And as the pavane ends Vere escorts Aisling off the floor, speaking to her briefly before turning and heading back towards Gerard.  His walk is perhaps slightly faster than usual for the dance floor, but no other signs of hurry is evident.

As Robin departs, Gerard leans back in his chair. By the time Vere arrives, he has his arms folded across his chest and looks up at his son as if to say _Well, what do you have to say for yourself?_.

Vere refrains from glancing at Robin as he rejoins his father.  He meets his father's gaze and says, "Dame Aisling and I spoke of her offer to assist you, Father.  She is experiencing certain conflicts.  She worries that if she does not repeat her offer you will think she was not serious, and if she does repeat it you will consider her too insistent.  She is having certain difficulties in learning how to deal with the denizens of Amber, I fear."

"We'll take Aisling's help as it comes, in due time. But let's not speak of Aisling. What can ye tell me about your cousin Robin, son?"
            Gerard hasn't moved, and he's giving Vere a look Vere remembers altogether too well from his childhood, usually in tandem with incidents revolving around swordsmanship lessons Vere's mother considered insufficiently mastered.

"I can tell you a great deal about her, Father, as I can about any of my relatives. 
            "Let me preface this by saying that the matter of Dame Aisling must be discussed at least briefly tonight, as I have told her that I would speak with you on this matter tonight, and what I say I will do I will do, as you should well know.  But we can move from that temporarily if you so wish. 
            "Lady Robin is known as the daughter of Prince Julian, any other information on her parentage is not for so public a forum as we are now in, when we should assume our conversations are being observed, a fact of which you, of course, do not need to be reminded.
            "She has served with the Rangers for many years, and is clearly trusted by Prince Julian, which I think says all that needs to be said of her worth.  I need not describe her physically unless you so wish, as you have seen her yourself, although I assure you I can give an accurate description.
            "She is extremely active, very emotional, and given to acting on impulse.  She is highly talented in music and combat, she is quite agile, she is an untrained but excellent dancer.  She prefers the outdoors to buildings, and she prefers Arden to all other places.
            "She has a strong sense of duty, and an intense ability to focus on the task at hand when it is necessary, although in a non-critical situation she can become distracted more easily than some."  He tilts his head slightly.
            "There is a great deal more, of course, although if you require information on a specific aspect of Lady Robin it might be better for you to so specify, to better aid my focus."

"Oh, I can think of a few," says Gerard, sitting upright. "I'd nae like ta specify them in great detail, lest we be overheard, as ye point out. But perhaps ye'd care ta tell me why the lass just asked me if she could court you?"
            He fixes his son with a stern eye.

"She did?" Vere asks, wonder and joy mixing in his voice.  His eyes seek out the luminous hunter where she is greeting the dragonriders outside the refreshment room.  "She did?"  A smile appears on his face, and for a moment he seems to forget his father is there.
            Then, with an effort, he pulls himself back to the moment and turns once more to Gerard, meeting his father's gaze.  "I have not had a chance to speak to her on how things stand," he says.  "I will do so as soon as there is an opportunity.  I..." he pauses, his face clouding, then continues, "I do not consider her bound, and if she thinks better of her decision I will understand.  I did not mislead her, Father."  Vere shakes his head, his gaze going back to Robin.  "This happened so quickly..." his voice trails off.

"I'm relieved to hear ye havena misled the lass, but ye'll do well to tell her what there is to tell sooner rather than later," Gerard says firmly.
            He adds: "I wish you weren't in this pickle, son, but you come by leaping before you look honestly, at least."

"Fate weaves as she will, Father," Vere replies.  "I had cause, and I regret nothing."  He looks back out at Robin once more before stepping around to once again stand just behind his father's right shoulder, where he has spent the majority of the evening so far.  "If nothing else, the situation will doubtless serve to concentrate my focus."

"Or it'll drive you to distraction, which is the last thing you need right now," Gerard says. "When do you plan to tell her?"

"As soon as possible," Vere replies.  "As soon as we have some measure of privacy.  Hopefully tonight, if not then certainly on the morrow.  I have already told her that there is a matter that she should know before she makes any decisions."

Gerard nods.

