Raven has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Savio has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Braxas has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Clarisse has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Guests are welcomed into the grand parlor of Malespero Tower where drinks of all sorts are on ready offer, both self-serve or staff-delivered. The seating has all been angled inward toward an open space in the center of the room, a makeshift stage for all would-be poets. At the moment, it stands empty, save for when someone walks through on their way to greet a friend or get themselves situated. The hosts--Lianne, Khanne and Duarte--have seats reserved for them beside an elegant rosewood harp. Does the harp have a role to play in the evening's festivities? Who knows. The judges have a table available to them meant to hold scoring pads and drinks. Lianne's holding her own drink at the moment, a glass of whiskey which she seems to hold more than sip. It's a fine accessory for her outfit of low-cut umbra and delicate bones.

It seems there will be some time for folks to settle in, get situated, set to drinking before the poetry itself begins.

Braxas has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Braxas has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Klavdiya, who is definitely a handmaiden and not a pirate, Fluffy, the wary wildcat, 2 Eswynd shieldbearers, Loryk, a cocky but amiable reaver arrive, following Medeia.

Several minutes before the party is underway, Duarte has some servants working very hard to secure the rosewood harp to the floor, for some reason.

Now the count inspects the work by vigorously shaking the harp to see if it will budge. It doesn't. He looks to Lianne and dragnet nods.

An early arrival, Alessia quickly files into the grand parlor before the event officially begins. She rests on one of the plush couches alone, besides some cats? who've somehow found their way in.

Raven strides in, aware she's dangerously close to being late. Her guard and reavers are left to fend for themselves and she scans the room seeking familiar faces though the way she's chewing her bottom lip maybe she's just panoramic brooding.

Alessia has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Wearing thin lavender silks and a winning smile, Sloane stumbles into the room, a tankard already in hand. "Hello Marquessa!" she trills brightly before adding with a toast of her drink, "You're /full/ of surprises, just like your protege." Her smile grows as she sits - or half-falls - into a plush couch, legs crossed and seeming to look everywhere at once.

Beside Lianne sits Khanne in a lovely gone of duskweave in soft colors. She has a glass of Whisktea before her (more whiskey than tea. The tea's just for show, really), and is arranging her pen and paper to be at just the right angle for her aesthetic. She isn't sure what's going on with the harp they sit at, and so occasionally glances towards Duarte and at the workers, as if ready to run if she has to. Otherwise, she watches people come in, smiling, not yet wearing her judgy... I mean serious judge face.

Siri, an attentive apprentice, Paris, a charming mercenary, 2 Keaton Huntsmen, Nomius, a deeply skeptical bloodhound arrive, following Apollo.

Braxas arrives, tall proud and freshly washed and groomed. Long black hair has been brushed and has a soft sheen to it looking silky as it falls down his back and shoulders. He selects a glass of cherry wine takes a health drink from it and moves towards a free seat at the couches. First he lifts his glass to the hosts then the woman next to him, Sloane. He smiles to her. "Ready to have fun my lady. I think I will have a few poems before the night is over. Braxas Songweaver at your service."

Sloane takes in a deep breath of Alessia's perfume and makes a content sound. "My Lady, I'm so happy you're here." That she is being called on for introductions makes her wrinkle her nose up at Braxas. "Sloane Starling, and I /am/ the fun. Let me guess... cobbler?" Her mouth twitches as she eyes the bard.

Orland was there already, sprawling. No one noticed him of course, cause he's sort of slouched down and hanging by the fireplace.

Apollo arrives late, in the company of his guard Paris, chatting amiably. He doesn't seem quite aware of the way the hours have worn on, but so is being a busy sort. He gives a smile and goes to find a drink and a seat, letting Paris hang by the door.

3 Ivory Shields, Monique arrive, following Lexir.

Several instances of getting lost later, Lexir and Monique make their entrance, strolling arm-in-arm into the parlor.

After having heard that the Duchess was helping host, Scout Rowenova shows up with the goodest boy (Sir Floppington). After whispering to a staff member (who gives her a raised eyebrow), Nova soon has a steamy cup in hand before meandering through the Grand Parlor as Flop wags his way along beside her until they can both momentarily bown to Khanne then divert their course to where there is seating to be had.

