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You say "Van'chela? I have just received your message; my apologies for my delay in responding. I should be free for several hours, so I can spare you a moment--or perhaps even two--at your convenience." into the communit.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "No apology needed, I sent it text so as to be convenient and all." He sounds a bit vague, but awake enough, and chipper certainly. "Anywhere I should meetcha'?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I am in my quarters, but can most certainly go anywhere else." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "I can meet you there?" This question is asked after a pause of half a beat." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "Of course. When can I expect you?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "Five minutes, perhaps ten?" in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I shall see you then." into the communit.

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Tarrant. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian calls, "Come in."

Tarrant enters from the Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has arrived.

Corian is seated at her desk, this time, apparently having settled there to shuffle through some paperwork. There's certainly enough there. "Good afternoon, van'chela," she says, turning with a smile. "How are you feeling?" She has learned, and gestures towards a seat as well.

Tarrant pauses at the door to give something of a bowed greeting, although with a box wrapped in neon yellow smiley face paper under one arm, and his still somewhat battered state, it's somewhat modified. He takes the steps to the indicated couch and settles onto it and brightening somewhat. Sitting down is a good thing. "Scruffy, but then I have it on good authority I -am- scruffy, so I suppose I should only be surprised I didn't feel scruffy before." He offers an amused grin, "And you?"

Corian shifts her chair somewhat, so she can face you, brows lifting fractionally at the box. She returns the bow with one of her own, though she remains seated. "Quite well. I have spoken with my brother, and he was kind enough not to ask awkward questions." She glances briefly to the music box resting on the desk, with a quick smile, then adds, "It really is amazing what a good night's sleep can do for one's outlook on life."

Tarrant shifts back up from his seat after catching a long breath, leaning forward to offer you the box with a grin. "Not asking awkward questions is a good thing, sleep's all to the better. And the weather's gorgeous today, a good set about."

Corian takes the box with a quizzical smile. "Thank you. The paper is most festive. And is the weather nice?" Her lips quirk fractionally as she adds, "It seems too soon for me to venture outside again, you see. I cannot change -that- radically."

Tarrant takes the steps back to return to his seat, taking it in a decidedly casually comofrtable fashion rather than bothering with his normal hesitant politeness when seated in your presence. "Yeah, or what I've seen of it. It was still pretty early when I was outside, I'm assuming it's warmed up more as the sun's come up. And the sky was already cloudless at that point."

Corian sighs very quietly, with a fractional shake of her head. "I had thought that you would sleep a bit more than that," she observes, though she sounds more resigned than disappointed. With a gesture to the box, she inquires, "May I open this?"

"I slept more after the fact," Tarrant explains, "Sleeping occured, it was sleepish." He nods quickly, "Please do, and happy birthday..."

Corian's brows arch fractionally at the phrasing, but she chuckles quietly, nodding. "It is good that you slept, yes. And many thanks--this was unnecessary, but still appreciated." Of course, she says that before she opens the package, but open it, she does, fingers deftly revealing the contents without ripping the paper overly much.

Beneath the paper is a box. Oh dear, obviously Tarrant is a truly sadistic individual, either that or he simply has a great deal of faith in your ability to work puzzles. Inside the box are two puzzles in fact. One puzzle is based on the chessboard. The 64 squares, when raised to cubes, are formed into 12 basic pieces. The object of the puzzle is to assemble these 12 pieces into predefined shapes, as listed on the handy dandy card that accompanies it. It's constructed entirely of alternating cubes of mahogany and maple. The other puzzle is not so much a puzzle as it is a box. Something seems to shuffle slightly within, perhaps a piece of card or folded paper. However getting the actual box open seems to be the mystery. Constructed of polished mahogany and incised with a scrollwork pattern, there's a rather intricate series of steps required to open it.

Tarrant simply watches, folding his arms over the couch's arm and resting his chin on them to have a better view.

Corian, with a quiet, wordless exclamation of pleasure, removes the first of the puzzles. "Oh, dear," she murmurs, glancing up from her inspection of it with a quick smile. "This could most certainly be far too fascinating." In fact, she does start to play with the toy, adjusting the pieces, though she manages to stop before she gets too absorbed in it. Setting aside the first puzzle, she says, "It's absolutely lovely, though--both of them are." She takes out the second puzzle, one thumb running gently along the scrollwork pattern. "Father will love to see this," she murmurs. As the movement causes the soft shuffling to be a little more obvious, she pauses, glancing up at you once more.

Tarrant attempts to look innocent, having been evil enough to tuck a gift within a gift. "It's a puzzle box, I figured it'd be more amusing if I put something in it. Incentive of a sorts, mystery and all that." He looks a bit sheepishly amused however, "It's not too tricky to open though, I'm not as evil as -that-."

Corian laughs very quietly, head shaking back and forth as she turns her attention back to the box. "You're a horrible man, Tarrant." Of course, her tone is decidedly fond, and belies the potential nastiness of her words. "Tormenting me so--goodness." But then her attention is on the puzzle. She turns it over in her hands, exploring it with eyes and fingertips.

Tarrant stifles a quiet snicker, eyes lighting in decided amusement. He straightens back a bit, leaning against the back of the couch. "I do so try. I mean -somebody- has to be horrible, it might as well be me."

Corian glances up very briefly, with a quick smile. See, it's a puzzle, and there's something -inside- the puzzle, so she has to solve it. "It is best to follow your gifts," she says, a hint of gentle teasing in her tone. She starts the process of puzzle-box-opening; her father has had her test enough similar gifts that she knows a few of the standard tricks.

And this one's pretty standard, although there are a number of catches rather than just one or two. Tarrant just continues to watch, looking bemused and a bit zoned.

Corian, quickly absorbed in the puzzle, works in silence. There's a thoughtful smile on her face, balancing the expression of concentration. Finally, she manages to work the final catch, looking up with a smile of delight. "Aha."

Inside the box is a photograph, although it is not a new print, and in fact one corner is slightly charred as if by flame. It is however a rather neat picture for all that, taken of the old gang so to speak. It's an informal picture, taken at some gathering in what memory serves was Tarrant's former apartment. There's too many people for the small space and they're sprawled on couches and the floor and any space available, apparently eating. You're in the picture, giving the camera man an amused 'How dare you' kind of look, Tarrant is on the other side of the room sprawled on the floor and tormenting someone by tying their laces together. On the back of the picture is written in scrawling script.