Vere catches a passing servant's eye and requests that a glass of cider be brought, and asks his father if he would care for anything else. 

Gerard takes another whiskey.

Once the servant has left Vere uses the break in the conversation as a natural break in topic, and says, "As to Dame Aisling, I have told her that if she seeks you out tomorrow you will be willing to speak to her.  I trust that is the case."

"I'll talk to the lass, aye. I'm not sure what she can do for me, but I'll talk to her again." Gerard says. "It seems to me that she might ought to look into trying a smaller healing and working her way up to something like my case."

"Possibly so, but it was a kind offer, and she should not be made to feel that her offer of aid, and she herself, are spurned.  Too many have already made her feel so." 

Gerard nods, although with which part of it he's agreeing isn't necessarily clear.

Vere is silent for a moment, before continuing, "If the situation in the Isles can be cleared up, and the Traditionalist camp defeated in a decisive manner, then having Mother oversee your healing becomes possible.  That still leaves questions regarding the permanence of such healing in all situations a member of our family might encounter, of course."
            After another brief pause he adds, "You see that I have been following up on the matter, Father, and have come to understand the issues more fully."

"I expected no less of you. You've always been thorough. But I wonder if you've bethought what will happen if the Traditionalist camp's not so easy to dispose of as all that. And, though there's no way to answer that without being on the spot, what's to be done about the other problem," Gerard says.

"As for the second, I am doubtful that there is anything I will be able to do about it.  Perhaps with a decade of intensive training I would have the knowledge to address the problem.  But untrained, and new to the ability..."  Vere shrugs.  "I hope to have a chance to speak with Prince Julian, who observed the situation first hand and may be able to tell me more.  Suggestions are welcomed."

"Aye," says Gerard. "He and I have spoken on it, but you'll do better speaking with him yourself, after you've come into your heritage. But I think you'd best settle matters with his daughter before you speak to him."

"Mmm," says Vere.  "I had considered speaking with him on these other matters briefly tonight, before he had a chance to speak with his daughter, and discussing the situation concerning her with him at a later date."  He frowns.  "Upon reflection, this was mere avoidance upon my part, and not well thought out."  He pauses for a few moments to consider before continuing, "I have not had a chance to speak with him at any length, how do you think he will react to this?"

"Right now? I've nae guess. Jules is carrying many a burden right now, and he'll see this as adding more or lightening his load, and view it as good or bad on that basis." Gerard says.
            "I already told Robin I'd knock sense into his head if he protests overmuch, but she's the apple of his eye, so I can't imagine that anything that makes her happy will make him  unhappy. And it's not like you're an unsuitable match or have a bad reputation with women."

Vere allows himself the indulgence of a small smile and a raised eyebrow underneath his hood, but refrains from any verbal reply.

Martin is leading Folly back to the champagne fountain for another glass of the bubbly when they are intercepted by a green-haired mermaid. She is wearing a glittering skirt of green scales that catches the light of the many candles in the room and a pair of "shells" that cover her upper assets, topped by a gauzy blouse that seems to highlight rather than disguise her near-nudity.
            Her costume would not be risque by the standards of a Texorami festival, but in Amber, it borders on the positively indecent. Never mind that some of the plunging gowns show nearly as much cleavage.
            Her smile positively gleams.  "Your Highness!  It's so good to see that you survived the drudgery of this afternoon's state affair. I thought the King did splendidly. And who is your lovely Lady Swan?"

"My cousin, Lady Folly. Folly, this is the Duchess Valeria of Rebma, Jerod's sister, Martin says. Out of sight of the mermaid, his grip tightens slightly on her hand.

"Duchess Valeria," Folly says cheerfully, "what a wonderful costume - I can tell exactly what you are!"
            Folly's own smile, of course, is perfectly sweet and innocent - but only because all the irony and mischief she carefully filtered out of her voice and expression are now being transmitted directly to Martin's hand.

"Of course!" says Valeria brightly. "*Everyone* knows about mermaids!"

"They do indeed," Folly agrees, still smiling.

The swan-bill of Martin's helm is angled slightly off Valeria, towards a stout white-haired fellow not too far behind her in the garb of a white wolf. He's standing next to a woman costumed as a grey wolf. Whether the sudden tension in Martin's jawline comes from Valeria's comment or from noticing the wolves isn't immediately clear to Folly.

