Dominique has joined the You Consent To Being Smelled By Standing Here.

Selene has joined the A bloodmagic created opulent sofa.

Keso, a totally legit assistant, Peanut, an oversized mountain dog arrive, following Aleksei.

3 Thrax Guards, 2 Thrax Elite Guards, Lady Teonia Redreef, Aryka Wyrmfang, Marquessa Pudding, a doughy dog arrive, following Sorrel.

Raja has joined the You Consent To Being Smelled By Standing Here.

Eirene has joined the an intentionally two-legged table.

Mabelle has joined the A bloodmagic created comfortable sofa.

For the past hour, the Crown Prince of the Twilight Court, Prince Tyrval Ael'Noctis, has sat near still as a statue on his throne. Clad in a raiment that is not subtle in its reminder of his once being King Consort of the Compact (and probably also of his insecurities), he's been still as a statue, saving the barest hinted murmurs to courtiers at his side, once in a great long while. At the appointed time however, two Nox'alfar courtiers walk out wearing House Grayson motley and blow on little flutes that make a buzzing noise to announce the audience has started, and the Prince sits up and clears his throat. "We welcome you all to the Embassy of the Twilight Court, as an official representative of his majesty, King Calithex Ael'Noctis, King of the Twilight Court..." And then he suddenly is speaking through gritted teeth, "BEST bloodmage in all the world..." A pause, "And ally of the Compact. Good day to you. We wish to congratulate you on Not Dying Terribly In The Latest Attack." He makes a small hand gesture, and the handful of Nox'alfar courtiers give a polite clap into their palms. "Good for you all. We are glad your following ten days of lifespan or whatever humans have will be quite nice for you all. We are very proud."
He then makes a hand gesture sweeping out, "So as a means of congratulations, we shall permit you all one question of our person, and we shall answer you truthfully. Well, if we like the question. Otherwise we shall give an entertaining lie. In either case, we shall award points. You may now form a line. Or not. We are not your dad, and -certainly- not an arrogant, distant, FOREVER JUDGMENTAL father. Ahem." He makes a small clap, "Proceed."

Eirene has joined the line.

13 King's Own Guardsmen, Zelda, the royal messenger arrive, following Alaric.

To say that Sen looks a bit uncomfortable when she enters the embassy would be accurate; there's a stiffness to her movements, a certain wary eyeing of the surroundings, even though she's been here before - twice, at least. She doesn't look at all sociable either, as, as soon as she's in, she finds a spot off to one side to stand, arms crossed over her chest. She avoids the room's corners, and doesn't lean against any ways. Perhaps she doesn't quite trust them. No line joining for her, possibly she's just here to watch.

Galatea arrives at the embassy slightly later than the posted start time of Tyrval's public audience--perhaps after a bit of an internal battle with herself over whether to brave the eccentricities and dangers of the Nox'alfar. A certain trepidation is visible on her features as she steps inside, sweeping her gaze around the room, for some reason seeming especially wary of the furniture. It is magical, after all. Presumably. Likewise, the opportunity to ask any question at all--from an immortal elf, no less--has her visibly fretting as she peers at the already-forming line. "Well, I wasn't expecting that," she murmurs, visibly at a loss.

Surely, something must be amiss. Not for a change emulating his cousin Sebastian, Patrizio Pravus is on time, with an expression upon his features that dances between being somewhat serious about seeing what's afoot, and a touch of almost impish amusement as if hoping something /does/ happen. When Tyrval puts forth the manner of how the moment is going to pass, there's a wistful play of something in his smile, watching the line start to form.

Mabelle steps hesitantly through the doors of the Embassy. She has spent over a decade in the city and never stepped in this room before. Of course, the first thing that catches her eyes is that weird table with 200 legs. Clad in the finest dress of contrasts, brightly colored and chilling as ice, decorated from head to toe, she inspects the room all over until she hears Tyrval's speech and comes to a halt. This is weird.

Lady Ilmia Leary is newly returned to the city. Having missed the city defense and she was feeling a bit guilt over that. The redheaded Leary is dressed in greens and golds of her house and she wears a bit of a subdued smile as she is looking around the lobby that they are waiting in. Though Tyrval's presence demands attention and her olive colored eyes go that way. She doesn't move to join the line though. She wasn't sure if she could find a suitable question that wouldn't get her turned into a worm or whatever they could do.

Katarina moves just as stiffly as Sen, if not more. Not because of inherent wariness, but because she's still recovering from nearly being torn apart by Helena Thornweave and her chorus line of killer vines. She moves like she's eighty, and though most of her face is no longer terribly swollen, she has a big glaring seam running horizontally over her nose, under her eyes -- it will almost certainly scar, and visibly so.

Jasper just sort-of barges into the Embassy. Politely, because he's an Oathlander, but it is a barge because people walking around in hunks of metal tend to be less dextrous than the majority, nine out of ten etiquette experts agree. Having come just in time to hear about the whole asking questions bit, he looks to the left, then to the right, and gets in line. Why not?

Aleksei break

Jasper has joined the line.

It takes some effort to navigate the Denica's wide skirt, and so she moves carefully into the room. Dressed uncommonly in almost Thrax fashion, with her own artistic take, Denica arrives with avid curiosity in her blue eyes. Immediately she sees all the people and she is smiling in the direction of familiar faces, but as the trumpets sound her attention falls on the man speaking. Thick Islander eyebrows loft upwards, there's a subtle buzz of excitement in the way her fingers cannot quite keep still. It's reason enough to find a place to settle in, the woman's sketchbook tucked under her arm. Conscious not to knock anyone with her skirt, she takes little dancer like steps somewhere.

Out of curiosity, Marquessa Dominique Wyrmguard makes her way to the Nox'alfar embassy, offering a courtly bow to Tyrval when she sees him on his throne. She's definitely not a frequent visitor here, if ever at all, so once she has offered her initial courtesies, she moves off to a place randomly to stand around and observe for the time being. Her jaw has a firm set to it, as if she feels more than a little out of her element. She listens with interest as the Prince speaks, and a hint of a smile starts to quirk at the corner of her mouth as she does so. She seems to think for a time, before she moves to join the line. She has a hint of a healing gash on her left cheek, but otherwise seems outwardly unscathed after the fight with Helena.

Dominique has joined the line.

Pasquale has a wary air about him as well as he listens to Tyrval's offer and contemplates what, if anything, would be worth asking.

Thea arrived carefully. Very very carefully. She slowly steps into the room, turning to gingerly bow respectfully. Thea has never stepped foot in here ever, but she's not about to show it as she makes her way to a familiar face.

Sir Danan, the Studious Valardin Scribe, 2 Farshaw trained guards arrive, following Clover.

Eirene stands as Tyrval makes his pronouncement and bows her head at the polite congratulations. The dark-clad general and all around doctor gets an impish smile that tugs at her lips. Eyes bright, she makes her way to his couch and folds her hands behind her back. "Your highness, majesty, best bloodmage in all of ARX," she says, making sure she emphasizes the truthful compliment. "I have a question."

This place is so weird to Raja. However, she did manage to get out some of her better finery and is even in a /dress/! Gasp! She slowly makes her way through the area, glancing in silence to those that are present. There are several faces she knows, offering a smile and a polite dip of her head to each as she makes her way past them. Finally, her gaze falls upon the Crown Prince of the Nox and studies him with an intense look. It isn't meant to be rude, just studious as if committing the image to memory. When Tyrval speaks, she steps back and simply listens. She watches as a line begins to form, her expression changing. What sort of question could she ask such a prestigious figure?

Medeia arrived a little early and joined the audience in waiting, and much like Tyrval, she kept still and quiet. Not as still and quiet, of course, she is human after all. And a few polite nods are given to others as they enter the embassy. She smiles softly once everything starts in earnest, her hands smoothing the purple velvet of her skirt. Her outfit is full of night imagery - stars and moons - in twilit hues of blue and purple. It seems she made an attempt to dress for the occasion. When the offer of answering questions is made, she considers and ultimately joins the line.

Medeia has joined the line.

Jaenelle has spent a lot of time within this embassy, not only while she was charged with its construction all those years ago but because the people who live here are still very much part of her life. She has a small toy goat in her hand ridden by a tiny woman, which she passes to one of the servants of the embassy, "please put Leona back, thank you." She doesnt have to tell the servant where Leona should be returned to, most likely the figurine will be placed when the servant gets bored of holding the goat and that is where it will forever live forever more. When the line begins, Jaenelle tilts her head as if attempting to come up with a question for herself.

Galatea has joined the line.

Mabelle has joined the line.

Denica has joined the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

Willen arrives, following Lou.

3 Fidante House Guards, Santino, Lord Clawdio Meowdante, Graziela arrive, following Calista.

Lou heard a rumor about her great, great, great, great, great something or another family member holding an audience in the Nox'alfar Embassy, so she's managed to find some time to sneak down into the district to see what all the hub=bub is about. It's not something she'd normally do, but these days are not normal times. She slips into the embassy and looks for a place to quietly get settled where she might not draw attention to herself.

Clover has joined the line.

When one's in law quite suddenly announces an event and one's schedule suddenly permits, not even the King of the Compact can resist the allure to see what Prince Tyrval Ael'Noctis, Ambassador of the Nox'Alfar, Prince of the Twilight Court, Second Best Blood Mage, Eternal Prince, and whatever other titles he holds. Alaric enters with a procession, inclining his head deeply toward a few whom he recognizes immediately. But rather than join the ever-growing line, he merely moves to the side, finding himself a place to observe for the time being.

Tyrval waits for a long moment with an impassive, regal expression of polite disinterest, though he gives small nods of recognition to arriving peers. And a cat, for some reason. After moments of silence, he then extends a hand in the direciton of Eirene, smiling at her greeting of him, "Yes, Lady Eirene Riven, you may ask. You have also been awarded fourty seven points for your use of titles."

Out of sheer curiosity and because she is not dead, Duchess Calista Fidante arrives to the Nox'alfar Embassy. There are many gathered already and from what she can gather, some are standing in line waiting for something. Rather than impulsively throwing herself on line without knowing what is happening, the Fidante moves over to the side to stand beside one of the many familiar faces in the room.

