A feast of welcome on Arrakis

["Ophelia Moritani" <moritani@dune3.net>]

Great Hall -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)

 The arched stone ceiling of the Great Hall is lost in shadows, crossed by thick
beams of genuine hardened wood supporting the ceiling against bleak stone walls
covered by dark tapestries. At the edges of the expansive flagstone floor,
shadowed carvings and unexpected nooks and crannies give the Great Hall a
slightly less than welcoming aura. The few windows there are have wide sills and
at least one has been made into a windowseat. A massive hearth takes up a
sizeable portion of one end of the room and a settee with wing chairs has been
arranged there before the warm, dancing fire.

 As a show of status and wealth, the front entrance is an antique set of carved,
genuine wood doors.

Exits:

 Wooden Door <SE> leads to Library -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)
 Iron-banded Door <SW> leads to Governor's Office -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)
 Wooden Door <NE> leads to Salon -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)
 Stone Arch <NW> leads to Dining Hall -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)
 Wide Staircase <U> leads to Residential Corridor -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)
 Airlock Doors <E> leads to Entrance Court -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)

Adrick walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Adrick has arrived.

Martin walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Martin has arrived.

Demara walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Demara has arrived.

Bela walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Bela has arrived.

Kassian walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Kassian has arrived.

Servants pass to and fro in the great hall, lighting lights and glowglobes for
the early Arrakis sunset. The fire burns warmly in the fireplace, the interior
of the great hall cool despite the desert heat. Servants also await with trays
of wine glasses and flagons, as well as other drinks for all before time to
serve dinner.

By the hearth, the Contessa Moritani confers quietly with a functionary of the
manse, approving perhaps final details for the night's feast.

Adrick beams a smile as he enters, looking inquisitively around the grand room.
"Impressive." he mutters to himself. He takes a drink from one of the servants
and takes a gentle sip.

Pushing her robe's hood back, Bela pauses for a moment, taking in the scene.

Kassian steps slowly into the hall, eyes scanning around. He observes the room
in a way that practically stamps "Mentat" on his forehead, tempered with
military experience.

Returning to the interior of the manse, Demara breathes a silent sigh of relief.
Even with twilight arriving quickly, the heat from outside made clothes feel
binding and breath a chore.

Martin leads a group of guests into the hall. Upon sight of his Countessa, he
bows to her before turning to them. "My Lords and Ladies, please, the servants
are here to assist you." He grins. "In that heat, I would suggest a refreshment.
If I can help you at all. I'm at your service."

Bela takes a small glass of water from a passing servant and sips from it.

Demara inclines her head to Bela, and murmurs something softly.

Layard descends the Wide Staircase.
Layard has arrived.

Scaurus descends the Wide Staircase.
Scaurus has arrived.

Adrick raises his glass just slightly as Martin speaks as an acknowledgment. He
then stares a moment at the fireplace with a sliver of a smile. He sips his
drink quietly.

Bela shakes her head slightly in response to Demara, then whispers her reply.

The sound of voices draws her attention, and Ophelia turns slowly to face the
incoming guests. Each one receives a smile, and a nod, as she steps away from
the hearth. "Ah... here we are! And not a moment too soon! Welcome, friends! Do
come in, be comfortable and at ease..."

Kassian takes a glass of water offered by one of the servants. Gripping it
lightly, he drinks it quickly, so as not to allow much of the precious liquid to
evaporate into the dry air.

Martin walks over to a servant. He takes a mug from a servant with a smile
before turning to his Countessa. He stays to the outer edge of the group. His
eyes move to those present to see if anyone needs assistance.

Demara frowns slightly, her brows furrowing, and nods in response. As the
Contessa addresses the gathered assembly, Demara turns her attention to Her
Excellency, dipping again into a curtsey.

Descending like a bright light from the stairs leading up to the suites, the
Imperial Treasurer, clad in what is no doubt one of the most ostentatious
outfits he could summon brings his presence to the Great Hall. He is trailed by
a respectfully clad servant who carries his long, trailing cape behind him,
making his way with careful steps toward Ophelia and the congregation.

Bela brightens at the Contessa's words and dips into a curtsey nearly
simultaneously with her companion.

Kassian offers a smile to the Contessa, bowing deeply.

Ophelia glances to the Treasurer as he enters, seizing a wine glass from a
passing servant and bringing it to her lips just as quickly as she may. After a
moment has passed, she nods to Scaurus, her face composed into a pleasant smile.
Nevermind that the corners of her mouth twitch intermittently.

Bela and Demara senses, "Ophelia was very cleverly trying to conceal amusement.
Had she not grabbed the wine glass, she would have bust out laughing at the
Imperial Treasurer's peacock-like display."

Coming behind the Imperial Treasurer is the Marquis Corrino. Instead of the
standard black uniform worn by all Chevaliers of the Imperium-he wears a white
one specifically for this occasion, due to the climate that they are in.
Accompanying it is a purple silk cape with the gold lion rampant on the back. It
is attached to bulky epaulets that make his shoulders bigger than they are in
reality. Two sevants trail down with him with fans made of peacock feathers,
wafting his musky melange cologne around the room with each swipe.

Demara's green eyes swing toward the two Corrino lords as they descend the steps
from the upper floors of the manse. Her expression does not betray her thoughts,
save the slight rising of her brows.

Upon reaching the final descent of the stairs, the Treasurer dips his head in a
polite greeting to the Countess, "Your Excellency," he rasps, voice a deep
contrast with the fine clothes he wears. He tilts his head back for a moment to
Layard, before clasping his hands in front of him, "His Imperial Majesty sends
greetings and salutations to you, Your Excellency. The noble House Corrino is
pleased to be here." Clearly practiced words - such poetry does not come from
Scaurus.

Muradin walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.
Muradin has arrived.

Adrick smiles as the Corrino nobles decend. He takes another drink from one of
the servants.

Martin takes a drink from mug and arches a brow at the arriving Corrino. As he
lowers the mug, A smile remains on his face. A pleasant perfect smile. He
studies their attire and is rather surprised by the outfits. He is rather
curious if they had arranged those outfits together. He shrugs. Simple
curiousity of what those two did together can wait until later.

Another sip of wine later, Ophelia chokes quietly, turning her face away
politely to hide how red her face has gotten. A servant quickly approaches her
side, bearing a linen napkin to assist her. As she turns back to Scaurus, and
Layard, she takes several deep breaths -- a feat, considering the usual
tightness of her rigidly-corseted mid-section. Again, she blinks, but this time
at the peacock fans.

"The... entrance, ehrm, presence of House Corrino continues to be a distinct
pleasure, m'lord."

Still wearing her bemused smile, Bela eyes the room's occupants one by one,
careful not to appear rude.

A slender hand extends to a passing tray, procuring a glass of wine. The glass
is raised to Demara's lips and she sips, watching the scene from over the
crystal rim.

Marco walks in from Entrance Court through the Airlock Doors.

Scaurus examines the rings on his fingers for a moment, the utter, somewhat
distasteful, opulence of the Corrino radiating without words, "Indeed. I am glad
to finally arrive again on His Majesty's planet. It has been many a year since
the presence of truly noble Corrino has passed in these corridors..." with this
he glances to Layard for a moment, face doing its best not to betray one of
those devilish smirks of his, "We can expect many guests of import tonight
though, I assume?" he questions, reaching out for a wine glass. The servant
behind him continues to dutifully hold up his cape, the shining sigil of House
Corrino being shown to all.

