Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove arrive, following Cesare.

Cesare takes Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

4 Tyde Houseguard arrives, following Margot.

Blue, a cantankerous western bluebird arrives, following Gael.

Gael arrives, following Cufre.

Servants lead guests into the music chamber, which has been draped in shades of purple - table linens, cloth napkins, bouquets of gorgeous purple and blue and red flowers in clear glass vases... An array of finger foods are laid out on the table, including chocolates, shortbread cookies with edible violets pressed to the tops, meats and cheeses, olives and nuts, and lots of fresh fruit. Medeia is standing ready to greet everyone, her hair done in a specific way to obscure the left side of her head. She's smiling brightly, though her manner of speech is slightly slower, quieter, than usual. "Hello everyone, hello! Come in and get a glass of wine from the bar," She points to it near the unlit hearth, "And help yourself to some food. I'm so glad to see you!" In the corner, a small band begins to play soft music.

It is a very rare Duchess of Tyde social sighting. The woman arrives in a shock of white cloth puncturated with black and red coral and metal jewely accents. As always her hair is bound up in neat and elaborate braids that are perfectly pinned into place. Margot moves further inside the room, looking about, plucking a glass of wine from a passing servant's tray on her way to Medeia, to whom she offers a warm smile. "Lady Medeia, this is lovely."

Leola stands neatly off to one side. Her hands are clasped, silken flowers in her hair lend a festive feel, and her dress is bright and cheerful. If not for the sash, she might pass muster as the help, listening to the music and thoughtfully watching those come through

Cesare has affected a certain level of charming deshabille tonight, with that mass of curly ringlets spilling free down his back still faintly smelling of saltwater (perhaps that's a note of perfume) and the neck of his silk shirt left unlaced. Tonight he's twilight-tending-toward-nightfall, deep muted hues and opalescent purples and blues, little spider earrings dancing as he walks. "Lady Medeia," he greets, moving over to take both of her hands and kiss the back of each one. He gives her a quick looking-over, and a gentle smile. "You look beautiful, as always. Thank you for having us, I look forward very much to trying the wine." And speaking of - he grabs a glass, and eyes those cookies with the pressed violets. Not usually one for sweets, Cesare, but they look very intriguing.

A strangely fastened pair comes through the chamber's leading, entering archway bound together by two meeting and binding elbows. The discrepancy of height between them; 'tween Cufre and Gael respectively, has it so the latter's slightly tilting towards the former as to avoid forcing her arm up so further that it'd ruin the gracefulness of the deed as they step on measured, languid steps inside. The Confessor's hood pools lamely around his shoulders, it more a blackened and tattered shawl than snood. "I don't quite know," the Inquisitor seems amidst answering while they wade within, abreast one another. "I'd say it's more-so--" Gael cautiously additions, voice trailing off into a silent murmur that he whooshes close-by to his companion.

In a fury of panelled reds, black, and white silks flowing around and nearly flying behind him in his long strides, Marquis Sanna steps between the doors with a bottle of whiskey already in his grasp. With a very Northern greeting to the whole room, his voice finds an echo from the walls building its own as well. "A lovely day to find something new to drink, is it not?"

"Duchess Margot," Medeia says warmly, dipping a slight curtsy. "It is so lovely... To have you here. This is your first event of mine, yes?" She makes a gesture toward a table arranged with satin sleeved bottles of wine. "Do make sure to take a bottle..." She blinks as Cesare approaches her, letting her hands be grasped. "Messere Whisper, I'm starting to think you like me." Her words are gently teasing, giving his hands a squeeze. "It's one of my favorites." The wine, she means. One hand lifts to give a wave of greeting to Gael and Cufre as Cirroch's voice lifts above the music. "Marquis. Sanna. Hello and welcome, it is." There's a glance to Leola, an encouragement to mingle and drink.

Between the swoosh of silk colors steps a man dressed entirely in shades of grey, tall and stately, if a touch on the ageless side. His long platinum-blonde hair spills to his shoulders as he walks amid the ranks of the nobility, bowing respectfully and offering a polite smile to those he passes close enough to, or to those he recognizes. His first stop is to the hostess, offering a polite bow to her specifically, along with a, "Good afternoon, my Lady Eswynd. My compliments on your dress, and the lovely decorations. I very much look forward to sampling another of your delicious wines, as well." Perhaps after a little bit of pleasantries, the man leaves Medeia, however, as she's likely to be soon dealing with her duties as hostess as well as vinter.

Vulpiano takes Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Margot's head dips to Medeia with a awarm familiar smile. "It is Lady Medeia, I am glad I found the time to slip away from work for a time. I will certainly make a point of taking one of the bottles home to the Duke." She considers Cesare, a slight lift of her brow to Medeia before she sips her wine and turns to consider the gathering with an amused glimmer in her eye.

"Starting to think that, hmm? Perhaps I'll have to be more scarce." With a smirk, Cesare leans in to offer a gentle aside to Medeia, and then with a pat to her hand, steps away slightly to leave her to her hostessing duties. "Duchess Margot Tyde," he greets the woman of such severe contrast - black and white and red all over, oh my! A bow to her, dipped neatly from the waist. "We haven't had the pleasure, although your reputation precedes you. Cesare Whisper. Lady Medeia's curatorial abilities when it comes to wine are second to none."