Folly feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, although she doesn't understand quite why.

Valeria continues, to Folly, "I don't suppose you can spare my cousin for a turn around the floor, Lady Folly?"

"Oh, I'm not sure I'm the one you need to ask," Folly responds lightly; meanwhile, she's madly extrapolating the likeliest locations and trajectories of all her female cousins, trying to come up with a good out should Martin need one.
            She turns toward Martin and lays her free hand on his arm -- the gesture looks casual but feels, to him, very protective -- and asks him, "Weren't you supposed to dance with..." -- she takes an instant to glance across the room and verify her guess -- "...Lilly next?"

"I'm afraid that my dance card has been quite driven from my mind by the loveliness of the company," Martin says, his swan-bill turns back towards Valeria, then to Folly.
            He continues, _Why don't I get this over with now so I don't ruin the rest of the evening dodging it?_ but the words sound like, "Why don't I lead my cousin Valeria out now, and catch up with you and Lilly later?"

Valeria's grin is rather predatory.

Folly hesitates for the barest instant, as though something unnerving just occurred to her; but she quickly brushes it off and smiles up at him.  "I shall be counting the seconds," she says.

"I always do," says Martin. Beneath the swan-bill, he's smiling. Valeria, having gotten her way, smiles brilliantly at Folly as she lets Martin lead her off.

She nods to both in farewell, taking the opportunity to glance again at the pair of wolves.

Folly is certain that the wolves have marked her as well.

Then she completes her journey to the champagne fountain, where she downs a glass a bit too quickly.

Jerod has caught sight of Demond Harga'rel dancing several times over the course of the evening from across the room. He has danced with some Amberite ladies of his social class, with his daughter, and with Thalia of Gateway.
            After the Queen's Pavane, Jerod sees Harga'rel leaving the mass of dancers with Ambassador Harper of Gateway.

Assuming the good Demond departs from the dance area proper to a side room or other area to talk, Jerod makes sure to follow.  And he is quite certain that Demond and Harper will make it only far enough to be out of range of the dance area but not too far as he's sure a few servants will make a wrong turn somewhere after delivering more food and slow down the pair for just a few moments... enough time for him to catch up.

They head towards the champagne fountain, where Harga'rel is courteously obtaining a glass for the Ambassador and himself. Jerod hears him commenting on the quality of the vintage (excellent) to the lady.

Jerod, wait?  *chuckle*...when in doubt, attack.

"Why, the evening does bring out the most interesting of people." Jerod says with a smile.  "And one of them would just happen to be someone I've been looking for."

Harga'rel meets Jerod's grin with one of his own. "Prince Jerod! Or should I say, my lord," he pauses, and decides he's not quite sure what Jerod's costume is supposed to be. With his free hand he makes sort of a wavish gesture and shrugs. "I'm not so good with these costume games. You know the Ambassador, of course?"

Ambassador Harper gives a polite nod. "Your Highness."

Behind him, Jerod can hear his sister flirting with Martin.

"Now what can I do for you, Jerod?" If Harga'rel thinks Jerod's about to ambush him with hard questions, he shows no sign of it.

Jerod continues to move around, collecting a drink from a passing servant so that he can watch what his sister is up to while speaking to Harga'rel.
            "Oh, I've been meaning to speak to you for the last day or two.  It's been very busy what with my sister returning and all.  And as luck would have it I've a few questions that only you can answer.  Matters of the crown and all that." he says, looking over at Harper with a smile and a polite look (ie: not for outsiders, please and thank you).

Harper smiles knowingly at Jerod, but doesn't move just yet.
            "It has been quite busy these last couple of days," Harga'rel agrees, nodding. "But with all due respect, Your Highness, such questions and their answers might better wait until in the morning. There's quite a bit of family talk you and I need to catch up on. Why don't I call on you first thing tomorrow, when we'll have all the time we'll need?"
            There's a certain weight to some of his words, as if he's conveying a secondary message to Jerod by tone.

