Lance shoots the group a friendly wave and a smile as he goes about his wanderings, and his watching of a hummingbird picking out flowers leads him nearer where the trio are gathered, close enough that it would be rude to not say hello.  He also wanted to get to know more of the staff.

  "Good morning, ladies, I don't believe we've met.  I'm Lance, only recently arrived in  Amber.  Who might you be?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:23, Sun 04 Apr 2021.

There's a certain air of caught-out and uh oh when Lance greets them. The tallest of the young women flushes. "Um, we know who you are. You're Flora's son." She says it with subtext like: BOY are you Flora's son you PRETTY PRETTY thing. "I'm, er."

The one who's in the middle, height-wise, widens her eyes at the tallest and curtsies, "It is a good morning. Very bright. Very beautiful. I've never seen so beautiful a ma--morning."

The shortest also curtsies. They seem to have momentarily totally forgotten their own names (or forgotten that he asked), so he'll have to forgive them.

  Lance smiles.  "I'm trying to get to know everyone, but the castle is so huge, and there's so many people...it'll take me ages to get to know everyone's names and what they do here, but  let's try to start with that.  Tell me a bit about yourselves, one at a time, if you don't mind?"

The tallest one says: "Oh. Um, I'm Gwyn. There's nothing much to tell. You're the curiosity here. What sort of prince will you be?"

The middle one widens her eyes at the tallest again, somewhat scandalized, and hastily says: "Gwyn doesn't mean anything by that, milord. She isn't very polished, that is, used to, that is, we work for the queen. I'm Zavieta."

The shortest one bites her lip. "I'm Mariah."

  Lance laughs, not unkindly.  “Gwyn, Zavieta, Mariah, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.  Worry not about your speech around me, please, I take no offense from questions and would prefer that all speak their minds with me without hesitation.  You wonder what kind of Prince I shall be?  I wonder the same thing.   Well, I hope that I should be kind, and gentle, and honorable and beloved by those around me.  I hope to be a worthy servant of our King and Kingdom, and never forget my responsibility to the people that trust in our family to rule wisely and beneficently.  I hope that I can be someone whom all will be at ease with, and come to for help when it is needed..  I hope to learn from my mistakes, and always strive to be better.  More importantly though than being a good Prince, I hope to be a good man.  Does that answer the question?”

"I have no doubt you're a very good man," Zavieta says, blushing. He really set them up there, didn't he?

Does that answer the question? Gwyn curtsies, deeply. "Milord. It was a very pretty speech, but," she is clearly deciding to take Lance at his word, more or less, "what is the difference between a good Prince and a good man?"

Mariah doesn't say anything, just bobs a curtsy when her friend does and gazes at Lance from up under her eyelashes.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Mon 05 Apr 2021.

In reply to Storyteller (msg # 24):

  "The difference is a matter of title.  Being a Prince is restricted in that there are worlds where that title matters not, and if I base my actions solely upon being a good Prince it only goes so far throughout Shadow.  By being a good man, then it is for the sake of being good that I do things wherever I may go without the yoke of a title attached to it.  It is about being good and doing the right thing because it is the right thing to do."

  He pauses. "I did not grow up as a pampered Prince, like some.  The title is quite new to me, really, and I do not see it as an entitlement by birthright, but as an enormous responsibility that I must work for.  I suppose I feel I must earn it to be worthy of it.  I know that's not the way most royals see things, but it is my way.  I am told that the things we do here are echoed throughout all existence, so it is imperative that I try to be the best person that I can be."

  A chuckle and a blush.  "I suppose I haven't entirely met those expectations yet.  No doubt there have been some less than stellar tales being told about Flora's son since his arrival, hmm?  Probably mostly true to this point, I'm afraid.  An inappropriate bit of heartbreak over my cousin Ballad?  An episode of drunkenness in town because of it?  An argument with Prince Jon that came close to ending in bloodshed?  Sadly, all true.  Tell me, have there been other stories?  If so, I would like to hear them that I may confirm that which I know to be true, and dispel any which are not.  What others have you heard?"

They look like they'd (perhaps) like to disagree with Lance (or at least Gwyn does) at different points, but they don't quite dare. They do look rather shocked at the implication that Lance and his other relations aren't entitled by birthright, although Zavieta begins twirl a lock of red hair around her finger, daydreaming a little. The morning light looks so nice on Lance's hair...