How dare one say it?

After the cycles, poems, singers, plays,

Vaunted Ionia's, India's -Homer, Shakespeare -the long, long times, thick dotted roads, areas,

The shining clusters and the Milky Ways of stars -Nature's pulses reaped,

All retrospective passions, heroes, war, love, adoration,

All ages' plummets dropped to their utmost depths,

All human lives, throats, wishes, brains -all experiences' utterance;

After the countless songs, or long or short, all tongues, all lands,

Still something not yet told in poesy's voice or print -something lacking,

(Who knows? the best yet unexpressed and lacking.)

-Whitman

The words were written there a while back, as they too are slightly charred.

Corian blinks as she sees the picture, automatically holding it just a bit more carefully as she realizes just how priceless it is. "Tarrant," she whispers, not able to look up just yet. "This is... van'chela..." Yes, Corian, the linguist, is speechless. She turns over the picture, then pauses to read the script there. One hand lifts for a moment to wipe at her overflowing eyes, and she gives a rather undignified sniffle. Her smile as she finally looks up is very warm, if holding just a hint of wistful regret. "Thank you, van'chela."

Tarrant looks rather fondly pleased at your reaction, hands sliding into his pockets to keep from fidgeting sheepishly. Making women cry, even happily so, makes him worry. "You're welcome, my friend. It seemed a fitting present."

Corian carefully tucks the box on her desk as well, though she keeps hold of the picture. "It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect." She peers at the picture once more, gaze moving unerringly towards it as if she can't help herself, then lifts her eyes to look at you. "But... are you sure you wish to part with it? It is a treasure."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant nods, it's a simple nod, but somehow manages a great deal of emphasis. "Yes, I want you to have it. I cannot think of a more fitting home for it. And with the situation I live in, it was merely kept in deposit box. An ignominious fate for such a memory. It deserves to see the light of day and be appreciated."

Corian smiles warmly, then says softly, "Then I will be honored to keep it. But if you ever get to a point where you would like to have it once more, I would, of course, understand." She carefully sets the picture atop the puzzlebox, movements almost excessively gentle. "Thank you, Tarrant. I will treasure it."

Tarrant shakes his head crisply, "No, it would please me best for you to have it." He grins, "Then ot was a gift well chosen, I'm glad."

Corian turns back from getting the picture settled, though she still casts a fond glance at it. "It was very well chosen--all of them were." She pauses a beat, then mentions, with an amused smile, "I was instructed to feed you, by the way--Clara's orders."

Tarrant looks more than a little disconcerted by that, "Huh?" Type help for help. "Feed me? Um, why is she ordering you to do that? It seems a bit, uh, preemptory."

Corian lifts her shoulders in a cautious--but, of course, still graceful--shrug. "She was concerned that you would not take proper care of yourself. I attempted to convince her that that was not the case, though she still suggested chicken soup."

Tarrant's brows lift, obviously amused at this. "I am well enough, and after all, you're a vegetarian. I take it she didn't know that?"

Corian, clearly also amused, shakes her head. "She knows that, yes--she was able to tell from a vampiric sample, apparently. She also suggested vegetable soup, though apparently lasagna and tea will do nearly as well."

Tarrant shakes his head, making a politely dimissive gesture. "I shall survive, but thanks, I have no intention of imposing on you on your birthday of all days, especially not after previous lunacy."

Corian shakes her head fractionally. "It would not be an imposition, van'chela," she murmurs, equally polite. "And," she adds, with the smallest of sighs, "I still do not blame you at all for the previous lunacy, whether you blame yourself or not."

Tarrant isn't going to buy that. If he's not blameworthy, then why all the cruel and evil abuse via Clara and Corian about playing off said guilt yesterday. He doesn't point that out however, simply looking a bit sheepish for a moment. "Neither hereabout nor there. How has your day been?"

Corian can make use of -your- guilt, even though she finds it unnecessary. She's cruel and evil that way. "It has been most interesting. I had a chat with my great-grandmother this morning, and then the aforementioned chat with Riley. After a visit with Clara, I was able to check in with my employers." There's a brief gesture at the paperwork, and then she inquires, in a segue that is likely rather abrupt, "Will you be going to that costume ball?" Her tone is odd, as it sounds like she isn't actually sure which response she would prefer.

Tarrant gives the paperwork a sidelong look, "Your employers seem rather evil." Hello pot? Come in pot? The latter question seems to confuse him for a moment, and then he nods. "Probably, I'd not thought about it overmuch. I just read the invitation this morning and I was ... not thinking overwell at the time. Are you intending to attend?"

Corian inclines her head, after a faintly ironic smile for the evil of her employers. She noticed the pot-kettleness as well. "I had not planned to do so, as I am not especially pleased with the thought of so many people in such a relatively small place, but it was..." She considers the proper word. "It was suggested that I go."

"Suggested?" Tarrant's brows lift in undisguised curiosity, "Your evil employers?"

Corian shakes her head, with a quiet laugh. "My evil great-grandmother. She found out about it--somehow--and sent me a... costume, supposedly as a birthday gift." She shakes her head fractionally. "I love Honalee very dearly, but she's an evil, evil woman."

Tarrant's expression perks up a bit. Evil people are always a good thing, "Evil? The costume then is evil as well, being sent by an evil individual?" He looks amused, "Now I have this sudden urge to attend."

"It is most evil," Corian replies, with a sigh that manages to be both martyred and amused. "Honalee almost definitely thinks that she is helping me, but I cannot say that I agree." With a quiet chuckle, she says, "This is an opportunity that is not likely to come again, though I must warn you that I will be doing my best to keep people from realizing that I am the one in the evil costume." She adds, after a thoughtful pause, "I daresay that you will be able to guess, though."

"If we're not supposed to know, I guess I will be denied if I request permission to escort you." Tarrant winks, looking decidedly amused by the entire situation. "I shall have to scruffle something together in the costume department and attend."

