3 Ivory Shields arrives, following Lexir.

The gallery has been stripped down with most of the display pieces moved to make room for smattering of chairs facing the catwalk. Simple tables sans cloths offer libations. There is a small selection of finger foods. There is an ample selection of bakery items: cookies and assorted pastries. One wonders if this event is being held just to make sure they don't go stale.

Up on the catwalk are Duarte and Caprice. Duarte is holding a glass of whiskey and looks like he may have had a couple already. Or maybe he's just really happy to be here. Or maybe Caprice is just endlessly hilarious. In either case, he is murmuring some details to her as guests arrive.

The casino staff are ready and eager to insist that /everyone/ gets a pastry item and a cookie.

6 Ivory Shields, Oubi the Owl arrive, following Graziella.

Mabelle heard something about party and fashion in hours where she can swear no one is awake, so she came. To strut. Or maybe.. OOO pastries.

From that lofted position, Caprice is turned and ready to offer smiles and deep nods of welcome for those who arrive, though she's listening attentively to whatever Duarte is describing. A focus suggesting she's had, if not -no- drinks, at least somewhat fewer thus far.

Lexir strolls into the gallery with hands in pockets, carriage upright but a certain distracted air about him, as if the black-garbed Pravus Prince were deep in thought (he probably is, deep in thought).

Lianne is here for the tarts. She has plenty of cookies at home, but the day calls for a good tart and maybe, today, some wine. A fitting pairing. She smiles a bit too easily for a recent widow, but that effortless cheer is belied by a hint of darkness beneath her eyes, a little friz and frazzle to her loosely pinned hair. She lifts a glass to their... hosts, it would seem, and dips her head. "My darling Count. Master Caprice. A pleasure." The others earn some curiosity while she nibbles and sips.

A fresh island breeze blows in through the door in the form of Princess Graziella Pravus, her perfume wafting decadent exotic notes of pineapples and mangoes from the Saffron Chain. Her dress is an homage to her family's holdings and the heavily Saffron inspired design is perfect for summer with an exposed midriff and long sweeping skirts of honeysilk. Stones not common in Arx glitter across her shoulders and the guazy chiffon half-cape she wears is alight with shards of Bloodstone.

She makes her way into the room with a curious loft to her often aloof browline and a somber smile, pale baby blue eyes flicking over the decor and taking in the setting as she seeks out glass of wine.

Duarte chuckles lightly to Caprice one last time before he faces the attendees to tonight's event. He smiles warmly (deviously?) and waggles the fingers from his whiskey glass to someone there. (You know who you are)

He then provides a stentorian introduction (which evens out after a few words to an appropriate level) to the night's proceedings. "Welcome and thank you all dearly. I am Duarte Amadeo, Count of Bravura." He motions to Caprice, "This is the exceedingly brilliant Caprice Artiglio. She has been so kind as to help me host this evening's party."

Duarte takes a lengthy sip of his whiskey before continuing. "Bravura is a Northeastern city on the island of Setara and it is home to brilliant artistic minds and innovators. Late in the evening (when these brilliant tortured minds cannot sleep) they occupy the coffeehouses or taverns or what have you and throw sudden parties."

"So what is an imagination session? Well - it is a Bravura tradition. And in that tradition it is traditional for me, the host, to not know." Duarte looks around the room. "So....uhm....anyone care to imagine what we're doing here?"

Lexir scans the room, nodding at Graziella and Mabelle, and dipping his head deferentially at Lianne. Then his attention returns to the hosts, to whom he ventures an idle guess. "Eating and drinking so none of this fine spread goes to waste?" he ventures in a loud voice of his own.

Duarte rejects Lexir's idea with a wave of his hand, "Too obvious." ... "But please have a few of the cookies."

When Mabelle's mind is finally seperating from the sweets to register there are people here and some she does not even know, she grins sheepishly and introduces herself, "Good evening, I am Lady Mabelle Laurent, thank you for hosting this lovely party". She herself smells like lemons but is utterly distracted by that pineapple Graziella is wearing and so she blurts, "Lying by the oceans with a fruity drink in our hands?"

