Participants: Jaice, Maeve, Diar, Celebril

Background: At long last Jaice had tracked down her friend with the help of Celebril, and the young Atha'an Miere was more than greatful for the hot bath, food and change of clothes that Maeve offered her, particularly after two days of combing the streets with nothing to eat and nowhere to stay. But once made comfortable, Jaice found the others were more than a little curious as to how she came to be there in the first place... and then there's always the question of what to do next.

Setting: Sitting Room: Moderal Residence, Cairhien

Seemingly at ease, Maeve sits in one of the armchairs by the windows, her sleek legs crossed in a lazy manner. Though, as Jaice returns, she rises smoothly, gracefully, and approaches the other woman with a wry smile on her lips, her mood obviously far less tense than some hours ago. "The only advantage with those dreadful whites, they slip on easily," she chuckles dryly as she goes about lacing the dress up for her friend.

Idly toying with a gold crown of Tairen making, Diar practices something of amateur sleight-of-hand as the coin rolls (sometimes) across his knuckles a bit ponderously; other times it just falls and he picks it up again, trying once more. Casually bored, it's much more to his liking when someone finally speaks and moves. "Ahh, well. Blue," he says as he looks over, smiling passably, slipping the coin into a pocket. "I wish Girithlin had taken me up on the wager you'd choose that." A look to Maeve follows at her comment, and seems to restrain some more words.

"Wager? What do you take me for, an Illianer?" Celebril's voice is heavy and rather grumbly as he responds to Diar, still laid back on his couch. Either the ceiling is very interesting, or all the wind and rain has tired him out, because his eyes are half-closed yet and still staring upwards.

"Mrm," Jaice responds casually, standing still for the moment. When Maeve finishes, she lets the tiny braids tumble down her back again, and cocks her head at the ruddy-haired blademaster. "Oh? It brings out my eyes." Several fluid steps accentuate how very different this flowing fabric is from the coarse wool of Tower garb, and bring her to a comfortable seat beside Celebril. That is, after she nudges his legs out of the way. "It was nice you had a dress to fit, Maeve."

A slender brow arches faintly, and Maeve looks over to Diar for a moment, the glimmer of silver in her eyes betraying some amusement, but no surprise at how well he knows her wardrobe. "The choices were limited after all, if she wanted something that reached past her knees." To the other comments she chuckles softly, winding her way back to the armchair she previously occupied. "I did worry at first, " she replies to Jaice with a wry smile, "But that one fits you quite well indeed." Light conversation again, for a little, though her expression grows more serious as she makes herself comfortable again. "You feel better as well, I trust?"

Feeling something soft and silken nudging his bare feet off of the couch, Celebril is forced to look up. The golden-haired blademaster is suddenly taken with a fit of coughing, blinking, and flushing as he props himself up on his elbows.

Diar grants his fellow Andoran a sardonic glance for his words, smiling the smile of secrets that remains his particular habit. "Illianer? No, no; a man of action and daring. But, if I mistake me not," he says in a slowly, measured tone sliding from whimsy to something a touch more grave as he looks to Jaice, "her fine blue eyes saw the sort of action which we make our living on -- or? I suppose best get to the point. Such as, torn clothing, no food, and a trip in... seconds was it?" A bit less frivolous than usual, at least in the subject matter; the tone, on the other hand, is terribly light and easy.

Jaice merely nods, her gaze dropping to the carpet for a fraction of a second. That in itself is more telling than any admission of unease, but then, whatever it was that got her into such a messy looking state yesterday couldn't have been something she was overjoyed about. "Much better, thanks. I have things to tell you, though, about how I got here. I haven't even had a chance to tell Celebri--" When the man seated next to her starts hacking as though on cue, she frowns concernedly. "Are you all right?"

Briefly that thoughtful look fades from Maeve's face again, to be replaced with a sly little smile as she takes in Celebril's reaction. "Does bring out her eyes, and more... right?" Grey eyes twinkle mischieviously of silver as she looks over at the couch, though even now she shows some restraint in her amusement, and Diar's words do bring back that contemplative expression. "I've started puzzling things together in my head, I admit, but I do lack some key pieces." She flicks a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, pursing her lips faintly.