However; it is poetry that flows from the Marquis Corrino's mouth like sweet
water. A man made for romantic temperments. He his handed a crystaline parchment
from a servant, and after he gives a courtly bow to the Countessa he presents
her with the lavish piece of paper, that rested on the back of two golden lions
in the servant's hand. "Let it be written that his Most Sublime Majesty, Erich
Ladislas Corrino-The Blessed, The Compassionate, Keeper of the Golden Lion
Throne, Overlord of Arrakis, Salusa, and all Planets within his domain-send his
most humble messengers to meet with Her Excellency, the Siridara-Countessa
Ophelia Moritani of Grumman on this day, Gwenzai, the 21st of niMiklim in the
year 10100 after the formation of the Spacing Guild." He opens the parchment,
"Written in the Emperor's own hand are the words, "Let prosperity and glory pour
forth like water out a gushing stream."" Interesting words for this climate. He
hands the parchment to Ophelia, "As written by his hand, let it be done."

Muradin makes his way into the hall, accompanied by just two guards, his dark
eyes scanning the room as he takes a few more steps into the room. He has been
rarely seen so far on this trip, and even more rarely heard from, but this will
mark his first public appearance in representation of his house. He does make
his way towards Ophelia, waving the two guards off to the side.

Ophelia accepts the parchment, as she glances silently from one Corrino to the
other. An eyebrow quirks silently at the Good Cop-Bad Cop display, and again
amusement threatens to spill forth. She turns, more to face the other guests, a
wry grin pulling at her lips, "Do we have many guests of import, m'lord? I would
say yes, considering many of the more powerful Great Houses of the Imperium have
sent observers and participants for this expedition. Their purpose is important,
and thus their presence is important. We are honored that they take the time
from their safe, but busy havens to grace us with their presences."

Through a supreme act of will and training, Demara betrays no expression of
shock at the suggestion that guests of import are not already present. This
hidden surprise however, bubbles to the fore as the na-Sultan of the Bajazet
enters with Bajazet guards. Such a show of flagrant distrust...would the lords
and ladies of the Great Houses really dare to make ripples upon a trip such as
this?

Scaurus glances to the side at Layard, then nods in assertion to the statement,
before looking back at Ophelia, "It is pleasing to see such importance within
this planet whose very core holds such great importance for all the Imperium..."
with that he turns to look at the na-Sultan and his guards, sniffing lightly,
"Has Your Excellency been on Arrakis before this venture?" he questions Ophelia,
sipping from the wine delicately.

Kassian's face is a mask as he watches the proceedings, refusing to allow any of
his thoughts to be revealed... yet.

Layard placing his hands behind his back, he too lifts an eyebrow, at the
Countessa's response. He has done his duty, she has been served the message. Let
us hope that it does not go unfullfilled. The Marquis then takes a glass of wine
that lies on a tray of a passing servant.

Bela finishes her water, then walks over and hands the empty glass to a servant.

The air lock hisses as the doors open to allow five dusty robed figures to
enter. There faces are hidden behind the masks of the stillsuits with only their
blue within blue eyes and stain pits to be shown through narrow strips.

  The leader who stands at the head of the entering group signals for the others
to remain as they are. His eyes scan over the crowd in silenece searching for
something or someone.

Wilhelm strides in from the residence, his boots clacking on the floor, his
sabre rattling with his gate. He glances about the hall, nodding to the
assembled nobles, and then moves to take a place near the Countess.

Wilhelm at her side, Ophelia relaxes considerably, even gracing the
heir-designate of the Bajazet a warm smile as she sees his approach from across
the room. Before she can say anything further, however, a servant also steps to
her side - more formally attired than any of the others, a footman apparently.
"Dinner, Your Excellency, honored guests, is served," he announces at Ophelia's
nod.

The Contessa looks around, then adds her own announcement on the tail end of the
footman's, "When on Kaitain, we do as the Corrinos do. Here on Arrakis, custom
dictates that the host and hostess follow their guests to the table. And so, we
shall do here what tradition dictates. Please, proceed to the laving basins in
the dining hall where we will further observe custom on Arrakis."

Layard raises his eyebrows in surprise, "More water rituals...hmm." He says in a
chuckle, slowly heading with his entourage into the Dining Hall.

Muradin licks his lips for a moment, his brow furrowing a bit, unclear on the
customs of Arrakis, and not entirely sure he will be pleased with them, as they
are revealed. He does return a nod, to Ophelia's glance, but seems to be more
concerened with looking for something, or someone. And he does seem....tense.

Demara merely inclines her head in acceptance of the declaration that traditions
are to be observed She files into the Dining Hall with the other guests.

Wilhelm senses, "Ophelia slips her hand into the crook of your arm, fingertips
tapping a small rhythm against your side. She's glad you're there."

Scaurus spares a light nod to the approaching Wilhelm and then to Ophelia,
soundlessly agreeing to Ophelia's statement, and swivelling next to Layard and
whispering something into his ear, while the servant carrying his trail
desperately tries to keep up with his movements.

The leader of the robed rigures motions for the others with him to depart and so
they do exiting back out into the night leaving only the leader behind.

With a light shrug, Kassian moves along with the assemblage, collecting the
Alvstad party of one to commence dinner.

Martin finally moves from his quiet corner that he has been standing in and
waits for the last guest to enter the dining room, making sure that no one is
left behind.

After a distracted glance to the exit of the robed men, Bela follows the others
to the dining hall.


Layard walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Layard has left.

Scaurus walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Scaurus has left.

Adrick's brow rises slowly, as if not quite understanding it all. He walks
slowly with the others.

Adrick walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Adrick has left.

Bela walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Bela has left.

Kassian walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Kassian has left.

After the last guest has gone through the stone arch, Ophelia proceeds forward -
her hand on Wilhelm's arm.

Martin walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Martin has left.

Marco walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Marco has left.

Muradin walks to the northwest and passes through the Stone Arch.
Muradin has left.

You walk through the Stone Arch.

Dining Hall -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)

 The long dining hall is dominated by a table covered with white linen, crystal,
and silver. Suspensor lamps provide illumination, casting a warm yellow glow,
but an old central chandelier hangs above the table, its chain twisting upwards
into the shadows of the high ceiling. Twelve chairs and twelve place settings
await the dinner guests with a flagon of water at each place. An arched passage
leads out to the Great Hall and a smaller door, opposite, opens onto the
kitchen. The cold stone walls are decorated with large portraits in tones of
brown and burgundy.

Players:

 Muradin                                            Marco
 Martin                                             Kassian
 Bela                                               Adrick
 Scaurus                                            Layard
Exits:
 Stone Arch <SE> leads to Great Hall -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis)

Wilhelm walks in from Great Hall through the Stone Arch.
Wilhelm has arrived.

Demara walks in from Great Hall through the Stone Arch.
Demara has arrived.

Scaurus nods stoically to Layard, moving into the dining hall and standing for a
few moments, behind no chair in particular. The Treasurer has some politeness at
least, and waits to be seated appropriately.