Lianne murmurs a quiet, "You're ridiculous," to Duarte, but it is not without its fondness. And curiosity. Maybe a hint of skepticism. How shall the night progress? Sloane earns a downright flirtatious smile, all low-lashed and pleased, and she bows her head appreciatively for those lovely words. A few of the others earn less overtly amused attention, quiet greetings with lifted glass. She watches everyone settling and calls, "Well, this looks like a fine crowd. Are we ready for some competition then?"

Did someone say DRINKING and POETRY? They did, and these being two of Savio's favorite things ever, he's been drawn to this event like an alcoholic moth to a theatric flame. Weaving his way into the event room, he's already got a drink in hand, and is wearing a green seasilk shirt with red ruffley bits and shiny buttons. It's special. He's special.

"Hello hello hellooooo," Savio greets all and sundry in a weird lilting accent, one that points to 'fresh off the boat from the Saffron Chain.' Orland gets a wave, he sees him over there, but progress in that direction is paused by the way in which Savio has encountered Braxas. He looks up, then further up. "Oh, you're TALL."

Arriving at Malespero Tower isn't all that unusual for Medeia, so her retinue feels comfortable slipping off to sit in the garden and wait for her as she walks in. She looks around and waves to Lianne, Duarte, Orland, and a few others before finding a drink. A quiet exchange with a servant has a drink brought to her eventually before she finds herself a spot to sit at the couches.

Medeia has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Apollo has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Teague comes into the home a looking around slowly. His hand is resting on his belt as he scans the room for faces that are known to him. His cold stormy eyes moving till he ca spies Clarisse, making his way towards her and Orland."Good evening Sister, Lord Orland. I hope this evening is treating you both well? Lord Orland, I see you are at the party again. It seems you find them or help them happen. That is a skill." His voice is warm, friendly, as he looks for a drink now with a little chuckle."I'm not such a fan of the poems. But I'm a fan of drinks. So, maybe if I mix the two, I will like them." A laugh of mirth escaping his lips as he grins at his sister."Now to find said drink. I hope they have rum." With that, he turns on his heel, making his way to find a drink, as he nods to those he has met before in passing.

Raven spots Orland and makes her way over towards him, flopping gracelessly beside him, giving him a dip her her head in greeting before the phenomenon that is Savio saunters in. She gives a wry grin as she watches him makes his entrance.

There's a brief furrowing of her brows, before Alessia shakes her head, a smile growing on her lips. "I'm sorry, it must have been some time since we've last met. Lady Alessia Mazetti." She glances toward Braxas. "I believe we spoke earlier in the day. A pleasure to see you again, messere."

"Yesh!!!!" Duarte says standing...stumbling?....standing! He waddles a bit aside with glass of whiskey in hand and makes a grand sweep of his hand that nearly knocks something over. "Hello! And welcome to the...." he hiccups and blinks. Snaps his fingers. "The uhm......" looks to Khanne for help.

Clarisse had heard of the event, and came curious to see what it was all about, followed in by her lady in waiting, Abigail Basset. She offers a warm smile though to those she knows, a nod to Raven, Orland and Savio, though she moves over to join Raven and Orland. She does offer a respectful bow of her head to those she knows, as she sits down properly in the seat, with her back straight and holds folded into her nap. She does smile up at her brother as she nods, to him. "It is good to see you Brother." She reaches up to give her brothers hand a gentle squeeze.

Braxas arches a brow at Sloane. "I can see that. You seem most entertaing. I am a bard by trade. Never cobbled in my life, sounds dull." He smirks at her meeting her gaze boldly undetered. He glances breifly towards the fireplace looking at the crowd and sipping his wine.

Apollo lifts his glass at the overture of event start, settling in by the fireplace.

Zane, a tall and silent servant, Vaeri, a Prismed Scarab Marine arrive, following Venturo.

Sloane blinks across the room then points directly at Apollo. "You!" She flinches. That was loud. Lianne is talking. Duarte is drunk. 'You' she mouths again with an irrepressible smile.

Orland side glances as all the people come filing in. He assumes a more lordly sit, than the slouching he was doing, pushing himself up with a general grunt. WHY. He was just trying to blend in with the wall over here, but he does see quite a few people looking his way. "I didn't bring the hat today ..." he complains, to no one, and tries to look mildly not bored out of his skull already. When he spots Savio, he watches him with a curious eye, kicking something under the chair he was sitting on, making sure with his heel it was still there. "Oh Savvvvio, bring your Tall Friend over there, here hmmm?" His gaze flicks to Teague, "Lord Teague. Yes, well... finding? Helping. It depends on my mood. Tonight, I'm watching. Being supportive. You know." He nods at the matter of drinking, "DRINK. You'll need it. Have you ever heard poetry sober? It makes /no/ sense." Raven gets a nudge, "You've been busy." He says ominously, but then he's grins to Clarisse as she joins as well. "More the merrier!"