Celebril finds himself staring at Jaice's new dress, or more properly, Jaice in her new dress. Flushing terribly, he flashes a rueful, mock-innocent smile and recovers enough to say, "Er, yes, quite well really..." Shooting a dark glance at Diar for mentioning the smudged and torn dress, no doubt, the Andoran looks back to the Sea Folk girl. "What's this you've yet to tell me?"

"How I got here," Jaice continues blithely, watching the recovering Andoran with a thoughtful blue gaze. A glance takes in the others then, as her tone becomes more serious. "I do not know if you had heard; there have been strange things happening in Tar Valon, shortly after you left. Accidents."

"Nobreon Bortawin was born over twenty years ago," Celebril murmurs drily, beginning to regain his faculties as he pulls himself to a more proper sitting position, "But I suppose there have been accidents since..."

If anything, Celebril's reactions to this and to that make Diar's smile seem a bit more cynically amused. Politely, or perhaps obviously, he covers a false yawn with his mouth; of course, there's no mistaking his eyes, which are rather knowing. "Bortawin? One of -- ahh, I heard of that one. I don't find it hard to believe the assertion; all Cairhienin are mistakes..." And then, to Jaice, prompting. "Accidents is it? Have any Aes Sedai broken their necks?"

"Accidents?" Curiosity brighten those storm-grey eyes, and Maeve laces her fingers together in her lap, head faintly tilted as she regards Jaice. No worry, yet anyhow, she has left Tar Valon behind after all and Jaice looks quite safe, so merely interest for now. "We've not exactly kept ourselves... up to date with news, not during the feast." A slightly lopsided smile for a moment, though it winks out of existance almost as quickly as it appeared. "Judging from your presence here... Accidents involving the Tower, the One Power?" She cannot, at Diar's words, quite hide a thin-lipped smile.

Jaice flashes Celebril a quick, amused smile, but she shakes her head with a soft sigh. "Not that, I'm afraid. Strange accidents. Fifteen people slipping in a street, all at once. Objects leaping off tables. Fireworks going off by themselves. Messes refusing to be cleaned up -- the novices loved that, let me tell you -- glass shattering. Atalanta Sedai broke her arm with a nasty fall, and the infirmary has been packed. No fatalities as I understand it... but strange happenings nonetheless."

"How... unfortunate." Maeve does try to... moderate the dryly amused tone in her voice, which easily can be faulted on a certain piece of news of Jaice's, though it remains quite noticeable. Even so, when she goes on no traces of it remain, her voice merely thoughtful and touched by some concern as well. "A ta'veren? But so strong... surely not?" A puzzled frown appear on her face, she does not like mysteries that her mind cannot quickly grasp, and her impatience makes it hard for her to merely wait for the story to unfold.

Jaice rests her arm lazily across the back of the couch as she continues her story. "I was asked by Coliena sedai, with two others, to help her find a certain Ter'angreal in the storage room in the basement. You know the one, Maeve. Anyway, I had come across one looking like a very large picture frame. Coliena Sedai told me no one knew its purpose; every Brown in the Tower had tried channelling at it and nobody had had any luck in a hundred years. So she let me try." A moment's pause, and Jaice takes a breath to begin again. "The flows... -twisted-. I can only assume it was this 'accident' effect; but the flows did something quite different from what I was channelling. I think I could copy it again; but the next thing I new, I felt a lurch, and was in an old storage room. There's another frame there, like the first. And I came outside to find I was here."

Diar's face falls, more an act than a reality, as he plays at being overly concerned of one thing. "Only a broken arm? I was ready to name the accidents the Wheel's providence," he says almost dejectedly, lounging in his seat, seeming inclined to being lazy. It's not for him to pace about and worry at anything. "Ta'veren? Hrm... And going from Tar Valon to Cairhien in seconds -- best hope the Domani who are leasing this house do not keep watchful ears; it would prove a... fortune, in trade, that."

Jaice adds wryly, "You did want to study doorway ter'angreal, Maeve; well, there's one down the street."

