Jeeves, a sophisticated valet , 7 Silvershields arrive, following Rook.

Though summer, the Eswynd Feast is being held inside the main hall to keep pests from attacking the food - and also because Medeia really doesn't want anyone drunkenly trampling the garden. The doors are left open and guarded to allow air to circulate, the tables are laden with an array of roasted and smoked meats, fine cheeses from the Isles and Lyceum, fresh fruits, herbed breads, and platters of shortbread cookies - some seemingly plain, others with a thin coat of chocolate along the bottom. Medeia is standing near the doors to greet people, a toddler fussing on her hip as she tries to pass the child off to her assistant. She may need a moment to actually greet people.

Martinique would never drunkenly trample the garden! She'd just throw up in the bushes and pass out like a respectable guest. She's not (very) drunk yet though, so she can move up towards the Eswynd hall once again. She's still limping, a little, though her gait is almost normal--the almost normal of "trying very hard." Her grin to Medeia is unforced as she approaches however. "My lady, good to see you--and your table, set as always." Let it not be said that Martinique has unclear priorities.

Arriving with a small bottle, a gift for the hostess, Rook casts a gaze around as the other guests as they start to drift in. He takes a moment to absorb the sweet odors wafting up from the assembled pastries, sighing contentedly. He happily waits his turn to offer his gift to Medeia and his gratitude for the invitation, knowing that she has much to manage for an event such as this.

Cesare arrives in a sparkle of gold and wild hair wafting behind him like a banner. A curly banner. Humidity does things. He wisely notes the baby situation and steps aside to retrieve a full mug of cider for himself and one for Medeia as well, when her hands are free. "I love the summer," he sighs to nobody in particular. Maybe it's Haakon, he's wandering over to put a hand on Haakon's shoulder and give him a /big/ kiss on the cheek, whether or not he's idle. If he's idle it just means he can't pull away.

She came early. Dressed as scandously lycene as she can--but with pants. Thea greets Medeia with a smile, telling her naturally,"Hey Deia. I know it's been a minute since I've been around, but I figured I'd have a few drinks, you know--see the garden." Totally not trapeezing drunkly. Never Thea. There's a look at the child and she chuckles a bit. "Calo is at the hair pulling and babbling stage. And drool. A lot of drool,"heading over to gather a drink.

With Miklos fully taken from Medeia's arms and carted away to some other place that is not the middle of his mother's hosting duties, the petite Eswynd lady accepts the cider from Cesare, looks at it, sniffs it, and hands it off to a servant before thanking Cesare anyway. "Thank you, my dear Cesare, but I will have tea." Martinique is pulled close before she wanders toward the food - Medeia doesn't want to delay the woman long. "Marti, how are you feeling? Do I need to send more of the balm?" After she gets her answer, she's turning to the others. "Rook! It is wonderful to see you getting out and about again. And Thea... Well, yes. That is what my sweetest nephew is bound to do."

"Rook, how are you?" Cesare asks, spotting the Minister. "Have your efforts been going well with all your economic pursuits? Were you able to contact someone regarding you investigatory query? I hope so. I realized that Radiant Emeritus Selene may also have some of the ability you seek, after my reply. I know many talented investigators but I'm not sure if I know any at the level of expertise you require." He eyeballs Medeia, and leans in to ask her something quietly.

The hostest is favored with a warm smile by Rook, as he inclines his head towards her in greeting. "Lady Medeia, it has indeed been too long. I thank you for your invitation." He bows his head respectfully. "I have been chained to a desk for too long, and matters outside have become important enough to seize priority over the King's coffers, which speaks volumes." As Cesare calls to him, Rook turns and favors him with a smile. "Right now I have been focused almost entirely on collection donations from craftspeople and nobility for the event to raise support for the people of Bastion, I am afraid, and that has set my own personal priorities aside for the week." He glances around briefly, before looking back to Cesare. "Although I have not yet had success in finding one to assist me, I have been given a good direction. We shall see if it bears fruit."

Thea smirks as Medeia sniffs her drink. She gets it! "Yes well, people forgot to mention that part." Taking a drink, Thea spies more people. "Messere Rook. Whisper Cesare. Good to see you both. How are you?" Gold-flecked green eyes shift to Martinique. "I'm Countess Thea Wyvernheart. Pleasure to meet you." She hears Rook and confesses,"This noble has nothing anyone would benefit from really. Maybe if you physician. Alchemist. Fighter..but I mean, nothing too crafty."

Martinique will smile genuinely as she leans in to Medeia briefly. "I'll always accept your balm my lady." Though the playful flirtation falls out of her voice very briefly as she adds "Though yes, actually, it keeps hurting." Something she admits quietly and probably not to anyone else. She'll draw away again then, and regain her party grin. "My lady," to Thea. "I am Martinique Barlinnie, sworn to Redreef--our estate is not far. My lords?" She queries the two men. "You at least I have seen before though I do not think we have been introduced." That's to Cesare.