Corian's brows lift fractionally, though, of course, she's still smiling. "As you are likely to discover the horrible truth anyway, I do not believe I would deny that request, were it to be made." With a quick smile, she adds, "I am glad that you will attend, though. That will make the evening somewhat more bearable."

Tarrant has obviously been saving up energy while sitting comfortably on your couch, as he drops smmothly to one knee, bowing over it to the point his chest all but rests on the upright knee. "Then may I request it? Could I have the honor of escorting you to this disturbing costumed affair plagued by spazzing video types, amusingly dressed diplomats, so that I may make snide comments in your general direction?" Okay, the gesture is courtly, but the words are a loss, maybe a B -.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian, after a brief, startled pause at your on one knee-dness, offers a luminous smile. "Of course, van'chela," she replies, with a brief, be-chaired bow. "I would be most honored to have you as my escort. Many thanks for your kind invitation." She pauses a beat, then says, "But do, please, get up, Tarrant."

Oh see now getting -down- here was easy. Getting back up is not so easily accomplished. Tarrant cheats and reaches to hook fingers over the edge of your desk and haul himself to his feet with a series of creaks. He looks both amused and pleased however as he steadies himself against the item of furniture. "It shall be an adventure. We can make fun of other people in an obscure language." Okay, so he has a twisted idea of a good time. "All surface propriety."

Corian looks just a bit worried by those creaking noises, though she manages not to ask--for the thousandth time--if you're all right. Instead, she just smiles. "Oh, that sounds splendid," she replies, in fact looking just a bit delighted. "And as I will be masked, I will be able to make faces at everyone, and nobody will know."

Tarrant steps back to return to his seat on the couch, settling back again to return to the process of energy gathering so he can be suave in fits and starts. "See, it'll be amusing, despite evil great-grandmothers and various lunacies. And I will even refrain from mass chaos causing behavior, no spiking the punch with truth serum, or randomly replacing the music with tapes from various diplomats phone lines..."

Corian looks, for just a moment, extremely tempted. See, she really -isn't- as nice as everybody thinks she is, she's just gotten really good at throttling her evil impulses. "I suppose that would probably be best, yes, as entertaining as I'm sure it would -be-."

Tarrant offers an amusedly wry grin as he shifts to a position where the couch will take his weight almost entirely and there's little to no effort involved. "Formal parties are normally so dull, I have spent the bulk of a goodly number of them thinking how to liven them up. This one does not seem it will be dull however."

"I have," Corian replies, with a hint of amusement, "Fortunately, not been subjected to too many formal parties, and I have generally been able to escape fairly early. The costumes, at least, should make this one entertaining. My wayward older brother apparently has something up his sleeve, which I will be interested to see."

"An arm maybe?" Tarrant's expression is innocence.

Corian literally takes a moment to look for something to throw. Just about everything has sharp edges, though, so she settles for crumpling up a piece of paper and tossing it at you--left-handed, so her aim is not quite true. "Horrible man," she murmurs fondly.

Tarrant is however un-horrible enough to know that it's best if he ducks and allows the paper ball to hit despite more than ample warning. He snickers quietly. "Horrible seems to be my shtick, yeah." He settles back again taking a carefully slow breath. "Always been my job in fact."

Corian murmurs something about the beginning of time, though she doesn't speak -quite- clearly for the specifics of her comment to be heard. Besides, you're not -that- old. "Well, you certainly do it well," she adds, with a low chuckle. "Was this some sort of training seminar that I missed? Some of the others could truly be horrible as well." Her gaze flicks back to the picture, with another of those rather wistful smiles.

"I got it home grown, but you never know. It might've been a class I missed or something." Tarrant pauses, considering with a distantly amused look. "I think perhaps it is more because we had all been very much ... apart. And then to find that being apart was not necessary... Horror resulted."

Corian nods her agreement to that. She takes up the picture--she has to, she really, really feels the need to hold it--and studies the familiar faces. One finger gently traces the edge of the photo as she observes quietly, "And it was not such a bad life." Her eyes still on the picture, she admits, volume dropping half a notch, "I have been considering whether I should ask the department to let me join the ranks once more."

Tarrant tries -not- to allow the hopefulness into his expression. It's a doomed effort of course, he's still far too tired and battered and all to have as much control as that would require. His words are cautionary however, "It's not the only life that's not so bad though. And it's certainly more prone to chaos and disaster and random rockfalls."

Corian glances up from the picture finally, with the faintest of smiles. "I am aware of that, yes, van'chela. And there is also the matter of my contractual obligation here. I still have a few days over nine months left in which I must fulfil those obligations--I believe, now, that I should not have taken such an extended contract," she adds, smile going just a bit sheepish. "It is something that must be considered, before I make a final decision. But... well, I find that I miss it, despite the chaos and disaster--and perhaps, in part, even because of the chaos and disaster.

Tarrant starts to say something, and then stifles a yawn, rubbing absently at one temple. "I apologize for my rudeness, but I perhaps should go. Last night was tricky, I'd best not run a repeat. I'm sorry, I hope the rest of your birthday's pleasant."

Corian inclines her head as she gets to her feet, absently straightening her skirt as she does so. "Of course, van'chela. If you are tired, you should rest; there is no need to apologize, though, of course, I accept your apology."

Tarrant climbs to his feet, steadying himself as he does so, and effecting a relatively normal standing position. "Thank you for your understanding, g'night." He moves to head towards the door to let himself out.

Corian remains by the desk, though her gaze follows you. "Rest well, Tarrant, and dream sweetly." See, she's nice, she says it in Standard.

Tarrant offers a wave, sans bow, and then heads through the door.

One beat

Two beats...

Tarrant is back in the room in a flash, and there's the sizzle of phased plasma fire on the opposite side of the door as he ducks back in and slams the door shut. He looks sufficently startled, and asks, "Did you -really- offend your neighbors perhaps?"

Corian blinks several times, looking up from her paperwork, her expression just about as startled as your own. "I do not believe I offended my neighbors -quite- that much. Are you all right?"

"I do not think my vest will ever be the same." And in fact Tarrant's vest has a searhed streak down the back of it. Dang, he must be an accomplished ducker. The folks outside begin hammering at the door and he firmly wedges himself against it. "We seem to have a problem."