Celebril's eyes widen at this, whereas up until this point in Jaice's tale his listening could only have been said to be half-intent. As the blademaster's face tightens suspiciously at the lines of lips and brows, he asks, "Let me see if I heard you correctly, Jaice. You walked through a door in Tar Valon... and out the other side in Cairhien?"

Eyes all of a sudden lit up by excitement, Maeve half-rises from her seat, her hands upon its cushioned armrests. "Light! A ter'angreal... a portal, not somewhere else, but between two places. A gate, a permanent gate?" Oh yes, she most assuredly did, and any other news brought by Jaice are well and truly forgotten. "Light!" she exclaims again, then sinks back into her seat, shaking her head in disbelief for a few moments. Then, gathering thoughts together, she leans over the edge of her chair, towarrds the couch. "Can you reproduce the effect, you think?"

Diar remains quiet as effects, gates, portals, and suchlike are discussed. Accepting things in stride without so much as a blink, he examines his finger nails rather vainly, and leans forward, reaching behind him ... to draw a concealed dagger from under his coat, casually, to begin a bit of trimming.

"I didn't walk through a door," Jaice corrects Celebril mildly, "It pulled me through." She answers Maeve with a thoughtful shrug of one shoulder. "I do not know. I could do the weave again... it happened quickly, but it was right in front of me so I saw what happened; but I... I do not think the ter'angreal on this side is quite 'right'." She studies Maeve a moment, perhaps to guess as to whether she's making any sense. "It 'seems' broken, you know? I'm not sure how; it looks all right, but..."

Jaice adds, almost as an afterthought, "There was a foretelling, too. Celebril was there for it. Right Cel?" She looks to the gold-haired Blademaster beside her for confirmation.

"Broken?" Though Maeve showed nothing but almost foolish eagerness before, her tone now betrays concern, and she leans back in her seat almost heavily, a frown creeping onto her face. "It could be dangerous then, who knows what a broken ter'angreal would do. I dug through several mouldy old archives, but... no hints that I can recall about what to do in such a situation." Pursed lips, and a deeply thoughtful expression, but also a growing hint of stubborness to the set of her chin. "We should study it at least. If that is possible, where is it?"

"Oh, pardon me," Celebril replies, shaking his head and standing up from the couch. "The door pulled you through, and the girl had a seizure and recited some bad poetry. Bloody hell... All this sorcery..." Sighing and stalking away towards a window, he leans on the sill without further comment, staring outside as the rain falls.

"Very possible," Jaice says, distractedly following Celebril with her gaze as he stalks off. "It's... it's just down a number of streets away, in an abandoned storage room. By the dust, nobody has been there in months. Years." Jaice says all this without taking her concerned gaze from Celebril's back, and now she stands with a rustle of silken skirts to place one hand lightly on his shoulder. She murmurs a few words to him, too silent for other ears to hear.

Celebril senses: Jaice places her hand lightly on your back, tilting her head to get a look at your face as you stare into the rain. "What is wrong?"

You sense: Celebril answers Jaice in a low, thoughtful voice. Between his own quiet tones and the patter of the rain against the window, his words are difficult to hear from afar. "I don't understand any of this, and I hate that..."

Eyes looking up to his task, though the gleaming point and edge of the dagger continue their idle work, Diar takes in yourselves with bland curiosity. His fellow swordsman, particularly. And then back to studying his work, scraping and trimming under his watchful eyes. "The rain doesn't suit you Girithlin, I think. You surely have a bit of grey in your mood, no? You fancied her whites?" A bit disjointed, the frivolous words leaping to a strange concluding question ... all said a touch boredly. He perhaps could care less. Or, contrarywise, care more than he lets on.

"Seizure? Bad poetry?" Grey, all of a sudden sharp eyes flick from Jaice to Celebril, and then back again. "There seems to be a lot more pieces to this puzzle than I first thought, or?" Maeve's gaze lingers with the other woman for a little, then shifts again, finding Diar. A slight frown once again touch her angular features as she regards him, noticing his silence in this pause in the excitement. For a moment she seems to consider saying something, but changes her mind as he does speak up, settling for a cold look his way instead.