Just inside the archway to the dining room, a basin awaits the guests. Having
been briefed on custom, clearly, Ophelia proceeds to the basin without
hesitation, dipping her fingertips into the shallow pool of water. Without
warning, though, she scoops water up into her hands and drops it on the floor --
this, apparently, being another of the strange rituals here. A waiting servant
hands her a small towel, which she uses to delicately dry off her fingertips.
Even stranger than before, when all of this is done, even the towel is dropped
on the floor.

Her part in the custom observed, Ophelia steps back, nodding to her guests. "Who
am I, to alter custom and tradition?" she murmurs softly.

"And who am I to not follow." The Marquis Corrino says, making his way to the
basin as well.

Adrick tilts his head curiously and gazes at the towel on the floor.
"Interesting, if I might be permitted to ask, how did such a custom evolve?"

Layard tickles his fingertips into the water basin. Then, he scoops the water up
and scatters it on the floor. His towel joins next to The Countessa's.

After making his way to stand behind a chair, Martin watches the custom. His
places his hands on the back of the chair. His eyes looked to the hooded
stranger that is in the room before turning back to the basin.

Like the other guests, Demara steps lightly towards the basin and dips in her
hands, splashing a puddle onto the floor. A towel falls to the ground soon after
and she steps back, away from the growing pool of moisture.

Following suit, Bela performs her part of the ritual. Turning around, she smiles
brightly to the room.

Kassian hangs back, watching the others perform the unusual rite.

Muradin walks forward, doing as the others do, although with less enthusiasm,
and certainly less pomp and circumstance as Ophelia had. He takes another step
back, remaining quiet, watchful, and still nervous or tense.

"How? I'm not very sure... however, the water we throw on the floor will be
taken up and sold, outside," Ophelia murmurs in a disinterested tone.

Adrick steps up to the basin, rather unsure of himself. He dips his hands in,
while looking at everyone else as if looking for acceptance. He then throws the
towel down next to the others with a smile.

"Really?" The Marquis asks in an interested tone. "How fascinating." In a way,
it gives him a sadistic feeling knowing that heathens outside will be drinking
water that has mingled with his skin.

Wilhelm takes his place next to Ophelia after following the ritual as well. He
murmurs something in her ear then turns his attention back toward the assembled
guests.

You sense: Wilhelm pats his hand on your arm, "Relax, my dear... all will be
well."

Oddly enough, Scaurus pays great respect to the water, having waved his trailing
servant to the side for the time being. He takes the water in his hands and
murmurs something to himself before closing his hands and splashing it upon the
ground. With a light wipe of the towel, he tosses it with the other water and
mutters something more to himself, before picking up his own trailing cape and
robes to ensure they don't drag through the water, and responding irritably to
the Marquis, "When you have spent a year on Arrakis, my lord, you will
understand the importance of water as portrayed in what you may see as strange
customs..." he then looks to Ophelia for some guidance to a seat.

Only after most everyone has partaked in the rite, Martin finally leaves his
places and moves to the basin, dipping his fingers in the basin. He murmurs to
himself and grins before splashing a scoop of water on the floor. He dries his
hands on a towel and sets it down. He finally turns back to the table and guest
with a smile returning to his chair.

Layard inclines his head to Scaurus, "Of course, m'lord Count. Thank you for
informing me."

Stepping slowly up to the basin, Kassian places his fingers into the tepid
water. Removing them, he scatters a few droplets onto the floor, noticeably less
than those who have gone before. He wipes his hands and allows a servant to drop
the barely used towel into the sodden heap.

Servants silently pass through from the kitchens then, and maidens with smaller
basins begin to mop up the water quickly, lest any more of the precious
substance evaporate into the air. Others move to the table, holding out chairs
for the ladies and other guests, and flagons of water and wine are set out at
points along the table.

Isabella walks in from Great Hall through the Stone Arch.
Isabella has arrived.

The robed figure stares at the water fat Scaurus and his murmuring and actions.
The only response is a shaking of the hooded head before the figure takes his
turn at the basin. Dipping his hands deeply into the water, pulling them out,
then drying his hands on a towel before dropping it to the ground. Seemingly to
be very accustom to the cultures of this building.

Isabella enters the dining hall quietly, eyes scanning the faces collected
around the table. Wordlessly she seeks out an empty spot.

Muradin turns, noting the arrival of Isabella, and his eyes narrow a bit, his
mood obscured from most, as he turns directly away from them all, to make his
way to a seat. He does then look over at the robed figure, and wonders who it
might be, curious, and wary, but makes his way finally, to sit, across from the
recent Moritani arrival, although not looking at her.

After returning to his chair in the middle of the table, Martin remains standing
until his Countessa seats herself. He sits down in his chair and places his
napkin in his lap. He looks about at the guests who are here for this. A thought
goes out to Kaitain for a moment before returning to Arrakis. His attention
refocus to the table and the conversations.

Ophelia separates herself from Wilhelm to stand by her place at the head of the
table, waiting for everyone else to be seated before she herself slips into her
seat. Before chairs are entirely settled, the first course is making its
appearance, as servants move about the table to place out bowls of the thick,
creamy soup, murmuring explanations of 'Minestra Crema di Patate'. Thin,
delicate circular slices of green onions and chives top the thick soup, though
it clearly needs no other garnish.

Moving in unison, the Bene Gesserit Sisters make their way to the table. They
seat themselves in the two chairs nearest the foot of the table on the left-hand
side of the person sitting at the foot.

Instinctively, the Treasurer moves to the right side of the hostess, upon one
end of the table. Typical Corrino assumption that he'll be at the right hand of
the host. He waits for but a moment, as his trailing servant pulls out the chair
for him, and he sets himself down, letting his robe flow underneath himself. A
glance is spared to the robed figure, and Scaurus' spice saturated eyes narrow
for just a moment.

Layard takes his place at Ophelia's end of the table, stoically sitting himself
as a representative of the Padishah Emperor.

Adrick waits until the Corrino lords are seated. He then hops up into a chair
next to them, and as he does so his legs dangle over the edge. He then motions
for a servant to help push him closer to the table. He nods a thankyou and
places a napkin on his lap.

Kassian moves to a chair beside the one that the Lord Rinaldi has chosen,
settling himself for the banquet.

Wilhelm nods to Ophelia as she departs his side. As she sits, he takes his seat,
smiling courteously to the Bene Gesserit sisters on either side of him.

As everyone is seated, Ophelia lifts her glass, the obvious deep red color that
of the well-known and fine Grumman vintage. She nods to everyone, offering a
wordless salute, just before taking her first sip of wine for the dinner. Her
soup reaches her plate, and she glances down at it with a healthy grin. "Ahh.. a
favorite recipe. There are no hamsters, no squirrels, and no marmosets on
tonight's menu, I am pleased to say."

Layard snorts raising his glass of wine, "Here, here." He then takes a sip of
the delicious liquid, much sweeter than mere water.

After returning the Count's smile, Bela glances distractedly toward the door.

Isabella notes the manner in which Muradin pointedly ignores her and yet seats
himself opposite as she gingerly takes her napkin and spreads it across her lap.
As Ophelia lifts her glass to her guests Isabella returns the salute and takes a
sip from her own glass. Lifting her spoon she looks across the table. She eats a
spoonful of soup and then says, "Master Muradin it is a pleasure to see you once
more. You do not seem yourself however. Is something troubling you?"