"We met once, but it was a very long time ago, when I was quite new to the city," Cesare says with a brief smile for Martinique. "I'm Cesare, Softest of Whisper House, Lady Medeia's best protege. Definitely the best at drinking." He takes a sip of cider. "Rook, your aims are honorable. I can't imagine the Bastion refugees will want for anything, with the amount of aid being raised for them. Do not neglect yourself in the pursuit of others, however. That's my counsel as Softest."

Spreading his hands out in his standard gesture of humility, Rook bows his head to Cesare. "I have heard no fewer than four people hurl that message at me this week, and I have thus far dodged it every time. But I do appreciate the intent with which it is offered." He raises his gaze towards Cesare. "I have benefitted from so much, risen from so little, and every one of the people of Bastion should deserve the chance to do that. I owe it to them to use my position responsibility. For if not, why would Gild have allowed me the opportunity to achieve it?"

Medeia gives a small nod of confirmation to Cesare, but makes no outward change in her expression to suggest what her protege's question was. She gives Martinique's forearm a squeeze. "What sort of physician would I be if I did not slather you in it at every chance?" The playful flirtation is returned, but she sobers quickly and makes a motion to one of the servants. They'll go and retrieve more of the balm for the Sword. "Thea, you have plenty to offer," She notes, looking at her friend carefully. "Perhaps you might auction off a chance to visit Highhill?" And to Rook, she gives a curious glance. "It sounds like I will have to miss the event, duties in the Isles."

"It's a pleasure,"Thea tells Martinique. "Redreef you say? I've helped Countess Ember here and there." She's had her toe dipped in practically every fealty it seems. Taking a drink, Thea looks around, asking,"So what else is keeping everyone busy,"though she nods to Medeia. "I could. Show off the new facilities....make sure no one gets eaten by a giant spider." She half jokes about the giant spider. Honest

"How interesting," Cesare say to Medeia, and then, continuing to Rook, "Don't forget that Gild is the goddess of property along with charity. Not that you would; as a former Whisper /and/ Crown Minister of Coin. Do you know, I am embarking on my own economic efforts with Whisper House. I have little expertise, but what I do have is a network of very talented contacts. We aim to raise some forty thousand economic resources, in order to strengthen the house."

He gets very distracted by the mention of giant spiders. It's a thing, with Cesare.

"Ah, yes, I recall more now--my apologies. However, best at drinking you say?" Martinique queries of Cesare with a raised eyebrow. She can't let that go unchallenged, and will make a (somewhat stilted) pirouette to the drinks table to find one, and start catching up and overtaking. While she's still a wine-guzzling Oathlander at heart, she'll snag the rum this time--partly at least because this is Eswyndol and what do they know about wine anyway, other than Deia. Whose party it is. Whoops. "My Countess has many interesting friends," she adds with a smile to Thea. "Though not so many giant spiders. More giant sharks."

Nodding slowly to Medeia's suggestion, Rook glances towards Thea, but waits to see if an offer is forthcoming from her directly. To the hostess herself, Rook offers, "It would be a shame to be denied your presence, milady, but perhaps if there is some item of interest you could place bids by proxy." Ever the businessman. As Cesare continues, he turns his gaze back to him, nodding slowly. "That is /quite/ the endeavor, Softest Whisper, but please do let me know if there is some way that I can help. You know that I have always held the Whispers in the fondest regards."

Thea glances at Rook. "I can offer a trip to Highhill, of course. Far better than my skills. Though I could glitter packages as well." She KIDS about the latter. Honest! Taking a drink from her whiskey, Thea amusedly regards Martinique,"I do, yes. Ever since I was a child, I always found--someone." Her eyes briefly drift to Medeia, nodding toward her friend. "Like Deia there."

Cesare eyes Martinique. He gulps cider. He may be tall but he's thin as a rail, this could end poorly. "I'd offer to arm wrestle you," he says to Martinique, "but I'd lose, badly, and so badly it wouldn't even be amusing for you." Then he POINTS at Thea. "I tried to make Archduke Noah eat your glitter. He would not. Then I tried to fistfight him. He /ran away/ from me. Claiming exhaustion and inebriation."

Rook bows his head and spreads his hands as Thea offers the donation. "I thank you humbly for your contribution to the people. I am sure it will attract a considerable amount of attention, and hopefully silver to match." He straightens and offers her a warm smile of gratitude.

"Is it?" Medeia demures in Cesare's direction, adopting a coy expression for all of three seconds before flitting off to do more hosting things, like calling everyone's attention to her. "Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for coming. As you all are - likely - aware, each feast we host has some gimmick to keep up the thin charade that I am doing more than just fulfilling my desire to have parties." THere is a sparkle of humor in her hazel eyes as she says that. "Tonight, I am happy to share with you all treats from Eswynd Rock. Oat stout and savory shortbread. These cookies are more accurately called biscuits for mainland tastes, but I do hope you enjoy both, as they are only becoming a more abundant and frequent treat for our people as the economy stabilizes and is enriched for having joined the Compact."

In a soft aside, she notes to Thea and Cesare, and anyone else listening, "Having met and nearly died because of a giant spider in her forest, it is no joke."