Monique arrives with Lexir, offering, "See? I told you all that extra time putting on perfume would be our downfall. That's going to be the subject of any of my compositions this evening," the Minx mutters, pausing as she glances around the room, eyes lighting as she spies Alessia and Apollo.

Braxas flashes a impish and oh so charming smile at Savio. "I am. Do you need something from a tall shelf. I charge one pleasant conversation or a kiss if I realy like you or the shelf is extra tall." he grins and winks. Then he nods the Alessia with a warm smile. "I remember you My lady."

Orland checks composure at normal. Orland is successful.

"You said no such thing, but I will certainly be amused to hear whatever composition you come up with," Lexir quips back with a more cheery grin. He likewise scanning the room, waving to some (like Medeia, Raven, and Apollo), and calling out to others - well, just Duarte. "In your cups already, my good Count?!"

Across the room - catching that /loud/ from Sloane - Apollo points at himself, then throws the back of his hand against his forehead, as if he is himself a tragedy. Such vivid pantomime. He grins at her brightly, has a drink of his wine. Monique's entrance with Lexir is noted, and they too receive a lift of his glass. It'll be awhile before he catches everyone he knows. Time to start drinking.

There's an almost wild wave of Alessia's hands when Monique enters the room, her smile brightening. Though she doesn't ignore those around her. "I'm not a poet, no. But I /do/ have a poem. We'll see how that goes over." She lets out a little laugh.

Khanne gives a smile and nod towards Rowenova as she arrives and bows. "Going to give a poetry performance tonight, Scout Rowe?" Misty grey eyes continue to watch as the others arrive and mingle or find their seats. Folding her hands on the table before her, she gives a small nod to Lianne and says, "when you are ready, of course." Chuckling, she looks to Duarte and says, "Sloshed Poetry Slam." Then, looking out towards the crowd, she repeats, "wlecome to the Sloshed Poetry Slam!"

Raven has leans forward to peer at Apollo oddly but then she's redirected by the loud, possibly accusing YOU! Her gaze seeks the owner of that accusation but she's too late and she just shakes her head and murmurs softly to Orland.

Standing near the suspiciously secured harp and the far less steady count, Lianne looks between Duarte and the duchess for the event to be named. There might be a quiet giggle when it is, but it scarcely carries. "This /is/ a competition. Prizes may be modest, but your pride should not be. We three will be your judges for this evening, scoring each poem by our own specific metrics and measures. I am your hostess, Marquessa Lianne Malespero. My conspirators are Count Duarte Amedeo the Teetering and Duchess Khanne Halfshav the Critical." She flashes a small smile. A pause. "Should you wish a topic on which to extemporize, we'll gladly provide. And offer bonus points beside. I can't promise we'll be kind, but we will enjoy your suffering." Beat. "Now. Who would care to lead us off?"

Braxas has joined the line.

Savio has joined the line.

Teague has found the rum as he pours it slowly into his glass trying to watch, as he walks slowly towards a wall to lean against it as he sips his drink with little sigh of pleasure at the liquid.

Venturo has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

The wave from Lexir catches Medeia's eye and she smiles warmly at Lexir and Monique. "Hello your highness, Mo. Good to see you both!" She tries to avoid whatever interaction is happening between Sloane near her and Apollo across the room. She takes a sip from her glass, eyeing the gathering crowd.

As Lianne introduces her as 'Duchess Khanne Halfshav', the redheaded shaman grins and arches her left brow, then gives a wink.

Kane arrives, following Reagan.

Savio laughs, surprised by this reaction from Braxas. "Oh, good thing you /are/ that tall, cause I am REACHING," he replies. "Fantastic. Love. Go meet my friends, mountain man. The cute one would love to know you." Who's the cute one? Aren't they all cute? That whole fireplace group, very attractive people.

Lianne is throwin' out a chance to drop some POEMS though, and Savio is easily distracted, volunteering with, "Oh, ME!" He's in the queue!

Alessia has joined the line.

As Khanne addresses her, Nova smiles more. "Not tonight, but I came to watch, and to support you. Good to see you by the by." says she before settling into one couch over yonder before inviting Sir Flop to rest his chin on her lap and then the ear pets begin.