Scaurus glances into the creamy soup and emits a light cough at Ophelia's words,
unamusedly raising his glass to his lips and sipping.

The robed figure stands behind the chair on the right side of the foot of the
table and sits. Sitting, the hood is thrown back showing the blue with in blue
eyes. The rabble has snuck in with the nobles.


 Like layers being peeled off next the top of the stillsuit is pulled back to
reveal shortly cut, unruly hair. And finally, the facemask is unfasten and none
other than the Count of Tuncart has joined the group. His tan is darker but that
could be dust from the outside and his eyes burn with something new about them.

Muradin is eating the soup, slowly, and almost with some level of trepitation,
as Isabella poses the question. He sets his spoon down, rather purposefully, and
takes a long sip of his water, refusing any attempt to give him wine. "I am fine
Lady...I fear I am just a bit...out of my element here, in present company."

Dutifully raising her glass, Demara joins in the salute. She lapses into silence
immediately after however, sipping her soup and observing the interactions of
those assembled.

Kassian swirls the crimson beverage in its goblet. "No expenses spared," he
remarks quietly to himself.

Wilhelm raises his glass as well, nodding towards the Contessa before taking a
sip of his glass.

Adrick reaches over for his glass and lifts it with a smile. As he does so he
glances at the head of the table. Then quitely takes a sip of the amber liquid.
He picks up a spoon and begins tasting his soup.

At the table, Martin grins at the comment from the head of the table. He takes
up his spoon and scoops up some of the soup. He eats the soup. His eyes always
watching.

 After dabbing his mouth, He looks to the Admiral. "I beg your pardon?"

Layard tastes his soup as well, eyes lighting up at the taste. "Oh how I have
longed for ancient Tuscan treats to delight the palate and warm the soul. My
compliments, Your Excellency." He says to the Countessa with a respectful nod.
After awhile he looks towards Isabella, and gives her a respectful nod-appearing
to be all buisness today.

Ophelia glances down the table at the dust-covered rabble, her lips pursing in
silent disapproval. Her eyes turn to Wilhelm, a brow twitching, before she sets
into her soup in earnest. Kids... can't take 'em anywhere.

In an alcove of the dining hall, hidden mostly by the shadows cast by the
dimness of the glowglobes above the table, musicians begin to quietly play.
Though their instruments more of the exotic variety, their melodies seem more
classical and native to Kaitain and Grumman.

Kassian, in the middle of tasting his soup, lowers his spoon and turns to his
neighbour. "Oh, nothing really, my lord. Forgive me for musing aloud. The soup
is excellent, by the way." He inclines his head to their hostess.

Scaurus lifts his spoon, lightly eating the soup and turning to Ophelia, "The
Count of Tuncart has been returned to his element, I see. Do you share his, and
my own, adoration of Arrakis, Your Excellency? Or does it not appeal to your
tastes?" he asks, earnestly looking at the hostess.

Isabella returns Layard's nod and then watches as Muradin fusses with his soup.
Eating her own she offers him a warm smile and says with some wry humor creeping
into her voice, "Well we shall have to make you as at home as possible then My
Lord."

As the musicians begin playing, a nearly imperceptable grin steals over Bela's
face.

Adrick leans over, trying not to spill any on himself. "indeed, the soup is
exellent. "

Ophelia notes the attention of the Alvstad, purposefully acknowledging his
compliment with a soft smile and a small nod. But Scaurus drags her attention
back with his question, and she turns her dark-chocolate eyes to him to reply
quietly, "Certain parts of Arrakis, of course, appeal to my tastes. The
experience is wholly foreign to me, however, and I've not yet absorbed enough
here to truly form a judgement on its entire appeal, m'lord."

Muradin smirks a little, before sipping his water yeta gain, his eyes scanning
the room, and seeing no faces, save Isabella's that he truly enjoys the company
of, and then turns to answer. "Yes...as much as possible. I fear that will prove
quite a difficult task." With that he returns to his soup, hoping that in its
warmth, he will find some answers, or perhaps they are hidden at the bottom of
the bowl.

After a gentle nod and contemplative look to Ophelia, Scaurus eats some more of
his soup, apparantly quite enjoying it, before he leans back and dabs his mouth
with a serviette, "I imagine that your strong manner would be suited to Arrakis.
Have you seen a sandworm yet, Excellency?" he asks, with a sideways glance down
the table toward Marco.

Layard raises an eyebrow at the happenings in Muradin and Isabella's area. He
then looks down into his soup and quips at Scaurus remark, "I have read that
they are hundreds of meters long."

Adrick stops for a a moment listening intently. "I had always had been told they
were legend, spread around by the natives here."

The exchanges at the table keep Demara's eyes darting about, moving from one
participant of one conversation to the interlocutor of another. She forces
herself to remember to raise her spoon to her lips, enjoying the starter but
enjoying people far more.

Marco sips his wine lightly not wanting partake of it too much and then samples
the soup lightly, enjoying the flavor of a hot meal for a change. Despite
outward appearance the Count holds proper ettiquette while at the table.

 Marco glances over at Scaurus with a mild smile on his dark skin, and speaks up
with his odd accent, "You sound as though they have released me back into the
wild, Lord Treasurer...Sandworms, legend? Nah, they can be seen requently,
mainly during spice mining."

As with the soup, servants quietly steal into the room bearing long, oval
platters, as others begin taking up the soup dishes. Murmurs of 'pomodori di
tramonto' accompany the clatter of serving spoons, the next course consisting of
tomatoes sliced thickly and drizzled with an olive oil vinaigrette, goat cheese,
and liberally sprinkled with herbs and black olive slices.

"No, Treasurer, I have not yet. Perhaps we might hunt one for sport while I am
here?" Ophelia inquires, falling silent to listen to Marco answer the other
question about the 'worms.

Having finished her soup, Bela focuses even more intently on the rather varied
conversation.

Martin takes a drink of the wine, listening to the convesation. He turns to the
end of the table. He looks to rather quiet sister beforing turning back to the
head and its show. He grins for a moment and continues on the soup.

Layard snorts, "It will take more than a beast of the desert to stop the
Emperor's will of spice extraction." He goes back to sipping his soup, and
taking a hearty drink of wine. Space travel can take it out of you.

With another spoonful of soup, Scaurus looks up at Layard, nodding, then
chuckling raspily at Adrick, "No, my lord. Not legend, I assure you...the Count
of Tuncart, I am sure, can attest to that as well as I can," his final words
raising lightly to Marco, then a twitch of his lips as he responds to the man,
"You and I both, my lord."

He pauses a moment at Ophelia's words, blinking. There's a certain change in his
voice, more raspy than usual, deep and almost threatening, though his words are
not so, "I shall never hunt a sandworm, Excellency. We all must revere
something. The power of the sandworm is truly great."

Wilhelm arches a brow at the mention of hunting for a sandworm. Rather than
voice his feelings, he continues on his soup, shooting a quick glance down the
able.

Isabella smiles wryly beneath raised brows as she watches the man across from
her delve into the depths of his soup bowl, her spoon poised above her own bowl.
She glances down the table toward the folk speaking of sandworms and having
nothing to offer finishes her soup just in time to have her bowl cleared from
before her. She sits back in her chair as the next course is set and says to
Muradin, "I ran into your warmaster shortly after I arrived yesterday Master
Muradin. He seemed in good spirits."