Gleaming with an utterly ridiculous amount of diamonds, Clover steps into the embassy. She pauses long enough to look around, spotting her sister and moving in that direction. She'll come to a stop near the much taller princess, reaching out to take Sorrel's hand, murmuring to her quietly as her attention turns toward Tyrval on his throne, watching as he speaks with Eirene.

The smile turns even more impish as Eirene spies Lou. And then Alaric! She bites back a laugh and bows towards the King. Then she turns back to Tyrval and asks "What was Queen Alarice like in bed?"

Jasper has joined the line.

Sen'azala looks sharply toward Eirene, eyes suddenly narrowing.

Alaric has joined the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

When the surprise open forum is announced, Ravana saunters into the embassy draped in umbra and curiosity, both of which she wears boldly. She doesn't immediately join the queue, instead moving off to the side to be one with the shadows as Tyrval holds court, the corner of her lips twitching slightly at Eirene's query.

Jaenelle has joined the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

Mabelle has joined the line.

Medeia has joined the line.

Clover has joined the line.

"Lady Eirene," Alaric merely stares toward Eirene as though he somehow managed to expect better.

Katarina checks composure and etiquette at daunting. Katarina is successful.

Katarina narrowly avoids a literal spit-take.

Tyrval stares venomously at Eirene for a long moment, before he stands up and speaks in a rant, "She was ABSOLUTELY un-APPRECIATIVE of ANY ANY ATTEMPT to actually win her HEART. No, just because you use blood magic one time, ONE TIME, without ASKING first to try to 'spice things up' since you all live like TEN SECONDS, and then it's a TRUST ISSUE and you need to APOLOGIZE, and oh no, that apology wasn't GOOD ENOUGH and you just made it about YOURSELF." He sits back down flopping on his throne. "She was fine. Next."

Galatea has joined the line.

Turn in line: Jasper

Jaenelle has joined the line.

Mabelle has joined the line.

Dominique has joined the line.

It's been -- a good amount of time since Aleksei Morgan was last seen in Arx. Over a year in fact. But he still looks much //himself// when he steps into the Nox'alfar lobby, accompanied by an auburn-haired teenager who is looking //way too tall// to anyone who may recognize him from when he was much younger and smaller. Not as tall as his dad, but Fitz is looking rangy and coltish and like he might growth spurt right up past him in a few years. It's Fitz, the teenager, who perks up at hearing that Tyrval is taking //questions//, and slips off while his father is distracted to make an entitled beeline right for that. Because //Aleksei// is giving a bit of a glance around to see who's here.

The doors open and Aksel enters shutting it quickly. He's head droops as he attempts to catch his breath. "That crowd is crazy." He says a little loudly before feeling that he is not alone. His back straightens as he slowly turns around and curses under his breath a little over loud. "Skalds bushy brows." He draws in his breath, and lets it out slowly. "A party." He isn't a curious sort, but the gathering looks interesting. "Is there drinks at least?" he wonders aloud moving to mill about to see what is going on.

Raja just goes slack-jawed...

Aleksei has joined the line.

Lou seems to have shifted course, heading instead toward Sen'azala. However, she can't help but trip over her own feet when she hears Eirene's question and she shoots the Riven woman a sharp look, her cheeks flaring a bright red.

Clover has joined the A bloodmagic created comfortable couch.

Eirene gives Sen'azala an innocent 'what?' Shrug. Then Alaric speaks and she looks a little more apologetic. "I was curious..." she offers a more contrite bow and steps aside as she strikes a nerve. "Thank you Prince Tyrval," she offers as she goes to the sideline.

Katarina has joined the line.

Mabelle rounds her lips a little at Eirene's question, but it was actually Tyrval's answer that makes her jaw drop a little. She eventually shakes her head clear enough to notice Alaric and curtsy to him from afar.

Galatea ultimately joins the line, the opportunity to ask the question of her heart's desire too tempting to pass up. Standing nearby in that line is Mabelle, to whom her eyes drift. She offers a slight not. "Peculiar sort of building, isn't it," she offers in the quietest of voices, hopefully so as not to be overheard--but then, they are in the presence of the best (second-best?) blood mage in Arx, so who knows what's audible and what isn't. "...Peculiar sort of people."

Ensconced well within the orbit of the Crown Prince of the Nox'alfar is a woman embodying the liminal hour of dusk, when the world belongs to itself rather than contested between night and the day. Selene exudes no obvious discomfort in the Nox'alfar Embassy, unlike a good many others. A small leather-bound enchiridion rests in a swirl of dark silk, a slim pen held in her fingers as easily as a courtier might wield a glass of Pravosi wine or a Lycene rose. The graceful poise of the Radiant Emeritus counters Tyrval's more dramatic carriage, a subtle counterbalance to emphasize him all the more. Her stillness avoids detracting from the peers of the realm and the curious come for the celebration, affording her the freedom to watch with curiosity in her dark eyes or unleash that luminous smile in a wordless greeting. If someone is to keep the tally of points, who better than a Whisper?

Opening the pages of her sketchbook, Denica takes out a piece of charcoal that is about to mess up her gloves. Her eyes dance with mirth hearing the first question and then the answer. Curious to hear what other people will ask, she begins to draw quietly, a small smile forming on her lips as she does. Occasionally she shoots a private smile in the direction of someone in the crowd, seeming pleased to see so many familiar faces.

"Your Highness, Great--" Jasper spends a split second to find a synonym for 'blood mage'. He composes himself, clears his throat and continues, "Sanguine Arcane, let me ask you, since you might be the most knowledgeable of all things blood, and thus can help me figure out this great riddle. Does the name 'Tree of Howling Despair' ring familiar in any way to you and have any of my kin fallen victim to it?"

Aksel has joined the A bloodmagic created comfortable sofa.

Calista glances to Eirene and casually says to the person next to her. "Valid question." As for the reply from Prince, the Duchess of Tor offers a little nod. "That tracks."

Mabelle murmurs aside to Galatea, "So weird".

Caspian pops into the embassy, not so much because he had questions but more because.. well how could you NOT want to see what was happening. The Man was clearly caught off guard by the line that had formed. But in truth he should not have been. He quickly slipped to the side, and fell silent to listen, gives a smile to the faces he knew

Caspian has joined the You Consent To Being Smelled By Standing Here.

Sen'azala seems to barely be able to contain a more thorough scowl; instead, she finds a spot on the floor to regard rather than Eirene. Lou is given a glance as she approaches, and Aleksei (and his giant son), more of one, but neither appears to lift her mood.

Katarina has joined the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

Noting the arrival of the King, Dominique offers him a respectful bow as well, before resuming her place in line. Hey, how did all those people get ahead of her? She must have been distracted. She turns back to listen to the answer Tyrval gives Eirene, and her blue eyes narrow a bit, both at the question, and at the answer. Her cheeks, do they have just a hint of color in their normally pale surface? Surely not. Her attention shifts to Jasper then as he steps forward with a question. She listens with particular interest.

Tyrval points two fingers at his eyes and then the fingers are pointed at the teenager next to Aleksei. It goes uncommented on beyond that. There's a curt hand gesture towards the doors and nox'alfar courtiers skip out (yes, they skip), carrying trays of wine. A few crash to the ground and shatter, leaving shards of crystal and liquid everywhere, but Tyrval doesn't notice, and the others come to stop with violet-colored liquid in wine bottles and glasses available to all. He then motions Jasper forward and leans slightly forward, "Oh yes, the Tree. Oh, that's just a tiny little bit of the abyss leaking into local flora. You really need to have gardeners stay on top of that sort of thing or who knows what you end up with. I'd recommend doubling your number of gardeners, or at perhaps several thousand pike supported by a wave or two of heavy cavalry. I imagine most of your kin were eaten by it. Nineteen points awarded to Jasper." He gestures for the next.

Turn in line: Medeia

Patrizio has joined the line.

Aksel has joined the line.

Clover tries not to startled too much when the trays are dropped... At least she doesn't scream. Maybe a little peep, but then she's back to focusing on Tyrval's responses to people's questions.

Medeia does her best to remain entirely composed as other questions are asked ahead of her, and she is mostly successful. The occasional twitch of her lips comes, but her focus is on Tyrval. When her time comes, she steps forward and sweeps the most perfect curtsy she can muster and looks up to meet his eyes through her lashes before rising. "Your Majesty, Eternal Prince Tyrval, Most Accomplished of Blood Mages I Have Had the Privilege to Stand Before, my question is an invitation: Come spring, might you join me in my garden for a conversation amid night-blooming flowers? As an avid agriculturalist, I believe such might till a better understanding between the Nox'alfar and humanity, and further allow great opportunity to bloom." Her smile remains in place as she awaits response.

Pasquale is tempted, very tempted, to join the line and for a few long moments he wavers on the edge of it. His gaze flickers across the crowd thats gathered. His lips thin for a moment. Finally, he seems to reach the conclusion that its better not to ask anything at all and picks his way over to one of those remarkably uncomfortable seats. To wait and to listen.

Pasquale has joined the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

Caspian has joined the line.

Jasper nods in thanks to Tyrval, bowing to the Prince of the Nox before departing from his presence when dismissed. Loud, metallic steps take him to some place close to the entrance, his face etched in an expression that borders on despondence.

Patrizio respectfully inclines his head to Alaric as he's moving slowly to join the queue of those waiting to give forth their questions, though the half-smile that's found him has yet to depart. Especially with the different tone of the questions so far. "I should've had my secretariat come to take notes, for amusement later," he can be heard musing to himself.

Galatea lingers at Mabelle's elbow, as if she might derive some confidence in so doing. "At the very least, it does not seem to be dangerous, not with this many people around," she murmurs sotto voce, "Not to mention the presence of royalty. Idiosyncratic, certainly, but hopefully they'll be on their best behavior. And not turn anyone into a couch."

Her gaze then drifts in the direction of Selene, whom she regards with some mild surprise. If she's able to make eye contact, she offers a brief, earnest nod, but her gaze then flicks back over to Medeia in her starlight-colored finery, the question in turn moving her gaze to Tyrval as she anticipated his response. "Clever," she mutters.

While she waits her turn in line, Dominique turns her head at the sound of the crashing crystal, and when a tray is profferred, she plucks a glass from it. She lifts it dubiously, studying the violet liquid as if not sure what to make of it. She lifts it to her nose and gives it a little sniff, not drinking from it yet.