The soldier gives Cesare a broader grin. "I only arm-wrestle Haakon." She is, however, serious about drinking--maybe it's a contest and maybe it isn't, or maybe it's only a contest between Marti and her liver. "Also, who runs /away/ from a fistfight? That's when the party's really getting interesting!" With that declaration she will take a too-large swallow of rum and choke it down, reddening a bit in the process. "But Deia," forgetting propriety a moment, "Why do we keep dragging a surgeon into combat? We should know better. Also thank you for the cookies. And meat and beer. Less the giant spiders, I imagine those are for a different kind of party."

There's an innocence that crosses Thea's features at the mention of the glitter. "I don't know what you mean. Glitter? Me?" She clears her throat, saying,"Now you see, it's probably a good thing he didn't. I make it with stone, sometimes Saikland glass. That was Luc's idea." Though she does lift her eyebrow at touch. "He ran away?! How very--unbrave. I'll have to message him." Thea glances at Medeia and looks, well--guilty, all while nodding to Rook. "It's my pleasure of course."

"That was the excuse he gave me," Cesare confirms to Thea. "I say, a big tough Grayson man like him, he ought to be able to handle a bit of ground glass in the alimentary canal." He finishes his mug of cider and pours one of rum instead, matching Martinique's choice. "I ask the same question every time I hear that she's come back with another bump, bruise, or whatever else." He points at Martinique, instead of Thea, now. "I like you. It's too bad you're already sworn to Redreef or I'd take you as my personal bodyguard. It would be very exciting for you, I promise. So many opportunities to threaten people when they're rude to me."

Medeia sighs softly. "I am not a surgeon, and I am perfectly capable of shoving my trident into the belly of whoever looks at me wrong." She sniffs indignantly, giving Martinique and Cesare both a little 'hmph' and then a teasing wink. "Really, for some of these missions? If not for my presence, getting to a medic should anything go wrong proves deadly for the time it takes. I go because I wish for the success of the mission and the wellbeing of the people on it. That spider..." She shudders slightly. "That spider was a fluke. As was whatever it was that Thea did to make me pass out recently. If anything, the true danger to me is my friendship with the countess."

Thea winks at Cesare. "That's what combat medics are for." Says the combat medic herself. She mutters to herself regarding recently happenings, taking a deeper drink. "Look. You don't get things done just--hanging back. I choose to be front and center,"though she does grin a little at Medeia.

Martinique lifts her glass to Cesare as he makes his choice, and downs the end of that cup, seeking another. And some smoked meats. Because smoked meats. C'mon. "Weren't you lately declared Master Chief Physician Magician or similar?" She asks of Deia, a bit teasingly, but not to make light of her accomplishment. "It is true though--I might never have walked again if you hadn't sprung yourself from a party to fix me." Thea, now, she regards with a faint air of playful suspicion, raising a brow as she looks between the two women.

"I have volunteered myself for /several/ missions lately," Cesare says. "I just try to go for the ones where I am /not/ likely to be in combat. Perhaps it would be different if I were a medic. Alas, I am only a pretty face who is very good at lying when I need to be." He raises his glass to Martinique in return.

If he had had any thoughts previously of venturing forth on any expeditions to Bastion, this conversation banished them from Rook's mind. He visibly shutters at the talk of giant spiders, and uses that as an opportunity to seek out drink and snack, slipping from the conversation for the moment.

"Master Physician." Medeia offers a gentle correction, but her cheeks pinken with pride at the recognition of her promotion. "Magician? The Faith would have my tongue." And no one wants to see her as a Silent Reflection. RIght?

Cesare is, abruptly, yawning. "Oh dear," he says, putting a hand in front of his mouth. "Please excuse me. This is neither drink nor company, I promise; I've simply had a trying past couple of days and not gotten nearly enough sleep as a result. I may have to retire early. Of course then one always risks waking up far too early, and repeating the whole proposition."

Thea finishes her drink, resting her hand on Medeia's arm. "You earned that. I'm proud of you." Looking aroud, she now admits,"I'm afraid I should be off. I have a lot of work to do. It never ends." There's a nod of understanding to Cesare, telling him,"I gave up on sleep along time ago."

Seeing that the crowd is beginning to disperse, and perhaps blaming the talk of giant spiders, Rook makes his way back over towards the hostess. "I thank you sincerely for the invitation. These pastries were simply divine." He holds up the remains of one, as if to confirm. "But as I had said earlier, I am afraid that I much preoccupied with ensuring as many donations of interest as possible for the upcoming auction, and must attend to that."

Martinique dips her head in acknowledgement of the correction with her grin still intact. She'll just bump her shoulder against Medeia briefly in recognition. "See? See?" She queries of Cesare. "I'll have to defend your life another time! But a fine evening my lord. And my lady--to your work, or your rest." A gentler nod to Thea. And then to Rook as he makes his farewells.

Finn the large Northern hunting dog with icy blue eyes, Rocco, the rascally assistant, Strawberry Pupcake, the Graypeak Mountain Dog leave, following Thea.

As everyone starts to filter away, Medeia says her farewells to the guests and starts to direct clean up, allowing those still drinking to drink as they please.