Corian gets to her feet and moves closer to the door, as if to add her own rather negligible weight to the door. "You are most perceptive, van'chela. I suppose they would not leave if I told them I did not wish to purchase any magazines, and that I was happy with my current long-distance provider..."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"Maybe they're the new militant Jehovah's witnesses, can you comm Security maybe? Whoever these folks are, yack..." At the last he shifts from his position, taking a new one holding the door jammed. "They have enough plasma they're about to melt through this door."

Corian nods to that, not bothering to respond as she lifts her comm-unit and speaks into it, tone quiet. After a brief exchange, she reports, "They were already on their way, and theoretically should be here at any moment."

Tarrant looks decidedly relieved, as he's running out of spots to hold the door that aren't danged hot. Then suddenly there's fresh commotion outside and his brows drop, "Must be them, the door just stopped heating."

Corian crosses closer to the door, though she doesn't move to open it just yet. "Good," she says quietly. "Did you recognize them?"

Tarrant finishes sliding down the door, shifting to sit to the side of it for the moment. His expression is less than thrilled. "Yeah, I did." In fact, gee, he looks almost angry. Almost being the key word, as Tarrant angry is a very distant and concentrated thing. He's exceedingly calm.

Corian starts to say something, but then the knock sounds at the door. She moves to answer it, briefly resting a hand on your shoulder. Opening the door, she offers a pleasant smile to the SecOffs waiting outside. "Thank you for your quick assistance--and thank you from my door as well." The poor door. Now her neighbors -will- be annoyed with her.

Tarrant offers a grin up at the hand on his shoulder, although there's still something of steel in his eyes. Steel still forge-white no less. He remains where he is, trusting he may be, but garnering the attention of Security if he doesn't have to is certainly a fate to be avoided if at all possible.

Corian converses briefly with the Security folks--no, officer, she's not exactly sure who the bad guys are, or what she could have done to cause their wrath to fall upon her door in such a gloriously melting fashion, no, she didn't see them. Pay no attention to the man on the floor. Of course, Kathlyn doesn't do that. "What about you?" she inquires, with a sudden and knowing grin. Kathlyn's happy. She's finding some strange man in the boss's sisters quarters. Rumors may now abound. "Did you see them?"

For someone not knowing him, the turnaround might not be obvious. Of course having known Tarrant for a while, Corian can automatically know not to trust his guileless expression and seemingly helpful attempts at answering the questions, "Very briefly," he says, looking sheepish. "They had very large guns. I ducked. Large guns are, by and large, dangerous. So my first thought involved ducking and escaping. Thanks t'y'all for coming as fast as ya' did, it's terribly appreciated ma'am. Terribly, many thanks."

Corian, as she has known Tarrant for a while, in fact doesn't trust that expression, and stifles a thoroughly inappropriate smile. Kathlyn, however, just grins. She likes helpful folks. "Just part of the job. Now, Miss Treston here doesn't seem to know why these folks would have come here. Do you have any idea...?" And there's that pause where she waits for a name to be inserted.

Tarrant doesn't seem to notice the pause for the name, as he's still so busy trying to provide details. "They told me to stop, I had already ducked though." He looks rather mournful, "No I don't know. I'm sorry, I really wish I did. Maybe they're mercenaries? Miz Treston and I just got finished doing some work on a less than popular stellar treaty, maybe some folks wanting to set it inta' dissarayment." Even the accent is thicker, but not so much it becomes obvious he's laying it on.

Kathlyn looks perhaps a little disappointed that the reason for the strange man's presence is something so banal. But, hey, it gives her a basis for rumors. 'Stellar treaty' is a new euphemism, right? "Well," she says, "if we come up with anything, we'll be sure to let you folks know. And can I get your name, sir? We need it for the incident report."

Corian keeps her peace, hands resting demurely on her legs. She's sweet, she's innocent, she couldn't -possibly- know what those bad, nasty men wanted. Really.

"Tarrant Czolgosz," Tarrant supplies, seemingly with no hesitation whatsoever. He isn't however kind enough to venture to so much as -hint- as to how to spell it. "I live downstairs." How could anybody so nice and randomly helpful be -anything- but what he seems?

Kathlyn starts to key something into a datapad, though she sighs at the last name. "Could you spell that for me please, Mr. Czolgosz? And where, exactly, do you live downstairs?" She pauses a beat, then adds, "You folks shouldn't work so late. Normal people--and that doesn't include Security, of course--stopped hours ago."

Corian, of course, muffles a snicker at 'Mr. Czolgosz,' and thus gets a briefly suspicious look from Kathlyn. Corian smiles. She's innocent.

Tarrant does spell it, at about ten time the rate he did for Clara, "C-z-o-l-g-o-s-z. Very common name, really." He can't quite restrain a hint of amusement in his next reply. "In a closet on the second floor." He nods, "Still, the wheels of diplomacy never stop, so they intend to drag us poor paper pushers along afterwards. I swear, half of them with the brains of cheese."

That last comment gets a brief, wicked grin from Kathlyn. "Only half?" She takes down an approximation of the last name, and decides not to press the 'where do you live?' issue. She can find that out easily enough on her own, after all. "I think that's about all we need for now, though one of us might have to ask you some more questions. Anything else I can do for either of you?"

Corian shakes her head, with a warm smile. "No, thank you," she replies. "Your assistance was most appreciated."

Tarrant shakes his head in a negative as well, all innocence. "Thank you for showing up to our rescue so swiftly."

"Glad we could help, sure. Just glad you two are okay." And with that, Kathlyn lifts a hand in farewell, exiting the room and closing the poor, battered door behind her.

Corian waits for a few moments, then dissolves into quiet laughter, leaning against the wall next to the door. "The poor woman."

Tarrant half-snickers as well, looking sheepish, "I tried to be nice about it. I couldn't give it to her entirely straight though. Something's up, and I don't much care for what it's looking like."

Corian, straightening, sobers somewhat. "You -were- nice," she murmurs, as she returns to her seat. "You're right, though--if they're sending people -here-, of all places..."

Tarrant does not yet get up from his seat by the door. "I recognized them. Those were departmental squad soldiers."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian's brows lift slowly. "Ah," she replies. "Van'chela, this is getting more and more entangled. Do you know who could have authorized their... expedition? Or who would have that authority and the desire to do so?"