Tyrval leans forward as to carefully consider Medeia's request, tapping a finger slowly against his lips in thought before deciding, "A meeting normally would be equal to a boon, and we find the amount of flowery imagery there more suited to the sylv'alfar, and we couldn't stand to be seen as sylv'absorbed. So we shall perhaps agree to a meeting in the future, for the betterment of humanity and their oft in-laws of the Court, but we will keep said date carefully elusive until a boon is won or we are in the right mood for it. We award Lady Medeia Saik four hundred and ninety three points, but she loses four hundred and ninety for making us think of the sylv'alfar." He gestures for the next speaker.

Turn in line: Clover

Mabelle murmurs too Galatea, panicked, "I'm too boney to be a couch".

Woe betide any skipping Nox'alfar sullying the priceless garments worn by the bushel here. One ghosts past Selene, sending glass shards to skitter close to her slippers, and she remains unmoving despite the explicit risk to her spotless gown and cereus flowers worked into her hair. The score appointed to Jasper she sketches delicately upon the parchment page, a note added after a moment. Medeia's entry follows thereafter, the effortless pause before the Crown Prince levies his answer and award, if any. Her attention flows as the tide, drawn by clusters of dignitaries and known faces among the multitudes. For Galatea, she offers a brief smile, full mouth lending essential illumination that sends fleeting traces of delight across her expression long enough to be noted. A proper jot of '3' joins the tidy, growing tally.

For a moment, Patrizio's brow rises as he's listening to the back and forth, the smile turning a hint more impish. With a gesture to one of his entourage, he's presented with his folio which comes open, so that he can take a few notes before handing it back.

"Have I missed many of the questions being asked?" Lou asks aside to Sen'azala, still giving Eirene a side eye for her earlier question. "Or did they just start?" She props herself up against the wall, after making sure she's not in the path of any of the crashed decanters of wine.

3 Seraceni Corsairs, 2 Ischian Mariner, Faizal, A Judgmental Bearded Vulture arrive, following Avita.

Sen'azala shakes her head and continues to study that spot of floor as she quietly answers Lou. "That was the first question."

Medeia looks on the verge of laughing, but again, she keeps her composure as Tyrval answers her. Once he has finished, she sweeps another perfect curtsy and murmurs, "You have my sincerest thanks and most genuine apologies, Your Highness, you will find that not all humans are so ungrateful." Then she retreats to let others have their turn.

Eirene has fallen properly silent, the older woman looking slightly contrite after the controversial question and the stares sent her way. Just slightly. She doesn't take any wine when it's passed around and instead waits and watches for the questions and always fascinating answers.

Galatea squeezes Mabelle's elbow reassuringly, "Maybe you can be turned into an excellent armoire, instead," she deadpans, which may not be the ideal thing to say, under the circumstances.

The brief smile she's won from Selene draws a beaming smile in response, her cheeks dimpling with fondness, before a much more serious aspect overtakes her at mentio of the Sylv'alfar, smile fading to contemplative frown.

Oh look! It's Clover's turn. The Duchess manages not to trip over own feet as she makes her way over-- glittering as she does, covered in hundreds and hundreds of tiny diamonds. Clover dips into a curtsey and then straightens up, staring for a moment in awe at Tyrval before remembering to speak. "Your greatness, I am working on an utterly insanely ambitious of project-- I believe I may have lost my mind, in fact --" She coughs and says, "Apologies-- I am working on a project to create a painting of one member of ever fealty and noble house of the compact and compacts allies to be saved for historical purposes--" She flounders a moment and then manages, "May I be permitted to draw you for this project?"

Tyrval spits venomously in agreement with Medeia, "PARTICULARLY spouses."

The tips of Sen's canines briefly show.

At Clover's request, the Crown Prince leans back on his couch-for-a-throne, crossing his legs at the ankle and dots his finger at the air in thought. He draws a few circles in the air before deciding, "One hundred and eighteen points awarded in appealing to our justified vanity for Duchess Clover Farshaw. We shall permit this, but under one minor stipulation. The title of the piece must have no fewer than thirteen flattering adjectives describing our royal person." He continues the matter settled, leans forward and gestures, "Next."

Turn in line: Galatea

Aleksei's reaction to seeing Sen'azala there is instinctive: a rush of warmth and the flash of a smile, the fond familiarity of someone seeing their friend in the first time for a very long time. But it eases back a moment later, when he realizes her reaction, and he's left with his brow creased with worry.


Avita is not late.
Much like a wizard, she arrives precisely when she means to.
Her attire is outrageously loud, but perhaps to the surprise of any that know her, she for the moment is not.
It seems, for once, she's happy to linger somewhere in the back with a vague smirk creasing darkly painted lips.

Clover has left the A bloodmagic created comfortable couch.

Clover has joined the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

Raja has joined the line.

Galatea clears her throat and steps to the front of the line when her turn arrives. There's a moment of introverted worry on her face, before she sucks in a breath to steel herself to the task of oratory. The address she delivers to Tyrval is tailored somewhat to the style of the Nox. "Great and powerful Magister of Blood, Tyrval Ael'Noctis, ye of esteemed lineage and excellent taste in sofas, I thank you for entertaining the inquiries of the public like this; we are sure to be enlightened by your generosity. Yours are an immortal people, and you remember many things which has fallen out of human knowledge in time immemorial. So I ask you this: What does it mean for a human to have a dragon's blood? Why is it that the Sky-King Malar is so dedicated to the eradication of such persons, that he even menaces the esteemed families of Houses overseas?"

Eirene claps for Clover's clever request and taking the lead. "One abyss of a project," she murmurs in her rough low tones, to no one in particular. Galatea's mention of dragons is met with a curious Hm in her throat.

Ilmia's been standing off to the side because she's not wanting to be in the way. She is taking quiet notes on what all is being talked on though, because for certain some of this is curious. She gives a nod of her head in greeting to anyone that is close.

Katarina's attention is certainly held by talk of dragons -- and on top of it, the M-word? She's watching. She's listening.

Clover's head snaps in the direction of Galatea at her question, her expression going a touch on the pale side.

Raja was content to remain in the sniffing corner for a while, listening to the various questions and the answers to such questions. Finally, she has decided to make a 'go' for it. She steps away from the area and slides into the line behind Caspian.

Lou goes back to quietly watching and listening to the questions being formed for now. However, Galatea's question catches her attention, so her blue gray gaze falls upon the woman in a curious manner. She tilts her head, then looks over at Tyrval to see how he'll respond.

Dominique listens to the questions and answers whilst waiting her turn, and takes a teeeeny sip of the violet drink in her hand.

Tyrval beams at Galatea's question, obviously pleased by it. He slaps his knees leaning forward, like he has been looking forward to saying this for quite some time. "Oh! Wonderful question. Two hundred and ninety seven points for Galatea. Well..." He clears his throat, adopting a regal mein once more, "Sometimes, when a dragon and a human love each other very much, they decide to violate thousands of years of sternly held tradition and custom, and create what the Skylord considers half-breed abominations that are a blight upon his family honor until he cleanses every last strand of them from existence, root and branch." He looks pleased and then gestures, "Next."

Turn in line: Jaenelle

Sorrel has joined the line.

Sen'azala apparently catches Aleksei's reaction, or at least some of it, and she briefly shoots him a look of apology - uncertain apology, maybe, but apology - though if she makes any attempt to lift her mood, it's an utter failure.

Ravana wanders over toward a two-legged table, half her attention on the questions being asked and answered, and half seemingly on this marvel of unlikely craftmanship, which is still somehow not the strangest piece of decor in the room. Along the way she secures a glass of wine and steps over two shattered ones. Not her embassy, not her problem.

Ravana has joined the an intentionally two-legged table.

A question that draws Calista's attention. She looks to Galatea then to Tyrval when the Prince replies. She notices Jaenelle is next in line and waits to hear the Archduchess ask a question.

Galatea checks charm and etiquette at normal. Galatea is successful.

Jaenelle stands from her seat beside Alaric to approach Tyrval, offering a deep curtsey as she states, "it is good to see you again, Your Highness." When she straightens, her hand lifts to the top of her head where a palm sized spider has made a quiet home for herself in gathering of cloth crafted flowers. The spider curtseys as well to the man on the throne. Jaenelle continues, "A long time ago plans were made for me to visit the Twilight Court and continue my studies on soul healing. I was wondering if I might have your permission and your escort to your Court to do so." Then there seems to be a tap at her palm as Ellani become impatient, and Jaenelle sighs and nods her head. The spider turns towards Tyrval and speaks, "and I was wondering after Jaenelle dies, can I stay with Lilah there?" Old spiders know that humans also die rather quickly and need back up plans.

Avita's remarkable lotus accoutrements receive the subtlest of nods from the Radiant Emeritus, approval penned in Selene's restrained response. The reverie of contemplating starlight silk and the crowd's general response to the inquiry raised by Galatea holds her fast, a caryatid sculpted from a particularly fine block of marble rather than flesh and blood. The world-shaking revelations of parentage or outright malice from the Crown Prince necessitate a measured shift, silk pooling around her ankles for adjusting her position a grandiose fingerspan or two. The general din covers any sound she may utter, but likely there presumably is one.

Mabelle just stares. At the spider. That just spoke. She pinches herself under her fur.

Galatea is quite expectant as she awaits Tyrval's answer, and visibly encouraged by his proclamation that it is a 'great question.' Ultimately, however, she must not find the answer very illuminating--or at least, it retreads ground that she could easily enough discern already. Those who pay very close attention would notice a faltering of her smile, and a twitching of her eyelids, that indicates that she finds Tyrval less than helpful on this issue. Nonetheless, her courtier's training wins out, and she beams a smile, the picture of grace. "Thank you for your wisdom and your most extremely generous quantity of points," she tells the elf, lowering herself into a formal bow before scuttling off away from the line to let Jaenelle ask her question.

