& the fourth

[quu]

Comments

Shonagon & Bones (or really just Shonagon)

[quu]

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.

"Something will have to be done."

Hei-kun

[quu]

The silver rims blink out in the darkness. The back of a hand brushes his cheek and pushes under his chin, but this hand still grips the handle of whatever sharp thing was pressed against Hei's throat.

The woman says something that sounds like "noon unit en..." in the tone of a low groan.

The hand disappears. The woman's fingers squirm out of Hei's hand. Depending on Hei's fortitude, this may leave him with a feeling of loneliness or even fatigue, but no longer panic.

"Ask Joffrey," says a voice that seems surprisingly far down the hallway. A distant pinprick of light shines; it's impossible to tell how far away it is.

Zell & Cludig

[quu]

"....WITCH! WITCH IN THE DUNGEON!!!"

This scream comes from a guard who, unfortunately, witnessed Cludig's escape act. Nervous guards begin to search the corridor for torches!

The blonde guard bolts anxiously up the stairs. Between the lawless brat and the disappearing witch, this situation is getting WELL out of hand and it's time to call in the mages...

[quu]

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 Varrå watches him with keen focus despite her sloppy posture. Sensitive souls might deduce that this matter is indeed serious.

[quu]

"...I am grateful. Please, allow me to make some arrangements."

He evinces sincere relief as he descends upon the guards at the door. These guards scatter posthaste; Joffrey returns to the center of the room and selects a seat near Varrå. They trade a few words in the interim, though both have the time and attention to field questions.

Dinner is served right in the parlor. Servants come in bearing a large low table which they set between the couches and chairs. Another one brings a white cloth, which he snaps over the surface, and a third and fourth bring porcelain and silver and napkins to set place. Glasses follow, then a flower arrangement.

The presentation is casual, if thorough. Wine, beer, and cold water arrive in hefty pitchers. The dinner dishes are arrayed in buffet service upon the sideboard. An enormous joint of roast beef is there, piping hot and already carved, and a whole salmon that had been broiled over salt; and platters of asparagus, roasted root vegetables, broiled tomatoes; and a great tureen of turtle soup, and another of potatoes au gratin (although it has another name here, potatoes and cheese are a literally universal constant.) There are baskets of rolls and cups of butter and strawberries and salt and pepper and everything else necessary for a civilized meal al fresco.

The prince allows some time for everyone to tuck in and get themselves settled into seats or what they will.

(Free for all, group munchies and conversation!)