The Huntress seems to have alighted in the frame of an otherwise empty conversational nook.  She leans against the gilt doorway, but her interest isn't on the Grand Hall beyond nor on the shadowed room of burgundy behind her.  Instead, her face is turned toward one of the ornate bird cages arranged in a nearby niche.
            Her bright eyes side-look at the exotic creature contained therein, and her full lips are pursed.  The bright bird inside is also side-looking at the girl and a quiet exchange of whistles seems to be going on.  Whether they are actually communicating, who knows?
            When Conner approaches to ask for a dance, Robin politely demurs. Body language though -- she sure tootin' appreciates being lumped in with 'all his female relatives.'  Oh yes, she does.  Thanks ever so.  Ba-Bye.

If you think Conner is being that obvious about it or indeed acting like he's just checking you off his list, you do him a disservice.  In any case, Conner doesn't back off that easily.  
            "Would you care to walk the gardens then?"  Conner asks.  "I would speak with you if you would with me."

"Why would you want to talk to me?"  Robin raises a brow, obviously not understanding.  Maybe not so much hostile, as just not seeing the basis for common ground with the 'Rebman.'

"Because I haven't had the chance to get to know you."  Conner replies.   "And this may be the last time in a long while that I'll get the chance."  His body language suggests nothing more than friendly curiosity and a tinge of disappointment.

"Hunh."  Robin's breath gusts out of her and her brows furrow momentarily in thought.  "Ooookaaay,"  She allows, "but I don't want to talk about Brita.  Deal?"  The Huntress has arched an eyebrow, and not moved from where she stands oh so casually leaning.  And it's obvious that she doesn't intend to move until she gets a promise from the blue dragon before her.

Conner blinks.  "Deal."  He smiles.  "I wasn't planning on it anyway.  Though I did want to talk about Heather Vale."  He comments as they begin to walk out to the gardens.  "Or rather apologize for it."

Robin strolls along beside Conner, her movements more free than they were a moment ago, though a certain social inertia seems to have gripped her.  She's finding it difficult to break out of patterns that she set by months (?) – dammit, just how long *was* she here, anyway – of withdrawal.
            The mention of Heather Vale, though, has definitely attracted her attention.  "Apologize?"  The Huntress looks over to Conner with some confusion in her eyes.

"For losing your brother."  Conner explains.  "I know intellectually that we were just completely overpowered."  Conner turns to her.  "Emotionally, I keep thinking there was something we should have been able to do."

"Conner."  A grim chuckle escapes the Huntress as she shakes her head.
            "It's my understanding that my brother," she pronounces the word awkwardly – Daeon is a stranger to her, "desired to leave.  And indeed, fought for the right to defy Prince Julian's orders.  You were in the no-win place."  A sad sympathetic smile crosses the girl's lips as she meets Conner's eyes.
            "Had you been able to do something more, you would have been holding a Knight-whatever and a prince of Amber against his will.  Trust me.  Only badness comes from *that.*  As it is, you freed a close friend, and helped my people escape a rather gruesome end.  No apologies needed."  Robin smiles quietly.

"Thank you for that." Conner nods. "I knew all that of course but some things you just can't believe until someone else says it." He smiles back then frowns again slightly.
            "Artemis still worries me though. I've never encountered that kind of power before. It was quite humbling."

Robin nods with understanding at Conner's smile.  It occurs to her that she was on the other end of a conversation much like this just yesterday.  Of course, for that talk the apologizee was a *much* more gracious person than her.  A shame that.
            At the mention of Artemis, though, the Ranger's green eyes freeze, though the chill is not aimed at Conner.  "Brief me."
            Then the girl shakes her head, and some warmth creeps back into her eyes.  "I mean," she gives a little embarrassed laugh, "if you would be so kind as to give me your perspective on a certain vegetative bitch who's about to have tres beaucoup badness dumped on her."  The half-smile on Robin's lips... maybe it's not such a good thing.  More of a gleeful malevolence, really.