Jerod smiles, having received exactly the answer he was looking for (even Jerod would never be so uncouth as to violate the protocol of the Masquerade by intruding business, though that doesn't mean he can't maneuver to try to get the spot he really wants without appearing to want it).  "A most excellent suggestion.  We will have breakfast together."

"At Terce," says Harga'rel. "That'll give this old body time to sleep in after the late night tonight."

"Have you managed to dance with Valeria yet?"

"Twice, so far. She's quite a lass, our Val, isn't she? Cuts a fine figure next to the princes," he says, with paternal pride.

"Let us hope the princesses think so as well.  Or rather, that the princesses do not cut too close a figure." Jerod says, making a mental note of one princess in particular.

"It'd be a great thing if she married up here," Harga'rel opines.

Jerod smiles, knowing the probability of that happening isn't even within Random's ability, assuming he were so inclined.

"You will excuse me?  I see someone else that I need to...accost." and he smiles, making his way from Demond and Harper, and over to confront the wolves...on his turf.

"Good luck," Harga'rel says, and Ambassador Harper says, "Good evening."

Jerod sees Folly relinquish Martin and come into the side room, and Martin lead Valeria out towards the dancers. The white wolf follows the couple; the grey wolf hasn't moved yet. Perhaps she is keeping an eye on the swan.

Grey wolf - it's time Jerod had a talk with Bend (Moire's chief dirty tricks divisional head). And Jerod will need to know whether or not to have to arrange an accident for Bend if she decides to do something foolish about Folly.
            Although somehow I suspect that Bend is not waiting on the swan, but rather on him.  It would be too convenient for her to not notice his approach.

Bend smiles graciously at Jerod as he approaches. "My lord Duke," she says, greeting him by his Rebman title, "it is a great pleasure to see you again.  Your mother has worried a great deal about you. I look forward to allaying all her concerns on my return to the city. Or will you be joining us on our voyage home?"

"Lady Bend, I should think that will depend on the whims of the King." Jerod says, nodding a greeting to her.  "I will be speaking to him later however, so I may be able to arrange it.  I would look forward to accompanying my sister, as well as you and your brother, on the return trip."

"There are many in Rebma who will look forward to your return, my lord Duke. And not merely those in your family." Bend's look is knowing.

"One will hope that their expectations are of a beneficial nature." Jerod says.  "I would dislike experiencing the kind of attention my cousin Conner attracted."

"I can only imagine you handle your affairs with more discretion than Secretary Conner. After all, you had the opportunity to learn how to hide bodies from your father," Bend says, glancing towards a side room, where a black-and-silver harlequin is surrounded by a throng of admirers. Jerod recognizes Barenthkov's old rival Rein among them.

"You honour me with my father's talent, though I owe mother equally for an exceptional education.  I shall have to endeavour not to disappoint you." Jerod says, noting Rein's location as well as who is with him.

She adds: "I assume, of course, that Prince Martin will be much too busy to consider a visit to Rebma at the moment. Do you know whether he might consider it in the future? The Queen has often expressed her desire to see him again."

"I'm sure the Queen would be quite eager to see Prince Martin back in Rebma." Jerod remarks, only a little dryly, noting Montage's location deliberately.  "I suspect that any future visits would undoubtedly be of a state nature.  Lots of trusted retainers, advisors... guards."

"Of course."

"Since the Sundering I'm told a few things have changed back home.  The Queen has a new companion, Celina I believe her name is.  My sister's father was gracious enough to let me in on a few details."

"Valeria was thrilled to see him alive. She was certain he was dead, you know. I almost pitied Secretary Conner when I first saw him in your uncle's court. As for Lady Celina, she arrived several years ago and is high in your grandmother's favor. She has a guardian of her own, which suggests she is related, but I do not know the connection myself. She holds the office of Lady of the Royal Bedchamber," Bend says.
            While the Ladies of the Royal Bedchamber hold no official power, they are unofficially the Queen's favorites and are considered very influential.  Their number includes Jerod's mother and sisters and his aunt Llewella.

Jerod nods, noting the information, as well as the shift of the power structure from his previous visits.  "As it turns out, I found myself pitying anyone foolish enough to move against Conner now that his ancestry is in the open.  It is good however to see that common sense remains in abundance amongst those from home.  No doubt there will be a suitable amount of scurrying back home when this is revealed.  Perhaps you might do me the favor of allowing me to reveal it in Court when I return, before you make your report to the Queen?"