Raimon watches the guests file in, while listening to the music being performed. One hand holds a wineglass, the other is folded neatly behind him, in the small of his back. He also watches the people watching the people coming in, taking notes of their mutual evaluations, for an interesting bit of a side of the meta.

Jerome, a bodyguard, Morgana, a proper secretary, 2 Valardin Knights, Bijou the Jewel, the Graypeak Mountain Dog, Elaine, an older courtier arrive, following Isabeau.

Cirroch has joined the a table with inlaid Saikland glass tiles.

Leola nods her head, demurely polite, stepping from the wall with a smile flashing to her face. Excellent Commoner Practices. A glance around for those not talking, and she picks up a glass herself, examining it, and drifts to Ramon. A moment's bob of a curtsy - because of course she does - and a polite "How are you finding it?"

Margot shakes her head to Cesare, "I don't believe we have, no Messere Whisper. It is a pleasure. I am very well aware of my protege's skills despite the fact that I rarely seem to be liberated from my duties long enough to attend her fetes. It is a releave to be able to finally enjoy such a gathering."

Micana, an efficient assistant, 1 Saik Guard arrive, following Lucita.

Raimon also watches their hostess, bemused -and- fascinated at the unusual -- perhaps unique? -- blend of Southlands and Thrax on display from said worthy. Raimon makes a note to ask her, sometimes, how she does it! A -salute- with the upraised wineglass, her way, if she should happen to look back. If within easy earshot, an additional: "Lady Eswynd. You've done it again! Splendid, as per usual . . . " Raimon turns then to welcome Leola. "Quite wonderful, as I freely admit. The Saikland Pellerossa Private Reserve introduced prior, of course, has set a -very- high bar . . . but it appears that Lady Eswynd intends to have a go at it. Topping her own high marks, as it were." Raimon compliments. "How fare Thee, Dame Allenatore? I trust the evening finds Thee well?" Raimon inquires

Margot takes Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Leola gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Isabeau enters with her usual small entourage, and assuming the presence of Butterpup, doesn't leave Bijou at home, allowing one of her knights to wrangle him. She moves to approach Medeia with one of her warm seraphic smiles, offering a hand to the woman, "My Lady, a pleasure to see you. I apologize for being late."

Medeia grins at Vulpiano's compliment. "Messere Rosetti, I... Owe you a letter, don't I? I've been... Ah, thank you." The last is murmured aside to Cesare, one hand lifting to self-consciously pat at the flowers in her braid. "All will be fine, really. What was I saying?" Her brow furrows for a moment, hazel eyes flicking from Margot to Vulpiano to Cesare and back to Vulpiano. "Oh, I've been indisposed the last several days." She dips her head to Margot, then, smiling. "You're all too kind. Excuse me?" She greets Isabeau brightly and then makes her way over toward the musicians, saying something quietly. Once the current song finishes, she addresses the room, though with a bit less brilliance than she might normally. "Again, I am so glad to see you all here. It has been my proud duty to... Guide the vintners of Saikland the last six or so years, and to bring special wines, whiskies, and other libations to the people of Arvum." She looks gratefully at Raimon as he lauds her and the wine before continuing. "Tonight's wine, the Violamara, is one of the most rare among our wines. Every harvest is usually quite small, producing what is enough to keep the house in wine for a season or two. It is... It is made from a sibling grape to the grape used for the Pellerossa. At one time, they were the same grape. A couple hundred years ago, I think." Another light pat at the flowers over her ear. "If anyone has any questions about the wine, or the grape, or anything else? I'd be happy to answer. Otherwise, please drink and eat and dance if you wish."

Leola looks looks at Raimon as he slips in Archaic Tone. She gives a thoughtful look to Medeia, raising an eyebrow, then flashes an apologetic smile before she looks back to the Thraxian Prince, speaking smoothly in a lilting Saikland accent "It does, while the evening draws close, in this, a fine summer's day and a warm night to come" It's near faultless, eyes gleaming in impish amusement "I am well, and fair trust I shall continue to be so, though it be a matter for mine betters to consider, as much as it is mine to aid them" Another small curtsy. Just a country-girl's bob, really. "Such events do bring to mind mine home and the vineyards of Allenatore, which are part of the Greenlands. Pleasant memories of times past."

Margot checks perception at normal. Margot is successful.

"Yes, duty does fall heavily on the shoulders of those who are gifted," Cesare replies with a gracious bow of the head. "And you have been quite busy lately - among all the work I am certain I know very little of, your name has been on the lips of many, facilitating an engagement, and restructuring the duties among your house." He takes a generous swallow of wine, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "I have only the best things to say about your protege. Her gatherings, and her cultivated group of friends and allies, have been some of my greatest enjoyments as I've become accustomed to Arx."

A pause, to listen to Medeia, and a short, polite round of applause. He lifts his glass in her direction, taking a glance around the room to assess the crowd.