"May that look always be directed at an enemy."  Conner chuckles though the laugh doesn't quite reach his eyes.
            "Anyway, there is not too much to tell.  Artemis is essentially a primal force and I mean primal in several ways."  Conner replies. "She basically brought her own reality with her to Heather Vale.  All the spontaneous and expanded plant growth was her influence.  It almost seemed like the plants were attacking us but I think that was just the illusion of the grasses and vines growing so swiftly around us.  Every male except for Vista and myself were..."  Conner hunts for the right word, "mesmerized?  Paralyzed?"
            Conner shrugs.  "In any case rendered powerless by her beauty.  Even I had to
concentrate to not just stare at her.  She can also change her shape, swiftly and effortlessly.   I only saw her change into a gigantic bear but I feel sure that's not the end of her bag of tricks."  Conner looks down.  "I take it Julian is preparing to declare war on our favorite goddess?"  He asks.

The Huntress is silent as she edges her way through the crowd at the door to the patio, not an ignoring silence, just a 'wait a moment' silence.  Once out onto the air of the patio, a spring comes into Robin's step and it's almost as if the glow from her skin becomes a little brighter.  But that's probably just the contrast of the dark night with the lights of the Grand Hall.  Probably.

The Dragon glides along with her seeming unperturbed by the light, the darkness, or the silence.

The girl strides across the stonework of the patio, ignoring the drifting partiers and twittering pairs of hushed conversationalists until the glow of the decorative torchieres is definitely behind her.  In the darkness of the rolling lawns, Robin is definitely glowing more brightly and the flow of her movements becomes freer.
            She looks over to her escort with some regret.  When she speaks her voice is soft.  "Oh, Conner.  I'm doing you such a disservice.  I hope that there *will* be time in the future.  For us to get to know one another better.  And I hope you can forgive me if – for now – things stay... professional as it were."
            "As such, Prince Julian's plans are his own to say or not.  But a reckoning is coming.  And I, for one, am looking forward to it."  And Robin smiles again, a warrior captured by a dress, a savage on display in the center of the civilized world, a feral fidgeting at her jesses.

Conner nods at this.  "I understand, Spirit of the Wild."  He smiles.  "I shall simply wish you luck then, and trust in the expertise of the Warden. I'm no Ranger but I have a fondness for Arden.  If I can help, let me know."  Conner's tone shows that he knows that offer will likely never be called on, but he felt better making it.

There's a grateful glimmer in Robin's eyes for both the offer and the space.  If there's anything the ranger appreciates, it's space.
            "You've already done much for Arden from all reports."  The Huntress chuckles ruefully.  "And it seems I've neglected yet another civilized nicety."  She shakes her head at herself.
            And turns a sincerely warm gaze on the man.  "Thank you, Conner.  For aiding my land, my men and my brother."

Conner smiles warmly in response.  He places a hand over his heart and gives her a half bow.  "You are welcome, Robin."  The moment hangs there and then Conner chuckles.  "I find myself at a loss for words.  A rarity to be sure." He smiles.

Robin seems more at ease, her limbs flowing smoothly as she continues to stroll the dark gardens.  She returns Conner's chuckle.  "Really?  I find myself at a loss for words all the time."

"Diplomacy is the art of saying one thing while meaning another and making sure the one you talk to takes both meanings."  Conner smiles.  "Having the right words on the tip of one's tongue is essential.  It's learning another language really."

"Hunh."  The Ranger shakes her head and chuckles ruefully.  "I barely speak this language.  I'm afraid I'll have to leave the diplomacy to others."  Those green eyes dart to Conner, not entirely comfortable, and then back out to the darkness ahead of them.  "And stick to giving the evil eye – followed by the sword – to Amber's and Arden's enemies."  The girl's lips cock in a flat smile, yep that's the way it is.

"We each go with our strengths."  Conner smiles.  "Though I sometimes wish I had worked more with a blade.  The skill seems more and more in demand of late."