Pressing her lips together at Celebril's whispered words, Jaice slides a hand to his shoulder in a reassuring manner. Her quiet response to him is followed with a thoughtful one to Maeve, her gaze distant as she tries to weave together the fragments of memory. "He speaks of Trelaine. In the courtyard, she had a Foretelling. She said a Ter'angreal sickens the city; and then said something about a solution being found. I do not remember it all."

Celebril composes his expression carefully in the window before he turns to answer Diar, though not so fast nor so suddenly so as to startle Jaice's hand from his shoulder. "Colors, Moderal," he answers in a neutral tone, "...are the farthest thing from my mind. I have not lived amidst sorcery and... this 'One Power'," he says, haltingly choosing his words, "..for so long as you. I am unsettled by events when a woman travels miles in the blink of an eyelash. Any man would be."

Celebril senses: Jaice's hand slides to your shoulder, a comforting, reassurring gesture. "There is more I do not know about it than that I do; yet, I need your help if I am to learn more, particularly here." It's easy to think that this is a heard thing for her to admit. "Are you willing, despite the fact that it is difficult with so many unknowns?"

Jaice turns as Celebril does, though there's a sense she is waiting for a response from him. At his words to Diar she says dryly, "The woman herself was rather unsettled, too."

The exchange between Diar and Celebril distracts Maeve for a moment, no matter what Jaice just told her, and red lips set in a thin line which seems to betray worry, almost tension, her now darkened and stormy gaze lingering for a little longer with Diar. It would seem as if she's concerned about what he will reply, yet in the end she turns to her friend once more. "A Foretelling... it somehow makes this all the more serious. You say it still goes in Tar Valon, or did when you left at least?" None of her usual sly laziness can be traced in her voice now, and her posture is only seemingly relaxed as her expression and eyes betray.

You sense Celebril relaxes somewhat under your touch, and nods slightly. Perhaps more will be said later.

"Ahh. My pardon. You've a point; I'm rather more frivolous than most, aren't I? So my dear mother always tells me," is the reply that Diar gives, smiling in something that is probably meant to be apologetic, but unfortunately his skill in hiding his amusement is not especially great: he finds much too much entertaining. And then his attention shifts to Jaice as he considers Foretelling and so on. "Well and good, I suppose. Interesting. Foretellings -- they are rare, aren't they, ladies? Or do those women foretell as a daily habit? Sounds like an utter bunch of mummery, if I may say so."

"The accidents were getting more frequent when I left; and yes, Foretellings are rare." Jaice answers the two at once, her Atha'an Miere fluidity making her appear to be lounging more casually beside Celebril than she really is. "I am not sure what you mean by mummery; but from what I have been told, when a woman has one, what she says will become reality. It is a way of reading the Pattern, apparently, though they are rarely easy to interpret."

"Diar!" Steely silver flashes bright in Maeve's eyes, though she remains seated, one arm resting calmly upon each of the chair's armrests. She raises her voice a little, though not much, but more obvious is the sudden sharpening of her tone, gone when she continues. "I know your thoughts on the subject, but try to moderate your... amusement." However, contrary to the almost commanding firmness of her tone, the look she gives Diar is cautious, after that initial flicker of anger. It seems to... ask kindly, rather than anything else, and she slowly turns her attention to Jaice, watching him long out of the corner of her eyes. "More frequent too? Light... where to start. Not that Tar Valon concerns me, but..." She shrugs, for a moment lacking the right words.

"There is another concern," Jaice says cautiously, delicately avoiding the little outburst between the two at the other side of the room. "And that is this: I have been gone from Tar Valon for two days now. They likely think me dead; or that I have ended up in the Aiel Waste or... something." The slender woman sighs softly, betraying her worry. "I need to get word to them, that I am safe; but at the same time, I really want to examine that ter'angreal with Maeve."

Celebril only crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring Diar's flippance as best he may. Not moving from his position near Jaice, back to the window, it is fairly obvious that he stays for her good, and not his own.