Lucita steps into the music chamber and gives an approving nod to the decor. A gentle smile is given those who have gathered and listening to some of those who are arriving. "No need for any apologies, I am sure. 'Tis just a fashionable time to arrive, that's all. " The smile widens into a grin. "It is very good to see all of you here! And Messere Cesare, perhaps we can introduce you to some alternates for times your favorite Setarco Fire is not available or you just wish a change of pace." She gives the Whisper a little wink. "Much is owed to Dame Leola who has been instrumental in guiding the farmers and orchard tenders so the fruits reach their peak. And to Lady Medeia for overseeing the vintners efforts. Saik is most thankful for both of them!

Isabeau gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Margot eyes Medeia a moment, a touch of a narrowing to her eyes before her attention returns Cesare, focusing back there, "It good to hear the public attends to such things. My work of late ahs been significantly more joyful than of late. I imagine with peace back in force the Whisper house is busier than ever? There is much rebuilding to do, brokering of agreements and celebrations of course."

Cirroch smooths the silks he wears as he takes a look around the room, a nod to the few he recognizes and a large smile for Lucita as she enters. He crosses over to meet her path, with his hand to heart, "Baroness Lucita, it is good to see you again."

A warm, but quite polite smile is offered Leola, Lucita and Margot as Isabeau collects up a bottle of the wine. She offers Cesare one of her smiles as well, her hand raised to wiggle fingers in a wave. To the former three she ventures, "I do not think we've met, my ladies. I'm Duchess Isabeau Telmar."

The awkward lock of their elbows doesn't seem to hamper the flow of quiet conversation between Cufre and Gael as they take in the festive trappings of the space. Something in that conversation lifts Cufre's chuckle into the woven threads of the larger crowd.

Raimon takes this in and nods amiably. To Leola: "Aye, I find myself recalling the scents and sounds of Tor. Perhaps, Gild willing, in a future and more civilized age, -wine- will be honored as The Universal Language?" Raimon adds, with good humor. "Well. 'Tis to be well - hoped - for, at any rate." Raimon turns back to the more serious supposition: "What sorts of help does your heart most enjoy giving?" Raimon wonders. It -does- seem nice to help people. That's a fact.

Medeia's eyes widen slightly as she hears Lucita mention Leola. "Oh, yes!" She makes her way closer to Leola, drawing brief but undeinable attention to her. "This is the first time I am able to actually have her here... Celebrating our combined efforts. "Dame Leola Allenatore is Saik's Minister of Agriculture, and I have benef-" Hard blink, "Benefited greatly from her efforts and tutelage. Good wine comes from good fruit. Our vintners couldn't do what they do without her efforts, either." Then, to save Leola the torture of attention, the lady moves away and returns to mingling - noticably without a glass of wine in her own hand. "Mistress Cufre! I have been hoping to talk to you. And you work with glass, and you're here... Have you met... Lucita? Baroness Lucita Saik?"

"Everyone seems to need a Whisper lately, my lady," Cesare agrees with a nod. "And I'm happy to help. I'd rather be busy than at loose ends anytime." To Isabeau, he offers a smile in return. "Duchess Isabeau Telmar, Duchess Margot Tyde and Baroness Lucita Saik. And -" he overhears Medeia's introduction of Leola, well within earshot, and gestures. "Dame Leola."

bows his head politely at Medeia's mention of a letter, holding up a forestalling hand, "Please, my Lady, that particular matter can easily wait." And then Medeia is talking about the wine, and it's history, and Vulpiano is all rapt-attention for the discussion on the grapes themselves. He clasps his hands in front of him until Medeia has finished speaking, and then takes a wine glass from a server with a nod before he carefully waves it beneath his nose, inhaling the deep scent of the wine, and takes a sip. Vulpiano concentrates for a moment, savoring the taste of the wine before he glances to Medeia and nods his head once more. "A beautiful vintage, my Lady - I especially enjoy the finish. A surprise after the blue and black berries, almost like... chocolate. Magnificent."

When Isabeau introduces herself, however, the platinum-haired man's head swings, searching for her in the crowd. Seeing her - or who he thinks is her - he bows deeply "Ah, excuse my interruption - Duchess Telmar, did I overhear correctly? My Lady - we have never had the pleasure to meet. My name is Vulpiano Rossetti, Steward of House Fidante. I heard a rumor of raffle tickets, but... I am ever concerned with the plight of the downtrodden, I was wondering if I might simply make a direct donation to your worthy cause? No need for tickets."

Gael is much more subdued in his amusements, the repetitiveness of laughter emanating from his chest in hoarse huffs rather than openly, through his throat. He, too, rests his freer hand delicately to his abdomen, few of its fingers hooking lazily into one of the pockets sewn into his vest sheltered beneath his coat. "It is true, isn't it?" He tells Cufre more openly, and grinning, his vision roams to view Medeia approach he and Cufre beside him. Almost immediately, Gael stands to slapdash attention, neck subtly strained. "Lady Eswynd," he unostentatiously greets, head dipping a fraction.