"It seems to me there's enough people around here ready to jump to the blade work.  Even if one of em's me."  Robin shakes her head, ruefully.  "I... I'm finally starting to see the point of the talkin' jobs, Conner.  Don't give up on 'em, yet.  K?"  The smile the ranger sends to Conner is hard fought for, but still hopeful.

"Deal."  He smiles back.  "Between words and weapons we'll got the job done."

"Phew!"  The Ranger blows out a short breath.  "You think there'll ever be a time when there's not so much... work?"  It can't really be called dark as Robin is carrying her own light with her.  And maybe a little bit of hope as well.

"I sincerely hope so."  Conner replies.  "Somehow, I know it's all going to get a lot worse before it gets better, and I'm still trying to work out who is ally and who is enemy in all this."

"Worse?  I hope not."  Robin looks back toward the castle, a glittering negative silhouette against the starlight sky.  The girl folds her arms across her chest, hugging herself for comfort.  "We have met the enemy and they are us.  Great Darkness, *please* let them have learned," she whispers under her breath.

"Learned?"  Conner echoes.  "What lesson would that be?"

"That when you treat a prize like a pack of jackals, the prize is torn apart." Robin's voice is flat and dead.  "And there's always other scavengers waiting to take advantage of the distraction."  The girl cocks her lips in irony.

"It is hard to teach old dogs new tricks."  Conner comments.  "But the one saving grace of this family is knowing when to band together against the outside."

Robin smiles, perhaps only a little flatly, to Conner.  "Yes, well.  One hopes they can *stay* banded together.  Or there's not going to be any inside left."
            "Still," a sigh lifts through the girl as she consciously decides to leave that place, "*this* coronation seems to be going well.  No bloodshed, no chains.  I suppose that's a good sign."  She chuckles.

"Indeed."  Conner nods. "Though I admit to be waiting for the other shoe to drop somehow."

"I know I'm counting down to midnight."  The Huntress admits ruefully.  "But I... guess I'm finding that I'd rather die in hope and optimism this time, then continue to live in fear and dread."  The girl nods to herself as though a decision made not so much in words is finding expression its way out in them.

"Some dreams are worth dying for."  Conner nods.  "Others are worth living for."  Conner hums.  "Either way, if this is Amber's last night I plan to enjoy it."  He smiles and offers his arm.  "Shall we return?"

"Okay." Robin lays her hand gently on his arm.  "Worth living for."  She murmurs to herself and nods.  "And enjoying."  She smiles to her escort as she turns her feet back toward the festivities.

They return to the patio, Conner leaves her with a smile and a bow.

Robin returns both the smile and bow.

At an appropriate lull in his active festivities, the Fox finds himself gravitating to the handsome Devil in the red mask.  Cambina is off dancing with someone else and Brennan is shockingly (shockingly, I say!) at loose ends.
            "Enjoying the revelries?  Or just waiting for an opportunity to make some mischief?"

"Do you have some in mischief mind?   I won't promise to help, but I'll be happy to provide you an alibi afterwards.  'No, your majesties, Brennan was on the terrace with me when the Ice Sculpture caught fire.  He couldn't have been involved.'"

The Fox smirks.  "Nothing so immediate, I hope.  At least, I haven't planned anything interesting for tonight.  On the other hand, by tomorrow... well, you never know.  
            "Some of the Knights think that the trail of flaming foliage in Daeon's wake needs to be investigated.  Soon.  Some of the Knights aren't keen on asking permission.  Some of the Knights aren't willing to go unless they take with them a means of contacting Daeon's father in a hurry."  Those somes are obviously not necessarily identical. 
            "So far as I know, none of the Knights have such a means at their disposal.  Rather puts a crimp on our ability to plan these things.  Help your favorite nephew out?"

"Heh.  Perhaps I should go with you all.  That way I could avoid shepherding duties for Jerod's pirates.  Know anyone who needs a fleet full of ethically challenged sailors?  Other than Caine, who already has one?"