"Are you drinking? I can get you a drink. What's your poison, my Lady?" asks Sloane of Alessia before she bangs her heels in delight at Khanne and Lianne's promise of the SLAM. And Apollo? She mimes tears tracing down her cheeks with a finger. Then laughs into her tankard.

Venturo has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Rowenova has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Venturo has joined the a walnut wooden table stained a red-brown.

Sliding into the ever so busy parlor, Venturo finds his way to claiming a tumbler with some liquor or another in it, and up it is hefted in a silent show of support for the hosts. But the showman doesn't seem to be in the poem telling sort tonight, at least not yet, instead settling in at the table, chair propped back, all the better to watch.

Braxas perks up as the contest begins he stands up and lifts his voice and raises his glass. "The name is Braxas. I'll give it a try. I have two poems and I'll compose one from a topic of your chosing to if allowed?" He looks to Savio breifly distracted and smirks. "I need to get to know you better I think, we will need to talk tonight yes?" Looking back to the judges he smiles. "Let me know when you are ready for me."

Lianne calls to Braxas as he offers three poems, "You get one poem for the moment. You might not get a second chance, depending on how many others step up. If you do, only your highest scoring poem will be counted. Choose wisely!

Teague is leaning against the wall, watching Braxas now with a quizzical look. His hand brings that glass of rum to his lips, as he slips it slowly with a look towards Lianne."I see one poem." His voice is softly spoken to himself as he waits now to hear it.

"Wait!" Duarte yells out! He takes two quick steps back to his seat by the harp and sits in it. "Okay go."

"The scurrying criteriums are verry standard. No opines. We will..." hiccup "Be judging. Many many shings." He sinks a bit in his chair with a happy sideways smile.

Lianne tips a nod of acknowledgement to Scout Rowenova on her way to resettling in her seat, whiskey at hand, scorepad ready. Eyes, then, on Braxas. Expectant.

"Oh, thank you." Alessia smiles warmly at the congratulations, a thumb brushing over her ring, before she's distracted by a cat with cinnamon fur hopping onto her lap. Then her attention's on the front when Lianne addresses Braxas.

Orland checks composure at normal. Orland is marginally successful.

Reagan will enter the parlor and she looks a little surprised but in no way displeased with the amount of people. She walks forward more into the room but quickly finds herself a place to stand, out of the way, as she gains her bearings.

Apollo chats amiably with the group near the fireplace, drinking wine and waiting in good cheer for poetry to begin.

Braxas nods to Lianne. "Understood. Thank you for explaining." he dips his head respectfully and sips his wine emptying the glass and fetching another then he moves torwards the fireplaces and Savio leaning in to speak quietly.

Alberico, the Malespero aide arrives, following Pasquale.

Braxas has left the some plush comfortable couches.

Braxas has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Savio seems shocked that Braxas might want to talk later. He chokes on his drink, recovers badly, and then says, "Haha... uh, what?" like a true, suave intellectual with tons of game. Fortunately for everyone, Braxas has things to compose!

After Lianne's response, Nova settles back into the couch, leaning back and quietly observing the ongoing shenanigans, doing so with a half grin to her wolf-framed/shaded features.

Pasquale has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Monique offers a bow of her fiery head to Medeia in greeting, leaning over to murmur something to Alessia as she claims a spot, and booze. There's a quiet aside to Lexir, as well, as the Minx settles near Apollo, leaning in to have /another/ quiet aside.

Monique has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

Teague drinks his rum watching the show for a moment as he looks down into his empty glass with a frown. He walks forward to refill it on the way back, he notices Reagan his smile is going wide, as he walks forward to her, as nods towards her whispering to not intrupt the poetry, once it starts.

Clarisse seems very quiet among the crowded parlor, and watches curiously, those about to share their poems. This is something she has not been witness to before and is very interested in for those gathered at the table though she does offer a warm smile and curteous bow of her head, but otherwises remains lady like in her light green gown. Her back straight and hands folded in her lap.

Braxas moves over to the stage, standing tall center stage glass in hand he smiles, swaying a bit as he drinks and grins at the crowd. His deep rich baritone rings out smoothly as he recites grey eyes staring out at the judges and crowd.

