as a calming gesture. She knows that it will grate to hear the tale no matter what; measures are being taken to ease the situation beforehand.
Rising, Clio Scarlette ascends the short stair to the door, opening it and accepting a waiting tray from the serving wench. She's apparently foreseen and prepared for this request. As she shuts the door, the serving wench takes up a stance at the door. More to this wench than meets the eye. Descending the stair, Clio sets a tray with tea and cakes before you. She takes up the pot, pouring tea, wordlessly augmenting it with milk, no sugar, before handing it to you.
Clio fixes her own tea the same way, sitting back in one of the chairs, mentally preparing to hear and learn.
Ysanne accepts the cup with a murmured word of thanks, sipping it with steam still curling from its lip. Sighing softly, finally allowing herself a small show of the fatigue she feels, Ysanne speaks. "The Princess arrived but days before the Court. Her sudden appearance was unannounced and unexpected..." she pauses, and deliberates for a moment, continuing, "...I almost didn't believe my own eyes when I saw her." Quite the statement to come from a Mother Superior.
For a mere moment, Clio Scarlette pauses mid-sip, betraying her surprise. She completes the action. "Where was she?" she asks, her voice soft, almost kind. Perhaps she's feeling a bit guilty.
A silence passes with the Reverend Mother sporting a rueful expression. "I wish I knew," she says quietly. "She arrived with a plan, a means to arrive at the Court undetected. It required our help, which I gave..." It is unspoken that the aid came for a price.
Clio sets her cup down on the table, wordlessly waiting for the rest.
"The price to be exacted was not decided," Ysanne continues. "After all, a fugitive Princess has little to offer. It was agreed, against Her Highness' will, that payment would be exacted after the plan succeeded." If it succeeded...although the full extent of what Ysanne did could not possibly be known to you, her tone of voice and body movements betray a stress she still feels. This issue, you can see, does not rest easily upon her shoulders.
Assuming that will be still more forthcoming, Clio composes herself to wait, to glean the information in the time and manner of your choosing.
Although she notes your attentive posture, Ysanne only sips her tea, silence reigning supreme. At length, she shifts slightly, lowering her now empty cup to hold it in her hand. "There is a thing I require of you," she says at length.
Clio stiffens imperceptibly. Only you might be capable of even noticing. She clearly isn't in the mood for favours. Nevertheless, she wouldn't be such a fool to deny you before you even ask. She forces an obediant smile to her lips, inclining her head in acquiescence.
"Watch her," Ysanne says. "Watch her and see if you can devise a form of payment that will bind the Princess further still to us." She offers no explanation for why this woman should be so important, but her tone will brook no argument.
Clio sips her tea mildly, keeping her thoughts to herself on possible payments. She nods in the affirmative. "I have met the Princess, Your Reverence," she begins after a lengthy silence. "She seems frightened and insecure."
Ysanne nods slowly, recalling her own meeting with the woman. "It could," she says after a pause, "be an act." She speaks plainly, "As always, be attentive to her every move. She is a woman used to wearing masks; they are second nature to her."
Clio waves a dismissive hand indicating she's clearly thought of that. All the same, careful observance indicates her growing seriousness on this matter. "How would you have me treat her, Your Reverence," she asks, uncertainty creeping into her voice for the first time.
Ysanne shakes her head slowly from side to side. "Our files are thin at best, but I will have them sent to you." She ceases her swaying and looks at you directly, "use your training, Clio. All of it...you will find a way." She shows you that this afternoon's display is forgiven, and trust and confidence restored. She holds your gaze for a moment longer, then leans forward and places her empty cup upon the table. "I must go," she says softly.
Clio rises, the confidence displayed with the Marquis utterly shattered. In its place stands a wary, suspicious woman grasping for a sure footing, attempting to chart a coherent path. If your intentions were to disarm and alarm, your tactics certainly hit their mark. She curtsies politely, her mind occupied. "Thank you for coming, Mother Superior," she says by rout. "Your visits are always welcome." She makes a connection, adding: "By the by, the Marquis has appointed me his representative in the negotiations with the Palace for the Princess' dowry and wedding arrangements."
Rising from her chair as you do, the Mother Superior finds herself pausing before she speaks. When she does, the speech is halting. "Indeed?" she asks. She appears to consider this. "Report the tentative agreement before it is made final. Our payment may be exacted sooner than I thought." Having said so, she inclines her head to her young pupil and heads towards the door where the serving wench waits to see her out to the 'thopter pad.
Clio remains standing, frozen to the spot. She watches you leave in silence.