The Fox shrugs.  "We haven't even agreed on who's going yet.  The planning isn't even remotely that close, although if one of us is going to go, it's probably better we go before His Majesty narrows the choices by assigning us tasks.  If you know what I mean.  
            "But having that Trump is a good a place as any to start planning.  And... no offense, you old Devil, but if I were feeling unilateral about the whole thing, I'd have already gone, extra Trump or not.  Be that as it may, whoever goes, from myself to Lilly," he says, naming the oldest to the youngest(*) "in whatever combination, it's probably best that we go leaving the impression that we don't need backup."
            The Fox is grinning wryly beneath his mask.  It's clear that he wouldn't mind Bleys' company under other circumstances.  He thinks, then, "But that's just me.  When we talk about it, I'll make the offer on your behalf.
            "In what other fashion can I help you ditch your piratical charges? Why isn't Jerod cleaning that one up himself?"
            *  He thinks-- I forget about Marius.

"Jerod has already offered to scuttle them or strangle them all in their sleep or some such.  Random may not trust Jerod not to cut corners in the dispatch of them.  Random would be wrong.  Once Jerod knew what the crown wanted, he would do it, I think."
            Bleys produces a cigarette and lights it.  "Daeon's father is one of only two men I would trust absolutely to know of matters of the Great Forest."  He smiles.  "If you ask Corwin of it, don't mention that detail to Julian."

"I wasn't initially planning to ask either of them.  If I draw the straw and go myself," Brennan's not specifying whether that's the straw that makes him go, or allows him to go-- possibly because he hasn't decided which way that works, himself, "I was just going to go. Julian or Corwin might try to tell us not to.  But I gambled you wouldn't be averse to a little mischief, especially in service to the realm."

"Come see me tomorrow morning in my suite."

"I shall, and I thank you.  And come to think of it... if you were serious about ditching those sailors, there might be something of interest."

"His Supreme Luminescence the Emperor seems to want them available, but out of pocket.  Not unlike the Altamareans."

"Quick," he mutters, "Someone tell Clarissa that we didn't just win in Chaos, we conquered it.  Meantime I'll be..." he points dramatically (dramatically!!) into the far distance, "...over there."

"She'd say 'Perhaps it will teach them a lesson.' and neither of us would be able to tell if she was talking about a lesson for Chaos or Amber."

The Fox looks almost disappointed at the lack of a description of pyrotechnics, but does allow, "Yes, you're probably right."

"Your grandmother understands the problem with attempting to define Chaos.  Amber at least can be described."

"Has anyone made a final determination on what to do about my cousins who are not yet Adepts?"

"I anticipate a little parade with Corwin at the head to this new pattern of his.  Fiona is going and won't let your cousin take it if it's dangerous, of course."

"Hmm.  I would assume that to be dangerous in itself, but I haven't seen the beast.  So many diversions, so little time."  He thinks for a moment, then adds, "This implies Lilly and Aisling will be part of that parade.  Or at least have to be available on short notice."  He mentally crosses them off the list of people likely to investigate the trail of FireLillies.
            Then he rolls his eyes at his own scattered thought processes.  "And that reminds me-- how worried would you be to learn that all the Knights-Commander I've had a chance to talk to, who were conscious for it, had similar but not identical dreams on the trip back?"

He swallows more of the wine.  "I don't know, how likely am I to learn such a thing?  Was this before or after Knight Commander Sir Daeon mixed his blood with the soil of Chaos?"

"Humm.  Good question."  He scratches his beard while trying to put all the relevant details together.  "Mine were the very night before we started scouting our way back home," he says.  "I only learned that the others had these similar dreams recently, but I assume they were all on the same night.  So, from my perspective, and modulo any weirdness from that far out beyond the Tree... before."

"So, a lesser channel...  I assume that there was something of substance to them, as you would not mention dreams of graceful flying fish soaring about a tranquil valley. What significance do you attach to them?"
 