Marco raises an eyebrow, "Marquis, when a 200 meter plus sandworm is headed for
you, it is better to leave and live than to lose a load of spice and a
harvester."

The Count of Tuncart listens on, "Hunting a sandworm, Countess, seriously?"

Casting her gaze to the opposite end of the table, Bela smiles warmly at the
Contessa. "Your Excellency, you must have a wonderful kitchen staff. This
anipasto is marvelous."

Layard looks to Marco after a sip of wine. "Life is nothing compared to the will
of His Majesty, m'lord. The Spice Must Flow."

Muradin looks up from the bowl at that comment, "Yes, he and I have talked
infrequently. I have been more absorbed in prayer and meditation. This is such a
different place, I have found it neccesary to pray for guideance at times..." he
looks back down, as he is given more food, and does not look back up.
"Especially as of late."

"And why would we not hunt them?" Ophelia challenges back, fork stabbling into a
tomato wedge. "They are destructive beasts... shall I have the Governor's files
pulled, and losses quoted to you of factories and crawlers lost to those vermin
worms?"

Scaurus leans back in his chair, "No matter how many you hunt, Excellency, I can
assure you that you will never eliminate all the worms on Arrakis. As for
losses, Excellency, I had thought you may wish to show me more of your profits,
not your losses, on Arrakis..." he turns and gestures to the Count of Tuncart,
"It may be wise, perhaps, to ensure that you put the safety of the Emperor's
spice above the safety of your men, rather than holding expeditions to eliminate
that which has been a problem for many hundreds of years. I doubt the sandworm
shall ever be destroyed entirely," he says idly, still sipping from his soup.

"Surely the worms are not the only defensive concern that required adjustment."
Kassian says, sitting back in his chair. "I suppose it is quite alien for your
men not to be equipped with shields in the desert, as well as the brutal
deterioration you must suffer on equipment. I'd be interested to see what kind
of 'thopters you employ here for desert work."

Isabella stops chewing her food for a moment at that statement and then quickly
recovering swallows. She coughs softly and then says, "Truly? And I take it you
have not found the answers you were seeking? Or were you more taken aback by
what you did find?"

Martin slices into a tomato from his plate. He looks up to the Treasurer only
pausing for chewing. "My Lord, When there is a will there is a way." He looks to
the Countessa. "Perhaps we should invite Ulricke Harkonnen for such a task. She
seems to be a rather skilled hunter. It is not everyone who can bag a Sandworm
as a trophy."

Wilhelm intones, "The worms pose a real threat, but not one that is
insurmountable, my Lord Treasurer. And a hunt, although ill-advised in my
opinion, is not a great drain on our resources here."

Adrick continues eating his soup ocassionally wiping it off his bushy mustache,
"if my data serves me correct, I agree with the Lord Treasurer. It would seem a
formible task."

Marco shakes his head at the collective group with disbelief, "It takes large
scale explosives to kill something of that size. Look at the physics of such and
anyone with military experience can tell you that it would take near something
along the lines of tactical nuclear weapons. But I doubt the Emperor would be
wanting us to nuke is spice profits and even still the Guild won't allow us to
fly over certain portions of the planet."

Muradin does not look up, instead, eats without giving his attention to anyone
at the table, or rather, eye contact. He does answer the question posed however,
"Allah works in mysterious ways...I will find the answers I seek, when the time
is right." With the mention of Ulricke however, he does glance over at the
speaker, shooting a glance of icy coldness, before returning his attention to
the food, the safe, safe, food.

"I did not know m'lord's hobby was planetology," Ophelia murmurs to the
Treasurer in a saccharine tone, an eyebrow arched. "Or would you care to also
oversee the arrangements for the entertainments needed for our important guests
for the remainder of this expedition?"

Kassian nods to the Lord Marco. "I have not studied the indigenous fauna in
detail, but anything that is impervious to sustained lasgun fire is most likely
not worth the trouble of destroying. After all, other safeguards have been put
into place that control the worm problem, have they not?"

Layard slices into a tomato wedge as well, keeping himself from commenting on
the matter of the Lady Harkonnen. "The Ecology of this planet must be maintained
in the name of the Throne and Economics. We cannot lose more spice than what is
swallowed in the maw of Beasts."

Demara's interet seems piqued by this new train of conversation and she turns
her attention, like the Alvstad mentat, to the Lord Marco. "Indeed, My Lord, why
should the guild refuse to enter certain airspace? Is not all of Arrakis,
including the air above it, controlled by the Moritani House?"

Scaurus dabs his mouth with a serviette, and comments very lightly, "It is my
business to know the most lucrative planet in the Imperium well enough to be
able to comment on its ecology to some extent. The eye of His Majesty is upon
Arrakis. As is my own. It would be a shame to have spice production drop in
order to kill a mere few sandworms," he nods to the Count of Tuncart, "Your
management of Arrakis is your own business, Excellency. As the mere
representative of the Overlord of this planet, I am sure my knowledge is simple
and meagre compared to your own vast reserves," he says, raising his head
pompously in challenge of the Countessa.

Isabella raises a brow at the lowered head, fork casting an odd shadow across
the plate it hovers above. She nods and murmurs quietly, "Of course. If there is
anything I may do to help you in your quest do let me know." She quietly puts
her fork down upon her plate and then reaches for her glass. Sitting back in her
chair she holds her glass and surveys the table eyes coming to rest finally with
curiosity upon the hidden features of the figure before her.

Ophelia grabs her napkin from her lap and tosses it down on the table's surface,
color rising to her cheeks. "I suggested the hunt for sport, m'lord, to
entertain the likes of your insufferable ass. I fail to see how this has
anything to do with the precious spice production numbers, which, I might note,
have continued to increase during my tenure. My father used to have a saying,
m'lord. Those who know not what they speak of shouldn't speak."

Marco nods to the Alvstad, "Indeed, very troubling. Our safe guards are to get
in, get the what melange can be harvested and get out before a worm comes and to
dodge the storms."     Marco looks over to Sister, "The Guild, my lady, want to
keep Arrakis under very tight watch. They don't want us to be out of their sight
in fear of losing spice profits that they can not reap from. They still like to
show that they have control over us we people." He turns a blue glance over at
the Countess and Treasurer and then over to the Count-Chancellor.

Demara's brows knit in a distinct frown. She is on the verge of speech, but
turns her attention instead to the now-heated exchange between the Contessa and
the Treasurer.

Kassian listens intently to Lord Marco's answer before speaking again. "Surely
there is also the matter of electromagnetic interference caused by the static
charges inherent in dust storms? Arrakis isn't the only planet to suffer from
such hindrances."

As if on cue, the next course arrives, the scent of it preceding its parade into
the room. The chukka is roasted to a most succulent bronze color, figs and dates
arranged artfully around the base of each bird. Flowers have been stuffed into
the cavity of each one, the display both elaborate and indulgent.

Adrick takes his glass once again and takes along sip as he listens to the
Countess. He then peers over at the Imperial Treasurer as he reaches for his
spoon.

Muradin looks up as well, at Ophelia's comment, shaking his head a little
bit...then turns back to Isabella, as the next course is brought forth.
"Yes...of course, although I think you have already done quite a bit, Lady." No
hint of malice in his voice, just a simple statement.