Graziella is just the sort to creep around in the middle of the night, writing and designing, dreaming and waking, plagued by creativity unending and so the idea of late night salon for the intention of imagination discussion sounds delightful, "I imagine.." Graziella begins, speaking in her airy monotone with a voice that lilts along empty but somehow rehearsed... almost professional, "We are here to discuss the sort of things one forgets to mention by the light of day.. the moments of insight and the sleepless nights consumed by creative endeavours." She takes a sip of her wine and then cuts a look to Duarte, "Am I close?"

Lexir half-heartedly heckles Duarte before obliging, meandering off to fetch some pastries to stuff his mouth with.

Head dipping in acknowledgment as she's introduced, Caprice remains content still to stand in supportive silence while Duarte details the... scant details. Given the sudden, wider smile for his question, some of this might be news to her as well! But she's immediately taken by the suggestions, gaze drifting from contributor to the next.

Lianne answers that gesture from Lexir with a similar nod of her own, her smile steady. She considers his answer and Mabelle's in turn, lingering a little longer on Graziella's suggestion. "Perhaps we might imagine the world differently than it is now," she proposes, looking to Duarte. "Weave something new into the Dream?" Her green eyes flash wide, innocent, as she sips her wine.

It's late at night. Or early morning. It's a matter of perspective. The tall Malespero lord has a borrowed goblet of wine from wherever he was last and the sway by which he imitates in the doorway is a good indicator he's had a few drinks somewhere. Kept the last wine--delicious by all accounts at how he sips on it--and has headed over to the next party. Macario's dark barely acknowledge the room, as he takes another sip of that sweet sweet wine from that borrowed goblet. At least we hope it's wine.

Graziella catches the remarks from Lady Mabelle and glances back to her to offer an introduction, "Princess Graziella Pravus, and what is I could... spend all the days on an island sipping drinks, but we waste away in decadence... don't we.."

Mabelle smirks as Lexir takes over her role of cookie monster for the evening. Pursing her lips, she regards Graziella and Lianne, thinking... "Different. Peace? Being able to travel into foreign lands or even each others without worry? Can we still do that while drinking pineapple cocktails?", she jests for a moment. Her fingers wiggle to greet Macario as he enters and she admits, "It does sound lovely though. Free travel. New kingdoms." Mabelle perks at Graziella, "Oh well not all the days, how about a weekend?", she bargains.

Lexir settles back into a comfortable, pastry-laden distraction, his focus on Duarte and Caprice as he awaits some announcement or declaration, nibbling away on a cookie in one hand, the other catching crumbs.

Duarte nods as the suggestion come and presses his lips together and swills his whiskey and listens and nods. He lowers his glass (now empty), holding it loosely in his hand, and tapping it idly against his leg.

"So we're all here on the beach with our fruity drinks which we will be sacrificing for some cleansing ritual. But it seems Lady Graziella forget to mention, during the day light hours, that the ritual requires a fine spread that shan't go to waste." He sighs and shakes his head. He looks to Graziella, "How could you? Such an important detail."

"I have no idea what's going on," Lexir candidly admits to whomever happens to be close by. "But this is certainly interesting."

From behind the curtains some set of hidden people have taken to making crashing wave and seagull sounds.

Spying Macario's arrival, Lianne lifts her wine glass in his direction, smiling brightly for her brother-by-some-measure. As the scene is set, the marquessa nods agreeably toward the group as a whole, noting to Duarte, "Every rite needs its--" Blink. Are there ... people pretending to be water and gulls? "--primum..." Right then. She'll go collect a little more of her own, another tart, a refill of her glass. A seat somewhere comfortable while things get weird.

Lexir winces abruptly, then leans in to murmur something to Mabelle, who had happened to be nearby to hear his previous words.