Compared to his cheer at the previous question, this causes Tyrval to scowl with quite nearly as much venom as asked about his former wife. "Ugh, well, WE wouldn't know much about SOUL HEALING, as that is the domain of QUEEN SYMONESSE, who EVERYONE just thinks is SO PERFECT and so NICE and just because she never killed a crowd rioting with blood magic THAT REALLY DESERVED IT is somehow the FAVORITE of humans who just don't APPRECIATE a former king the way they should." He huffs loudly and crosses his arms before forcing himself to relax, "We suppose we can extend our blessing to that, Grand Duchess Jaenelle Velenosa, but we give it a double blessing with permission and escort if and only if it makes Queen Symonesse annoyed or better." He then decides, "Nineteen points, but just for the respectful greeting. Next."

Turn in line: Mabelle


Avita glances between those answering and asking questions, lips softly pursing as she considers what is returned in response, golden eyes narrowing slightly in her open scrutiny.
Selene, of course, gets a slow, sly smile as she is noticed noticing the spectacle that the Marquessa so oft represents.
Finally, she decides that she will make her way over to join the line of those that have something to ask.
There's a brief pause to her step when the spider speaks, of course, her brows lifting by fractions without a word of question offered to the admittedly bizarre event.
Apparently she's saving those words for the man of the hour.

Avita has joined the line.

Mabelle's turn comes up and she hesitantly steps in front of Tyrval, her crystalline gaze hangs upon his features, "Esteemed Ambassador, most Legendery Blood Mage I've ever been in the presence of, clearly the most handsome Prince to grace all lands and avid creator of most interesting furniture,", was that sucking up enough? What do you even do with the points? Does he furnish his bedroom with those who have the least points??... "I was wondering, in your most profound experience, can magic originated in less than traditionally...savory places", she chooses her words carefully, ".. be used for the benefit of the greater good? and will it taint the person attempting it anyway if such was the use?", she's probably speaking about herself, without trying to sound like she's speaking about herself. And failing.

Sorrel has slipped in, because she is curious, and Tyrval interactions tend to be entertaining. At least on some level. She heads over to where her sister and sister-in-law are sitting, bows to the present occupants of the couch which include the king, and seats herself to watch. After putting her name in for a question, of course.

Calista has joined the line.

Jasper rubs at his eyes as he rests against some furniture, silently. He is doing his best not to have an emotional outburst in the middle of an Embassy. That stops when a spider speaks. He looks up. Straightening, he finds one of those Nox serving drinks and takes a glass for himself, easing himself of any troubles borne of sobriety.

Galatea murmurs something to herself under her breath when Mabelle's done asking her question, but the phrase 'Marach the Apostate' is intelligible amidst it.

Jaenelle grins slightly and offers a curtsey at the answer, one that she expected, before she turns to sits back with Alaric and now Clover, her voice lowers just enough to say something to the pair.

Sorrel has joined the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

Eirene is apparently discussing something to do with the two legged table she sits at with Ravana, but at Mabelle's question she snorts to herself and waits to hear Tyrval's take.

Selene's gaze shifts away from the growing line for a moment to lend Alaric a deep nod of respect. Properly curtseying would be quite the achievement at this distance and without interrupting his ongoing conversation, but social propriety demands savouring certain niceties.

After a while of listening, Medeia seems to be summoned away by the whims of the day, her steps carrying her out of the embassy quietly. There is one last look back over her shoulder, but it isn't at Tyrval.

It's only natural that Mabelle finds herself under the curious regard of the King when the question of utilizing the perverse and profane for the greater benefit of the world catches his attention. Alaric's quiet conversation is suspended with a briefly apologetic murmur, instead turning his attention onto Tyrval to see how he might respond.

For some reason, Ravana lifts her foot, aims, and kicks toward the table she's standing beside. She shakes her head at Eirene, as if this proved something, before turning her attention toward Tyrval, curious again.

Celina, a dutiful physician's assistant, Giancarlo, a cooper and prize-fighter leave, following Medeia.

A handful of messengers come and go between Lou and Willen. She's listening, largely, to what's being asked and said. For a moment her gaze lingers thoughtfully on Eirene, as though she might want to ask the woman something. She doesn't, for the moment. She shifts her gaze away from Eirene to take a moment to see who else has come to the Embassy.

Tyrval considers Mabelle's question with far more care than most of them, obviously mulling it over for how he wants to answer it, "A good question, particularly from you, J... Lady Mabelle, I mean." He shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts, "Mm, long before the fall of Caer'alfar, the first great city of the Elves before my father and everyone worthwhile left to start the Twilight Court, we had a schism of magical research, where the queen at the time felt the quicker speed of the Abyss, the great power there, could and should be used to bring the fight against the dragons. It worked. Elven kind, and humans as well, likely would not exist without the intervention of the Abyss, in some ways." There's a shoulder roll, "But almost everyone who dabbles with the 'less savory' winds up touched by it. It's faster, but hungry. It -wants- to be used. Very much, and that's much harder to control, easier to get away from you. Far more volatile. So possible, but very hard to keep it on the positive, we'd say." He turns to comment, "Four hundred and ninety seven thousand points to Mabelle. She made me think of Caer'alfar history and magic theory. Ugh. Learning." He gives a shiver. "Next."

Turn in line: Dominique

"Oh Great and Knowledgeable Prince," Dominique begins when it is her turn, offering a bow as she steps forward, "Whose Memory is Long, Whose Magery Knows No Equal, the Eternally Wise Crown Prince of the Twilight Court. I ask this: If one had the best of intentions, and the greatest of need, how do you suppose one would one go about finding... a lost dragon?" She clears her throat, cheeks coloring once again.

Clover lifts hands and cradles her face with them.

Katarina is, once again, very visibly both Watching and Listening, more so than for previous questions.

Mabelle widens her eyes a little as she almost hears her name. Listening however to his story brings not new, but hey, maybe she has enough points to win the game. What's the prize? instead she curtsies, "You are most gracious and wise, Your Highness, Thank you".

Galatea stands apart from the line, watching the ongoing question-and-answer session with rapt attention. She is doing her best imitation of statuary, it would seem, moving very little and trying not to draw attention to herself. There is a significant flicker of her eyes from Alaric to Mabelle, however, the king's interest not going unnoticed.

Pasquale listens to Tyrval's words with obvious fascination. His gaze shifting to Mabelle several times during the conversation but never so much as when Tyrval calls her J..

The Crown Prince of the Nox'alfar scratches his chin as he considers Dominique's question before deciding, "Have you tried looking where you last left him? Humans often misplace dragons that way, we've found." He looks like he might just leave it at that, but vanity gets the better of him, "But if our royal person just had to find a dragon whom we personally had a connection with, we suppose we'd probably go about it another way. For something that sizable, we would suggest finding someone with a soul tied to theirs, or similar connection. Particular one that's a budding dreamwalker, say in a past life or some such, and has little echoes of it on their soul. Find them something of significance to the dragon, konk them on the back of the head so they pass out, and hope they come out of the coma with just a small bit of brain damage and newfound insight on where the dragon might be." He beams at Dominique, "And there you have it. Twelve points, just because the dragon in question was rude to me. Next."

6 First Legion Centurions, Sparrow, an enthusiastic and bubbly assistant arrive, following Renata.

Turn in line: Aleksei

Briefly, Patrizio's watching Mabelle at her retreat from the line in the wake of asking the question. The folio opens again, another note made as he's been doing off and on while listening to the questions and answers, though this one ends with the folio being close /on/ his stylus, as if to hasten the opening again afterwards.

3 Black Fleet Reavers, Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven arrive, following Raven.

6 First Legion Centurions, Sparrow, an enthusiastic and bubbly assistant leave, following Renata.

Eirene appears to have lost her wicked humor, a more contrite look on her face and a more restrained smile. She looks like she's waiting for a shoe to drop, and very much avoiding the gaze of the Graysons.

Selene straightens but a fraction and continues to capture whatever information as entertains her, similar in a manner to Patrizio. Save hers probably involves a slightly more vivid ink. Neither does she quite write in the fashion of others, invariably not in the commonplace side to side fashion. Halting for a moment, she invariably seeks the refreshment of Nox wine, a glass plundered from a sidetable for the briefest swirl and a sip.

Dominique's eyes widen at Tyrval's answer, and she trembles a little. Is she angry, or is she holding back laughter? It's hard to say. After a moment, lips pressed together, she offers another bow. "I shall um... consider your advice, your Highness," she says as she withdraws so the next person can step forward with their question.

Clover gasps and clutches at her collar when Tyrval says 'the dragon in question was rude'. Really. It's like he just called her grandfather a turnip eater.

Ilmia looks rather interested over the question of a lost dragon. That would be a wonderful thing to come across. She scribbles down a note in her journal and then looks to see what else might be asked by those attending.

Mabelle turns her eyes a moment toward Alaric, who already lost focus on her, curious however as someone whispers of his interest in her ear. She bows her head to him from afar.

Raven leaves her guards outside but lets Moonsilver in because-winter. Moonsilver rides on Raven's head as Raven navigates her way in and finds herself besides Caspian, elbowing him gently and whispering.

Aleksei is too busy mulling over his clearly unhappy friends to notice his teenage son swan up to the front of the line looking very pleased with himself. "Hey, your highness," Fitz says, breezy as can be. "I was just wondering if you learned how to play Ledgers and Labyrinths properly yet." He grins. It's an absolute shitty teenager grin from a teenager who thinks he's being //real// cool right now.

Aleksei only notices once the question is already out there. Too late. "//Fitz//." This is Aleksei's karma. He was an even worse kid.

Raven has joined the line.

The Nox'alfar are normally pale, but for the first time in the meeting Tyrval goes far more pale yet as he just glares down at the teenager next to Aleksei. He hisses through his clenched teeth, "We shall HAVE you KNOW, that we are CURRENTLY undefeated in our LATEST creation that works PERFECTLY a mere NINETY SEVEN transactions in. True, we may confess our opponent is an animated stone named Phillip who does not possess COMPLETE faculties, but is nonetheless a CAPABLE player. UNDEFEATED, FITZ! UNDEFEATED!" He slams a fist in the handrest of the couch, before calming down, "Negative forty eight million points to one Fitzcarraldo of the Twilight Court. Seven points to his much suffering father, Aleksei Morgan." He gestures with a hand, "Next."