Layard looks at Ophelia, straightening his uniform at the diplomatic red flag
that has just been raised. He wipes his mouth, and places his napkin on the
table as well, silverware and glasses clinking. as his hand comes down. "His
Most Sublime Majesty, /our/ Emperor, m'Lady sees that everything regarding
Arrakis relates to melange extraction." He raises an eyebrow, a brash youth who
is overprotective of his family.

Remaining utterly composed, Scaurus takes a couple of more sips of his soup
before Ophelia finishes, then looks at her and raises his brows, "Indeed,
Excellency, indeed. A year spent on Arrakis will tell you much about the planet,
however you in your youth would do well to listen to your father's advice," a
slight smirk comes across his face, "His Imperial Majesty does indeed see the
great work House Moritani has done for the Imperium in their harvesting of the
spice, and so do I. It would be unwise for the noble House Moritani, who has so
consistently appeased His Majesty throughout the years to fail at this time, on
this planet which is coveted above all," his brows rise and fall, and eyes widen
with feeling as he speaks, "However, I doubt this is the time to discuss the
intent of His Imperial Majesty, Excellency, and economics. I should advise you,
however, that now is not a time for the Moritani to be displeasing anyone..." he
responds ominously.

Isabella turns her head sharply toward the head of the table, a wrinkle forming
between her brows as the Countess speaks sharply. She takes in a long slow
breath and then a similarly long sip from her glass. As the next course is set
before her she takes a moment to study her plate. She looks up with no small
surprise at Muradin's comment. She in turn inquires politely, "Well I shall hope
that that is a good thing My Lord?"

Marco nods slowly to Kassian, "Indeed they cause quite a ruckuss..." The Count
squints at Scaurus as he folds his thick arms over his chest while his hands
disappear into his robes.

Muradin looks up finally, listening a bit at the conversation between Scaurus
and Ophelia, but answers Isabella. "It is what it is, Lady. No more...no less.
More than that, I cannot say. Do not press me to do so, please...not here, and
most certainly not now."

Ophelia whirls on Layard, but by then her temper has begun to cool. "His
Majesty's watchful eye is one thing, m'lord, but to suffer the constant
nay-sayings we have suffered is entirely different. My cousin is dead, for the
love of the Great Mother, is that not enough?" She turns again to Scaurus, her
ire beginning to rise once more, "You chose to bring up the subject, m'lord, or
have you forgotten that minor detail already? Shall I order some spice-water for
you?" Her tone has turned again saccharine, emphasizing the curative and
age-defying properties of the offered beverage.

Turning belatedly to the waning commotion, the Strategos interjects, "I would
think that constant nay-sayings would be only expected to whoever holds Arrakis.
It is very easy to criticize those who hold institutions of such magnitude and
importance."

Layard purses his lips after a sip of wine. He answers Ophelia's statement. "His
Majesty sympathizes of course, m'lady Countessa. From the depths of his heart.
However; you have been awarded this jewel in the crown of the Emperor. The time
has come for you to reap the bounty of what is given."

The roasted fowl is carefully sliced and presented on the waiting plates, along
with the decorative-but-functional figs and dates. Tender, succulent, the aroma
is inviting to the appetite.

As her plates are exchanged, Bela eyes the roasted bird, inhaling it's aroma
deeply. In an attempt to smoothe over the present tensions, she pipes in
merrily. "What a glorious feast this is."

Scaurus comments again, raspily and with truth, "You, Excellency, would be wise
to think beyond the past. The detail of your cousin is not the matter of which I
speak," he responds, as the new dish is dealt out, "Do you expect, Your
Excellency, that His Majesty shall treat this matter at all lightly?" He nods to
Kassian, "A -truly- apt perception, my lord," he says before adding, blandly, "I
doubt I should even need to speak for my own logic and sense to be seen by
others. Do not be blinded by how favourable the Moritani situation has been in
the past, Your Excellency. Fortune, most often, does not fall consistently in
the same place," he says cryptically, before turning to the meal, "Shall we
discuss this with more diplomacy later, Excellency, and enjoy the meal now, or
do you wish to leave the table and continue this discussion in private?" he
asks, offering a peace treaty.

Layard stands, "And if you will excuse me, I am fatigued from Space travel. And
I require rest. Tomorrow is a glorious day in the light of the twin suns, and I
bid you all good eating, and good night."

Kassian acknowledges the Treasurer's praise with a small nod before returning to
his meal, eyes down but ears open.

Layard walks to the southeast and passes through the Stone Arch.
Layard has left.

Isabella sits back in her chair as the next course is brought forth and frowns
softly offering nothing at all in reply. Noting Bela's attempt to change the
course of conversation she offers a small smile and says, "Indeed it is." As
Layard stands to go she nods a farewell and then turns back to her plate poking
ineffectually at the food thereon.

Marco glares his stained pits at Scaurus not even touching his food with his
hands still under his robes tapping on something.

Muradin looks up, watching Isabella for a few moments, and mumbles, as he eats,
also picking at his food, "Just like Felizia...by Allah, it is a wonder that
anyone can even remotely understand anything about them."

Ophelia pointedly ignores the Treasurer's offer, glancing down the table to
where Marco sits. "Speaking of Their Majesties, Tuncart, do be sure to send our
fond wishes to Her Majesty when next you visit with her." She watches Layard
depart, then glances once more to the Treasurer, "If you are over-wrought from
the journey, I would be happy to have the remainder of your meal sent to your
room. Your health, we know, has not been perfect of late."

Adrick tilts his head looking the bird with a glint of a smile. Still listening
to the conversation at hand intently, he places a new napkin on his lap. He
begins to slice the meat carefully, his expression as if he had never seen such
a thing before. He tastes a bit of it, smiles and then takes one of the figs.

Martin's eyes focus on the treasure, narrowing slightly. He looks to the
Countessa before looking back at him. An amused thought comes to his mind,
producing a smile. It slides away as she mentions the Marquis's health.

Marco nods somberly to Ophelia not letting his eyes come off of the Treasurer,
"Yes, Countess...I shall." A slight pauses and the Count returns back to eating
from the meal.

Demara slices into the sliver of tender meat that has been put before her,
skewering a small piece of meat along with a segment of fig. She chews
thoughtfully, her eyes on Ophelia.

Isabella sets down her fork and frowns openly at this latest statement. "Your
pardon Master Muradin, but might one assume that that statement was directed at
me?" She opens her mouth to say more and then thinking better of it perhaps
closes it again.

Fahahd walks in from Great Hall through the Stone Arch.
Fahahd has arrived.

Scaurus stares blandly at Ophelia, "Do you think that your relationship with Her
Imperial Majesty, or any friendship with His Imperial Majesty your House may
have will have any impact of the economics of the matter?" he remains in his
seat, "I did not know that I should have to bring a poison snooper with me, Your
Excellency, otherwise I would surely have brought more than the ample amount of
Imperial Guards that were given to my entourage by His Imperial Majesty. Is my
health to be declining here on Arrakis, Your Excellency, or will it merely be my
own wit which is so incredibly strained by your own tongue that requires the
attention of a Suk?"

Muradin looks up, at Scaurus's comment, and has to surpress a cough, even as he
forces himself to turn away. Let the Moritani make fools out of themselves...far
easier that way. He looks directly at Isabella, "Perhaps at you, and perhaps at
no one in particular. Perhaps at myself Lady."