Leola dips another little curtsy as Lucita introduces her, smiling politely. To Isabeau, she nods, studying the duchess, before responding "It's a pleasure, my lady. As the ladies of Saik have noted; Dame Leola Allenatore, Knight of Southport" She studies the Telmar's gown a moment, offering a faintly wistful sigh before looking back to her "I do hope you enjoy the event. The Saiklands have a fine culture for growth and to produce those things to give life meaning, not just to live" She offers warmly.

Medeia's flattering of her is met with a frozen smile to the group, ducking her head once it's done to hide her blushes.

For Raimon, she speaks a touch more softly "Wine is as a way to speak to the heart, removing the worries of the day and lightening the spirit. It is a blessing of Mangata; to live well, to enjoy each moment, born from the ground and the sun. Truly, at times, I find it a pinnacle of Creation" There may be a little bland sarcasm there.

Margot dips her head to Isabeau, "Duchess Telmar, it's been far too long. I hope yourself and your family are well?" She spots the confessor across the way and gives Gael a bit of an up chin reverse nod of acknowledgement before returning to socializing.

Lucita responds to each person's greetings in turn with gracious turns of phrase. "Oh, it is good to see you all here." To Cirroch she murmurs. "Please give my regards to your lovely wife and let her know I miss our visits and tea in the cool shade of the garden. I do hope she and your family are doing well."

Cufre says, "I haven't, Lady Eswynd," Cufre admits as she and Gael approach Medeia. She shifts her hand to his forearm to permit her curtsey for each noblewoman in turn. "Nice to meet you," is said to Lucita, "and, yes, I have a bit of a thing for glass. I would be thankful for the chance to have a look at what is produced in the Saiklands. Lady Eswynd has told me they're a... distinction." She tries."

Isabeau gives her head a gracious nod to Cesare at the introduction, smiling his way, "Always lovely to see you, Cesare Whisper. Those sandals are quite lovely." She looks to Leola and dips her head graciously, "A pleasure to meet you, Dame. And to see you, Duchess. And to meet you Baroness." To each in turn, she offers the gentle greeting in her warm contralto tones. "We are, my Lady," she answers first to Margot, then for Leola she gives an addition nod, "Indeed, I hope to work on some projects with Lady Medeia. Though I did not bring more sap this time."

Vulpiano gets a moment of looking over at the introduction, and another smile, "A pleasure to meet you, Messere Rossetti. You may make any donation you might like, and in any form."

Raimon salutes Leola fare-well with a courteous tilt of an upraised wineglass and then makes his way over to speak with Duchess Margot, sotto voice.

Silk, the Seafaring Spider arrives, delivering a message to Cesare before departing.

Margot turns to see Raimon and smiles warmly, "A pleasure your Highness. I have as well, it is even better than the bottle she put aside for me last year." She pauses a moment to think and then asks. "How's your son? Prince Petr yes? How old is he now?"

Lucita says, "The Saikland glass is made from sand along our beaches. It contains trace minerals I am told give an extraordinary quality to the glass. Don't ask me how or what though, I'm just repeating what the experts at the Glassworks have told me. You can see our glass in the Cathedral windows though, and if lucky enough to still have some of Jocelyn's jewelry around, she would not use any glass except that from Saikland for her projects.""

Cirroch has left the a table with inlaid Saikland glass tiles.

Petroc, the most unassuming man you have ever met, 2 Sanna House Guards leave, following Cirroch.

Gael doesn't bother to hide it, why, the relief that runs awash across him when out the many faces filling the room; stately faces, dignified faces, noble faces, he spots Margot's surfacing head from out of nowhere. Not keen to smiling, his mirth's shaped instead through subtly shifts to the lines framing his dark and greyed eyes as they view her over, considering her bodily before viewing her face alone. Not too soon after, he returns the subtlety with a nod's fraction of his own to her. Then, in tandem with Cufre, he bows this way, that way, the other way, as though dancers with a shared moveset.

Leola watches Raimon go with an amused look, and withdraws back to the wall as more come in and circulate, quietly sipping her wine and considering the room

"Thank you, my Lady Telmar. I have a deep interest in similar works, and am, in truth, working on similar projects - specifically relating to refugees from the recent conflicts. Perhaps, if you ever have time, I would love to hear more about Heart in Hand, and perhaps discuss some of the things I am working towards as well. I will have a bank note delivered to you as soon as I return to the city center." The platinum-haired man offers Isabeau a smile in return, a polite and warmly genuine, one, and bows his head again slight. With a glance at Duchess Tyde and a smoothly practiced bow to her, he offers, "And again, I deeply apologize for the interruption, Duchesses."

Medeia gives Gael a soft smile of greeting, a brow rising as she sees the exchange between him and Margot. "That's been sorted, then?" It's a vague question, and one she doesn't really expect an answer to. Her attention turns back to Cufre and Lucita. "Yes, and there is a project in the works to see about making our glass /even better/. Luc, Mistress Cufre is a jeweler - and she favors glass. I am hope... Hoping she will lend her talents to the project. She did amazing things with the coral from Eswynd Rock." There's another glance at Margot, eyes lingering on the red coral pieces she'd gifted the duchess. "Not that, or these," She means the pieces she wears, "They were made by... Me- Meline? I can't remember the jeweler's name. One from Eswynd Rock." Then there's a soft laugh in Isabeau's direction. "No? No more sap. Alas. Which reminds me, your event is at Raconteur? I will tell Messere Venturo to give you a sneak peek of the distillation, if you wish. I don't... I can't make it to the event, sadly, though my husband will be there to fight as I understand."