Bend's smile grows a little. The costume really does fit her. "If you were to return to Rebma, I suspect your welcome would be an immediate priority for Her Majesty. Of course, if you do not, my duty to the Queen will require me to discuss such matters relatively quickly."

"Were I not to return prior to you, I would expect nothing less of you.  Your duty demands nothing less.  I merely wish to... watch the fish run for cover." Jerod says with a smile.  "It might aid in defusing a tense situation here."

He nods a greeting to a passing noble and his wife, exchanging a few words before continuing with Bend.  "Celina must be talented to have been awarded thusly.  No doubt the opportunity to meet her will present itself should I make myself present in Rebma?"

"Oh, I am certain you will meet Lady Celina," says Bend. "As much as it may dismay your sister."

"Oh?" Jerod says, a look of Court curiosity crossing his face.  "Pray do tell?"

"I do believe she is concerned that Her Majesty might wish to bring Lady Celina into a closer relationship to the royal family." Bend's tone is completely bland.

"Mmm...no doubt she is concerned about the strains this might place upon the delicate structure of the kingdom's political system." Jerod says with an equally bland expression, suggesting he does not believe his initial statement.  "Like the introduction of a new element to an eco-system, it might be perceived as a competitor for limited resources."  His second statement, however, is perhaps closer to what he might be thinking.
            "Has the Queen mused as to who might be suitable for this distinguished role of... introduction?" Jerod asks.

"I am not privy to any thoughts she might have on the matter," Bend says.
             She adds: "Men of the royal line are rare, however, even if the number did just grow by one."

"Yes, rare indeed." Jerod says, once again noting Bend's companion wolf and his location.

Montage has found a convenient vantage point from which, Jerod suspects, he can see both Martin and Bend.

"One would hope the Queen would not have to settle for second best." and then he smiles a little.  "Ah, but I forget...the Queen never settles for second best."
            "Tell me, how has your trip been?  It can be a bit disconcerting up here.  No trouble I hope?"

"None whatsoever. Your uncle is a most excellent host in his own city, even if he is freer in his manner with ladies than your grandmother might like," Bend says. "And despite the shock of our arrival, we have found the Rebman embassy in Amber to be quite hospitable."

"The advantages of being the King." Jerod replies with a dry smile.  "The Ambassador seems quite capable.  I would expect nothing less for the Rebman side.  I was more interested from the Amber side."

"Our arrival was not anticipated, of course. King Random has dealt with us with all due respect, of course. If there are to be any surprises, no one has had time to arrange them just yet." Bend seems supremely unconcerned.

As does Jerod.  "Good.  It is refreshing to hear that."
            Jerod has nothing more so after one or two minutes of polite chatting, unless Bend has something to say,  Jerod wanders off.

Bend is happy to engage in small talk until Jerod excuses himself.

As the Huntress leaves father and son behind herself, her head is spinning.  Breathe, Robin, breathe.  Emerald eyes sweep out over the dance floor, seeking her tall, straight, true.... woah nelly! And *pissed* father.
            While outwardly calm as he ends his dance with Paige (?) -- wait, wasn't he dancing with Aunt Fiona when she came in? – Robin's familiarity with Prince Julian tells her that maybe this would be a really, really bad time to broach a boyfriend issue with the Warden of Arden.  Paige?  Definitely a bad time.
            Probably not a good idea to fly straight from Gerard to Julian anyway.  If she can't 'behave discretely', at least Robin can break up her pattern of disturbances some.
            Just then a burst of familiar laughter reaches the Huntress' ears and the girl's head cocks around for the source.  There just coming out of the snack room.  A grin spreads across Robin's face.  Oh perfect!  Trouble in a nice tight bronze package.  And she likes him too!
            Robin skims across the floor on glowing feet over to the collection of dragons.
            "L'tarn!  M'corli!  How're you enjoying the party?"  The girl is grinning as she swoops in.

"Robin!  Jovian never told us about this part of it." L'tarn is grinning.