"It would hardly have gotten my notice at all, had others not mentioned that they had similar ones.  Not identical, but similar in format.  As to significance, I don't know.  The best guess of the moment is that they are prophetic to at least a small degree, and seem to involve Amber or her people-- one of mine was of a printing machine in a burning building, which I am given to understand is an event which happened in our absence.  One of Lilly's," he says more significantly, "was of a frozen mountain peopled by giants.
            "Trying to correlate them to events that have happened will be an interesting hobby.  Trying to understand the why's and wherefore's is something of a puzzle, too."

"What were the subjects of your dreams?"

"One was a woman falling down a staircase; another, a printing press inside a burning building; a small boat sailing into a picture-perfect bay; a woman lifting a long-dead body up from a blood stained table.  I'm given to understand the printing press vision may mirror something that happened here in Amber while we were in Chaos, or on the return."

"Hmm. Not all violent, and not all even emotionally charged.  I'd keep this within the family.  Too many shadows to jump at as it is, for most people."

"But I get worried when there's nothing to worry about," he quips.

"Then you should have nothing to worry about, because there's a great deal to worry over."

"Cool."

It's clear from Brennan's questioning that this isn't the uppermost concern or thought on his mind-- at the moment, though, it's a puzzle.  It's a puzzle he'd like to put definitely into the non-threatening category, if he can.  

"I haven't had a chance to speak to you since Paige's housewarming.  A number of our old friends commented on your presence.  Favorably."

If Brennan weren't wearing a mask, Bleys might be able to see him blink once or twice at the topic change.  Then, "Well, don't be coy, favorite uncle mine.  Who are the discerning judges of character in question?"

"Rules, Brennan, rules.  I can hardly say 'So, tell me nephew, what did you think of that pack of schemers and connivers who sometimes support us, whoever 'we' are, and who were willing to be seen attending Paige's soiree?'  So I must bring up the subject obliquely and in a vaguely approving tone and assume that you will be ever so helpful and share your observations of 'em."

Brennan grins the grin of someone who doesn't mind being underestimated.  

Bleys' eyes twinkle the twinkle of someone who doesn't mind being confused for someone who underestimates people.

Just as long as they understand that they have an understanding.
            "Okay, I'll play nice.  I rather enjoyed Lord Rein's company, and that of his apprentice, even if he didn't seem to thrilled about putting some of his experiences down in text rather than verse."  He proceeds to give Bleys a rundown on the people he'd met and spoken to that concentrates more on their actual merits than on their political significance.

Bleys quizzes him a bit, especially when the impression is more than usually favorable or unfavorable.  In return Bleys gives Brennan brief notes on the political significance of several of them.  He seems interested in Brennan's impression of Gilt Winter.

"Confident, charming, charismatic.  All of which is less important than that he started under Eric, was set to watching Random during his... confinement... is now a force in Random's Court, and is cutting swaths through the ladies at Paige's parties.  The boy is doing something right.  The casual observer wonders if he's not doing too much right.
        "And I understand he shares a name with Admiral Winters for the obvious reason.  One assumes the Admiral has now heard a bit of my plans as well."

Bleys shakes his head, once, slightly.  "The Admiral is still trying to determine how his worthless sot of a second son managed to turn a punishment assignment into one of the most powerful jobs in Amber. His current working theory is blind luck."

"Well, if I hadn't been smart enough to be born smart," the Fox replies, "I'd have asked to be born lucky.  But that's a pretty impressive streak of blind luck.  That theory fails to explain the flawless execution of the coronation and festivals thus far, too, at least  without elaboration."

"Well, the old man has eliminated graft, nepotism, and doesn't think blackmail is viable.  His other theory is that the boy is being successful in order to nettle his father into an early grave."

"What a peculiar family."  Pause.  "Do you think it'd work?"

Bleys grins, all deviltry.   "It didn't work for Eric."

Aisling has been keeping an eye on Caine during the second set, and when he is relatively free, she makes her way over, greeting him with a slight bow and smile, "Oh dark-robed one, it would please me to speak with you at some point this evening."