Her interest clear in the lift of her brows at Lucita's description of the glass, Cufre responds, not to that, but to the offer of seeing Joscelin's glass designs. "I've heard of her work, but I've never seen any. The way I've heard it explained, well, it sounded as if the pieces she created were heirlooms the moment they left her work table. No need for the passing of time or hands."

Lucita gets Lagoma's sigil, a carnelian flame encased by saik glass from a subtly textured sturdy yet lightweight trail pack.

If Cesare's ears could perk, they would at the mention of Joscelin's name. "Cufre Harrow," he says to the young lady with a smile. "Nice to see you again so soon. I wasn't lucky enough to know her either, but those who do say she was an artisan of the highest order. Divinely inspired, even. My fellow Disciples of Jayus who knew her all speak very highly of her."

Lucita drops Lagoma's sigil, a carnelian flame encased by saik glass.

Lucita carefully removes a glass accessory from a pack to the side and sets it carefully on a table to be examined. "Here is a piece of her works." She says as she steps back and glances to make sure everyone has wine still for sipping.

Gael, stood as though a fish out of water beside Cufre, offers a brief and brisk supply of a name - his name - to the gathering faces; to Cesare, to Lucita, and in a blunderous moment, Medeia as well. "Confessor Gael," he froths. "Confessor Gael," he shrieks. "Confessor Gael," he bubbles. His cheeks are two reddened, lively tomatoes; his eyes are squinting, forcibly smiling, but thin slits of hazel-like color moving to this face, and that face, indistinctly.

Isabeau shakes her head in protest to Medeia, "That will be at a separate event I believe, my Lady." She smiles again then nods at Vulpiano, "I am sure that we can find a time and place to properly meet as well to discuss many things." She smiles easily, "I think that this particular event will be benefitting some newly freed slaves."

Cesare looks up from examining the beautifully-made flame as he's greeted. "Confessor Gael," he says, all easy good charm. "I've seen your Whites, I have friends in the Archives who pull journals of interest for me. You have quite a talent as a writer, you know. You could do fiction, if it ever suited! Quite a storyteller." He extends a hand. "Cesare Whisper, if you haven't already heard that twelve times tonight."

Following Medeia's words to take in Duchess Tyde's jewelry from afar, then Medeia's far nearer, Cufre speak not to those, but to her own work. "I've been using the small bit of coral I have left for some of my recent pieces, too. And then, there's the charm I had Guildmaster Caprice make as a reminder of our travels." She releases her arm from Gael's hold to lift her ribboned bracelet into the space before her, sliding the charm for better view. The gesture is short-lived, however, because the reveal of the Saik glass piece pulls her focus. "Ohh...It's glowing from within. I've never seen that done with glass."

Lucita gets Lagoma's sigil, a carnelian flame encased by saik glass.

Lucita puts Lagoma's sigil, a carnelian flame encased by saik glass in a subtly textured sturdy yet lightweight trail pack.

Blue, a cantankerous western bluebird have been dismissed.

"Thank you my Lady. That is /wonderful/ news." Vulpiano nods again to Isabeau, but fades back into the background, or tries to, before Lucita produces an exquisite piece of glass. "Absolutely beautiful," he says, as though mesmerized by the way the light catches the flame within.

Margot rests a hand on Raimon's arm lightly as she speaks to him and then steps back. "Well if you'll forgive me I have to get back to my office."

4 Tyde Houseguard leaves, following Margot.

"Is it?" Medeia looks at Isabeau with a bit of confusion. Her expression melts into a sheepish smile. "You would know your own events better than I, of course." Her eyes look slightly troubled, but she blinks it away and smiles brighter. "Messere Rosetti, might you have a moment to chat?" She looks over at Vulpiano and gestures toward some chairs to the side.

Blue, a cantankerous western bluebird have been dismissed.

A great burden comes undone when Cufre unfurls off of his side, his released arm limping down, socketing into its respective drop. When at last his vision snaps from the incongruent stare set on the vast room, it turns, looks to Cesare. Not with recognition, but a realization that contracts his preemptively dilated pupils. "A writer?" The notion's but hot coals in the warrior's mouth, curling his lips wonkily with shame, with loathsome possibility. To Cesare, he next worries, "You're too kind, Cesare, and I certainly haven't--not once, in fact, and so I'm in awe." Looking more-so mortified, however.

Jerome, a bodyguard, Morgana, a proper secretary, 2 Valardin Knights, Bijou the Jewel, the Graypeak Mountain Dog, Elaine, an older courtier leave, following Isabeau.

It takes Medeia's voice to shake Vulpiano out of the reverie of the glass, but he offers his hostess a smile and a nod of his platinum-haired head. "Of course, my Lady."

Medeia has joined the a group of armchairs near a fireplace.

