"A bad business," McCoy says with more than a bit of harshness. Border skirmishes are always the same, no matter where they happen. The King's lucky to be alive. "And a business I ain't interested in getting wrapped up in."
He inclines his head toward the prince. "No offense, o'course, but I'm a doctor, not a soldier." Or a damned spy.
Shonagon sips her tea and smiles, pleased by its obvious quality.
"I rather agree with Mr. McCoy," she murmurs politely. "As foreigners, it would be appallingly impolite for us to insert ourselves into your politics any further than we already have."
McCoy doesn't have to clear his throat this time. His look and his voice are clear. The memory's still fresh. "A man and a woman. The woman was a lot taller than the man. Both of them were dressed in black from head to toe, which looked pretty damn conspicuous in the daylight."
But there was something else, wasn't there? Something before that - "They came in through the...it had to have been the King's Quarters. It wasn't one of the public doors."
He leans back in his chair, chewing this over himself. "They were surprised to see us still awake. Accused us of being sent by a him to see what kind of job they were doing."
"I suppose that implies," Shonagon says thoughtfully, "that their employer doesn't trust them. The larger of them had an axe, and the smaller one a dagger.
"But the doors were closed until they came in. I don't know how they got the gas flowing into the throne room, with all the doors closed..."
Shonagon nods in corroboration. "And when you set them on fire--the cloth did burn up, but by that point their features weren't distinguishable anymore. I don't suppose there's enough of them left to recover now."
In response to McCoy, she adds, "It couldn't have been hard to guess. Not all of us have adopted the dress of this country, after all."
"I suspect it was that you were still conscious." Joffrey smiled. "The poison must have been of some type more effective upon natives to these lands.
"But if you will permit me to ask, how did you know that one was a man and one a woman if their faces were hidden? And were you aware that one of your companions attacked the guards, and another fled?"
Nothing changes in Joffrey's pleasant, open expression, but something nevertheless changes. If you will.
McCoy makes a noise that might slightly resemble a harumph. "I think I can tell the difference between how a man sounds and how a woman sounds." A beat. "Most of the time." Those times where he was mistaken are best left unmentioned. "Soon as they started shouting at us, it became pretty clear."
Then there's a frown tugging at his lips. "Well...no, I didn't, but it don't surprise me. People are bond to panic when they got a mob after them."
"I wouldn't quite call them companions," Shonagon remarks archly, and sips her tea. It's an awkward juggle; her lack of familiarity with the men requires her to hold her fan before her face with her left hand and manage her cup with her right, rather than place both hands on the teacup as she'd prefer to.
"After all, doesn't that imply a degree of familiarity? We'd all only just met, after all. It's not as if we intended to associate with each other. Or to continue doing so."
Still there is something charming about her determination to manage it. Certainly her courtly manners are preferable to the grouch alongside her, though, one admits, he had a certain trustworthy sturdiness.
All of these are things that the prince contemplates as he speaks.
"One Outlander," (He pronounces it carefully, not so much as a belated correction to McCoy as an implication that there exists such a thing as an Outsider and it ought not to be confused with Outlanders at all.) "At the king's audience is unusual enough; five is exceptional. My interest is in whether it was coincidence alone that brought you here on such a momentous day."
If there is any grumbling from McCoy's corner, well, he figures it's a little deserved. "Right, right. And I get where you're coming from, J...your majesty, but from our side, it's gonna be impossible to prove anybody's assumptions wrong other than t'say: Hey, I don't know him or her."
Which puts them in a damned bad spot. "If the assassins were still alive, well...that'd be different."
But someone in the room had seen fit to roast them alive.
Shonagon frowns. "Certainly it looks exceptional, but shouldn't conspirators make an effort to look less conspicuous? It seems to me that such an unusual event would draw a risky amount of attention to any plan."
Neither of these arguments particularly move him. McCoy gets an eyebrow with respect to his subtle quip, and Shonagon receives a patient, resigned sigh.
"Then we are at an impasse. You said you were not interested in getting "mixed you" in this matters, but it appears you cannot be extricated from them."
He sits back against his chair, examining them both carefully.
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He inclines his head toward the prince. "No offense, o'course, but I'm a doctor, not a soldier." Or a damned spy.
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"I rather agree with Mr. McCoy," she murmurs politely. "As foreigners, it would be appallingly impolite for us to insert ourselves into your politics any further than we already have."
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"We come to the matter at hand: you say that you saw the assassins. You must tell me everything, down to the last detail."
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But there was something else, wasn't there? Something before that - "They came in through the...it had to have been the King's Quarters. It wasn't one of the public doors."
He leans back in his chair, chewing this over himself. "They were surprised to see us still awake. Accused us of being sent by a him to see what kind of job they were doing."
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"But the doors were closed until they came in. I don't know how they got the gas flowing into the throne room, with all the doors closed..."
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"So. Did they say anything else? Did you see their faces?"
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He's sure of that, anyway. ...mostly. "Well, they knew we were all Outsiders. Not sure how they figured that out just by lookin' at us."
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In response to McCoy, she adds, "It couldn't have been hard to guess. Not all of us have adopted the dress of this country, after all."
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"But if you will permit me to ask, how did you know that one was a man and one a woman if their faces were hidden? And were you aware that one of your companions attacked the guards, and another fled?"
Nothing changes in Joffrey's pleasant, open expression, but something nevertheless changes. If you will.
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Then there's a frown tugging at his lips. "Well...no, I didn't, but it don't surprise me. People are bond to panic when they got a mob after them."
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"After all, doesn't that imply a degree of familiarity? We'd all only just met, after all. It's not as if we intended to associate with each other. Or to continue doing so."
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All of these are things that the prince contemplates as he speaks.
"One Outlander," (He pronounces it carefully, not so much as a belated correction to McCoy as an implication that there exists such a thing as an Outsider and it ought not to be confused with Outlanders at all.) "At the king's audience is unusual enough; five is exceptional. My interest is in whether it was coincidence alone that brought you here on such a momentous day."
Appearances, in other words, are against you.
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Which puts them in a damned bad spot. "If the assassins were still alive, well...that'd be different."
But someone in the room had seen fit to roast them alive.
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"Then we are at an impasse. You said you were not interested in getting "mixed you" in this matters, but it appears you cannot be extricated from them."
He sits back against his chair, examining them both carefully.
"Something will have to be done."