"Well, it *is* a special occasion." Robin laughs back.  "But yeah, the place does have its moments."
            "Oh!  Jovian mentioned the trip in your guys' future.  Thank you, thank you soooo much!"  And Robin pounces on L'tarn for a grateful hug.

L'tarn is happy to hold and squeeze an armful of happy, painted Ranger.  He lets the hug last for a bit. He says "We left behind some friends who need help, and that's not something we do lightly.  And ah, we have a few of our own unclaimed debts that we want to have paid."  He glances over at M'corli.

Robin is content to be playfully squiggly in L'tarn's grasp, eventually ending it with a teasing hip-bump.
            "Hey, M'corli.  Congratulations on the Knight-hood."  Robin speaks warmly as she draws closer to the greenrider.  The Huntress lays a slow smooth hand on one arm, before drawing the man into a congratulatory hug as well, careful not to startle him, but also not treating him as though he was fragile.  "You certainly deserve it, Mr. Amazing.  Both you and Antrith."

M'corli blushes and stammers for a moment.  After a moment he gets that distant look in his eye and says.  "We both thank you, Lady Robin.  This is certainly a pleasant and peaceful rest after all we've done lately."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it."  Robin lets M'corli hear the grin in her voice.  "Oh!" hip-bump to L'tarn again, "Would you tell Maranth that he's mighty Mighty, too, bronze-boy?  I've never seen such beautiful wreckage as that lighthouse.  Just awesome!"
            Grinning, the Huntress turns to the other riders.  "M'hall and V'laren, yes?  I don't think we've been introduced.  Of course, the cave *was* dark."  She laughs, with a mock grimace.

M'hall bows.  "M'hall, bronze Rakshath's rider of Lyris Weyr.  Thank you for saving M'corli."

"Aucune dette." Robin chuckles warmly as she returns M'hall's bow.  "I remember M'Corli doing some damn fine work.  And Antrith seriously coming to the rescue.  They both get big thanks from me!"

V'laren grins.  "M'corli is also from Lyris."  He explains.  "V'laren of Fairpoint, Hyloth's rider.  J'rim never told us he traveled in such circles.  And everyone seems so...relieved that the war is over, or perhaps ending.  It reminds me of the end of threadfall back home.  A heavy burden, relieved."
            During this speech, Robin notices the unfocused expression she's come to associate with Jovian talking to his dragon on both L'tarn's and M'hall's face.

"Well, I am tickled to meet both of you.  I hope I get a chance to say hello to Rakshath and Hyloth personally sometime soon too.  It's a shame this hall is so small." Robin waves her hand at the vast arching Great Hall.

V'laren continues.  "It amazes me that there are so many people not of Amber here.  Where do they come from, Lady Robin?"  L'tarn nods at M'hall and puts down his drink and stretches his arms.

The Ranger decides to ignore the silent conversation with an amused smirk and responds to V'laren.
            "You know, I'm not really sure.  I didn't spend much time up here at the Castle before I met you guys.  I know that some here are from Rebma, which is this city under the sea a couple of leagues that way."  She waves again.  "Some are from Garnath.  A valley south of here." Robin looks a little sad at that and moves quickly along. 
            "Some are from...uh, the Land of Peace, I think it's called.  Traders new to Amber.  Ummm, Gateway?  I've heard that as a place name but I don't really know where or what it is.  And I'm sure that there's probably lots of people – Ambassadors and their staffs and such from the Golden Circle – who got stuck here when the Shadow Roads fell."  She checks in with V'laren to see if the words 'Golden Circle' or 'Shadow Roads' mean anything to him.

They don't.

M'hall smiles as he looks out over the crowd.  "Do they deal with each other, or is it each with Amber and Amber with each one?"  He smiles, slightly.  "Forgive me if I'm taking a name like 'Golden Circle' too literally."
            Behind M'hall, L'tarn raises his eyebrows.

The Huntress puffs out a breath, slowly shaking her head.  "I.. you know, I'm not really sure.  I *think* they do both.  The Shadow Roads are... corridors between  these various kingdoms – the Golden Circle -- that were made by King Oberon and his progeny over millennia.  I think the Shadow Roads were set up so that they can trade with each other *or* with Amber.  More of a hub, spokes and rim situation, I think.  But honestly, I'm not sure."
            She looks to M'hall with a grin.  "What does 'Golden Circle' mean in Lyris?"

