inbox.

[heirring]

[action + written + crystal]

Comments

[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.

[bouchonne]

As Fool, you could order him to shave.

[heirring]

He has already agreed to be somewhat mortified. I couldn't inflict further cruelty on the gentleman.

No Mr. Rutyer, I'm afraid it will have to be something else.

[bouchonne]

Yes, I suppose he might start seeking assignment in the Deep Roads. Very well. Perhaps you could start singing a bawdy song?

[heirring]

Even worse. I cannot sing for anything.

Could I not simply threaten to show my entire leg? Or to conscript everyone and force them into a play war?

[bouchonne]

Ooh! Yes, that latter one is perfect!

[heirring]

Done. But if the party seems amenable to the idea, you must pretend not to notice until the first clash of armies occurs on the dance floor.

[bouchonne]

We'll need a code-word for when it's played out to your liking. Perhaps - bellow, Orlesians, to me, and I'll know to stop it then.

[heirring]

Then it's settled. And in the interim, I will attempt to create a few charming messes for you to complicate with your own rules and so on and so forth.

[A very pause - so brief it is hardly there - is followed by an abrupt heel turn.]

Answer me in honesty, Mr. Rutyer. After the party, should I find this election offensive?