Turn in line: Katarina

Katarina makes an 'umph' noise as she gets up from the couch made of bricks. Why, in her injured state, she decided to sit down on the couch made of bricks is a mystery that will henceforth be abandoned to the care of the future's historians. Hopefully the time that she takes in her every-step-hurts walk will give Tyrval a moment or two to calm down from having to interact with a Teen. She steps forward, and once in a position to do so, she proffers a creaky yet determined curtsy. "Your Eternal Highness, Never Majesty," Katarina says, though she says it with great dignity. "Though I am by oath and by will a Princess of House Valardin, it is not under that banner that I seek your counsel today. Rather, and I say this with all respect to the sovereignty of His Royal Highness King Alaric Grayson IV, I ask as Princess Katarina al'Muraq-Sabbat, rightful heir of the throne of the Dune Kingdom of Suj'abbat, the City of Veils. You are blessed with a vantage point that far outstrips that of the rest of us, from which you can view the unfolding of history in ways that our lifespans will not accommodate. So I ask you not for a favor or a boon, but rather for your considered opinion, given your life experience and the wisdom thus gained..." At last, Katarina gets to the point: "Do you believe that I will I hold my mother or my father again, before I die?" She pauses before she adds, for Tyrval's benefit: "...that would be around fifty years from now, if all goes well."

The Crown Prince stares at Katarina, and it's as if he's looking for something in particular, glancing this way and that as he examines her. He gives a small nod, finding whatever he might have been looking for and then leans back, thinking in silence. A minute goes by without him saying a word. Five. And then finally he simply looks into Katarina's eyes and says, "Yes."

Turn in line: Patrizio

Katarina checks composure and etiquette at daunting. Katarina is successful.

Lady Ilmia has a moment of thought and then she is looking about to see if there is a group she can join, before she gets herself in to trouble. Though she catches Lord Jasper rubbing his eyes and she makes her way over to him. "Good day, do you mind if I join you?" she asks him in a quiet tone.

Katarina doesn't cry, through some miracle. She dips her head maybe a bit deeper than she needs to do so, in case she /does/ start crying. "Thank you, Your Highness," she says, and shambles back to the bricks.

Vim, the dragon corgi arrives, delivering a message to Dominique before departing.

The jade eyes cast about for a moment as Patrizio takes a step forward when it is turn to be recognized, hands freed with the passing off of his folio to one of his soldiers, the press of his palm to his chest, as the archduke briefly inclines his head respectfully to Tyrval. "Your Excellency, Elegant Enchanter, and Eloquent One. I realize that the cause of the moment is to celebrate that we are not yet dead, all of us. But is it possible that we may be but a dream of the Dream? That we endure, that we crest the incoming waves, and rise ever higher because in the end, the Dreamer dreaming the dream somehow leads it towards a happy ending, to laud the successes of the figures in the midst of it all... and that we are, as such, not so much not-yet-dead as much as predetermined to endure and, through travails, thrive." He draws a breath before he sums it up again. "Given how much feels as if a dream already within our ephemeral lives...?"

Mabelle looks over at Katarina, offering her a warm smile before turning her attention to Patrizio.

Vim, the dragon corgi arrives, delivering a message to Jasper before departing.

Raven lifts herself on her tip toes and cranes her head, sizing up the crowd and then finding her way towards the end of the line-if such a thing may be found.

Sen'azala mutters something under her breath that does, for a moment, sound a lot more like her usual self.

Sen'azala mutters, "... ... fuck kind of ... is ..."

Alaric cannot help but to lend Patrizio the most long-suffered look nearly almost always reserved for Tyrval. "Your Grace," he intones, though no words ensue as he takes but a moment to deliberate the question yet again before efforting to rise from his station.

"I don't mind," Jasper replies to Ilmia, well into his glass of wine, flashing the Lady the most awkward of red-tinted smiles at this point. His eyes are a little red as well, and it is either from a lack of blinking or something else. "I am Jasper Steelhart, pleased to meet you." He introduces himself, drinking the last of his wine and looking around to indulge in some more, it looks like. "And you?"

Lou gives Sen'azala a bemused look at murmurs quietly back in response.

Lou mutters, "A ... Patrizio sort ... question. At ... ... didn't involve something regarding fire ... a change."

"Your Majesty," offers Patrizio back to Alaric in return, with that play of a smile. Though Lou gets a warmer smile in the wake of things overheard, and... a wink.

Raven's eyebrows loft "Oh fuck." as she belatedly realizes none other than the king is here. She steps behind Caspian when she realizes she's set that aloud.

Tyrval turns and advises his scribe putting down his scores to quill, "For Princess Katarina al'Muraq-Sabbat, rightful heir of the throne of Suj'abbat, the City of Veils, we award her twenty three thousand points. And fifteen to her parents. They can combine sums upon meeting." He then turns towards Patrizio, "Everything is possible, and thus we find it best not to think too hard about it. It's the leading cause of madness in the Twilight Court, which is completely indistinguishable from sanity there. Still, humans are much less inclined to murder each others to give a helpful restart should one get a little too confused about the natural of reality, so maybe best not." He decides, "Three quarters of a point. Can't go down that path. Next."

Turn in line: Aksel

This is surely the oddest party Aksel has ever been too. He listens to question after question and before you know it is in line. And at some point he's called forward. He does so with purpose, his green gold flecked eyes on Nox'Alfar of many titles. There is nothing for a moment. Then it lasts a moment longer then it turns into the awkards silence, but finally Aksel speaks his question. "What dangers beyond the obvious will I face when I walk into the place that is called The Witchwood." He pauses, "Wait.. do I need to like, kiss your ass first?" he scowls, "Shit, that's two questions isn't it?" He sighs softly realizing it was three, and he waits to be turned into furniture or something.

Sen'azala's nose wrinkles at whatever Lou mutters back. After a moment she exhales, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Mabelle hushes to no one in particular with some glee, "I'm winning!", but hey, maybe she is winning the chance to turn into a chair.

Ilmia hadn't gotten any of the wine, now she's not sure if she should. "Are you feeling alright, Lord Steelhart?" she asks him. "I'm Lady Ilmia Leary, it's good to meet you." she offers with a radiant smile to him.

"A fraction. Huh." Patrizio briefly rubs his chin, before he bows his head again to Tyrval, and takes a few steps back, which is as good an excuse to get a glass of wine while he moves. There's not a worry on his face about the low number of points, but still, that play of a smile, as if he's at least gotten to see something get burned. Even it's only his score that's singed.

Dominique returns to where she was standing before, noticing Raja and to Caspian. She gives a nod to them as well as she leans herself back up against the wall. She watches the other exchanges with Tyrval, listening quietly and intently, but also looking somewhat absent with thought. Eventually, she's able to focus her attention outward again, watching the questions and answers as they continue.

"That's better than the whatever negative million someone else got," Lou calls out cheerfully to Patrizio, grinning in his direction after the wink. She spies Mabelle approaching then and listens to whatever she has to say before murmuring a quiet answer back.

"It is." The Crown Prince nods towards Aksel, and he leans back, "Four points. Next." He then decides, "Oh, we suppose we'll go easy. Mostly shards, we believe. We'd probably stock up on holy water, they hate that. Or fire. Or just sharp instruments, really. And we wouldn't give anyone your blood, ill advised. Now next for real."

As the line moves, Calista finds herself getting closer towards where Alaric, Jaenelle, Clover, and Sorrel sit. She dips in to a polite and poised curtsey, greeting them each in hushed tones. Her attention flits between the known nobility and the question being asked of Prince Tyrval.

Turn in line: Caspian

Alaric has joined the line.

"I--" Jasper was about to answer Ilmia in what could be alcohol-borne honesty - it's been a hot moment since he's had any - but decides to demur with a simple, "I am alright, my Lady. It is a pleasure to meet you." Something else is murmured under his breath, for the Lady's benefit, along with a singular nod. And the serious look in his expression to follow.

Ravana has joined the line.

Alaric has joined the line.

Vim, the dragon corgi arrives, delivering a message to Thea before departing.

Pasquale has been quiet and watchful but for an occasional cough up until now. He shakes his head just a little at Patrizio's question but seems more intrigued than anything else.

Caspian looks up when his place in line is up. he moves forward, offers a smile and flourishing, deep bow. "It is an your most enigmatic Grace of the imacuulate hair and mastery of magic. I am Caspian Wild, and i come with a rather absurd question. I have searched in books, gathered stories, traveled far and listened to old wives' tales... but all have turned to fanciful rather than fruitful in my pursuit of an answer. So, i am hoping that you in your wisdom might be able to point me in the right direction." he offers a grin and then proceeds, "There has been much talk of dragons, and my own quesiton pertains in a way to the same. Stories abound of the strength of dragons, and some of us have seen the power and devestation they can unleash first hand. However, even among them there are stories... stories of a Dragon that was exiled to north, one who consumed a mighty elemental of winter, growing in power." he shook his head, "All the stories you ever find speak of magficians or magical artifacts being brought to bear when fighting foes like this..so my question is thus. given mundane means, if you were to entertain the thought.. how would you go about it?"

Aksel bows his head respectfully to The Crown Prince and steps aside to let whoever is next in line before fading into the background. He wasn't expecting much. Holy water, though, is a good idea.

The Crown Prince of the Twilight Court listens to Caspian's question and then shudders, his face showing revulsion as he shivers, "Ugh, HIM! There's a reason that THING has been alive since the dawn of the world. Well, in different forms we suppose." He scowls, "We would not advise fighting it at all, particular not with mundane means, and if one was forced to, we'd bring several armies with the hope of chasing it off. But if we simply had to..." He looks thoughtfully at Caspian, "Good weather. Draw it away from storms, away from the cold and wind as you could, and hope for once it chooses to be very, very stupid. A few dozen trebuchets and the like and scores of ballistae perhaps. We would wish you luck, and we would observe from a very safe distance." Tyrval gives Caspian an encouraging thumbs up with a faint smile, "Four hundred eighty points to Caspian Wilde, he'll need them. Next."

Turn in line: Raja

Selene gives Caspian an inquisitive look as he approaches, and remains unflinchingly silent when he inquires of his question. But then that storyteller's rhythm of Tyrval's response ekes out a smile from her, a murmur given in response.