"Desire? That's a tricky bit, authority? I can think of a few folks..." Tarrant looks abashed, "And now I'm bringing trouble to your doorstep, Corian. This can't be right. I'd probably best skeedle and set about getting some official distance set up before you end up hurt again." Speaking of hurt, there's a definate hurt look half hidden amidst the anger is his expression at having to say that.

Corian blinks once, then shakes her head a bit too quickly. "Tarrant... please. They have come here once. Perhaps they will not find it necessary that you be here to try again."

"Still though, if I can make enough noise, they'll -have- to follow me instead," It's a losing battle despite Tarrant's protests, backup is after all one of the first lessons learned in this business.

Corian points out quietly, "Whoever did this likely has the resources to send someone after -both- of us, should they find it necessary." She pauses a beat, then says quietly, "Besides, we make a good team--even John said it. We can keep an eye on each other."

Has somebody been passing out diagrams of Tarrant's buttons? It seems so, as people just keep poking them spot on. "An eye on each other...It seems logical certainly... I do worry though, of inviting more trouble for you."

Corian smiles faintly at that. "I am aware of the potential for trouble, though, van'chela. And I would much rather assist you in dealing with the trouble than know you were facing it on your own. Then, -I- would worry, and would have to attempt to locate you, and would likely make the situation worse."

Tarrant chuckles ruefully, pulling his legs to sit tailor fashion, "It seems I have no choice then, huh... Logic seems t'demand it, as well as personal preference. An un-fightable combination."

Corian smiles warmly at that. "Good. Then I will have to worry much less. Thank you, van'chela." She's thanking you for exposing her to danger. Maybe she was dropped on her head as a small child.

And from that look Tarrant offers you, it seems he's starting to wonder that. "Corian, you are one of the most brilliant people I know, but some days I really worry about if you have not perhaps been overexposed to lunacy."

Corian's smile turns angelically innocent. "One cannot be overexposed to lunacy, my dear friend."

Your communit crackles to life and says "Cori? It's Kya... er, I suppose I should say Pvt. Frondeur, as it's official business stuff, and all." in Kyara's voice.

You say "Official business? Of course, Kyara, how may I help you?" into the communit.

Tarrant scrambles up to his knees, leaning up against the door jamb and hefting himself to his feet. "I dunno', if it ends you up spending time hanging out with real lunatics. See, lunatics are bad."

Corian eyes her comm-unit thoughtfully, then offers you a smile. "No, they're not," she replies. "I hate to contradict you, van'chela, but some of my best friends are lunatics, so they can't be -all- bad."

Your communit crackles to life and says "Your companion who was involved in the ruckus? Could you, uh, spell his name?" in Kyara's voice.

You say "Oh, of course. His name is Tarrant--that's T-A-R-R-A-N-T." And she's kind, even in her evil, she spells it slowly. "I thought that Lieutenant Mayes already had that information?" into the communit.

Tarrant sinks back onto the spot of the couch he had all too recently abandoned. The comm unit garners a glance, and he snickers at the spelling of his first name, able to guess what was asked.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Um... Well, does he have another name? *voice turns ever so sweet* Lt. Mayes can't spell it, see. Something with some z's in it?"" in Kyara's voice.

Corian offers you an utterly innocent smile before turning to the comm-unit once more.

You say "Oh! Oh, his last name, my apologies." She's innocent. Really. "That would be Czolgosz. His ancestors did not believe in spelling, you see. It's C-Z-O-L-G-O-S-Z." into the communit.

"They believed in spelling," Tarrant comments quietly, trying not to laugh. "They just did not believe in spelling -correctly-."

Your communit crackles to life and blares "*chuckle* Well, we were close. Thanks, Cori." in Kyara's voice.

You say "You are most welcome, Kyara." into the communit.

Corian manages to maintain her innocent tone until she clicks off the comm-unit, at which point she chuckles quietly. "I will correct my statement, if you like, but later."

Tarrant shakes his head in mild amusement, "I appreciate the offer, but nah, I think we've traumatized the poor people enough. We're going to make them insane as well at this rate."

Corian nods her agreement to that, absently straightening her skirt. With a faint grimace, she says, "I believe we surely will, yes." She pauses a beat, then inquires, "Do you think it would still be safe to attend that ball tomorrow?"

"Well, you've as much said nobody's likely to recognize you after all, and there's safety n crowds, despite what all the movies say." Tarrant actually -almost- blushes. His ears redden a little, "Besides, it sounds like fun."

Corian inclines her head, with a faint grimace. "The costume is... very uncharacteristic, despite the fact that it is very concealing, as well. I believe there are some who will recognize me, but they will likely be only those who know me fairly well."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant considers this at length a moment, ruffling fingers through his hair and setting it at dissaray. "I'll have to see what I can rummage up for a costume along the same un-recognizable lines."

Corian's fingers twitch, but she manages to keep in her chair. See, disarrayed hair kind of begs to be straightened, but she can't do -that-. "That sounds like a very good idea, yes--and it -will- be fun."

Sadly it will have to remain a temptation, as Tarrant seems hardly likely to fix it, instead resting his head on a folded arm against the couch's arm. "It'll be a riot. And besides, if there is somebody out screwing the pooch, there'll be hints of it there."

Corian inclines her head. "Oh, most definitely. We can listen while we make fun of the others there."

Tarrant nods to that, well sort of nods, with his head half down the gesture is perhaps a bit lost. "Yeah, mocking the passerby, good plan, all those outfits. And with your ability to comprehend languages it should be vastly amusing as well as helpful. And lots and lots and..." He brings himself up short, "I am babbling again. I would suggest I should go, but with my luck there'd be a cavalry unit in the hallway."

Corian gets to her feet and pads over to the door. She opens it and peeks out, then closes it rather hastily. "Not a cavalry unit, but Delegate An'Shendor is not much better. Perhaps you should not leave just yet."

Tarrant offers you an amused look, chuckling quietly. "Thank you, I guess hiding in here a while longer is in the cards. Not that you're gonna' catch me objecting overmuch. I'm a lunatic after all, I have to inflict the lunacy on others."

Corian moves back to her chair. After a moment, she offers tentatively, "If you would like to catch a nap, van'chela, I have no objections."