"Nothing until we get back and explain things, which is why I want to understand things.  It sounds like Amber has a trade empire that has been around for longer than people have been on Calusa."

"Weeelll, even though I don't know how long there's been people on Calusa, but yep.  I can guarantee that Amber's been a trade empire for longer."  Robin nods with an eyeroll and a mock grimace.
            "Hmmmm," the girl cocks her head as she looks at M'hall, V'laren and the irrepressible L'tarn.  Some idea is rolling around in the back of her mind and from the sparkle in her eyes, it's probably a bad one.
            "Okay, look guys.  I'm cute but I'm pretty much clueless about Amber.  You want real answers, I can introduce you to..." she thiiinnks about it some more but in the end can't resist it, "Paige."
            "She's the green dragon type who was dancing with J'lin, earlier?"  Robin swirls a hand over her form, tracing the coiling design of Paige's costume.
            "She's frisky."  A wink to L'tarn.
            "She's been in Amber for *ever* and knows everyone." A smile to V'laren, though Robin has to fight back the 'in the Biblical sense' addition.
            "She's got business interests in the city, and sat on the Regent's council for trade and legal issues.  Or something like that."  To M''hall.
            "So, you wanna meet another fiery woman of Amber?"  Robin says with an evil grin.

L'tarn says "I don't think there's a rush to deal with the trade stuff.  There's tomorrow and J'rim for that.  I think you and I should work on introducing M'hall and V'laren to their own sense of rhythm and find them dance partners.  Preferably ones who don't do politics."

"Verde!"  Robin rolls her eyes.  "*Everyone* here does politics.  But we should be able to find some lightweights for them."  She winks conspiratorially to L'tarn.
            "Lessee..." The Huntress looks around the crowd, cranes a little onto her tiptoes, "No.  Uh-huhn.  Yikes.  Oh, yeah."
            Those green hawk's eyes have settled on a pair of young ladies standing near the doorway to one of the conversational nooks.  White feathered doves, their costumes match enchantingly, the young ladies are trading whispers and merry laughter behind coyly spread fans.  And they are shockingly unescorted.
        "De'droit far."  The Ranger says with a nod of her head and a satisfied smile.  "Just perfect for a pair of newly made Knights of the Ruby, don't you think?"  She cocks an eyebrow to the bronze-rider.

"Pretty, breathing, and unescorted.  Dragonriders, don't let your weyr's reputations suffer!"  They head off, and L'tarn turns to Robin and bows, perhaps mockingly, perhaps not.  "May I have this dance?"

She winks, "I believe we have one more wing to see to the air first."
            With a smile, Robin steps away from L'tarn for a moment to approach a young lady doing her best to look natural half-way hiding behind a potted plant.  Bright intelligent eyes harbor an understandable embarrassment brought on by the travesty of a peacock costume – obviously chosen by an over-ambitious mother with little sympathy for a young woman with some meat on her bones.
            "Milady?"  Robin asks gently.  "Earlier your voice caught my attention and I was wondering if you would be kind enough to share a few moments with a friend of mine who is unable to take the dance floor this evening?"  The Ranger smiles warmly and reassuringly.

She smiles uncertainly and allows herself to be introduced to M'corli, who is happy to speak to her.  The young lady has seen the dragons flying near Amber and heard songs about them, of course.  L'tarn offers an arm to Robin and seems perfectly willing to leave his compatriot to his own devices.

Robin waits for a moment to make sure that the fabled dragonrider charm has truly taken hold of the young lady, making for a pleasant memory in what would otherwise surely be a scrapbook of horror night.  And that M'corli is by no means abandoned in the dark, but enjoying the chiming tones and intelligent questions of an interesting woman.
            The Huntress nods in satisfaction as the two settle into their chat.  And with a teasing laugh, links her arm through L'tarn's.  She winks a sparkling green eye to the bronze-rider.  "Should I draw it out a little longer?  Or are you likely to explode?"  She grins playfully, mischief but no malice in her voice.

