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The Second.... Thingy
Welcome, outlanders, to the throne room of (presently unconscious) King Alxis of Glazingstoke. The lilac-colored eyes of the sorcerous Prince Joffrey fix with unnerving penetration upon the party of outlanders as he clasps his beloved father to his breast. Limned he is by the last of his flames; their low ebb purples the face of the slumbering king. The echoes of deep magic swirl in the room and color the sunlight that streams through the windows."Explain yourselves." He commands. It is the tone of someone who is used to being obeyed immediately.
Behind him, about him, a few guards are coming around from their poisonous nap. Groggy blinking; clumsy, sleep-swollen hands fumbling to check upturned helmets, or grasp weapons, or smooth ruffled feathers. A muffled "wut happnd" slurs from someone's numb lips. Two piles of black ash smoulder silently upon the dais.
(Free-for-all response)
FOR BOTH MCCOY AND SHONAGON
He pours it himself from a magnificent silver pitcher into a clear glass goblet not entirely unlike a wineglass. A benevolent expression upon his face, he curls his arm under his robes and long sleeves, and arranges himself onto a couch facing McCoy.
"My father concerns himself with the well-being of his kingdom--of which he is the heart and head. I confess, I am shocked..."
Here the very polished prince seems to lose his focus. Troubled, his black brows knitting over a pale face, he fixes first McCoy and then Shonagon with his ardent gaze.
"If I had not been there... I cannot leave him now."
There is something very final in his tone.
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