Kassian barely stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, and pushes his empty
plate slightly off to the side. Exquisite meat, but a touch on the sweet side
from the dates and figs.

Fahahd appears without fanfare, quietly making his way in.

Wilhelm clears his throat, "My Lord Treasurer, perhaps the economics will speak
for themselves, eh? And your wit, if you wish to call it that, can be given a
rest."

Fresh plates are brought, the music floating down from the alcoves picking up a
notch to something a bit more merry. After the new plates are laid and the
dirtied ones picked up, the next course makes its entrance. At each guest's
elbow, a servant murmurs while spooning out the dish, "Langues de Lapin de
Garenne". An odd-looking dish it is, too, served on a bed of tabaroot, the sauce
carrying the strong aroma of portyguls.

Fahahd takes a seat at the table.

+inspect chandelier:
Dining Hall -- Governor's Manse (Arrakis) -- CHANDELIER:
 A poison snooper is concealed within the chandelier that hangs over the dining
table.

"I beg your pardon, Your Excellency, but I should see to other members of our
entourage who were unable to attend. Thank you for the invitation. If I may have
your leave?


Isabella holds his gaze firmly with her own. "If there are answers that I can
offer they are assuredly yours for the asking." This time as the fresh plates
are set she pays no attention to them at all.

Ophelia glances down the table to her husband, hearing his voice carry clearly
up the table. Serenely, she smiles, not rising to the bait the Treasurer has
laid in his continued huffing. After the new course has reached her plate, she
gestures upwards to the poison-snooper so cleverly concealed within the
chandelier. "M'lord's poison-snoopers are not needed, unless you feel our own to
be incapable of detecting threatening substances. The manse, I assure you, is
equipped throughout with such things, as well as those with a longer range. Our
safety is the number one priority of the Count of Tuncart during our stay here."

Bela's quiet request is given a courteous nod, and a gentle smile. Ophelia
quietly bids her a good evening, before turning to her own plate once more.

Bela stands and, glancing briefly at the younger Bene Gesserit, makes her way
out of the hall.

Martin turns to watch the Bene Gesserit leave before starting on the new plate.

Adrick smiles as he finishes the rest of the meat. After a last sip of the wine
he motions for one of the servants. "How delightful. Your hospitality is most
gracious, Your Excellency. However, I must retire for the evening." The servant
pulls out the chair for Adrick and he proceeds to slide off. He then turns to
Layard, "if there is nothing else, m'Lord, I shall take my leave. If there is
anything you or the Lord Treasure requires, I shall be in my quarters."

Muradin pushes aside the food, standing up, as he does so. "Lady, I have no
questions for /you/ at this time...none that need answering anyway." He turns to
Ophelia, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for the dinner, it was
lovely...and the conversation was...interesting. I will be in my room if needed,
but I request some privacy, as I have religious matters to attend to."

Scaurus turns toward Wilhelm and nods respectfully, "A most amiable offer, my
lord, though perhaps it is not I who you should be referring your comments to,"
he looks again to Ophelia, "I have already offered to enjoy the meal, which is
exquisite, by all standards, in whatever peace can be salvaged." He then looks
to Ophelia, nodding lightly, "How glad I am to hear it, Your Excellency. I
should not wish for any of your guests to fall ill during such an interesting
time," he rasps, turning for a moment to Adrick and nodding, "I shall call on
you tomorrow, Master Manjit," he then focuses his attention on his meal, taking
a small bite from the new addition, and then turning his attention to Ophelia,
"You truly do have marvelous chefs, Excellency..."

Fahahd picks at the last course, idly. Just his luck...he arrives, everyone
leaves. It doesn't seem to distress him overmuch, though. With none of the
awkwardness one might expect of someone with his upbringing, he oberves the
others calmly.

Marco nods to the Countess as he mentions him and tries to enjoy the meal at
hand.

Isabella frowns severely at the explosion and says sharply in reply to the
departing Bajazet and says icily, "Indeed." A muscle flexes angrily in her cheek
as she looks away from him to the food on her plate and then her glass. Deciding
on the glass she takes a long sip and then glowers down the table, glancing
along its length at the other occupants.

Kassian once again addresses the Count of Tuncart across from him. "My lord
Marco, I take it that you are quite familiar with the layout and structure of
this building. Might I ask you a question about it? My curiosity was piqued this
afternoon."

Marco glances up at Kassassian with a small smile still keeping an eye on Water
Fat, "You could say I am familiar...what is your question?"

"During your stay here," Kassian says, "have you discerned a function for the
small hollow sections within the walls of this manse? Certainly they serve no
structural purpose, weakening the walls if anything."

Ophelia nods to the departing Bajazet, though she glances down the table to
Wilhelm, then to Marco. In a bland tone, she murmurs something quietly.

Ophelia says, "The sunsets here are so very pretty."
Ophelia (Moritani Battle Language): LET IT DROP

Although her attention is turned toward the new discourse between the Alvstad
mentat and the Moritani lord, Demara's eyes flicker occasionally towards
Isabella. Her face a mask, hiding the thoughts that run through her head.

Fahahd flicks a sudden grin at the Countess, before accepting a goblet of red
from one of the servants.

Muradin walks to the southeast and passes through the Stone Arch.
Muradin has left.

Utterly forgetting the transgression of only a moment ago, Scaurus remains to
himself and his meal for a little while, seeming to quite enjoy the food. Soon,
however, he rises from his place at the table, and exerts a slight bow to the
Countess, "The meal was enjoyable, Excellency. I am sure that we shall meet in
time soon enough to discuss matters of economics on a far more diplomatic
level..." if such is possible with Scaurus. And with that said, he turns in all
his opulence, waits for his servant to pick up the trail of his long cape, nods
to all those present politely, and departs.

Scaurus walks to the southeast and passes through the Stone Arch.
Scaurus has left.

Marco nods slowly to Ophelia, "Yes they are. The holes in the walls? You mean
like those in the Great Hall?"

As the music again quiets, servants pad into the room inobtrusively. Trays
bearing the sweet little tabara triangles, melon sorbet, and spiced coffee are
conveyed into the room with all due haste and care, and soon the little candied
cakes have replaced the last course's plates.

Kassian shakes his head. "Not holes, my lord. These are put in deliberately to
be concealed within the structure of the house. They are seemingly sealed and
inaccessible. Curious to say the least."

Isabella sits back in her chair frowning into the depths of her glass for long
moments. Finally she drains its contents and then sets it down so that it can be
refilled eyes looking along the length of the table once more idly listening to
conversations but having little to offer.

Martin puts down his silverware, looking about those who are in the room. He
looks to Isabella with an arched brow for a moment before turning to the
conversation about architecture.

Fahahd remains silent as well, feigning absorption in the meal.

"How odd," Ophelia notes, having heard the Alvstad commentary about the holes in
the walls. "I'd not noticed it, myself."

After a moment, she turns to the Harkonnen nearby, giving the young man a small
smile. "Well now, we seem to be eating dinner in shifts tonight. And it seems
you have the more pleasant of the two shifts. I hope you, and your associates,
are adjusting to the climes here well?"