Tarrant looks rather sheepish, and straightens up, trying to look awake and alert. "No, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Sleeping on your couch would be altogether innapropriate."

Corian pauses at that, expression both puzzled and amused. "Tarrant, it is my couch, in my quarters. Shouldn't it be up to me to determine what would be appropriate to do on it?" She shakes her head, adding, "If you are tired, then you should sleep."

Tarrant chuckles a bit sheepishly, his eyes on his hands twitching in an unconscious pattern, as if he were handling a puzzle. "Yeah, I guess it is your call to make. Still, I'm fine, I'm just working on my 'looking sleepy' mask, lotsa practice and all."

Corian looks decidedly amused by that. "Ah, yes. Of course. It's an excellent mask, van'chela. Perhaps you should use it for the ball."

Tarrant appears to give this ample consideration, "I might, but I will have to see what is available in the potential costume department. It is after all, a bit late to be looking for such things considering half the town intends to be at this thing."

Corian, with a sudden, innocent smile, suggests, "Honalee would almost definitely be able to come up with something. I could ask her, if you like?"

Tarrant stops completing the non-existant puzzle, looking at his hands as if expecting to see the pieces in his hands. He looks up, "Honalee?"

Corian inclines her head. "That would be my great-grandmother--the one who sent my costume, you see."

Tarrant ahhs in understanding, comprehension dawning. "Ahh, I see. Do you think she would have any good suggestions?"

Corian considers that for a long moment. "I suppose it depends on your definition of the word. She seems to think that what she sent for me is perfect, though I cannot say that I agree. Possibly, she could."

Tarrant laughs quietly, lifting his shoulders in a vague sort of shrug. "Ahh, but I'm also far less easily embarrassed. I'm too good at making a fool of myself to begin with, I welcome all suggestions for lunacy."

Corian's nod is just a bit sheepish. "You do have somewhat more flair than I do. I can attempt to contact Honalee, if you like? She is most certainly creative."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"I dunno about flair, you have a great deal of flair Corian. Everything you do has flair, far more than anything I do. Everything I do is fake, and obviously so. You're naturally...you have presence of a kind I just imitate." Tarrant does add a nod however, "If you think it might amuse her."

Corian's brows lift a bit at that. "Though I must disagree with your assessment, thank you. It is kind of you to say." With a gesture towards the comm-unit, she says, "The time is such on Kashid that she may be available now?"

Tarrant blinks several times, not having expected that. But he's tired enough to find the concept agreeable and nods. "Hey, if you think it would not bother her?"

Corian shakes her head, moving over to the unit. "If she's there, it will not likely bother her. She likes to keep in touch with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And it will give her another opportunity to say just how much her birthday gift was for my benefit." She chuckles quietly, adding, "She may not be in, though. She has been more difficult to reach, of late."

Tarrant resumes his former position of hand on arm and arm on couch. He's really suave with his mussed hair and scorched vest, no really, quite suave, if smudged is suave. "Busy and all?"

Corian nods her agreement, starting the various procedures for the subspace call. "Rather, yes. She was here for some time, but she reached the mandatory retirement age, so she went back to Kashid."

Tarrant ahhs quietly, shifting to offer some semblance of privacy to the call, although it is tricky for him to do so, he's all curiosty after all, it's a professional trait. "Gotcha."

Corian offers a quick smile over her shoulder, though she turns back as the screen fuzzes, then clears. She offers the elderly Edreeni woman a warm smile. "Good... morning? I am surprised to be able to catch you so soon after our last conversation."

Honalee is seated in a large wicker chair, dressed in a dress of a flowing style not unlike Corian's manner of dress, although it does not seem so much designed to conceal but to emphasize her still considerable grace. Honalee's got -presence-. It's in the rules. The morning sun shines through the room she's in, bathing it in a warm golden light. A cup of tea sits beside her left hand. Her expression lights in a smile, "Corian, child, it's good to hear from you even if it is early and often. How are you this..." She glances at a watch, "Evening?"

Corian, with a fond smile, nods. "It is evening, yes, and I am quite well. I hope the same may be said of you?"

"Certainly I'm well, it's a lovely morning here." Honalee smiles back at something out of the range of the camera before turning back to you, "What brings you to comm however, it's still before the ball, yes? You must follow the instructions I provided -to the letter-, I'll have you lifemated off yet, child. I succeeded with Greg, and if a loster cause was ever born I know not."

Corian manages not to sigh, though her expression would suggest her restraint. "It is still before the ball, yes; it is not until tomorrow. And I will follow your instructions, of course, but you -know- I am not looking for that." She pauses. She's not going to get into that discussion now. "And I am actually comming on behalf of a friend. Since your gift to me was so... creative, I thought I could ask your advice on a costume for him. He has little time to come up with one, you see."

"Him?" Ooh, see now Honalee has smelled blood and is all but circling. "Is he attractive?" Thankfully Tarrant is now snoozing against the couch arm, and cannot hear this. "Maybe something with tights..." she muses.

Corian casts a brief glance over her shoulder, as she most certainly does not want Tarrant to hear this. "Honalee... please." Her tone is quiet, but just a bit aggrieved. "He is my van'chela--nothing more. And I do not believe that he would wear -tights-."

Honalee sighs in amused exasperation, "Just friends then... All right dear child, I shall attempt to refrain from hounding overmuch, but one really must have hobbies after all." Hers is tormenting her great-grandkids. "No tights...and not much time to work with." Her eyes alight with amusement, "Perhaps a lumberjack?"

Corian blinks at the suggestion, then muffles a laugh, with another glance over her shoulder to make sure that you are, in fact, still snoozing. "With my costume... Honalee, the jokes..." She pauses, then. "It would be very simple, though," she admits. "And it would be most comfortable for him."

Tarrant is still snoozing indeed, tucked into the corner of the couch and out cold.

Honalee nods, tapping at her watch and trying to look innocent, "And you've a limited time to work with as well, and it's a simple costume. Besides, you don't have to tell him -why- he should be a lumberjack, that way he can still be awed by your glory in that dress, dear. I don't care if he is merely a good friend, if he's not gay he'll be awed." She looks a bit exasperated, "He's gay isn't he... With my luck..."