He returns her bow.  "Death is ever near, little moth, and there is no time like the  present.  Shall we retire to the smoking chamber?"

"Does the smoke herald flame?  For I should be disappointed to be seduced by death after so short a sojourn here," Aisling states solemnly, and then a half a beat later smiles, a momentary beam of sunlight slipping through an overcast.  She didn't know where that bit came from...

He shrugs.  "The flame calls to the moth, but the moth chooses the flame."  Aisling thinks most people would find his smile discomforting.

Aisling shrugs, of a matched set with his.

"Come, it sounds capital," she adds, starting off in that direction.

Caine finds a servant and an empty alcove in that order and sits in a plush chair.  He looks at Aisling, inviting her to speak.

While they are in the process of getting settled, Aisling inquires with a slight open smile, "It seems to me that your costume suggests a willingness to discuss your recent experiences?"

"Or to see who will want to discuss them with me, perhaps.  Do you want to know about my near-death experience?  It wasn't that exciting, really."  He smiles back at Aisling.

Aisling unkinks a little in the light of his smile, returning it a bit tentatively, "Yes, I would like to hear what happened, even so.  It was... distressing, seeing your body," she offers with a tiny shrug to apologize for the appearance of flattery, a brief glance out to where a harlequin is dancing with great flair indicating one vector of distress.

"More so for me, I think.  I don't think a single one of my brothers has not made a death threat or a murder attempt against at least one other of us in the last few years.  That was the way of things.  Killing my own shadow was just an expedience to allow me freedom to move and commit fratricide without let or hindrance.  Have you ever seen a near shadow of yourself?  The near ones are less people-like than distant shadows can ever be."

Aisling drinks in his words like parched earth filtering out thoughts; does he desire sympathy for the death?  No, not now, she judges...  She shakes her head once to do him the honor of answering his rhetorical question, and asks with interest, "So it was you who made that second attempt on Prince Brand?"

"I'm afraid I haven't read the whole libretto, so I don't know which attempt is considered 'the second'.  I made the final one at the edge.  It was the one worth remembering.  I, of a necessity, stayed away from my quondam corpse after I left it to be found.  I hear the services were touching, if brief and mostly overshadowed.  Mind you, there weren't political reasons to build me a monument like Corwin's, but one can't help but feel somewhat under-appreciated, all things considered."

"Dignity consists not in having honors, but in deserving them," Aisling quotes, a twinkle in her eye covering more of a sympathetic warmth.

"'I would much rather have men ask why I have no statue, than why I have one '," Caine counterquotes, "but still.  I think the furry guys of Bleys are likely to make me a statue.  "Caine the reborn, Brandslayer. "  He shrugs.  "I'll never get to like being a god to someone."

"I'd be pleased merely to be spoken of without mutters, here," Aisling comments.

He pulls out a small cigarette case from his cloak and offers her one.  "They call these 'coffin nails' in some shadows."

Aisling waves it off with a shy smile, "Thank you."  Explaining that she'd like to keep her sense of smell keen wouldn't be kind to him.  "And in some shadows, I suppose they think the smoke will hide one from evil...  Yet with all of the variety of Shadow available, it seems that you and your brother," she inclines her head, her antennae brushing off towards the Charioteer, "were happiest of your family to remain in and about Amber."

"Happiest?  Happiness hasn't been Brother Gerard's fate in Amber.  The war was an extraordinary time and I hope that we never see its like again.  In the end, we were all for Amber, or we didn't come back.  I hope the city can survive our unity and presence that way it survived our fractiousness and absence.  Amber doesn't need any more trouble right now."

Aisling nods, agreeing to his thoughts, and goes back.  "Your brother Gerard...  I'm worried about him."

Caine nods as well.  "My personal concern is that he'll go back to that damnable shadow of his mother's to get her grandchildren out of trouble and end up sacrificed as a wounded god.  Is that what you're worried about, or something else?"