Another sardonic look, now aimed at Maeve, comes from Diar. But at least he remains quiet, shrugging his shoulders with languid uncaring as he toys with the dagger, tossing it from hand to hand for a time before finally growing bored with that and leaning forward, with a decidedly careful motion placing it under his coat and sheathing it properly once more. This business of contacting Tar Valon rouses his attention somewhat, however.

"You have an idea, Jaice?" Maeve asks, a slender brow arching in slight curiosity, though it seems from her expression that she either thinks so already, or that perhaps she has one of her own. "Any... mundane way would take time, not to mention that there's a risk of interception." Once again those grey eyes slip from Jaice, finding Diar for a moment, then returns to the Atha'an Miere. "A message... using the One Power, perhaps?" Head slightly tilted, she studies the other woman, as if to try and determine from her expression whether she thinks it possible or not.

The slender Atha'an Miere nods slowly, her mild frown seeming a thoughtful one as she regards her redheaded friend. "I have been perfecting my project since you left the Tower," she says almost too casually. "I even managed to soak Celebril with it while smoothing out the kinks. It's taken years, as you know. But... I have never tried to send a message so far. Cairhien to Tar Valon... that is a lot of weather."

"I am unfamiliar with the details of how it is done, weatherworking is no Talent of mine after all. But if you could figure out the technical part -- " Maeve pauses for a moment, reaching up to rake back a stubborn curl which insists on falling into her eyes at the slightest movement on her part, then goes on in a careful, contemplative manner. " -- and if you know how to initiate a link, I could add my strength to the weaving. It ought to help some." Knowing what the talk must sound like to the men right now, she casts glances at them both in an almost concerned manner.

Jaice regards her friend with mild surprise. "Are you sure? I can hold a link; and you are strong in the power. It would help. I -might- be able to get a message there by myself, but together, I am sure it would reach."

Celebril's face is iron or stone, something hard and uncaring at least. All this talk of weaving flies right over his head; linking, Talents, this 'power'--none of it business of his.

"Jaice," Maeve begins, a smile returning to her lips for the first time in quite a while, since this serious discussion started in fact, "I know you're as skilled as anyone at your level. More so than me by now, I should think." If she is the least worried, she shows no sign whatsoever of it, her expression rather on the light-hearted side. "When? Soon, or... do you want a little more time?" She doesn't elaborate, though a cautious glance does stray Celebril's way.

Jaice shakes her head. "Best to let them know I'm not dead. If I can send this off, get it above the rain, they should hear in a matter of hours." Then, blinking, Jaice loops her arm through Celebril's. "If that is all right with the men." Light knows this'd be difficult to adjust to at once.

And Diar ... well, seeing Celebril's expression and recent mood, he seems little interested in beginning separate conversation. So, he only rests in his seat, glancing at the window and the rain without, not really paying attention to carriages, wagons, or pedestrians that pass on the street outside. His finger drum at the wooden arms of his chair, monotonus. Maeve's last question does get a look, for a moment, but he only smiles privately and returns to his perusal of the dreary day.

Jaice adds in an amused tone, "I promise not to make it rain in the living room." Apparently it wouldn't be the first time.

Maeve's smile grows a fraction more prominent at Jaice's reaction, though something in her eyes tell a slightly different story, especially as she seeks out Diar with her gaze again. "As you wish, Jaice," she replies after a moment or two, the smile fading a touch but holding steady after that. "Now, then?" She begins to rise, the pale-blue fabric falling in soft folds about her as she stretches out with her usual, languid ease. "Unless you're too tired to attempt it?"

The dark-skinned woman turns toward the window, glancing outside to the rain and the clouds above as though quickly judging the weather. "Now," she confirms, shooting Maeve a quick glance. "With your help I'll be able to do it." A silvery-warm nimbus of light folds Jaice in its embrace, visible only to Maeve, as she takes hold of the Source. "Are you ready?"

[Channeling] Jaice takes hold of the Source, and a warm silvery nimbus of light folds itself around her.

Celebril leans against the windowsill in a sulky fashion, quite unaware of whatever is going on between the pair of women.

