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[heirring]

[action + written + crystal]

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[heirring]

[A pinched pause.]

Go on.

[bouchonne]

Do I dress as the Divine, or as Queen Anora?

[heirring]

[Another pause. Then—]

Speaker Fabria may have a stroke over the former.

[bouchonne]

[ That makes him laugh a little harder. ]

Thank the Maker we've talented healers amongst us. Colin will have to be standing by.

[heirring]

[What is happening.

She clears her throat briskly.]

Is the matter of costumes all you wished to discuss, Mr. Rutyer?

[bouchonne]

Yes.

[ Then, as another thought occurs to him - ]

Or I could be myself, I suppose. Chasing you around all evening. Miss Poppell, you shall cause a diplomatic incident! Doing my best impression of the seneschal. Wringing my hands and weeping, like you're some naughty thing and I'm the long-suffering bureaucrat.

[heirring]

Oh surely not! You cannot be yourself for Satinalia. For what will you do once I've left for the evening and have no one left to scold?

Besides, the Seneschal hardly deserves such a thing.

[bouchonne]

But it would be amusing, wouldn't it? The Ambassador, on Satinalia, finally not acting like a disgrace. And then returning to disgracefulness the very next day. - You cannot leave too early, by the by.

[heirring]

[Somewhere, she is frowning very hard indeed.]

You would have to wear some staid version of your own wardrobe. And you must not chase too closely.

[bouchonne]

So you would prefer this to my dressing as the Divine?

[heirring]

What I would prefer, Mr. Rutyer, is that you dress as you please. All of these are perfectly fine ideas.

[bouchonne]

[ This finally manages to deflate some aspect of his good mood. ]

Miss Poppell, it is a holiday. Performing the role of the fool, and performing it well, makes the holiday fun. Surely you can set aside your caustic dislike of me for a few hours.

[heirring]

Oh come now, Mr. Rutyer. Dislike has nothing at all to do with it. Do you really want me to tell you how you must dress? Is that not dreadfully overbearing?

[bouchonne]

I have been the Satinalia fool, by my reckoning, at least seventeen times now. While it is a delight, it is not terribly special. This is your first time, so I want to give you the right to determine the thrust of the satire.

[heirring]

[That-- draws her audibly short, some protest getting no further than the first syllable. Ah.]

I see. [Consider her knuckles rapped. After a long beat, she says,] Then yes. I suppose you as some self serious version of yourself would be amusing.

[bouchonne]

Consider it done. [ Hm. ] If you wish to escape early, I could have you 'thrown in the dungeons for disobedience.'

[heirring]

[How accommodating...]

Shall I, er, make some scene to cue it perhaps?

[bouchonne]

Yes, that'd be useful. I wouldn't want to banish you if you're still having a good time.

[heirring]

Do you have any suggestions? For what might best catch your attention.

[bouchonne]

Hmm. I think the best thing for it would be kissing this chevalier upon the lips.

[heirring]

[Here, a sharp burst of startled and very true laughter.]

Come now, Mr. Rutyer. Be reasonable.

[bouchonne]

Was that unreasonable?

[heirring]

[She laughs again, imagining poor Ellis' miserable face.]

Utterly. For a dozen reasons.

[bouchonne]

Tell me three of them.

[heirring]

[It is a testament to the absurdity of the thing that she does:]

First, as it is far too public and the chevalier would turn to ash. And we are good and true friends. And I refuse to kiss anyone with so much beard.

To say nothing of my reputation, fool or no.