Aisling is looking blank, but she can't hide that this idea has chilled her, and doesn't even really bother to try-- blank is just her natural first expression.  "What -is- that place?" she asks, discreetly dumbfounded, meaning of course _tell me of it, please,_ and _why did Gerard hang around there..?_

"Did you ever meet my father?  He had habit of falling for the wrong women.  Couldn't be helped, of course, he was temperamentally unsuited to any other kind.  One of these wrong women was named Rilga and she was from an island kingdom not far from the golden circle.
            "I think one of the reasons Dad liked it was that it was brimming with violent, hard-headed women and it was a somewhat challenging place for him to be.  And that was the nicest society there, at that.  Local magic is local, but locally powerful.
            "My brothers Gerard and Julian, Superfluous Royal Princes numbers six and seven, spent some time growing up there.  It's probably less awful than I'm describing it as being.  Most places are."

Aisling smiles at him, appreciative of the jokes.

"Gerard and Julian got tied back up in it while dealing with their somewhat wild younger sister.  She died young, as did their mother.
            "My understanding is that Gerard's son Vere is from there.  His mother is some sort of High Priestess, which means something to the people there, and it would apparently be political trouble for her if she didn't kill her wounded god of a husband."

Aisling frowns at this, though she's masked by the silver.  She regards Caine with some amount of lightness about her expression that is unrelated to her question (she's adding him to the vanishingly short list of "people who have told me stuff and will thus be defended"; right below "Folly"), which is "...Younger sister?  Was she of Oberon's blood, as well?"  Aisling does not really expect the answer to this to be "yes", but it's worth the breath to ask.

The smoke curls crazily around the hood of his costume before drifting away on the currents of air.  "Yes.  We all thought she'd died childless, but we were wrong."

Aisling cocks her head carefully, just a few degrees.  She's a study, for those with the water to appreciate it, in the desire for knowledge interacting with the expectation of hurt once any desire is known.  "Would you tell me of her child?"

"Robin?  Rather like her mother.  Another one on the 'we should have guessed' list."  Caine is smiling again.  It's not a happy smile beneath his death's mask.  

Aisling slowly frowns.  Somehow, this doesn't seem right, to be trespassing on the secrets of Robin, when they don't even benefit her...  Like, it would hurt Robin to know she knew; but then again, who knows when it might come in handy to know?  She doesn't feel guilty or ungrateful for the knowledge...  Still...  Unable to quite put her finger on it, Aisling forgoes followups, and asks instead, "What did you think of your half-sister, Rilga's daughter?"  _What was her name?_

"For the most part I avoided her.  She irritated Dad, so it was wise to be at sea.  I think she was out of her depth and never understood the advantages of self-control. Julian has been a good influence on Robin, in that respect.  Benefit of hindsight."

Aisling nods thoughtfully, "What was her name?  How did she die?"

"Ysabeau.  I don't know how she died.  She didn't come back to Amber much after Rilga departed.  I think Rilga predeceased her."

Aisling nods, smiles at Caine, and then frowns, going back to an earlier strand of the conversation, "My worries about Gerard are more general...  I don't know if I've ever seen him carrying around so much anger."  This would be accurate; she's learned enough lately to know that she doesn't, in fact, know.

"How well do you know my brother?"  he asks casually, taking a drag of a cigarette.

"I didn't know he had a son," Aisling fires back with a grin, without pause, with implications falling where they may...  _I knew he had a daughter_ being foremost among them.  And realizing she cares enough about what Caine thinks of her to actually pick up some of those implications before someone gets hurt, she follows that fast with, "I might be the Chaosite most knowledgeable about him...   But I've barely spoken with the man, and you've known him since he was a little round baby."

"Gerard was never a little anything."  Caine shrugs.

Under her mask, Aisling moves from vaguely miffed to thoughtful, which deepens to the point where it shows, as she lightly taps her lips with her left forefinger.