Graziella looks deeply curious now and the expression lingers on her face as a shrewd puckering of darkly amused dismay as she muses, "How silly of me." She intones with an airy lilt that could only be called eerie, she continues, "I should know better, this isn't my first cleansing ritual..." Trailing off to take a considering sip and cut sidelong glances around the room at her peer lingering on Lianne especially but eventually she looks back down in her glass and asides to Mabelle, "Yes, a weekend soon.. perhaps after the war. If we're not all dead." The naive edge to her speech makes the words both apologetic and sincere as she adds, "But let's not imagine that here."

Cookies. Macario can get into that. The crashing wave motif really seems to flow well with his buzz. A finished goblet of wine, he places that borrowed wine on a passing server's tray, so it goes and gets recycled forever as an oddity. Half-shut eyes greet Mabelle's wiggling finger with one of his own, before he manages to pilfer a cookie. And a glass of whisky. He admires the glass, noses the whisky, and walks the room in a half-circle. The tall lord's lips crack into a moment's grin at the sight of Lianne, raising his newly pilfered glassware. And drink. Naturally, Macario has little idea what's going on, but if one pretends long enough... "Marqessa..." he greets. "We are cleansing?" His eyebrow perks playfully.

Whooooossh.......caw....caw....wooosh.....

Mabelle perks for a moment as she realizes what's going on. Maybe. She murmurs to Lexir all puzzled, "Primum cleansing? Are we sacrificing cookies? That's all sort of wrong", she hushes to him and nods to Graziella aside, "Sure, soon, soon.

Lexir blithely and helplessly shrugs, something else evidently on his mind but enough attention remaining here for him to vaguely comprehend. He takes another cookie and slowly, methodically eats it. "What's being cleansed?"

Caprice briefly abandons cohosting duties, retreating down the catwalk to disappear behind the curtains - only to reappear in the company of an easel, canvas and paint. (Maybe there's a bit of strutting to and fro; it's a catwalk. It's practically a requirement to strut.) She sets up with the blank canvas facing the audience, half-turned back to the gathered while preparing some colors on a palette.

Merek makes a way into the crafters gallery, while he takes the time to look around, adjusting his scarf while he finds a place to settle in, in thought.

"The question is," Duarte says with furrowed brow, looking at what he's holding in an empty hand with fingers curled partially as if holding a glass, "What will happen if we sacrifice these pineapple-strawberry spirits to the waves without the essential cookie spread?" He looks, then double-takes at Caprice's impromptu painting. Such a Bravuran thing to do at that precise moment. He silently claps in her direction.

While the guests are distracted with their imagination scenario and the soothing sound of human voices imitating waves and seagulls and Caprice's sudden inspiration, some movement occurs in the vicinity of the serving table. (perception check at hard to unlock)

Mabelle checks perception at hard. Mabelle fails.

Graziella checks perception at hard. Graziella fails.

Lianne checks perception at hard. Lianne fails.

Lianne gives her wine glass a little lift in Graziella's direction, her smile easy, contented. To Macarario, she suggests, "We're /imagining/," as if that's just as potent and magical as any cleansing could be. To Mabelle, she poses, "It is a heavy burden, that we might have to gorge ourselves for a better world, but /someone/ must do the important work, mm? And why not us?" With a lift of her tart, she pops it past her lips. Such noble sacrifice!

Merek checks perception at hard. Merek fails.

Macario checks perception at hard. Macario fails.

Merek checks perception at normal. Merek marginally fails.

Lexir checks perception at hard. Lexir marginally fails.

Though no one saw it happen, everyone could probably swear the piles of cookies and pastries were smaller just a moment ago.

Caprice checks perception at hard. Caprice marginally fails.

"This is all beyond me, Lady Mabelle," Lexir remarks to the eponymous woman. "I'm just here for the show. And the food."

Mabelle contemplates Lexir, "Clearly we are not cleaning the ocean since we are pouring drinks into it", she peeps and then answer Duarte seriously, "Drinks without cookies, they might get hungry over there". She does feel like she's in imagination session before she seems to babble a lot of nonsense, "I think we're the show, Lexir", she chuckles and promises Lianne, "I always eat cake to make the world a better place"

Graziella glances around with a scathing expression, holding her glass up as hiding the glance around between sips, she seems to be trying to guage if this is all a prank.