They all, even Mariah, who hasn't really said much at all, try to rush in and assure him that no no he's absolutely met expectations, how could he not, when...

Well, he just gives up the gossip goods on himself, doesn't he? They look torn.

"Milord, I hope you don't think we're gossips," Gwyn says.
"I heard about Prince Jon. Heartbreak is never inappropriate because to love is the greatest virtue of all," Mariah says, eyes filling with tears. A romantic soul.
"Milord," Zavieta says, "We've only heard that you truly take after your mother. The painters will want to do your portrait."

  "I suppose I'll have to find out who does these portraits and arrange it.  I should have one done and given to my mother...after all, she's the one who is responsible for my being here, right?  And no, it's not gossip if it's true.  Besides, stories get passed around and should you ever hear of any that you think I might be involved in or take interest in, please feel free to let me know.  Which leads me to another subject..."

  Lance smiles.  "I would like to make it a part of my personal crusade to find ways to make life better for everyone in Amber, and I'm starting with the staff here in the castle.  I would like to know how I can personally improve things, whether it's finding a way to make work easier, bringing in things from other worlds for people, rolling up my sleeves and helping with tasks, or getting the King to perhaps declare a holiday or something.  Please ladies, tell me how I can make things better here in the castle?"

There is a flurry of significant, somewhat covert (though Lance sees through them) glances as he says he'd like to find a portraitest. He might even, if he were feeling particularly perceptive, notice that Zavieta gets an elbow nudge from sweet little Mariah, and promptly stares at her shoes. There's even--dare we say--an urgent air.

But he continues on, with his offer. They're listening, or at least Gwyn is listening while Mariah and Zavieta have some quiet battle of wills. Gwyn curtsies again, "Milord is very kind. Should I think of anything, I will surely let you know. How do you wish to be approached, in that case?"

Mariah says, quietly but determinedly, "Pardon me, milord, but Zavieta is a fine portrait artist, and more, her brother Gavriel is one of the best. But he's having trouble getting established and if they painted you I'm sure he'd be able to find steady patronage..."

  Lance  shrugs at Gwyn’s question.  “I suppose you could just walk up and ask when you see me, or try knocking on my door, or slipping a note beneath it if I am away.  Else you could let Cheryl know, as she and I have begun spending some time together..  Oh, and if you’re comfortable with doing so, you may call me Lance, rather than use titles.  Whichever you choose, of course, unless it’s some big, stuffy formal occasion where it might cause an issue.”

  Turning to the other query, Lance smiles.  “Well then, Zavieta and her brother shall have my commission on my portrait, if they wish to undertake it.  What say you, Zavieta, would you like to take on such a task?”

They don't seem to particularly like the idea of going to Cheryl to reach him. Social dynamics are tricky, and often cruel, though Mariah looks the wistfullest. They seem to respond well enough to the idea of calling him Lance, though, since he asked it.

BUT THEN.

Zavieta is trying not to smile too wide. This means she is smiling very oddly indeed, gazing at Lance, and not speaking or responding to social cues when she should. This is because her mental landscape is an epic party in full-swing, jubilation, the moon landing control room after touchdown, and she finds herself unable to immediately reply.

Gwyn looks at Zavieta, exchanges a look with Mariah (or tries to, Mariah is still looking at Lance, as well as seeming quietly shyly pleased with herself), and says, "She would love that. Wouldn't you, Zavieta?"

Zavieta: stare, smile.

Gwyn coughs. Mariah elbows Zavieta in the ribs. Zavieta jumps.

"Yes, milord! Oh, yes. I know you'll make an excellent subject. Can you sit tod--when, I mean when you might have leisure to meet my brother and for some preliminary sketches?"

  "I have plans at noon today that I expect might take up most of the rest of the day, so I have about two hours open now, and nothing scheduled that I am aware of for tomorrow after breakfast.  The day after is likely to be a mess as both Princess Ariadne and Prince Jon are slated to walk the Pattern and I am expected to be there to cheer them on.  I've never sat for a portrait before, so don't know how much time or preparation you need.  What works best for you?" he queries, smiling.