Demara takes up a dainty silver spoon and scoops up some of the melon sorbet.
The coolness of the iced dessert chills her mouth and throat, bringing a small
smile to her face. Involuntarily, her eyes are drawn to the windows, looking out
into the unforgiving world beyond.

Marco glancees between the Alvstad and the Countess before going on as though it
were a taboo subject, " I can't go into it because of security concerns, but
before this was the Governor's mansion this strucuture had been here for
sometime...some say it was a mental asylum at the beginning of the Empire where
the worst ones were sent and held...some of the servants say that on some nights
when there are no moons out you can here scratching and moaning in the
walls...but that is all superstician, right?

Fahahd looks up and smiles slightly in return. "Yes, my lady. In some ways, it's
remarkably like the more severe regions of Giedi. Only hot and dry, rather than
cold and dry. The stillsuits that I've seen remind me of some of the equipment
we've used there." He casts a wry glance at the door where Scaurus exited."

"Oh, how dreadful!" Ophelia exclaims, leaning back in her chair and taking up
her wine glass. "Tuncart, why did you not tell me this sooner???"

Kassian strokes at his greying beard pensively. "Yes indeed, my lord. Thank
you." He leans back, a brief, quiet little smile on his face.

Fahahd turns a skeptical eye on Marco, but refrains from comment.

Martin arches a brow at the history of the place. He picks up his wine glass and
drinks, a shiver running down his back.

Marco glances over at Ophelia, "Somethings in the past are best kept quiet. This
planet has its secrects...susch as if I told you how many people have died here
while sitting at the head of the table?

Isabella raises a brow as well as she listens to the story of the building's
past. As Marco speaks of former heads of the table her eyes flit first from
Marco to Ophelia in silence.

Fahahd looks down to his plate to hide his amused expression. It reminds him all
too strongly of telling ghost stories to the other cadets as a youth.

Lifting her glass, Ophelia chuckles quietly. "Indeed, some things do belong in
the past. But this is not the past, it is the present. I am not going to die
here, Tuncart."

Marco smiles showing off his milky teeth, "I don't plan on letting you, but, "
he turns to the remaining guests at the table, "I do caution everyone about
Arrakis. Never leave the grounds at night and never go out alone. This is not a
paradise or a nice place to live. Unlike the Treasurer who spent a year here, I
grew up here most of my life. Hell, as most of you know I was Siridar-Governor
Arrakis, so when I say becareful I mean it. Life doesn't mean a thing a hear,
just one less waste of water."

Martin sits back in his chair and raises a hand up to his chin. His rubs his
chin as he thinks for a moment, starting off at the centerpiece of the table. He
blinks out of it and looks up and towards Marco, nodding. "What about daytime
travel?"

Fahahd looks not at all shocked by this. Again, reminds him of home...

Isabella lifts her glass and sipping listens blandly to Marco's warnings. Her
eyes flit to Martin briefly as the question about day time travel is posed and
then back again as she listens for the answer.

Ophelia remains silent, her own untouched dessert plate being taken away by a
silent, unobtrusive servant. Security, it seems, is on everyone's mind these
days.

Fahahd has lapsed into silence, as well, though the clear gaze is untroubled
still.

Marco sips at his coffee being more concerned about dehydration and caffiene
than poison, "For daytime, go in groups with guards. I don't care if any one has
what degree from what Ginaz school, a person doesn't need a degree to slip up
behind you and slitting your throat. Go by ornithopter if you go to inspect the
sites, travel on foot as less a possible. If you go out inot the desert leave
your shield behind."

Demara rises to her feet, her chair dutifully pulled back by a servant.
Inclining her head to the Countess she says, "I thank you for this exquisite
meal, Your Excellency, but like the others, I must plead fatigue and retire to
my quarters. Good evening, M'lords, M'lady. It has been a pleasure."

Fahahd inclines his head in agreement. "The shields attract worms, it seems?"
Someone's been doing his homework.

Martin arches his brow, first looking to Fahahd and then Marco. "Really?" He
looks to Ophelia. "Were you planning on checking out the sites, My Lady?"

Isabella nods politely to the departing lady and then swirling her drink before
her returns her attention to the discussion on what to do and not do on planet.
Without anything to add to the conversation she sits quietly sipping her wine
and listening.

Finding no objections forthcoming to her departure, Demara backs up a few paces
before turning and exiting the hall.

Marco nods to the Sister, "Evening, my lady. A shield in the desert will attract
worms for kilometers out. Makes them go crazy."

Martin turns to see the other Bene Gesserit leave. He offers a small smile and
nod to her. "Good evening, My Lady."

Kassian rises smoothly to his feet, straightening his uniform as he does so.
Turning toward the head of the table, he intones, "Excuse me, milady, but I fear
that I am feeling rather fatigued. The meal was truly outstanding, and it has
been a pleasure to partake in the conversations here tonight."

Ophelia is content to sit quietly, finishing off her wine and starting in on
another glass, forgoing the other choice of spiced coffee with dessert. Her mood
still seems a bit downtrodden, especially after the earlier incident with the
Treasurer. Or perhaps she herself is just tired as well, and contemplating the
invitingness of her bedchamber?

Now hearing the admiral, Martin do him and grins. "It was good to see you, My
Lord. Good evening." He sighs and takes up his coffee, drinking it.

Fahahd has taken up his own mug of spiced coffee, which he sips carefully...not
so much for fear of any poison, but of the spice itself.

Kassian stops in the stone archway and offers a last bow to those still
remaining in the hall, then turns and strides out into the Great Hall.

Kassian walks to the southeast and passes through the Stone Arch.
Kassian has left.

Marco glances down at the Countess as she sits there with a curious neutral look
to his features, "Countess?"

"Yes, Marco?" Ophelia answers readily, her thoughts apparently still within the
room.

Marco raises an eyebrow, "Tired or do we need to talk?"

Isabella drains the rest of her glass and sets it down on the table. She folds
her arms before her and turns back as Marco poses his question.

Martin sighs and picks up his napkin from his lap, placing it on the table. He
looks at the melting sorbet before it is carried off by a servant. He simplely
looks up at his Countessa, a small frown forming.

Ophelia smiles wanly, looking around the table to those remaining. "I am, in
truth, more exhausted than I am willing to admit."

Marco smirks and takes a sip of water from a glass, "Some of us can tell. Things
are fine, you should get some sleep, Coutess, I don't want to worry about you
getting sick here."

Isabella nods in reply to the Countess' admission, eyes tracing to Marco's
suggestion that the Lady seek some rest. "Do get some sleep my lady. It was a
fine dinner...Thank you."

Ophelia sighs quietly, finding Wilhelm at her elbow to escort her out of the
dining hall. "Very well then," she says, rising, "At least some wise words have
been spoken at this table tonight. Do not let my departure end the evening. The
servants will see to all of your needs. Enjoy the rest of the evening..."

Martin silently raises to his feet, when he rises from her chair. He remains
quiet, but simplely bows to her deeply. He does not raises or reseats himself
until she leaves.

Marco smiles, "Me speaking wise words is like a Bene Tlielax having a digital
chromometer, not very often seen or heard. You getting some rest will us sleep
better, those of us who do sleep."

Isabella chokes down a laugh at Marco's comment on speaking wisdom and then nods
a farewell to Ophelia and Wilhelm.

Ophelia gives everyone a final nod, and makes her way out of the room on
Wilhelm's arm.


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