Vulpiano has joined the a group of armchairs near a fireplace.

Cesare catches Vulpiano's fascination with a flicker of interest of his own. "Vulpiano Rossetti, was it?" he asks, extending a hand to the gentleman. Presuming that Vulpiano's heard his own multiple introductions. "Do let me know if Whisper House can be of any assistance in your charitable interests."

To Gael, then - "Not at all. You spin a fine tale. Your journals have some very piquant humor about them, if I say so myself. And I do. I have very good taste."

Lucita watches each person closely and tips her head, gaze resting a long moment on the confessor though not so long as to become rude. She mingles politely though wanders over toward the harp and runs one finger over its strings, producing only the faintest whisper of sounds.

Gael is more than vaguely aware of Lucita's searing, constant stare teasing his vision's periphery, but here's Cesare, and he speaks, and he smiles, and to engage the Whisper's an act that demands of Gael his full lumberly attention. Slack-jawed by his compliment, stunned by the ease in which his words flow, the Confessor rallies well and asserts that, "I've come to those journals more-so for succour than imagining any would read them at all. Not to write stories, but to... speak of what in no other place I can, if that makes sense? Like prayer. Nonetheless, it is an honor to entertain."

"Pardon me if I implied that your words were meant for my entertainment only," Cesare answers with a little dip of his chin. "I meant no such thing. Only that in recording your deeds, you do so in an apt and able way. A natural talent, I think. That I enjoy them is entirely beside the point, but I do. When I read the one about the spiders - have you heard that the Nox'alfar ambassador some time ago had a very large spider for a pet? That was in the Whites, too. You find all kinds of interesting stories in there, really."

Lucita says, "You write in journals, I write some few songs that do much the same." She keeps her comment brief and smiles as she says it. "Usually they just wind up stacked in that case over there though...along with others in my collection."

Once Medeia has sat down, she keeps a watchful eye on the party, but speaks with Vulpiano quietly.

The conversation turned away from the talk of glass, Cufre takes the opportunity to drift away and grab one of her own- of the rare vintage. Drink in hand, she takes a small, personal tour of the room, stopping here and there to admire the decor.

Gael hastily demures, his words an incomprehensible mass of gurgles politely dismissing, "Oh! No offense, no offense, none taken--none at all." A hand flails this way, another swerves in an opposing direction. All motions meant to convey that, indeed, he sees Cesare's findings as nothing less than compliment. "I wouldn't even begin to compare my hasty musings to song, Baroness Saik. You're more blessed than I, and, about that spider..." Gael's head inevitably braves an image that isn't the floor, cantilevering back, eyes spooling along to weight upon Cesare. "A morning doesn't go by where I don't think on that, Whisper Cesare."

Cufre gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Micana, an efficient assistant, 1 Saik Guard leave, following Lucita.

Clowder of nine 1-year old cats, Shekies, Capt'n Waddles the small cock with a bell arrive, following Zakhar.

Fashionably late or stoned out of their gourd and unaware of where they've wandered into? It's Zakhar and he might have // forgotten // his shirt, a cloud of haze following him as he puffs away on the small rolled leaf in his lips. Muttering away to the small speckled cock that rides upon his snow-white locks.

Zakhar mutters, "Look ... fucking cock, it's all ... and good to be able to ... upon me ... but ... you try to ... at me one ... time... I'm going to ... ... up, ... not the ... that ... wants ... eaten either! My way. ... Head is not ... fucking cock meal."

Leola glances to Medeia, raising an eyebrow and stepping forward

Her circuit bringing her past several servers, Cufre scoops up a glass from one of them before returning to Gael's side, offering the fresh glass to him.

Cufre gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Gael before departing.

"We have very large centipedes in Setarco," Cesare intones. "I've never seen a spider that size, though. But I should change the subject, it's clearly unpleasant for you, I'm being rude. I have a terrible curiosity, Confessor Gael. The second half of the saying - curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back - was not often repeated to me as a child, but was one I nonetheless learned." He raises his eyebrows. "Will you attend the masquerade ball? And you, Cufre? " As she returns - just in time! "I've been thinking about what legendary creature to be. Perhaps a firebird."

"Mistre-" Medeia looks up from her conversation with Vulpiano, about to summon Cufre over when Zakhar enters the room. She blinks rapidly several times, and then starts laughing at whatever it is the man has muttered. "Messere Zakhar, you grace us with your presence. With... Without a shirt. It is rather hot out, I suppose. Have some wine and don't break anything." She shakes her head gently at Leola. "He's... Mostly harmless." She turns back to say something to Vulpiano, seeming to forget she was going to ask Cufre something.

Raimon exchanges a few soft words with Medeia before he also departs, not long after Duchess Margot.