"N-now is fine, to begin," Zavieta says. "A portrait takes many weeks, but there are, um, periods where the subject isn't necessary... And periods where they are... It also depends on how, um, opulent you- it just depends. My brother will have thoughts, too..."

The other two giggle. Mariah looks really happy for some reason.

  “Wonderful!  I’ll go change into something more fitting while you gather what you need.  Shall we meet back here in fifteen minutes?  That should leave nearly two hours until I have to go.”

  If all are in agreement, Lance heads to his room to change into something more fitting.  A red poet shirt with gold piping, golden colored trews, red with gold trimmed cape, and his calf-high brown boots.  He runs a quick comb through his hair and dabs on a bit of vanilla and cinnamon oil.  He of course adds his blades, a belt, and the pouch with his mother’s card.

  He arrives back at the garden spot some fifteen minutes later, fair as the sunrise itself.

They would probably all be in agreement with Lance even if he suggested something much more outrageous, but when he returns to the gardens, there's only Zavieta still there, nothing else on her.

There's a little pause between beholding Lance and her response to him, which is a curtsy, and a, "Milord, you look very... portrait-ready. Um. I normally walk into the city, but..."

Once they figure out whether Lance is going to commandeer a carriage or a horse (it turns out Zavieta doesn't know how to ride, herself) or if they're going to walk, off they go!

  "Ah, my mistake.  I had assumed that you had your art supplies here in the castle and that we would begin here, but no worries, I shall call for a carriage since time is of the essence.  It will be quicker than walking, and easier to bring back easels and the like.  I found a nice little art supply shop the other day that I can purchase anything you need for the project, of course.  That comes with being your, what's the term, your patron, isn't that it?"

 Lance smiles as he leads the way and makes the arrangement for a carriage, whichever one can be readied the soonest.  He leaves word with the stablemaster that they plan on going into town for art supplies, and plan on being back soon.

  Once inside and enroute, he asks, "So, Zavieta, have you and your brother done many portraits, or mostly landscapes and such?  Did you study art, or are you self-taught?"

Zavieta corrects some of Lance's assumptions, although she seems awfully sheepish about it: namely, that this is really just going to be a preliminary sketch and a meet with her brother and a discussion of what he'll want for the portrait, and that most of the artistic magic happens in the studio (which is in the city). She is hasty to assure Lance that if he is absolutely only comfortable sitting in the castle arrangements for that can be made another day, but this is just the preliminaries. Welcome to the Art World, Lance!

Once they're in the carriage, a perspective Zavieta is only too delighted to have, as it's not at all what she's used to and also look Lance is just so pretty, Zavieta clasps her hands on her lap.

"Oh, we've done portraits before. He's much better. He's the one who taught me after I," she laughs selfconsciously, "tried to use linseed oil to draw on an oil painting he was working on. I ruined the painting. And that wasn't the first time I'd tried to mess with his stuff. Making paints... trying to bargain for the right jewels or plants to go into different pigments... it's fascinating, like magic. But my brother... well he learned a little on his own, but then an important art critic from out in shadow, maybe you'll know their name, Ruskin Malionetti, Ruskin took my brother under his wing and introduced him to other artists... They really helped him perfect his style."

  Lance shakes his head, smiling. “I’m afraid I don’t know the name, or much about the art scene around Amber.  Truth be told, I know very little about art at all, other than there was one painter back on Earth that I liked his style very much.  His name was Thomas Kincaid, and he was called The Painter of Light.  He did amazing work with the skies in his backgrounds.”

  “So, Zavieta, you work for the Queen?  She seems wonderful.  How did you come into that position?  Was it one of those jobs where you do it to pay the bills rather than take the starving artist path?”

Zavieta soaks this information up. So Lance likes light-filled skies, huh? The carriage bounces around and the scenery passes. Lots of opportunity to appreciate the mountain views as they wind down it.

She tries to hide a wince at the 'starving artist' thing and stifles a sigh, but answers the question easily enough: "Oh it is a high honor to work in the castle. The King and Queen are so good and have done so much for Amber! though they aren't really like the last King... I know my aunt still misses King Oberon. But she worked in the castle and she recommended me for the work. It's mostly seamstressing and wardrobe, laundry, that kind of work... But yes, Her Majesty is very kind."