Corian protests, "Honalee!" Oh, yes, she's shocked. "As I have said, he is my van'chela. Tjis is not something we have discussed. I do not believe he prefers men, however." She pauses a beat, then admits, though she's positive this is a tactical error, "He will be escorting me to the ball, so I suppose he is not." After another pause, she adds, a bit hesitantly, "I do not know that I should suggest this, though. It feels somewhat like I am tricking him."

You're not even -kidding- it's a tactical error, "Oooh, so he's your -date-? Then he simply must coordinate his costume accordingly. It's only -appropriate-, dear." She does pause a bit however, "Unless you think he would be overly embarrassed?" Embarrassing Corian is acceptable, chasing off potential males is wrong. "Is he a nice man? Married? A drummer?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian actually cringes, making herself smaller in her seat. "Yes," she says, tone a little long-suffering. "He is my date, yes, but he is my -van'chela-. I do not believe he would be -overly- embarrassed, though. As he said before I commed, he is not as easily embarrassed as I am." There's a brief, warm smile before she nods to the first of the questions. "He is a nice man, yes." He kills people, but he's still nice. "He is very nice. He is not married, though." At that last question,s he pauses. "A drummer? I do not believe so. Clara is the drummer, Honalee."

"Clara being a drummer is acceptable. Greg is hopeless enough that he needs someone with the ability to beat things with sticks." Honalee pronounces this with something even approaching seriousness. "Nice is good, it is important to have nice friends. And child, you do know that as long as you are happy I do not really object to your status. It is merely my job to find the one thing that is as evil as it can be to torment you about and do so thoroughly."

Corian can't help but chuckle at the statement about her brother's hopelessness. "Hona, Riley is not quite as bad as all that, but Clara really is a wonderful person, and I'm most glad that they have found each other." After a brief pause, she nods, expression one of fond amusement. "I know this. And I am content with my life. Tarrant is my friend, and a good one to have. That is all I need."

"I worked for a half dozen years in that building with that boy, he's hopeless." Honalee smiles fondly at that last however. "If you are content then, just remember friendship is a form of love after all."

Corian inclines her head to that. She doesn't glance over her shoulder before she says, "Yes, it certainly is. And I do love Tarrant, if not quite in that way--there is much that we have shared."

It's a -danged- good thing Tarrant is still a curl of snoozingness, there's no telling how evil in a dozen different ways it would be for him to hear those words. Like a twisting knife with scalloped bits.

Honalee nods, looking pleased and altogether approving, there's a bit of hope there. "Then make him dress up like a goof, wander out looking like the goddess you are, and have a wonderful evening, child."

Corian does blush at the compliment, really looking all of fourteen. Something about Honalee can do that to her. "I will certainly try. And thank you--for everything." She pauses a beat, then inquires, voice a bit wistful, "Have you thought any more about visiting? We'd love to have you here, very much."

There's a pause and then Honalee nods, "I've certainly thought about it. Perhaps soon, I find I miss the bustle."

Corian's smile is sudden, and dazzling. "That would be wonderful," she exults, if quietly. "Please do visit. Comm-chatting just isn't the same, and now that I have a better idea of what my schedule will be like for more than a month or three at a time, I really would love to be able to spend some time with you."

Does Honalee look perhaps guilty? That would be a yes. She simply nods. "I will have to see what I can arrange. You have a pleasant evening dear, okay?"

Corian nods at that, with a warm smile. "I will certainly do so. And you enjoy your day. I will comm or write after the ball, so I can tell you how it went."

"Please do dear," And Honalee returns the smile, "Be well dear, and may you find your heart's desire, whatever that happens to be." The connection is cut.

Corian regards the screen for a moment, then, with a fond smile, gets to her feet. She does look somewhat relieved as she sees that you're still asleep. After a moment, she takes the fuzzy blanket from wherever it is that she stashed it and moves to cover you with it. Aww.

Which does however have the sad side effect of waking Tarrant, although not excessively so at first, he's still a bit groggy from his impromptu nap. "Whuh?" Ahh, such talented conversation. "Oh, have a nice conversation?"

Corian keeps her voice quiet, and rather soothing. "A very nice conversation, yes. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

For a moment Tarrant almost does just that, stifling a yawn of sorts. "She have any costume ideas?" He seems disinclined to move just yet, "Not supposed to sleep."

Corian manages not to roll her eyes as she perches lightly on the arm of the couch, just above your head. "You are indeed supposed to sleep. She did have an idea, though I am not sure how well it will suit." There's a brief, mostly-muffled laugh before Corian says, "She suggested that you go as a lumberjack."

Tarrant glances up at you, looking perhaps a bit more alert and decidedly amused. He shifts up a bit although not from beneath the blanket. It may not be dignified, but it's warm. "I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay? Do I have to wear heels?"

Corian can't help it any longer, and finally reaches to smooth your hair into place. It's been talking to her, you see. "Only if you want to, van'chela, though heels might be somewhat difficult, should we need to leave in a hurry."

Tarrant doesn't appear to having his hair fixed, as has been noted he's still really quite out of it still, and is just lost in warm and comfortable relative safety. "Boots then. Yeah. Think I can manage that. I have flannel and jeans, and I know where to acquire an ox..."

Tarrant doesn't appear to object to having his hair fixed, as has been noted he's still really quite out of it still, and is just lost in warm and comfortable relative safety. "Boots then. Yeah. Think I can manage that. I have flannel and jeans, and I know where to acquire an ox..."

Corian blinks several times at that. "Tarrant, the gryphons might object if you brought an ox into their hotel. Though I must say that it would surely be entertaining. Should I ask -how- you know where to acquire an ox?"

Tarrant realizes the point of confusion and brings one hand from beneath the blanket to indicate small size as he snickers, "No, a toy ox. A blue one. Like in the story."

Corian is maybe a little deprived. She doesn't know about Babe. "The story," she repeats slowly. "A story about lumberjacks with toy blue oxen." She doesn't ask what you've been sniffing, she's kind, but she does sound quite confused.

Tarrant blinks several times, bringing his hand back down and into the nice fluffy warmth. "You've never heard about Paul Bunyan and Babe the big blue ox? Oh wow, it's whole wealth of wonderful stories."

