With story in hand, goods loaded into the luggage compartments of the carriage (one might note as well there were ample stores of dried foods, wines, rope, axes, fire-stones, and all other sorts of things important when travelling,) the party is at leave to depart.
Joffrey relays the alibi to the coachman. What coachman, you ask?? Why it is the very same nervous peasant that they had seen in the antechamber before any of this nonsense transpired. He is a trifle plump and wearing a stained overcoat of peach brocade, an equally stained linen shirt, and corduroy pants that have clearly seen at least three previous owners. He is stubbly. His voice sounds like a teapot's whistle.
"Well, yer Majersty!" He cries. "Sure as my name is Pizzle, I'll see 'em as far as the border... Except... yer Majersty..."
"Yes, Pizzle, what troubles you?"
"I'm awrfully afeared, yer Majersty."
Joffrey nods sympathetically.
"And... er... beggin yer pardon, but I do tend ter piss when I'm afeared...."
"...I....see."
"I could piss right now, ter be honest!"
"Try to contain yourself." He turns abruptly to the party. "Well well, mount up, off you go. Remember your story! Varrå will join you once you have passed beyond the gates! Fear nothing, and follow her lead! Farewell!"
He waves goodbye as Pizzle whips the horses and the carriage begins its brisk journey to the city gates.
(YOU'RE ALL SITTING SIDE BY SIDE IN A CARRIAGE GOING TO A PLACE. You have ten minutes to discuss amongst yourself and get infected with Cludig's lice or Shonagon's civility or what have you.)
THIRD STEP
Joffrey relays the alibi to the coachman. What coachman, you ask?? Why it is the very same nervous peasant that they had seen in the antechamber before any of this nonsense transpired. He is a trifle plump and wearing a stained overcoat of peach brocade, an equally stained linen shirt, and corduroy pants that have clearly seen at least three previous owners. He is stubbly. His voice sounds like a teapot's whistle.
"Well, yer Majersty!" He cries. "Sure as my name is Pizzle, I'll see 'em as far as the border... Except... yer Majersty..."
"Yes, Pizzle, what troubles you?"
"I'm awrfully afeared, yer Majersty."
Joffrey nods sympathetically.
"And... er... beggin yer pardon, but I do tend ter piss when I'm afeared...."
"...I....see."
"I could piss right now, ter be honest!"
"Try to contain yourself." He turns abruptly to the party. "Well well, mount up, off you go. Remember your story! Varrå will join you once you have passed beyond the gates! Fear nothing, and follow her lead! Farewell!"
He waves goodbye as Pizzle whips the horses and the carriage begins its brisk journey to the city gates.
(YOU'RE ALL SITTING SIDE BY SIDE IN A CARRIAGE GOING TO A PLACE. You have ten minutes to discuss amongst yourself and get infected with Cludig's lice or Shonagon's civility or what have you.)