The Second.... Thingy

[quu]

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)

Comments

[yowokomete]

Shonagon watches over her fan, drawing her shoulders up and straightening her back imperiously.

Things that make one nervous: Waiting for a morning-after letter. Accusations of murder. Impending arrest.

"Are foreigners usually treated so rudely in your country?" she calls, raising her voice. "And I'd thought this seemed like such a lovely court, too."

[quu]

Unfortunately with the drama surrounding the guards, prisoners, and accusations, Shonagon's protest receives very little official attention. And quite a lot more in the way of sour glaring from waking bougie nobles and citizens of the audience. One of the guards hustling her tightens her grip, not pleased with the intimation that something less than classy was going on here.

[yowokomete]

Hustling her toward the king is, at least, better than being hustled directly towards the dungeon. Shonagon frowns at the guards around her. She likes this jacket very much, and she'll be quite cross indeed if someone stains it with their dirty hands.