Diar rises after Maeve, pushing auburn hair from his face with an idle hand and then straightening his coat somewhat, even as he speaks a touch quickly. "Best rest, seeing you've had some adventures the last two days. Perhaps you'll even rethink the madness of telling the Tower anything. Not hard, winding your way to Tear, and taking the next vessel of the Atha'an Miere for home." And then, a moment after, "Or, I suppose, you can travel about the lands. Not something I'd ever think to see a Sea Folk doing."

"They think I'm dead," Jaice says bluntly in Diar's direction. "I cannot, in good concience, let them go on thinking it if it is not true."

A soft, golden radiance envelopes Maeve, in Jaice's eyes only, though the light nod she gives in reply is visible for everyone. "Ready," she adds after a moment, a slight change to her expression, and it isn't just concentration but what seems to be a faint, oh so faint echo of what she is feeling.

[Channeling] Maeve embraces, a golden radiance enveloping her slender form, and she takes herself just to the brink of surrendering fully, opening herself up to a link.

"Now you care, Moderal?" Celebril's tone seems to have evolved while it stewed in silence. Simply ironic before, now it is icy and glacial, his blue eyes hard and only adding to the effect. "Or is this another joke? I'll tell you this much," he adds, lips set in a stern line, "You can have your spare room for another guest if this goes on. For some of us, this is a serious matter."

[Channeling] Jaice reaches for Maeve with the Power, taking hold of that point just where the other woman is on the verge of the Source. As she does so, the two auras meet and merge, to surround the two women; and Jaice turns to the window to begin her work.

"Conscience. I've heard -- Didn't I care? Oh, perhaps I mistake myself. I do grow old, Girithlin; what excuse have you? And, I was saying -- I've heard of it. Rather glad I'm not afflicted with it," is Diar's friovolous reply -- but he shrugs, and ends up settling back into his seat, seeing as he might as well not go anywhere while anything dangerous is taking place ... not quite how many people would think, but he is among a rather unique bunch; which seems to include insane women and grumpy swordsmen.

Jaice seems unaware of the conversation between the two men; she looks, for all the world as though she is simply staring at Maeve, but then she turns toward the window once more. Leaning lightly against its frame, she directs her attention skyward; and were one to look up, they'd see the clouds shifting slightly, moving to her weaves.

The exchange of not so friendly words in the room hardly passes Maeve by unnoticed, yet she cannot afford to slip in her concentration now. Another, subtle change on her face, though this one seems to mingle both pleasure and a slight discomfort, though the latter is faint indeed. Her attention is all upon Jaice, and the window, her gaze narrowed as she studies something invisible to normal sight.

[Channeling] Jaice begins with a complex, yet oh-so-delicate weave of water and air. Maeve's strength helps her in this, for the weave is as thick around as a woman's waist, and is interspersed with tiny 'hooks' on which she hangs her next project; a small illusion, woven with air and fire. This she ties off, so that she can wrap it in a ball of spirit, something not unlike a ward which is attuned to the feel of Raemira and Atalanta. These little 'packages' she ties to the hooks she's formed on the weather weave; and, after sending the whole structure high into the air and above the clouds, she finally slumps at the window, releasing Maeve's link.

[Channeling] Maeve --> As the link is terminated, Saidar slips out of Maeve's grasp like running water. Having opened herself up so completely, the weaving has exhausted her as well.

Jaice works for long, tiresome minutes; five, ten, fifteen go by, and the two are still staring toward the window, but they look more drained as time goes on. Finally Jaice slumps at the windowsill, letting her legs slowly lower her to the floor. "There," she murmurs. "It's done." The link released, she glances over to see how Maeve is doing.

As Jaice's knees give out on her, so does Maeve's, and she (lacking the windowsill to lean against), sinks down on one knee. Sweat actually dampens her forehead, and her breathing is slightly on the laboured side. "Light, that was a complex weave. I could see it all, but repeat?" She shakes her head, smiling a little weakly at Jaice as she slowly straightens up, looking rather unsteady. "I hope it does the trick."