"So long as we're not cleansing our very existence," Macario offers to Lianne with a sway of his head. The booziness, the crashing waves, the newfound whisky muddled with the tart he's chewing. "We can't go too far," he says in a tone that suggests, why not, why not go too far? He eyes Caprice as struts back and forth and takes on the task of painting.

"A woman after my own heart," Lianne tells Mabelle for that assurance. She, too, watches Caprice a moment, even as she tilts her head toward Macario and wonders so earnestly, "Can't we?" Her gaze flicks toward him after, those eyes all wide with effortless innocence again. Not that it holds long, impishness glinting as her smile brightens. "It seems to me," quietly, in an aside, "that we are imaginine a world of simple decadence. Sugar and sand and sun. And I wonder if such a life is so very far out of reach..."

Duarte frowns in Lexir's direction and hops off the catwalk. He staggers to one side and nearly falls, but catches himself with a palm to the platform. Though he looks, and points, in Lexir's direction, he is edging his way toward Lianne. "Your highness...wha...what is THAT behind you!?"

If something is behind Lexir, Mabelle is having none of that and quickly slips to Macario's side instead. Its safer there. "Well I do like winter a little bit, so perpetual sun isnt quite for me!"

A cloudless sky. Rolling waves. A curvilinear block in the foreground that's vaguely reminiscent of a fancy cocktail glass. A shoreline slowly but surely overloaded with neutral paint...

"Bring me a few of those cookies?" Caprice requests aside to one of the unobtrusive helpers, while loading more paint onto her brush. "The crumbly ones."

It takes a few moments for Lexir to register being addressed, and he glances over in Graziella's direction initially, curious. It's not until a couple of seconds later that it dawns that Duarte refers to him, and that's when he glances over his shoulder. "Cannibals! Pirates! Cannibal pirates?"

Graziella checks composure at hard. Graziella is marginally successful.

To Lianne's earnest, innocent, wonderment, Macario's smile spreads easily reaching his eyes. Drunken half-lidded eyes at that. "Decadence sounds nice.. the ocean air. Salty. Breezy. Warm, hot even, but there's a coolness in it. Not a cold, not a chill, but the wind offers relief to the beating sweat on our skin." The whiskey does a dance in his glass, a swirl, a slight spill goes unnoticed by Macario, and he takes another sip. Macario offers Mabelle a welcoming smile. He is tall. Deceptively unhelpful against pirates, but certainly a good safe height for target practice, she is clever to be near him. By this time, though, his eyes are shut and he hears something of pirates. Macario nods, "Well pirates. There might be the wonderful stink of rotting wood and good rum in the air."

Despite the herd mentality to flinch at the notion of something scuttling around the room Princess Graziella instead stiffens her posture and looks askance in the direction of the commotion with only the slightly display of dismay. "I think I new a few more glasses of wine, I seem to be missing the best parts of the party."

Graziella is overheard praising Caprice.

Graziella is overheard praising Duarte.

Added to the voices behind the curtain are now growly, snarling, pirate cannibal-ly sounds? That or someone has a cold.

Cannibal pirates! Lianne's eyes go wide with delight before her brows draw in with poorly feigned horror. She's still wearing far too much amusement when she looks aside to the approaching Duarte to note to him, "I do hope you've an escape route for the both of us when the rite goes awry," the upward pitch of her brows implying inquiry that doesn't make its way into her tone. To Macario, she notes, "You are /very/ good at imagining." It sounds like there might be something more to the thought, but then there's something snarly happening over there. Hm. She looks between Duarte and Caprice and wonders what's next to find the canvas. "If she reaches for something red..."

Mabelle glances toward Caprice, "Tell me you are painting with food. Its been months I'm trying to set up an edible art contest", she hums and looks at Lianne, "You have a new gallery, dont you? He smells rum, I smell cooperation! But I would love rum, too!", she eyes the supposed pirates and then pokes Macario's arm to check his prowess.