When it is Raja's turn in the line, she moves up silently. There is a moment where she seems as if she may change her mind. She glances too all the faces around them, and then to the Prince upon his throne. She is not one of the High Lords. She is no princess. She isn't even a low noble. Raja is simply of the lowest of the commoners. So, respectfully, she dips into a very low bow, adding a bit of flourish at the end. "Most wonderous prince of eternal greatness. Most powerful and wonderous creature I have had the grace to before." She says in lower tones. "I do not remember if I ever had the opportunity to offer you the thanks you are due for when you assisted me in discovering my bloodlines. For that, I will forever be grateful to you." Softly, she glances up towards him, but maintains a respectful demeanor, "It had led me on a quest that took me years to discover my history and it's many truths. After discovering these truths, I have one question. How do I discover how to use the power of my bloodline to protect those I love and my home without shackling myself to.. unsavory elements?"

Lingering where he is with his glass of wine, Patrizio looks quite content to listen to the other questions being asked. Though one of his soldiers does briefly step forward to murmur in his ear, which gets a distinct frown and the shake of his head. But also, it gets the handing off of his folio and, taking his heavy cloak from one of the others, the archduke makes his way towards the exit at a brisk pace.

Caspian breaks into a massive grin, nodding his head and stepping back to allow Raja to take her place to ask. he nods to himself a she moves back to the listen to the side and make some notes

3 First Legion Centurions, 3 Setarcan Royal Shields leave, following Patrizio.

Katarina, amid the ongoing festivities, is summoned away by a Valardin aide, who is really just making up an important message because they can see how much it sucks for Katarina to sit on that brick couch.

Katarina has left the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

A dutiful Valardin aide, 2 Valardin Knights leave, following Katarina.

The Crown Prince nods along at Raja's words, and he might preen just a little bit under the titles. Why those compared to the other previous flattery? Hard to say. He then purses his lips, "Well, we don't judge if one should decide to indulge in the quick and easy path, but if one did not... we suppose there are others trying to start studies now, particularly since a certain demon has been lax in devouring all those starting to learn. Which good for all of you, we're glad you're not being devoured by demons as often. So be that as it may, we SUPPOSE one could try to study under those ASSOCIATED with my ex in her new body, or the First Choice's seraph, or the numerous other fellows. If they run into issues, we suppose we MIGHT come to their rescue." He looks pointedly at Aleksei, without a clear reason why. "Fifteen points. We should help things along if those others don't take care of matters, possibly. For several boons. Next."

Turn in line: Sorrel

Thea has been here the whole time, listening quietly to each question. Interested.

Raja gives another bow of her head to him, "Thank you." Then she steps out of line and moves to the side, her gaze contemplative.

a blue and gold macaw, Renard arrive, following Vitalis.

Aleksei is in the midst of keeping his son physically contained with a paternal arm around the neck, muttering something like, "He might not kill //you//, but he might kill //me//," when he catches the fact that he's being looked at in a pointed manner. "Huh?"

Ilmia gives a soft wince at Jasper's words and then there is a whisper to the man after that.

Rising when it is her turn, Sorrel promptly offers Tyrval a very effusive and sweeping bow, full of flourish and drama. Some reminder that she's a bard who loves a show. Her smile is playful, amused even, and she gestures at the Nox'alfar with a little sweep of her hand. "Your Highness," she begins in smooth clear tones, light and lively. "I am sure that you aware that you are magnificent. Striking. Charming, witty, clever, and wise. Tall and imposing, too. Awesome and grand and regal. Erudite. Shrewd. As such, I am burning to know: what is your favorite pun? And then, if you are being generous and exceptionally patient and desire to go on a bit on wordplay, have you thoughts on palindromes, and if so, which is your favorite?"

Sen'azala, silent and dour since her mutter - downright morose, really - suddenly and inexplicably turns on her heel and stalks toward the exit with a flash of teeth. Anger's probably better, right? Right?

Galatea has been doing her best statue impression for a while now, hiding her mouth behind a small hand-held fan. Sorrel's ever-increasing list of superlatives has her attention, her eyebrows creeping upwards as the list continues to grow in length. But the question, well--that was unexpected. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she lets out a quiet little laugh at the unexpected innocence and simplicity of the inquiry.

Lou gives Sen'azala a concerned look when she stalks out, furrowing her brow. She bites her lip, but doesn't go after her. She glances back to those who are asking questions after a few moments, her know knitting together in thought.

Mabelle murmurs aside to Galatea, "Bee puns are the best".

Tyrval sighs looking at Sorrel, looking pained by the question. "Madam," he begins, drawing out the word shortly, "Palindromes are certainly not permitted, nor puns. It would put a damper on my rule, like the skies opening up to pour down on my reign." He then decides, "Eighteen points, but just because she's a bard. Next."

Galatea gives Mabelle a good-natured but long-suffering look. "You /would/ say that, Bee Lady."

Turn in line: Avita


Avita's fingertips and thumb pads come together with the singing ring of metal on metal as she steps forward, hands held in a nabla before her in an easy stance, her easy pace causing her bells to quietly chime as though in cheerful warning of her approach. Her eyes quickly take in Tyrval's fine features, even as she deftly steps aside to let the last speaker depart, her head dipping forward toward him in some showing of respect.
She has heard the way by which others have addressed him, how they appeal to his vainglory.
She can relate.
"Most Fascinating Prince, He Who Has The Answers, Creature Nearly So Lovely as I," Nearly? She pauses, a breath momentarily held as she struggles with something, her eyes narrowing to bare slivers of sunlight. "With Admittedly Interesting Tastes In Fashion," Her head cants ever so slightly to one side, "Yet Could Benefit From My Esteemed Singularity of Style, Whom I Would Dearly Love To Dress Some Day," Apparently this is something she considers terribly complimentary -- so much so, in fact, that it almost appears to scandalise the already scandalous Ischian Marquessa.
She nods once.
Apparently that will do.
"I have heard so many stories from so many people, from so many places, and so many genres." She begins, "I have heard so many, in fact, that I have begun to find a new tragedy." She confesses.
"... They are too often the same as the ones which came before."
This draws from her a heaved sigh, her shoulders sagging in scarcely noticable droop until she continues.
"My question," She straightens herself, "Is this: ... If you had but one story to tell, one that would sing your name through the echoes of this world for the eternity that stretches beyond the sorrow of the loss of you," A hand lifts from that held nabla, almost dismissive in the gesture it gives.
Not of him, of course, but of her own appended thoughts.
"Insurmountable as such grief would be, should one even be capable of thinking of such an unspeakable deficit of the wonderment of your most charming of selves ..." She gets back to her original point: "What story would you tell with the last breath to leave your breast?"
A beat of a pause.
"Your cheekbones are magnificent." She concludes.

Jasper shakes his head with a gentle smile for Ilmia, before adding something in a soft murmur. The conversations are paid only half a mind to, it seems.

Drysi, a young shaman apprentice arrives, following Khanne.

Ilmia dips her head to Jasper's words and tries to keep the conversation quiet as to not disturb anyone else around.

Exchanging a few parting words with those she was seated with, princess Denica closes her sketchbook she filled with strange and unusual things. Then she dips a bow to their gracious host and skedaddles off, for some sort of art emergency, no doubt.

Alphonse, a long-suffering assistant, Maggie, an energetic Mistward Labrador arrive, following Adalyn.

Denica has left the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

Stojan, a cleverly reserved assistant, 3 Thrax Guards, 1 Thrax Elite Guards, Cato, a stealthy non-descript man leave, following Denica.

The Crown Prince preens under the praise, of course, though he squints just a sliiiight bit at Avita at the 'Creature Nearly So Lovely as I', but then gives a small 'I'll allow it' nod as he considers her question. He then speaks a single phrase and says simply, "A bad marriage." He looks like he's about to leave it at that, but decides to continue, "Fifteen points. And undestand, we can only speak in hypotheticals of course, and know this is about someone else." He raises a finger, "A terrible tragedy about a noble king, a friend of mine for example, who dearly loved a human wife but alas, she did not fully love him return. No, this wife of my friend instead chose to die of old age, despite the gift of immortality being offered to her, so she might join her true beloved upon the wheel. My friend has been heartbroken ever since, you must understand. Next."

Turn in line: Calista

The Duchess of Roses arrives to the front of the line and dips into a deep and respectful curtsey before Prince Tyrval. When Calista rises she is still herself yet not really...herself. She gives the royal Nox'alfar a knowing grin. "Your Most Esteemed Highness; ditto on all the fabulous titles uttered before me. My singular but two part question is, What is the one thing you want most in this world...and what do I get if I obtain it for you?"


There's a dipped nod at the response, and Avita turns to depart, but not before stating:
"Know that it is not because I do not appreciate the bounty of points bestowed upon me, but what I am owed should be appended the one with the highest chance of besting dear Lady Mabelle." Her brows lift, her head turns and her eyes settle on Mabelle with a slow-growing smile that dimples her cheeks.
"One should never gloat over a victory not yet assured, darling." She tsks, even as she's making her way out of the line.
"Tacky, tacky..." She murmurs.

Dominique blinks at Sorrel's question regarding puns and palindromes, her eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement at Tyrval's answer. She takes another slow and tiny sip of wine, turning to look at Avita. She kind of stares at the long string of titles and barely-compliments piled on, squinting slightly. She does, however, also look mildly impressed. She continues to stand around in the sniffing corner, since nothing seems to have tried to sniff her yet. At least, not that she's aware. She seems unable to tear herself away from listening to the stream of questions and answers, listening with riveted fascination at the variety.

Curiosity got the better of her, so Khanne made her way to the Nox'alfar Embassy to see if she could catch a bit of the occasion happening within. Dressed all in white, she matches the snow outside more than much of the decor inside. She looks around when she walks in and... if anyone sees her shudder, surely it is just surprise at the amount of people present and nothing else. For now, she is just observing to get a feel of the gathering.

The dark elf prince looks suddenly exasperated at Calista, "Tem, we've been over this before! We don't KNOW that many expendable mages, so of COURSE if you helped me gain the crown we'd appreciate it but we can't just send them to you willy nilly time and again and..." He peers at her, "Oh. Right, well. That was last time. Mm. We would have to think of it, as it would probably differ from last time. We shall get back to you on that. Eight hundred and ninety three thousand points to -Calista-, not Tem. Next."