Leola nods, but wrinkles her nose ever so slightly "As you say, my lady" She smiles, just a touch, retreating back and away, picking up several of the empty glasses and making a quiet way out, stealing one, frowning, look back

Zakhar takes Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Gael is in his element letting Cesare lead and claim the conversation's speed, the Whisper's effortless elucidation one he careens along with possessed of an almost clumsy, dim bearing. "I don't much like centipedes," Gael surreptitiously comments, his voice's gravelly husk too quiet perhaps to pierce through the room's continuous conversational din. As Cufre arrives with the drink, the Confessor happily accepts it on a supinated hand, careful in how he maneuvers a thumb and index all about it -- doing so with the approach of the often crude, and manhandling. Wary to break the vessel, of course. "A masquerade? Those are news to me." He turns from Cesare to Cufre, posing most of the Whisper's own question by the impetus of his intent stare. "Will you?"

"I don't know," Cufre says to both Cesare and Gael, "I've never been to one. I guess, with a masquerade, I can always say that, though, and who's to know otherwise?" Cufre grin, then uses the moment offered by a sip of wine to take in the Whisper's attire. "I'm sure anything, anything would look wonderful," she says to him seriously, "but are there any moon creatures? I don't really know of any creatures other than griffons and dragons. And hydras." She frowns. Hms. "Which is a lot more than I knew of a year ago."

Gael checks wits at normal. Gael is successful.

Gael says, "There's a lot more creatures than that."

"Centipedes?!" Zakhar is quick to look around the room as if he's now trying to sort out if the floor, which is probably not moving for everyone else, though might be alive for him, is covered in centipedes and if so then he'll calm down, as it would make sense for the room to be moving then. right? The cock on his head seems be not happy with the quick movements that the old man is making and starts to fluff itself and clucks loudly at the man.

"That's precisely the delight of it." Cesare lifts his glass - just in time for a passing servant to take it from him and replace it with a fresh one. "Masquerades are the one time that absolutely anyone can be totally anonymous. It's forbidden to demand identity. Not that we don't all have our distinguishing qualities." He smiles at Cufre, a brief flicker of a thing. "There are moon creatures, I'm sure. Unicorns, I think? All pearly-white, opalescent. I've thought of phoenixes specifically because gold is my favorite color. /Very/ creative." Looking at Gael, he decides, "You would make an excellent griffon. A feathered cloak, perhaps."

Gael spares only a brief look down at himself, arms outstretching to the sides in an upward framing, it meaning to match the splendor of an avian's arching wings. He fails utterly. And as an old wound itches and worsens someplace within the many layers of leather with this silly moving, a pained twinge strains Gael's face momentarily. "A griffon? A ladybug, at best." Gael then vents a scrubby chuckle bore of self-deprecation, one he enfolds with a hasty swig of his glass. One that, is important to add, seems almost child-like in size while between his lumberly fingers. To Cufre, he quietly asides, "How could all realistically hide? Some people you can just tell at a glance."

Vulpiano offers Medeia a smile that is both warm and, some might say, even charming, as he smoothly rises from his armchair and offers the Medeia a hand. "My Lady, I, again, cannot thank you enough. Truly, you are one of a kind." To whatever else might have been said, he gives absolutely no indication.

Looking from Gael to Zakhar's outburst and back again, Cufre asks, "You don't mean centipedes, right?" Again, she looks to Zakhar, so much of the conversation that follows washes over her. And while she doesn't quite seem to latch onto the unicorns and griffons, Gael's aside tugs her back. "Hm? Oh." She smiles, then, conceding with a shrug. "And some of us not so much. I guess that's one time when it's an advantage to be in the habit of never being the center of attention."

Zakhar has managed to find the crate of wine and is looking at it, possibly drooling. Though the Lady demanding of a human shield Eswynd did say to have some... He takes a bottle after making a couple of tries. "Fucking bottle! Stop with the moving!" Finally getting the bottle and deciding that the best way to open it is with a swift slice at it with a large butcher knife across the top of the bottle.

Zakhar checks dexterity and small wpn at normal. Zakhar is successful.

there's the smallest glass crinkle as the top of the bottle slices off and hits the ground. Then he's pour the drink into his mouth

"Oh dear," Cesare says softly, watching Zakhar, although with no impetus to stop him as yet. "No, that's precisely why it's not meant to be an event where you discover identity," he asides to Gael. "Hm."

Medeia loops her hand around Vulpiano's forearm gently - at least, it appears gently, though she seems grateful for the physical support. "Please, there is no need to thank me. I should, however, like... likely make sure my husband's protege doesn't kill himself." There's a tiny gesture in Zakhar's direction as he uses a knife to open a bottle of wine. On her way toward the older man, she stops and rests a hand on Cufre's shoulder. "WHenever you have time? I believe you said you have something you want to talk to me about as well?" She awaits the answer and then makes it to Zakhar's side to say something quietly.

With his back turned to Zakhar, Gael possessed no chance to view the intrepid engineer up until he sees the change of attention in Cufre's moving gaze, and the ensuing frighten from Cesare. Turning, almost too slowly in the act, he looks over-shoulder and takes stock of the Iron Chef as he severs the upper half of a bottle with a maiming cut, the pressure sending its dislodged portion clattering across the ground until it stops up against Gael's left foot. The Confessor follows the chunk, then looks up, blinking. He turns to Cesare, to Cufre, eyes teetering some more.