Mabelle she also makes an O shape with her lips upon seeing Graziella's gown.

"Pirate cannibals!?" Duarte acks! and hits the deck. He crawls, hands and knees, under a chair. "Oh if only there were a BRAVE KNIGHT to defeat them!" Good thing he loaded up on whiskey /before/ the event.

Graziella has a wealth of good humor but something about the whole occasion has put an uncomfortable taste in her mouth and she rises from her seat, finishing off her glass and heading toward the exit without many farewells. Maybe it was the cannibal talk? Strange, she's known for having a rather macabre style.

A casino worker wants to make sure Graziella is offered a bag of cookies to take home.

Macario's dark eyes follow princess Graziella's gown. Any proper Lycene lord would notice her fantastic fashion choice over the rim of his whiskey glass. Another sip. Another sway. He does squint at Lianne at the mention of escape plans. A touch of paranoia settles in, but it is brief. Macario barely noticed Mabelle's poke, he has the average reflexes of a man buzzed. Moments later, a few moments too much later, his eyes half-open to spot Mabelle. "Lady Mabelle. My arm is fine?" He assumes. He adds, "Edible art?"

Lexir glances around, eyes chancing on Macario. He gives him a once over - tall, young, dashing cloak - he'll do. "There's your knight, right there," he calls out to Duarte pointing. "Tasked protect these lovely ladies - " Now he points to Lianne and Mabelle. " - alongside... hmm... the /other/ knight - " A gesture towards Merek. "- as they furiously beseech the gods and work their mystic arts in cleaning this lovely, but sadly cursed, tropical island, nestled deep in the Saffron Chain."

Well, there's not as much room on her canvas after the cookie-crumb sand, and with the unfinished cocktail, for convincingly cannibalistic pirates- "Knights -too-?" Caprice's despair isn't all theatrics. More flurried, hurried paint mixing, the 'pirate' on the painting woefully under-detailed...<ascii>

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Having narrated himself out of the scene, Lexir comfortably meanders over to Duarte in order to pull out from under the chair he's hiding beneath. "So undignified."

6 Ivory Shields, Oubi the Owl leave, following Graziella.

"Oh dear..." Macario manages with a gasp. "Maybe we are the edible art. A delicious treat for the pirates of this cursed island..." His concern over the matter grows, and he flips the rest of the whiskey down in one swallow, as one does before battle. "I hope another drink will baffle the pirates, for if I'm to be a knight, let it be known I will not fight sober." Not that sobriety is particularly his problem at the moment. "Hearie heardie," Macario murmurs, "Surely I could convince a ship of pirates not to eat us." He quirks an eyebrow, looking between Lianne and Mabelle, appraising both. "Nevermind, we're in trouble. I call upon some sort of bottom-feeding animal, one of giant proportions, to uh. Eat the pirates. And then we can eat the crustacean and uh, thus eating the cannibals themselves. But properly." Lycene propriety and all.

Curled fingers lift to Lianne's lips as she takes in the dramatic acting, dramatic exits, dramatic narration! Oh, such fine drama they've imagined tonight! She's meant to be beseeching? Brows pitch upward as she considers. Who /does/ one pray to when trying to defend against cannibal pirates? "Oh, Mangata!" Not quite reverent enough to be proper prayer, one hopes, lest Jayus, too, is watching to clue the goddess of the waves in on the importance of such creation and drama. "Slake the hunger of these horrors and cleanse them from our sunny shores that we might enjoy our cookies and cocktails in proper peace!"

Mabelle panics somewhat, "I am not eating crustceans! No one is eating me! I dont even like pirates. Much!". She begins to tiptoe toward the door, as much as you can when your heels are made of mirrorsilver. She then notices something in the distance, "Oooo sparkly" and she goes out the door before anyone can stop her. Oh well.

Lianne asides, post-prayer, to Mabelle, "It sounds like an interesting endeavor. Ephemeral. Write me?"