Turn in line: Raven

Raven ambles along following the line, Moonsilver serenely preening where she's perched on the top of the steelsilk bandana keeping Raven's hair restrained. Raven bows and moonsilver alights to Raven's shoulder with a bit of a flutter, "Thank you for hearing my question, your most splendiferous Highness." She rises and then adds "I'm not here to verbally fellate you while everyone watches like everyone else so I'll just get onto the question. I am, apparently even as I speak now, not fully awake. How ought I go about remedying that?" Her jade green gaze rests on him with the look of someone who has not allowed herself to hope for much.

Lou has joined the line.

As the line starts to narrow, Lou makes a decision and finally gets in behind some of the others, thinking of a question she might want answered. She fidgets a bit behind Alaric, giving him an apologetic look, as she does.

Calista dips deeply into that poised and perfected curtsey. "Of course, Your Highness." Calista with her Tehom may care grin slips out of line and heads towards the back to find a seat where she can continue to watch the event unfold.

Mabelle arches her eyebrow somewhat at Avita as she turns to leaves, "I was just enjoying the game", she shrugs.

The Crown prince sighs in disappointment when Raven says what she is -not- there to do, looking bereaved. He then turns towards a courtier, "One added bit of Run Till You Drop powder added to Nox'alfar Death Mead for one Raven the Blackheart." He then turns back to Raven, "Drink, -then- sniff. Trust us. Next." A nox'alfar courtier pinches a white powder in wine and brings an alarmingly black bottle towards Raven outstretched.

Turn in line: Ravana

When her turn rolls around, Ravana regards the Ambassador of the Nox'Alfar with a look that is one part coy and one part watch-the-world-burn. "Your Long-Lived and Long-Suffering Highness," she greets Tyrval, blending sarcasm and sympathy blithely. "My query is, what is your answer to the most clever, useful, and dangerous question no one here has yet thought to ask?"

Raja arches a brow at Ravana. "Nice."

Avita joins in Raja's appreciation.

Vitalis arrives to the Embassy with Adalyn, the two both having met the entry requirement: having survived! They meld into the crowd in low discussion of those gathered, the Ambassador's offer, and what they might ask.

Ilmia continues her quiet conversation with Jasper, though she does give an appreciative look at Ravana's question as well.

"Mmm. Nine hundred and fifty thousand and four points to the lovely chimera. It's just like them, really." Tyrval almost says more to himself as he thinks about it, tilting his head sideways for a long moment, "The answer would be, 'The poison in the primum has receded with the Eater of Stories being trapped and distracted. If one was considering the risk in study and attempt to Cross the Threshold, the time would be now.'" He then brightly smiles at Ravana, "Excellent! That will both be rewarding and get MANY people killed. Perfect! Next."

Turn in line: Alaric

Raven bows again and slips off to the side to watch she asskissery and apparently wait for nox'alfar home remedy, "There is no way they understood what I was asking and I definitely shouldn't actually make use of whatever I'm about to be handed, right?" She grimaces "Fuck, I need to check with someone who's not genuinely excited at the prospect of being launched via siege weaponry."

Vitalis has joined the line.

Eirene perks up at mention of Eater of Stories. THAT caught her attention. She mutters for Ravana, "Well Fuckin' played..." She's definitely taking note of that revelation.

Mabelle cannot help but stare at Tryval now. Yes its rude. No, she does not care.

Galatea hears this statement from Tyrval like it's a thunderbolt, practically stumbling off to one side. She clears her throat and straightens herself, but the lack of composure would be obvious to anyone even peripherally paying attention. No doubt she is one of the persons he mentioned--someone considering the risk of attempting to Cross the Threshold. "I asked completely the wrong question," she mutters, eyes a bit wide.

Raven says, "Welcome to the club, Galatea."

Caspian raises his brow at Tyrval's answer, clearly not having expected that.. the looks to Raven and smirks, "well first.. fuck you too. and secondly, nothing ventured nothing gained"

"... I stand by mine." Avita offers.

Galatea flicks her gaze over towards Raven, offering a faintly awkward sort of smile and shrug.

Selene adds a few arbitrary numbers next to Ravana's name in her enchiridion, and then lifts her chin at Tyrval. The bead of ink that threatens to drop is swiftly added to the page below a telling sketch of a spider.

Ilmia, ever the bookworm, her head pops up at the mention of the Eater of Stories and she looks a little TOO curious about this Crossing the Threshold.

"Why thank you," Ravana responds thoughtfully, stepping aside to give the King the floor. She flashes a brief, bright smile at the murmurs of appreciation she catches, shifting back toward the shadows.

"I do believe that she's single-handedly won the contest, if there ever was one," Alaric opines mildly of Ravana's rather clever question in the wake of Tyrval's answer, an element of respect within the king's tone as he shades a glance in the wake of the Ravana. And then, it is his turn to look upon Tyrval, not with a question, but an invitation. "The twins have asked you to dinner, lest you forfeit the title as their favorite relative, and lose a chance to exasperate Her Majesty, Queen Symonesse during dinner."

Thea lifts an eyebrow at Tyrval's answer then looks over at Eirene.

Khanne has joined the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

Saccharin has joined the line.

Adalyn moves into the Embassy with Vitalis looking around. She is quiet for the moment moving through the crowed.

After listening for a time and looking around, Khanne spots some familiar faces and heads in their direction. "May I?" she asks to Jaenelle, Sorrel, Clover, and of course, King Alaric.

Pasquale has joined the line.

Speaking quietly with Eirene at their curiously-rendered table, Ravana gives Alaric a politely-rendered swoon as he announces her win, but really, this table? Super fascinating, and she returns her attention to it.

Tyrval gasps in horror at the King of the Compact, "FORFEIT THE TITLE? OF COURSE WE ACCEPT!" He slams a fist down on the armrest of the chair, "Forfeit the title! UnTHINKable." He then comments idly, "One hundred and eight points to His Majesty and great-however-many-times grandson." He squints at Saccharin, a bit of hostility in his gaze as he calls, "Next."

Turn in line: Lou

Clover dips her chin toward the couch in acknowledgment to Khanne, her attention shifting to Tyrval's answer to the invitation to dinner.

Saccharin Maudline, WHEN DID SHE ARRIVE?, merrily joins the line. There's a good chance she doesn't know what the line is for but she notes Tyrval and looks him dead in the eyes.

Lou continues fidgeting a moment even as she moves forward to stand before Tyrval. She offers him a bow before she rises to her full height again and starts to speak her question. "Prince Tyrval," she makes the titles simple, yet respectful, given he is considered family after all. "I have always wondered, do those who exhibit old gifts always have an old soul associated with them or do they sometimes present in newly born souls as well?" It's a simple question, and one that has been burning on her mind for sometime, for one reason or another. She looks over her shoulder when she notices Tyrval's hostile look, making certain it's not for her. SHe then spies Saccharin and 'ohs' lightly before turning to look back at Tyrval.

Raven's eyebrows loft and she turns to look over her shoulder to find the receiver of all that hostility.

Raja has left the You Consent To Being Smelled By Standing Here.

Eirene uh-ohs softly as Saccharin appears and leans into her aide. She whispers to him and he bows on his way to trudge through the snow with an errand.

Scarf, the violet serpent arrives, following Raymesin.

Thea looks to Lou, lips pursed. Then she awaits, curious for Tyrvak's answer. For you know, not personal reasons.

Tyrval thinks of how to answer Lou's question, quite obviously spinning it over in between pointed glares at Saccharin. "Mmm. That would rather be up to the Queen of Endings, and we would not wish to presume her decisions. But we believe it would mostly be echoes of before that shine through to the current aspect of one's soul. However, if she chose to do something new to a fresh creation, who would gainsay her?" He shrugs helplessly, smiling at Lou, "One thousand and five points to Princess Loucia Grayson. Next."

Turn in line: Vitalis

Vitalis enters the queue behind the Pathfinder, his brow knit with thought. He looks surprised when his turn has come. "Hello Your Enduring-ness. My question is: given what faces us, what or who should I seek by the Rite of the Questing Stone?"

Lou checks composure at hard. Lou is successful.

Dominique remains where she is, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded before her now. She continues to watch and listen, amused, bemused, and otherwise musing about everything witnessed and heard. She watches the Nox'alfar with a sense of fascination, particularly as Saccharin arrives. But, she's otherwise part of the furniture at this point, here to witness and observe, her own question sort of answered.

Sorrel has left the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

3 Thrax Guards have been dismissed.

2 Thrax Elite Guards have been dismissed.

Lady Teonia Redreef have been dismissed.

Aryka Wyrmfang have been dismissed.

Marquessa Pudding, a doughy dog have been dismissed.

Raymesin has joined the line.

Khanne has joined the line.

Lou graciously bows her head in Tyrval's direction and amazingly doesn't make a wry, wrinkled face at him for using the DREADED full name. "Thank you," she tells him, then steps out of the way for the next person.

Clover has left the A blood-red couch of fine silk and velvet.

Sir Danan, the Studious Valardin Scribe have been dismissed.

2 Farshaw trained guards have been dismissed.

Ilmia looks like she's writing down some of things that Jasper has said and when he mentions something the woman has a curious look before she starts scribbling out a small amount of information to him on a page of her notebook before she removes it for him.

Raymesin arrives quietly, stepping into the Embassy and then taking up a spot by one of the walls - but not too close to it. Clad in neat black leathers marked with a spider-and-knife sigil, he perhaps looks a little less out-of-place than usual. Or possibly a little more out-of-place than usual. In the Nox embassy, it's hard to tell.

Tyrval purses his lips at Vitalis' question, thinks for just a moment then decides, "Likely whatever the Horned God is after. We would encourage you to find that then try the rite, we think. This might be something your The Compact workshops a bit." He smiles, pleased at his helpfulness and then declares, "Twelve hundred points. Next!"

Turn in line: Saccharin

Jasper has a resolute expression for a moment, as he speaks with Ilmia. But that expression softens and he leans in to take the page, nodding his thanks as his eyes peruse it.

Raven eyes Caspian "What are you doing the next day or two?" she eyes the vial "If I die, promise to mock me for being idiot enough to consume something taken off a stranger?"