Vulpiano gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

There's a furrow, confusion, in Cufre's brow for a moment at the last of Medeia's words to her, but it's soon followed by a lift of her brows. Clarity. "Oh, yes. May I visit you tomorrow, or maybe the day after, if not, Lady Eswynd?"

Cesare gets Violamara - a Saikland private reserve wine from crate of Saikland wine.

Gael grabs crate of Saikland wine.

Zakhar pauses in his guzzling pour of the wine to his mouth, missing his mouth repeatedly, and instead of moving the bottle is moving his head around to try to line up to the quickly pouring liquid. The rooster on his head is having none of this and has taken to falling to the floor.

Gael drops crate of Saikland wine.

Vulpiano returns to the party, though unfortunately not for long. Pleasantries and goodbyes are exchanged after a suitable time, and the platinum-haired man departs - though not before mentioning to Cesare that he'd like to meet to discuss opportunities for the Whisper House's aid.

Zakhar mutters, "The world keeps falling to the left. no ... the ... ... one that is ... the color of ... that ... Everything is ... ... really. ... is ... ... ... now? ... I ... ... ... one ... gift in ... hall."

Zakhar is overheard praising Medeia.

Cufre is overheard praising Medeia: 3

Cesare is overheard praising Medeia: Another scintillatingly delicious Saik red, and a hostess to match.

Zakhar is overheard praising Medeia: TURKEYS!

Vulpiano has left the a group of armchairs near a fireplace.

Medeia raises her brows at Cufre, her smile widening. "You are welcome in my hall whenever you please. I'd love to have you either day, as is convenient for you." Then, she's attending to Zakhar, her eyes looking over the floor and summoning a pair of servants to take care of a small mess.

Gael maintains a level of deference however long Medeia remains in his immediate vicinity, even if she addresses Cufre beside him, rather than himself. When she's off to Zakhar's side, the Confessor summons strength and with it comes dignity, guiding his palms down his coat to smooth it free of whorls and wrinkles whilst viewing the Harrow jeweller well-nigh tacitly.

"Cufre, Confessor, it's been a pleasure," Cesare addresses the two of them with another of those fleeting smiles. "I will be down to see your shop soon, I promise. Busy days, these, lately." He attends Medeia with a minor amount of fuss - just the right amount, not enough to embarrass but enough to show he cares, as a Whisper ought, very delicately arranging her hair to make sure it's precisely perfect. A kiss on the cheek. "Thank you again, my lady. I look forward to when I see you next."

To Zakhar, he says only, "The bejeweled eye sees you." Whatever that means. Very possibly nothing at all. Blinkblink. And then! He's off.

"HA! Between jewels are bursting bubbles of blood!" Zakhar responds to Cesare with a smirk as he then shifts to a worried expression looking around after touching his head. "I've lost me cock!"

"The shop's been there for generations," Cufre says to Cesare warmly, "It'll wait for you." As he departs, she turns to Gael, whispers something to him.

Medeia allows Cesare's fussing, giving only the smallest wince when he first adjusts her hair. "Thank you for coming. Glad you didn't have to save me from drowning this time." She gives the Whisper a warm smile before turning Zakhar gently. "It's just there, all is well." She points in the direction of the small rooster.

Gael maintains an unsteady smile, one that grows invariably wonkier as Cesare begins his farewells. "Be well," he's told by Gael, with the Confessor's left hand twitching with the haunt of an intended gesture that never takes flight, deciding instead to remain by his side. He meets Cufre's attention after, and facilitates her susurrated words with a head's caving tilt towards her. Blinking, he answers with a groggy mumble of his own.

Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove leave, following Cesare.

Cufre tilts up her glass, inelegantly drinking something that is meant, no doubt to be savored. Still, she blinks with a bright Mm! of appreciation. She returns the empty glass to the server's tray with a thank you, then moves back to Gael, hooking her arm in his. "We should go, then," she says, as if picking up on something left hanging in their quiet exchange.

With a squint Zakhar looks in the direction that Medeia has pointed out and lets out a small sigh, then yelling, "It's okay! We found the cock!" He turns to Medeia, "Your head looks funny." Then he looks back to the bottle and seeing it empty tosses it over his shoulder going in search of a new one.

Gael possesses plenty of arm, the limb easily hooked, taken by Cufre's own spindlier limb. He himself's momentarily distracted by his continuous staring of Zakhar and Medeia, but perhaps more of the latter, only that his eyes' apertures are so narrow and imprecisely thin it's too hard to say, to augur it. Clearing his throat, he turns down to Cufre with risen, pleasantly surprised brows. "We should?" He's heard to say, amiss perhaps, but nonetheless he postures in such a way that hints he's pliable for movement, wherever she so chooses to lead.

Medeia steps away from Zakhar in time to miss being hit by the bottle and shakes her head as a servant dives to catch it. She turns to Cufre and Gael, giving them a bow of her head in acknowledgment. "Thank you both for coming. I appreciate it very much. Mistress Cufre, I look forward to seeing you sometime in the coming days." There's an inscrutable look on her face as she considers Gael. "You could come too, if you wish." Then, she's off after Zakhar, to try to keep the staff from quitting on her.