  Lance sees the wince and assures her that the starving artist thing was nothing to be ashamed of, and how back on Earth most performers and artists lived a similar life to follow their passions in the arts, and that it was a noble cause.

  “Why, as a young man I barely scraped by on my own for more than a year, living in an old carriage in an alleyway, working and studying until I found an opportunity to better myself.  I never knew the truth of who I was until a week ago when my mother brought me home, and now I have to live up to being the son of a Princess.”

"It sounds as if you did work to scrape by, milord," Zavieta says, her tone a mix of glum and admiring.

But then: "So you were a hidden prince. That must be why you think the things you do about the other princes. Did your mother come to you in a carriage made of gold? Did she pick you up out of the gutter? Were you a leader, nobly fighting against evil?"

Squee. It's so romantical. Zavieta's eyes go dreamy, glumness chased away by fantasy. She blushes. "Sorry, but... um... Mariah," yes yes blame the shorter girl, "will be so fascinated by your history..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:55, Wed 14 Apr 2021.

In reply to Storyteller (msg # 40):

  "I wasn't a leader, just a travelling swordsman when my mother found me.  I had worked my way up out of poverty to perhaps journeyman or merchant status.  It was early in the night and I was sitting by a campfire by my carriage when a grey man appeared and attacked me.  She appeared just after the fight, carrying a crossbow.  We travelled in my carriage to a place to dispose of the body, and afterwards she brought me here through a magical card of a picture of King Random.  It's been something of a shock, to say the least, finding out that I'm royalty in a world that is very different from the one I grew up in.  Amber is like a place I had always dreamed of living."

  He furrows his brow.

  "Zavieta, as one of the Queen's maids you have no doubt heard about the threat of the grey men?  I assure you, they are a very real threat, and quite deadly dangerous.  You and your brother must know that doing my portrait might put you in harm's way if they should appear and come for me.  If that should happen, you both must both immediately flee to safety and leave me to handle them, understood?  Get away as fast as you can, notify the guards, but get away from them no matter what.  I won't have innocent blood on my conscience, and it is easier for me to fight them if I don't have to worry about defending others while I'm doing so.  You must promise me this."

"Maybe you did dream it because it wanted you to come home," Zavieta suggests, romantically inclined to believe in the magic of the royal family of Amber.

She looks quite serious as he goes over the danger of the gray men, but not surprised. She is a citizen of Amber, after all. There has been peace for a quite a number of years, but not many, as eternal Amber judges time...

"I'm not really a fighter - and neither is my brother. If the threat came into our studio to try and get you, we'd simply sneak out the back... though we'd want you to come, too. His Majesty wouldn't be happy if you were injured and we abandoned you."

They are now wending through the city, all of its sights which are slowly becoming familiar to Lance. Does he feel yet like Amber is home? Has it infused itself into his marrow, yet? If not, soon...
This message was last edited by the player at 15:08, Mon 19 Apr 2021.

  Home.  It was a strange concept.  The closest Lance had come to having a real home on Earth was his little pop-up trailer.  He had towed it all over the country, living out of it at fair after fair.  It was his version of a gypsy wagon, he supposed.  Now he had his own suite in an enchanted castle, with a family around him.  Another alien concept to him.  Home was easier.

  He looked out the window and saw they were in the less grand area of the arts district, a place where he imagined there were multitudes of those moved by the muse, but whom had not quite caught their break yet.  People stared as they passed.  The carriage bore the symbol of the Unicorn on it, denoting it as a conveyance of the Castle.

  Home.  Yes, Amber was his home, and he would defend her to the end...although by god he would find a better way than chamber pots and hauled water for bathing in the castle!

  "Should there be trouble, I expect you and your brother to run and sound the alarm, no more.  I can handle the fighting if it needs come down to that.  It's one of the things I'm actually good at." He smiled.  No doubt Zavieta would assure them that she was sure he was good at many things.

  The carriage finally came to a halt.  They had reached the closest point that the driver could.  The street next to them was too narrow to make the turn into.

  Climbing out, Lance held the door and helped Zavieta down.  He instructed the driver to wait, that he didn't expect to be much more than an hour.  Lance turned to Zavieta and said, "We walk from here.  Lead on."