Mabelle probably nodded to Lianne before she fled.

Duarte crawls out from under the chair at the insistence of Lexir. He arm clasps the other man as he watches - stupefied - as an imaginary dolphin-like sea creature beaches itself and wraps it lengthy tongue around the lot of the cannibal pirates, dragging them into its mouth, and then slipping back into the depths of the ocean... (Everyone else's imagination on what happened may vary). He grips his chest above his heart and looks thankfully toward Lianne and Macario.

Duarte then happens to turn around and see Caprice's painting. He gasps! Hands cover his mouth. "Breelyeeant!" the Count of Bravura decrees before applauding loudly.

Maggie, the giant fluffy white dog arrives, following Georgine.

Maggie, the giant fluffy white dog leaves, following Georgine.

Maggie, the giant fluffy white dog arrives, following Georgine.

Macario has clearly given no thought how one would capture a giant crustacean big enough to eat pirate ships. That is, apparently, someone else's problem to solve. That Lianne casts some proper prayers in the direction of the pirates seems to calm his already rather calmed-self. In fact, his eyes dart open when he tries to have another sip of his whiskey, and he realizes he had literally just drained it. The horror. He places the now emptied glass on another passing tray, and searches for another drink. To Lexir he bows his head in thanks, and then he manages to curl his fingers around another full glass of whatever happens to be in front of him. It'll be a surprise!

A bowing casino worker hopes Macario enjoys his glass of water.

Lexir dusts Duarte off before giving the man a pat on the back. He snacks a drink from a passing waiting, slugging down half before contemplating as to what it actually is, then meanders over in Caprice's direction to see the ongoings. "You should depict whomever Mabelle has in this as having fallen - fainted, perhaps from the strain," he suggests to the woman, as he looks between whatever she's working on and the rest of those present.

Caprice's attention is drifting from the live illustration to the story itself, particularly around the return to more mystical problem-solving. Though the voluntold knights earn an appreciative smile - and Lexir's expert delegating earns an amused glance. Cookie sand trickles off the canvas to litter the catwalk near her feet. "I'm but the archivist," she responds to Duarte's compliment, chuckling softly. "The true proof of imagination resides within our guests."

"Mm, fainted away, just beyond the grasp of one crusty pincer?" Caprice turns back towards Lexir, with a thoughtful nod for his suggestion. But where to -fit- it.

"Yes, depicting her as being menaced might be good for the drama."

"Very heroic," Lianne asides to Macario. She /probably/ means his service as night, calling up some horror from the deeps to eat other horrors. Really, there's a beauty to that. Of course, she might mean his bid for sobriety in going for that glass of water so boldly. As Duarte applauds Caprice, she joins in. "It looks delicious," she declares of the archivist's work, a soft chucken for the considered addition. While the piece is appended, she goes in search of more cookies. It's a very shrot search.

Lianne is overheard praising Duarte: Absolute ridiculousness.

Lianne is overheard praising Caprice: Masterful archiving.

Lianne is overheard praising Lexir: Bold narration.

Lianne is overheard praising Macario: Remarkable imagination.

Macario twirls the liquid in the randomly selected glass. It is tall. Clear. Gin perhaps? Or vodka? Well, in a pinch, what can one do. When he noses it, there's a frown that deepens to his very soul. Crustaceans and pirates begone, the faint wafting of water...what does water even smell like? No character. No drama. No alcohol. The tall lord sips at it slowly, as though maybe it be something else. A sad sigh, dramatic, he takes his medicine. He drinks his water, drowning in the deep dark sea of sadness. It's evident by every slumping shoulder measure of his being. "Yes, a heroes reward, Marqueesa Lianne," he sighs miserably at his medicinal offering. He eyes her cookie, and swipes another from the table, displacing the partially had water.

"You know," Lexir remarks, his attention slowly drifting away from the painting to those others gathered. "No mere swordsman would be able to call upon such a leviathan. Perhaps the good lord is no knight... but /sorcerer/ instead."

"I hear these things are in vogue, these days."