Jaice nods slowly, seeming quite content to sit here at Celebril's feet, thank you very much. It's very comfortable now that you mention it, and probably would be for a few days... "I think it will," Jaice manages tiredly. "I couldn't make it a long message... but it'll reach."

Like her shadow, Diar moves to Maeve rather swiftly, a hand giving her some support all in cynical silence, a smile twisted by his own thoughts on this particular matter. Other than doing that, though, he adds nothing more, neither to usher anyone to rest or to point out (again) what he deems is foolishness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
From:  Jaice             Subject: A whisper on the wind...           
To: Raemira, Atalanta
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometime today, as you were wandering by the gardens, 
or sitting at your window, or travelling within the city, 
you heard a voice, whispering to you on the wind that 
swirled around you. "Safe... Cairhien... returning..."

 
OOC: This was a message from Jaice! Ummm... not 
sure what else to say. She linked to send it so it's likely 
you'd get it intact. Do with it what you will. ;)

Jai
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"At least ten," Jaice says, still leaning against the wall, in a blue silk puddle on the floor. "I'm sure they can't get here faster than that. And I told them I was returning, so perhaps they won't send anyone at all."

"Ten days, for a small miracle. Why, that should be plenty of time for the two of us." Maeve attempts a smile, half-succeeding at a convincing one, though more than a hint of sobriety lingers about her whole person, and she seems unwilling to let go of Diar's arm. Glancing up at him as well, again almost cautiously, she adds in a tone of voice that matches. A suggestion, but not quite, closer to a careful inquiry. "And if the men don't mind offering a hand, if we need it, we should manage even better." Very different she is, all of a sudden, but linking does do funny things to women at times.

"And perhaps a Fade will paint the ugly outside of this house free of charge," Diar says with a puff of air that tries to push some strands of hair from his face, waiting for Maeve to speak up first, "but I wouldn't wager on it. I for one will help of course. I offered guest rights; I'll be the host until that's done with. I know how to play at it." Something in the tone -- well, a glance at Celebril doesn't seem a random occurance as he speaks, but his smile tells nothing. "Now, rest for once? Or shall we go to a ball?"

Jaice casts a questioning look upward at Maeve's mention of 'the men', but still seems more inclined to resting than getting up to find a real seat. "Dancing? Not likely. But... tomorrow Maeve, I would like to examine that Ter'angreal with you, if you're up for it."

Remaining as if glued to Diar's side for the moment, Maeve does indeed seem taken by some strange mood, caring little or not at all about certain agreements made with her companion. No one, except for friends, is present after all. "I should be able to channel again tomorrow, and to examine it shouldn't be too tiresome. So, of course, we'd better not waste any time if we can avoid it." Her voice is back to thoughtful, but steady and certain beneath, though there's a slightly different nuance to it as she glances up at Diar with almost one of her usual, playful smile. "If you want some dancing, you have just to ask."

Maeve's response was... expected. "Yes, that is usually what someone does: ask women to dance. They don't read minds. Usually. I was thinking of trying my luck at this closing ball, but considering one of our guests, at least, is not interested -- no matter. Might as well stay about and see if we receive any invitations to gatherings," Diar says, light and uncaring of whatever idea is struck down or not. "Some Houses might think to invite now while all the others are attending their ball; their bloody Game, you know."

Jaice gets to her feet, if slowly and with much help from the window frame, and lets out a sigh. "I think sleep would be the order of the day, or at least a nap." She chuckles then, a soft, musical sound. "Maeve, if that message does reach; what a boon for the project, hmm? I doubt anyone's had such a fortuitous chance for experiment."

"If you want to, by all means go Diar." Maeve's tone of voice make it clear that she wouldn't really mind, she's likely too tired to, though she doesn't let go of his hand anyhow. "I will have to retire, and I think Jaice feels the same." She looks over to her still-seated friend. "Well, I owe you all the help I can give. You saved my life, and I'd rather pay off my debt in small portions like this than, Light forbid, have to save you out of some serious danger." Her tone is somber again all of a sudden, but she smiles quickly to lighten it up. "Light, I really do need to sleep."