"The news from the Isles isn't good.  It must be terribly frustrating for him, after a lifetime of being a man of action, to have to send his son back to help his wife."

Aisling tilts her head a bit, regarding him; _You think that's all?_

Caine's mask covers any reaction he has, but he looks at Aisling and leaves the silence for her to break.

Aisling takes her hand away from her lips to gesture, spreading it outwards as she speaks openly (but quietly), "I would like to help him, and I think that I can.  But...  [different tack]  Anger is generally preferable to Despair, but it seems to me that it has a tendency to bleed over...  I would be much distressed if I managed to arouse your brother's anger towards me, or if something I did tipped his balance away from anger [_and towards despair_].  I hoped that you might offer me some advice, for I have lately felt that I was not so knowledgeable as I thought."  _I fear I'm making a hash of this Gerard thing._  Probably because I'm far too presumptuous, thinking I can apply stuff I know about my own character to his, as if we're anything at all alike; and all of my thoughts on the subject are probably false from the bottom up, she bitterly finishes the thought.
            Meanwhile, there's a part of Aisling that's scrunching down and murmuring
~aw, this is gonna *hurt*...~  And she can practically hear Chaosites of her past verbally kicking her, "Why don't you just paint Caine a picture of your character and flaw lines?  Oh, because a picture *couldn't possibly* be clearer than that statement!  Not like it wasn't obvious before!  You're insulting the being's intelligence with your verbiage!  And *giving away* information about *yourself* to a creature of that power!  *Letting it know what you want from it*!  It's complete conversational failure!"
            However, her gaze on him stays steady, and she doesn't do anything overt like blushing to show that she has qualms.

"I wonder if he doesn't create reasons he can't devote himself to his own healing as a way to put off having to deal with the anger or despair.  If all his duties and debts were erased, what then would keep him from the pit?  Perhaps he needs a certain distance."

Aisling is nodding, a hint of relief showing on her face, that he understood (and that he has for the moment forgone kicking her).

"'Part of the nature of our so-called immortality,' said the man dressed as Death, "is that we all face the knowledge that if our lives become intolerable, we have to choose a path to our own quietus.  I've seen that. My brother isn't on such a road at this time."

Aisling pauses, and then diverts from the track of the conversation once more, for the cause justifies it...  "And what of yourself, my lord?  Will your presence grace the next forty anniversaries of this night?  Your garb raises more questions than two..."

He shrugs.  "We are all in the same boat.  Are you as young as you seem? Or is that question meaningless where you come from?  Forty years is no time at all.  No one who was an able-bodied fighter at our battle in the Abyss will have died of age in that little time."
            "In any case, I am loyal to Amber and I expect I will be at Royal Events for some time to come."

Aisling is pleased with the richness of that answer; she can stash it away and chew on it when she likes, getting further meaning out of it, having already gotten what she asked for.
            "Time," she answers his question, "is not very reliable where I come from."   She smiles a bit and shrugs; if he thinks she's young, there's nothing to be done about that.

He nods, as if he expected that answer.

Returning to the main conversation again, with an air of finality, "So, the question I have about your brother is this:  how can I help him without hurting him?"

"If I knew the answer to that one, you would not have had to come looking for me to ask it."

He's...  He's suggesting that he'd actually seek her out to volunteer information?  Oh, Aisling's in looove!

He snuffs out his cigarette.  "If you think you know the answer but are unsure, I will be willing to offer my opinion."

Aisling looks pensive a bit.  Then she glances towards the dance floor, where people have been whirling away while they talk, and back to him, and smiles, "Can we have breakfast together tomorrow, then?  Tonight, I'd like to dance with you."

He moves his scythe to his back and holds out a hand.  "We can worry about that tomorrow.  Death will be happy to dance with you tonight, though."
            Death leads her to the floor.

Indeed, Aisling lays her hand in his and goes with him, less of the "bedazzled" that she had with Benedict, more of a touch of "happy," though somewhere in there still-- always-- nervous.