"Indeed, all praise due to our guests, without which none of this would have happened." Count Duarte smiles and offers clapping in the direction of those still here. "Sorcerer," a nod to Macario. "The one who dreamt our daring escape," to Lexir.

A grand sweeping motion is made to the catwalk curtain which pulls to reveal the lo-fi sound effects crew: a band of bards. They begin plucking and strumming and beating a little drum thing.

"And now that we have escaped such horrible fates, we may dance." He turns to face Lianne who passed him on her way to the enormous offering of cookies. "Preferable that we do so whilst still on the beach, which is where I'd like to imagine dancing with you, Marquessa." He bows.

Cue a longsuffering sigh from the painter. "Sorcerer knight," Caprice murmurs to herself, with a glance to her palette. There isn't much room left there for new color blends.

Duarte is overheard praising Amadeo: Bravura sounds like a great place. Not sure about the new management though.

Lianne angles a curious, sidelong look toward Macario at Lexir's potential correction to see how that might be considered, offering no commentary of her own on that particular piece. Instead, she says to the prince, "You worked a fine bit of magic yourself with your narration." A glance toward Duarte as he approaches. "And your heroic rescue of our kind host." She doesn't regard the count directly as she offers over her hand, fingers delicately downturned. "A tragedy that I can only imagine the sand beneath bare feet." That loft of her brows might read like challenge.

Lexir is overheard praising Caprice: For putting up with House Pravus, with all its eccentricities.

Duarte is overheard praising Caprice: Breeeleeeyant!!!

Lianne is overheard praising Amadeo: So few know how to honor absurdism properly.

Macario perks up at Lexir's mention of a leviathan. A laugh, and he adds, with a rub on his belly, "Do we have any steamed crustaceans? That'd go wonderfully with this cookie." Obviously a terrible pairing. "To the sorcerer knight," he says, raising a cookie. "Oh wait. That's me. Actually, that sounds like a good bit of fun, a sorcerer knight. All the knightly stuff, but less bludgeoning and more casting." He fills his belly with another cookie. Macario watches Duarte's approach of Lianne through that drunken sway, eyes returning to their comfy partially opened state.

Duarte hears Lianne. He looks toward a point on the floor as if figuring something out while bowed and holding those downturned fingers. Then he nods and pecks the back of her hand. That momentarily thoughtful countenance now wearing a wide and gracious smile. "What good is imagination if not to see it realized? One of the greatest of our faculties as living persons."

Duarte lifts his, and thus Lianne's, hand high so that she may twirl beneath his arm as he walks toward the exit. A glance is sent over his shoulder to Lexir, Macario, Caprice in turn and in invitation. "To the beach?"

Lexir cracks Lianne a rakish smile, and hefts his glass up in a brief toast. That's before he downs it and gets back to inspecting Caprice's art, watching avidly as the painter works her magic on canvas. His free hand nibbles on a pastry. "I think my work here is done, good count, and should retire. Thank you hosting this little soiree - I certainly needed something to enjoy myself with."

"I've almost finished," comes Caprice's own distracted response. Are artists ever really finished, though? Especially with a collaborative subject such as the one weaved today. One way or the other, she is likely to miss the promenade down to an actual beach.

Lianne's twirl is more a turn, not quite so graceful and spirited as to kick up the umbra of her dress, but there's an elegance and gameness to the movement at least. "You /do/ know me," she murmurs to the count, content to keep her hand in his as they abscond for more shorelike shores where bare feet won't be so out of place.

Macario is far more particular in his choice of next drink, in-so-much that he finds a fancy goblet of wine. Not the same goblet that he entered the place with. Nope, another fancy goblet of wine unique to this place. Pilfering it from the table, he lifts his glass in the toast, and bows his head appropriately to the prince. A.. pilfering wine. "I too must go," he says mournfully, but he's not in that much hurry to leave. He watches Lianne and Duarte dance, and steps around the long way to maybe catch a glance of what Caprice was working on.

And the bards played on. Not nearly enough cookies were eaten.