Corian shakes her head, though she pauses. "Paul Bunyan. Was he the fellow who planted apple trees? No... wait, that was someone else. I've never heard about Paul Bunyan and Babe the big blue ox. I would be glad to hear, though."

"Johnny Appleseed did the trees," Tarrant settles back into the comfort of the couch, still zoned enough not to question the situation. "He was a giant of a man, taller than the trees he cut. He carried a massive double-bladed axe and he could fell a whole tree one the foreswing and then on the back again. He wandered the Americas helping to fell the forests accompanied by a giant blue ox named Babe. He would fell the trees and Babe would haul them to the river to float down the flume to the mill. The two were the best of friends and would often wrestle. And they through up so much dust and dirst one day during a patch of wrassling they formed a whole mountain range, s'called the Rockies."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian blinks for a moment. "Johnny Appleseed," she murmurs. "Yes, that is the one of whom I have heard." She considers the rest of your words, with a smile. "Someone who cut down many trees." For some reason, this seems to tickle her. "How entertaining. Honalee will most definitely approve of this idea, yes."

"And he straightened...up the Colorado river I think? Hitched Babe up to it and dragged it straight so the logs could flow. It's beem a number of years since I've read those." Tarrant offers a fond grin, "Hey, if Honalee approves, how can I go wrong?" Famous last words bucko.

Corian can't help but laugh at your inquiry, shaking her head. "I think that you must definitely meet Honalee, if she does visit. She has said that she may, which is a wonderful thing." And she truly does sound extremely pleased.

Tarrant rubs at his forehead with the palm of his hand a moment, "I would be priveledged to meet her, although I'd not wanna' embarrass you and all, I know I have a talent for that particular feat after all."

Corian, with a fond smile, says, "Honestly, van'chela, Honalee manages to embarrass me quite well enough on her own. She... how did she put it? 'It is merely my job to find the one thing that is as evil as it can be to torment you about and to do so thoroughly.' I do not believe you could embarrass me, except in that Honalee would likely comment."

An amused grin dances rather sleepily across Tarrant's expression. "She sounds like a dangerously amusing relative to have. If I cannot cause harm, then I'd really enjoy meeting so infamous a person. Maybe I could learn some new techniques."

Corian returns the grin with one of her own. "She's most definitely a dangerously amusing relative. Of course, we all know that she does not intend malice, but just does what is expected, and so we love her dearly. I must say that there is part of me that is concerned about the prospect of you learning from her, though." Her tone is fondly teasing. Then, as she reaches to straighten the blanket a bit, she suggests softly, "Why don't you go back to sleep, van'chela? You look tired."

"I am tired," Tarrant admits, with some effort shifting straighter as if to clamber out from beneath the blanket, "I am being presumptious I'm sorry, I should head back downstairs.:

Corian points out quietly, "You will have to go past Security to get downstairs." She checked before she came over to do the blanket thing. Really. "If you would like to leave, of course, you should, but I do not consider it a presumption."

"Past Security...oh..." Tarrant settles back again. "It's not that I want to leave. I just don't wanna be offensive."

Corian replies, with a faint smile, "You are not being offensive. You are being tired, which, of course, is understandable."

"Sleeping on a lady's couch is probably right off the manners list though," Tarrant attempts to explain, although he doesn't sound like he is overly bothered at this point.

Corian's voice is rather amused as she says, "It depends on which particular rules list you follow. There are those which say that you should not even be allowed to be in my presence without a chaperone. On my own personal list, it is perfectly acceptable for you to be where you are."

Tarrant gestures to the giraffe on the low table, "But see there -is- a chaperone."

Corian chuckles quietly at that. "Well, then," she replies equably, "You may stay." Yes, she's definitely amused.

Tarrant seems to find this answer reasonable enough. Toy giraffes make everything make sense. No, really, they -do-. "Okay. Sounds good to me, wonderfully comfortable couch too."

Corian nods her agreement, with a quick smile. "That was my intent when I purchased it, yes--though it is something of a difficulty when I am trying to complete work while on said couch, after I have had a long day."

"If you've had a long day, it's probably a good thing that you rest, even if it is couch induced." Tarrant curls half under the blanket, taking advantage of the situation now that he's accepted it. "That sounds like some kind of medical condition. Couch induced somnolence, I'm sorry ma'am, there's nothing we can do to help."

Corian stifles a laugh at that as she gets up from the arm of the couch and returns to her desk chair once more, curling up rather demurely. "Alas, it's an all-too-frequent condition, on this couch. It can be treated, though, fortunately."

Tarrant rubs at one eye with a palm, sleepily. He's polite enough not to curl up enough to let boots onto the couch, he wasn't raised in a barn. "Treated? With repeated couch beatings?"

Corian shakes her head. "With sleep. It is an amazing concept, is it not? Perhaps you should try it, as should I."

"Yeah, sleep might be a good idea," Tarrant agrees quietly, "Thanks for letting me hide."

Corian offers a warm smile. "You are most welcome, van'chela. Please, make yourself comfortable. Is there anything that you need?" Jammies! Yeah, he'd look -suave- in her jammies.

"I think I'm set, Corian, yeah, thanks. Couch, blanket, warm..." Tarrant's still in this mostly seated half sprawl. "Thank you for the offer though, s'appreciated."

Corian gets to her feet to rummage in her closet--for, of course, jammies, though, fortunately, they're as unrevealing as almost everything else she owns. (That exception being her costume.) She ducks into the bathroom to change, emerging to disappear behind her screen, into the sleeping section of the room. "Chiat'a bei kruzon--that is, dream sweetly, van'chela."

Tarrant gives up and slides off his boots, stretching out onto the couch and appreciating the excessive length of it. "May your dreams show the inside mirror of your heart, g'night dear friend."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian murmurs something that sounds pleased. There are some rustling sounds--likely those of her getting into bed--and then the lights are lowered enough that one unfamiliar with the room could see to walk, but not so much that sleep would be difficult. "Sleep well," she murmurs.

Tarrant doesn't seem to have any difficulty with that injunction, after a brief mumbled half-response he's asleep. Still fighting off the rest of the bronchial infection his breathing is slightly audible in the room and it gradually slows.

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