He pulls himself up short and speaks in a deep, slow voice.  "Some things, Lady, are best if teased and drawn out to maximum tension before they are explosively released."  He sounds very serious and Robin is pretty sure he is making fun of M'hall's mannerism.

Robin breaks into gay laughter that ends with a most unladylike snort.  "I thought you had that particularly... constipated look of a man with a head full of M'hall.  Oh, that's too good!"   
            The Huntress drags L'tarn onto the dance floor by one hand.  Once there, she arcs a challenging eyebrow to the bronze-rider.  And Robin steps into the patterns with a decidedly sensual flavor to her dancing.

L'tarn is quite good and seems to make an effort to conform his dancing to yours.  It's really impressive since he's certainly never danced this particular dance before.  He is better with the figures once they start repeating.

That makes two of them.  Robin laughingly apologizes to those around when they miss a step or turn.  But gains her 'dance legs' fairly quickly.

He continues the conversation in a light tone.  "One of the recurring debates amongst riders is if we take on the personalities of our partners or if they take on ours.  Is M'hall or Rakshath the over-serious one?  For instance, tonight all the riders are battling their impulse to indulge in pleasantries and the impression we get from our friends that something is going to happen.  We would like," he continues with a smile, "to lead our wings into the air, looking for an enemy to burn.  Sadly, that seems impractical."
            The dancers around them seem oblivious to his words.

There's a deep green glow in Robin's eyes as she glances quickly to L'tarn and then away.
            She opens her mouth, closes it.  Licks her lips.  Then murmurs ever so quietly.  "I feel it too.  The... pressure in the air.  In everything.  Like just before a hurricane.  Or an earth..."  She glances around at the inhabitants of Amber surrounding them and finishes in a whisper. "quake.  Unbalanced.  Incomplete.  Frenetic."
            "I always thought that it was just... this place.  Amber.  I can't sleep here.  Can't rest."  Those green eyes glance up at L'tarn.  "Would *love* to burn something."  She gives a rueful chuckle.  "But no, you're right.  Can't."
            "And while I'm certainly not qualified," Robin returns to her normal laughing tones, "to comment on humanodraconic psychology, what about blended personalities?  A somewhat serious M'hall blended with a somewhat serious Rakshath mix to a big ol' wet blanket?"

"Each reinforcing the impulses, negative and positive, of the other, so that life in the weyr is a life of extremes not just because of the career of flaming death that we chose or which chooses us, but because we have to be that way?  If the harpers write ballads of it, they do not teach them in the weyrs."

"Well, I wouldn't put it so harshly." She chuckles, "Besides I see a lot of balancing of tensions as well."

He leads her through an unexpected spin, and Robin can tell that he is feeling more confident in his lead.  "You would have made an excellent dragonrider."

Robin plays with the spin, enjoying L'tarn's lead as he grows into it.  "I... it seems a wonderful thing, L'tarn.  To be a dragonrider." The girl smiles with the warm soft glow of a pleasant daydream.  "And I may yet be one."  She winks.
            "But not today.  And not soon.  Maybe someday."

He pouts out his lower lip, unconsciously considering.  "I'm not sure that even J'lin's daughter could become one on Calusa as a grown woman.  We'd have to overthrow pretty much the entire social order.  And besides, I get the feeling that you are too attached to a larger mythical green monster called 'Arden' to devote yourself to something so small as a dragon."

Robin shrugs.  "Social orders never really that meant much to me."  But she winks to let L'tarn know that Calusa is safe from her.
        "But yes, you're right.  I *am* very much of Arden and probably wouldn't be happy anywhere else.  Even in as wonderful company as that of a dragon."  The  Ranger's eyes drift off momentarily.  "I miss her," she murmurs quietly to herself.

L'tarn neither looks away nor stares, but seems to accept her declaration at face value.  He concentrates on the dance, leaving further conversation for Robin to instigate.

The smile on Robin's face at his acceptance just proves why the Ranger likes dragonriders – and particularly L'tarn -- so much.  But the girl has had enough conversation.  She lets the dance and the music move between and around them in companionable playfulness, her former sensuality fading and shading into a warm glowing meeting of peers.

They dance, he bows, they separate.