Avita simply politely listens to the remainder of the questions and answers, a particularly smug smile worn, inspired by who knows what. If people had to listen to her, her sense of etiquette seems to demands that she grant everyone else the same. ... Even if nobody but her cares.

Saccharin confidently steps forward when the next in line is called assuming that it refers to her. "SO. As delightful as it is to see a social event in my hall. Why are people asking you questions, Your Highness? You don't have a field of expertise." She genuinely looks puzzled, eyes widening innocently.

Vitalis bows to Tyrval, thanking him for the response and withdrawing, sidestepping wide around Saccharin given the daggers flying back and forth between Saccharin and Tyrval.

Adalyn stands off to the side in her leathers watching Vitalis as he moves to speak and ask his question. Her lips become a thin line as she looks between Torvalds and then Vitalis moving to rejoin him when he is done.

Ilmia gives a soft smile to Jasper before one of her guards quietly comes to give her a missive. "I apologize. Needed for something at home. I hope to see you out and about, Lord Jasper." she smiles to him.

Caspian gives a small chuff, and chuckles to Raven. "oh the mocking would come forthwith. might even compose a ballad or two about it. filled with flowery words and great bereavement of course.. but also some mocking." he winks, "but of course you have to drink it"

Eirene's courier returns with a message and she starts scanning the crowd. Someone who hasn't asked a question is what she's looking for it seems. Her eyes dart to Caspian and she waves him over to her.

Eira, 2 Bone Wardens, 3 Bone Wardens arrive, following Volcica.

Calista clears her throat and coughs a little into her hand as if she had taken air down the wrong pipe. Aside from watching the evening unfold and listening to the questions, the Duchess arches a brow at Saccharin's question while awaiting Tyrval's answer. She glances to her cousin, Mabelle and replies. "I have no idea." But dark grin on her face that begins to take over her features expresses her deep amusement.

Raven nudges Caspian, "Looks like you're being summoned. Guess you're off the hook." She spies Eirene and grins wryly.

2 Leary House Guards leaves, following Ilmia.

Selene uncoils herself from the languid position upon the couch placed near the throne. Ripples in silk pool to the floor, her posture slipping into something marginally more languid in moments. Pushing her hair away from her ear, the Radiant Emeritus considers Saccharine's inquiry.

"Likewise, Lady Ilmia." Jasper offers her a bit less of a timid smile now, offering a solemn bow of his head in a goodbye.

Caspian looks around, confused, "huh?" then spies Eirene and smiles.

Tyrval glares daggers down at Saccharin and speaks full of regal pomposity, "Because we, in our OFFICIAL position as Crown Prince of the Twilight Court, have enormous EXPERTISE in more fields than you could POSSIBLY imagine, Saccharin. We are HELPING the humans because we are just ENORMOUSLY helpFUL. And if SOMEONE realized how helpful we could be as would be her job as AMBASSADOR, perhaps she would have SUGGESTED doing this before now." He sniffs angrily, "Zero points, and four demerits. She has been declared Unfashionable until such time as she meets and apologizes to our person. Next." The other Nox'alfar courtiers all gasp in shock. This apparently is much worse than death.

Turn in line: Raymesin

Caspian moves next to Eirene and leans in to speak softly

Thea has joined the an intentionally two-legged table.

As Tyrval starts talking about people being unfashionable, and the elves' response, Dominique decides to take that as her cue to quietly slip away before they notice how completely unfashionable she is. She quietly slips out!

Dominique has left the You Consent To Being Smelled By Standing Here.

Metzger, a great grey shrike, Jok, the muscley muscle knight, Maximus, the drooly Highhill Mastiff, 2 Veteran White Dragons of Sanctum, 2 House Wyrmguard Trained Guards leave, following Dominique.

A few people are leaving, but Volcica is just arriving. Late to the party, but better late than never, right? She steps into the Nox'alobby quietly, skirting to the side of the door without too much fuss-- or trying not to make much of a fuss, or draw attention. Luckily, Saccharin is causing a pretty good distraction!

A myriad of emotions cross Saccharin's face. Shock, shame and finally fury. Her eyes are blazing and her hair stands on its ends like a startled cat. She closes her eyes and stomps off in the direction of the bedrooms with a determined look.

Raymesin clears his throat, stepping forward and turning about three shades paler after Tyrval's response to Saccharin, which is quite a feat. "Um. Yer Majesty, 'ello," the Lowers man says, and offers what's probably a reasonable attempt at a bow from someone who's never been taught how or bothered doing it much in the past. "Nice ter meet yer. Er. If you'd be so kind, what's th'Queen'a Endin's favourite flower?"

Eirene snaps in the universal gesture of damn as Capsian replies. Then she listens to Tyrval pronounce the clearly unthinkable sin of being Unfashionable. This time she says it, "Damn..."

Calista places a hand to her mouth for a moment when the collective sighs of the Nox'alfar react to Tyrval's decree of Saccharin. To a mere mortal such as herself, being unfashionable isn't such a crime but even as the gasps fall upon the room, Calista could have swore she also hear a glass dropping and breaking in the distance.

Mabelle simply cannot imagine being deemed unfashionable. She mimics Calista's expression, instead moving toward Alaric to whisper something to his ear, if she is so permitted.

As yet more glass shatters on the wine-splashed floor, Ravana absently shifts the bottom of her gown away from potential danger.

"Mm, Her Majesty likes dead ones, but that's not quite what we think you mean. She doesn't have a favorite." Tyrval shakes his head, "She likes the variety, and all are indicative of short lifespans, and a fast cycle of life and rebirth. All of them, but less so the ones longer lived." The Crown Prince notes to the slowly recovering courtiers, "Still, not bad, the Queen would approve. Three hundred points. Next."

Turn in line: Khanne

Raven watches the dramatics "That's probably my cue to fuckoff." She nods to Volcica but then pauses and watches Khanne with open interest.

Raymesin offers Tyrval another of those clumsy, unpracticed bows. "Thank yer most kindly," he says, then retakes his station near the wall.

Thea has joined the line.

Caspian grins as thea joins the line, giving eirene a small nod

Khanne watches those that go before her, astonished a bit by some of the interactions, in particular that of Saccharin stomping off with her hair standing on end. "That can't be good...". She then approaches and lowers her head in respect. "Your highness, Crown Prince Tyrval of the Twilight Court, who surely is an expert in being exactly who you are... thank you for meeting with us today. As for my question... Why do we call the garment we sometimes wear on our lower half such things as... pants, trousers, breeches. All words that indicate multiple items, when it is simply one piece of clothing, unlike, for example, shoes, mittens, socks, which are two separate items worn. We do not wear a shirts and pants aren't really a pair... are they?" She tilts her head, grey eyes set upon the Nox'Alfar Crown Prince. "I am most curious..."

"Oh, -that-." Prince Tyrval rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh of exasperation, "It was ALL due to Duke Teryndialsol the Namer. He just wouldn't stop making new clothes but oh NO they all had to have new NAMES every time, or else he'd get bored. He couldn't settle with just 'shoes', no, they had to be SANDALS or 'dress shoes' or whatever you might say, and on and on, until there's all these varieties that NO ONE could POSSIBLY track. The very first Fashion Maven." Tyrval shakes his head, "He was torn limb from limb by a magically animated sweater during the elven civil war." He then nods at Khanne, "Eight hundred points. Next."

Turn in line: Thea

Mabelle returns to Calista's side and presses a kiss to her cheek, gently, "Dinner, soon?", she does not wait for an answer. She smoothes her smokeweave gown, curtsies to the Royals and slips out.

Thea stands, bowing the best she can. "Hello your majesty." Standinf somewhat straight, she clears her throat,"In light of recent happenings, I was wondering if perhaps you knew where one could find Orichalum and his forces now? So maybe we could prepare..." Then Thea sits again, shifting uncomfortably with the stitches holding her together.

"Yes. Let's do that." Calista replies quietly to Mabelle before the Laurent leaves.

Raven offers wiggling of fingers as she wades her way out, placing Moonsilver back on the top of her head.

There's a pronounced grimace as Tyrval admits, "The Gray Forest somewhere, we think. He's being MOST stubborn and evasive. If you see him, could you send me a messenger. Give the messenger an extra few silver to make it a bit of a rush job, it would help." And then the Crown Prince of the Twilight Court is standing, smoothing out his raiment of state, "Seven hundred points for Thea. Lady Mabelle wins this time. All right, we must retire for present, but we thank you all for coming. One last moment for tearful pleas and earnest declarations of love, and then we shall depart."

3 Black Fleet Reavers, Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven leave, following Raven.

Mabelle halts at Thea's question, waits for the answer, raises her eyebrow at the math and then grins at Avita and slips away.

Mabelle has left the A bloodmagic created comfortable sofa.

3 Laurent trained guards, Cupcake, a cookie girl leave, following Mabelle.

Eirene makes a polite bow for Tyrval. "You've been most educational, Highness. My thanks for all you've enlightened us with."

"Thanks fer takin' the time ter talk to us an' answer our questions, yer Majesty, even them'a us as arrived late," Raymesin says, from his spot by the wall. "'Preciate it."

Pasquale moves to his feet as well. "I learned several interesting things. Thank you for being so benevolent and taking this time to educate us Your Highness."

Calista offers hushed goodbyes and promises of seeing folks soon. She slips out quietly and into the night.


"Oh, darling, I'll give you my declaration if you'll give me yours." Avita offers, "Nothing is the only thing I give for nothing."
A broad smile is given, before the Marquessa bends forward in a shallow bow, before turning on her heel and making her way toward the door.

3 Fidante House Guards, Santino, Lord Clawdio Meowdante, Graziela leave, following Calista.

Pasquale has left the A very hostile blood-red couch made of bricks.

Alberico, the Malespero aide leaves, following Pasquale.

"Alas, certain things offered for free pay the greatest of dividends," the Radiant Emeritus murmurs with a frisson of laughter chiming in soft, silvery peals after most have departed.

Aksel has left the A bloodmagic created comfortable sofa.

When it seems the audiences comes to a close, Jasper straightens, bowing towards Tyrval. "Thank you for letting me know about the Tree. I believe it would be everyone's best interest if it became ashes instead. Farewell."