Thus are all the Outlanders accounted for - and quite a din they raise now with their questions and contentions. Joffrey seems to take this in the manner of a man who has counted them all and made some determination with respect to their number and quality.
He addresses them all at once in the slightly high-handed manner of princes.
"My friends, this is a very strange series of events, and I cannot help but discern the hand of fate in its workings. The more I think on it the more certain I become that you, and you alone, are capable of rescuing both king and kingdom from the growing threat.
"But I cannot ask you to make such a decision lightly, or quickly. If you will indulge me, I will lay out a dinner for you, and we may speak of these things at leisure. Will you stay?"
As smooth as this speech is, as graceful his smile, there is nonetheless a tightness in the corners of Joffrey's eyes, and Varrå watches him with keen focus despite her sloppy posture. Sensitive souls might deduce that this matter is indeed serious.
Call him paranoid, but he very much doubts there is an option to leave. They'll pay for that dinner, and for the hospitality, no doubt. But it's still hospitality, and dinner, and information of some sort, and he suspects that's a far superior alternative to whatever 'not staying' entails.
Which is, he's guessing, what Joffrey intends. Hei glances at Varrå again, and then shrugs.
The tension leaves his shoulders at the same moment as the inordinately loud sound of his stomach growling permeates the room. He smiles, sheepishly, and reaches up to rub the back of his head.
"I... I'd be honoured to." He swallows, then adds, hastily. "Your Highness."
"Sure!", he responds, shrugging. The thought of food and heroism with total strangers sounded like the plot of one of the books he'd checked out from the Garden library.
Well she didn't have many options on where to go as it was. Plus a meal sounded good to her empty belly. She never did get to eat that prison meal. Really it was in her best interests to agree, the man could fry people on a whim.
"A-alright, your uh Royalness." That was a human title right? For royalty? Oh and you bow right? or nod. Her attempt to do so only slaps more water onto the floor.
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He addresses them all at once in the slightly high-handed manner of princes.
"My friends, this is a very strange series of events, and I cannot help but discern the hand of fate in its workings. The more I think on it the more certain I become that you, and you alone, are capable of rescuing both king and kingdom from the growing threat.
"But I cannot ask you to make such a decision lightly, or quickly. If you will indulge me, I will lay out a dinner for you, and we may speak of these things at leisure. Will you stay?"
As smooth as this speech is, as graceful his smile, there is nonetheless a tightness in the corners of Joffrey's eyes, and Varrå watches him with keen focus despite her sloppy posture. Sensitive souls might deduce that this matter is indeed serious.
no subject
"I would not refuse to hear you out, at least."
And she won't refuse a meal, either.
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Which is, he's guessing, what Joffrey intends. Hei glances at Varrå again, and then shrugs.
The tension leaves his shoulders at the same moment as the inordinately loud sound of his stomach growling permeates the room. He smiles, sheepishly, and reaches up to rub the back of his head.
"I... I'd be honoured to." He swallows, then adds, hastily. "Your Highness."
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This is going to be AWESOME, he thought.
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"A-alright, your uh Royalness." That was a human title right? For royalty? Oh and you bow right? or nod. Her attempt to do so only slaps more water onto the floor.