"Raise your glass if you really just don't care
Take off your shirt if you want the people to stare
Down the wine the ale and the beer
Watch the world sway and the floor near
Wake in the morning to sun too bright
Find you have lost your clothes last night.
Trip over a bottle of gin
Then tomorrow do it all again!"

"Drink!" Sloane calls out at the end of Braxas's poem. Then takes her own advice.

@me listens, then nods to Monique. As they moves, he departs her side a moment, searching through the beverages for something rare, something exotic, something spicy and exquisite. It's mostly the whiskey he goes through, and the wine, and he eventually returns to her and Apollo bearing a glass of one and a glass of the other. His attention then shifts towards Braxas, looking expectant as he takes a sip.

Braxas raises his glass high and downs the whole thing.

Lianne answers the call for drinking with a loft of her whiskey, a healthy swig. After, there's a quiet comment to her fellow judges, a number in charcoal scrawled on parchment, and she holds up a "4" and declares the piece, "Topical."

Speaking quietly at the couches, Medeia pauses to hear Braxas's poem. "That's just a normal Lycene day..." she murmurs, taking another sip from her glass before turning back to the conversation close by.

Nova jokingly glances down at her double-breasted doublet with the long sleeves (which is so manly), but she totally leaves it on and does not take it off, despite what the latest poetry might suggest one to do. She chuckles softly before patting out that ripe watermelon sound around Sir Floppington's ribs. "That was a good one!"

Sloane has joined the line.

Raven lifts her bottle of rum in salute to Braxas tribute to drunken debauchery.

Khanne listens to Braxas as the poem is delivered. She has quite the poker face as her eyes dart from him to a parchment to take notes. "I don't think sloshed was a requirement, just a suggestion." She smiles to him then looks up again, taking a charcoal in hand to write on another parchment. Lifting it, she flashes the number "5".

Savio laughs and claps for Braxas's poem, easily amused and readily delighted as a general rule, and especially if he's drunk and there's a party. All of this is the case. "I love this. I love this for you," he praises, sincerely!

Reagan will look up to Teague when he comes to her. She leans in to hear his whisper but then she nods her head and takes his arm so that he may escort her to his spot against the wall where they can listen together. She smiles at the poem but it would seem the lady is quiet this evening.

"Sixteen!" Duarte declares! "I can tell you've done this before!" He frowns, "But you are not drunk." Solemn nod.

Turn in line: Braxas

Turn in line: Savio

Apollo raises his glass at the poem, cheerfully; there's something very bewildered (if entirely pleased) about whatever's going on with Orland and Raven at the fireplace.

Teague stands there quiet as he sips his drink watching, with a light clap for Braxas, as he waits for the next poem. As his eyes watching, his left arm is wraped around Reagan's waist hold her lightly, as he whispers once more into her ear.

Savio's turn to recite a poem! He steps toward the center of the room, glass dangling from his fingers, and announces, "My poem is about my very favorite subject in all the world.... ME." He grins! "But really, in such a big group of new friends, I thought I would begin with an introduction. Extemporaneous composing by request later!"

Without further ado, he begins:

"I'm a seafaring Southeastern Saffron who might
Stay up overthinking his poems all night
What can I tell them, and what's sure to divert?
Are these looks for my writing or because of my shirt?

But it's lovely to be here, I'm delighted and how
Could I ever express my elation right now?
You're all kind and creative and a little bit faded
Reticent modesty completely negated

I lost track of my intro, oh so irresponsible --
I'm your exotic and voluble tropical Prodigal!
It's fantastic to have made this poetry cameo
And if you need me I'm drunk but I answer to Savioooo!"

A theatric bow follows this, then he laughs, apparently at the absurdity that is himself.

Indeed there was some commotion over by the fireplace, but it's settled. However as Savio is called up, Orland whistles and cheers, "SAAAAVIO!" Like the party is over by the fireplace, since the Lordling is of little restraint.

Sloane, again, tosses back her drink when Savio finishes. "To you!" She has no idea who this man is. But it's a good poem!

Braxas bows and steps off the stages moving overs to the fireplace. He listens to Savio getting more wine. He lifts his glass to Savio as the piece finishes grinning and drinking calling out. "Well done! I love it. Now come chat with me?"

Apollo checks composure at normal. Botch! Apollo is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Medeia before departing.

Raven tilts her head back and raises her bottle of Rum, "Of course you made that look easy. She shakes her head and folds back into her seat, deeply amused at Savio's self intro.

Clarisse smiles and clap for Braxus Poem, a lady like clap, and she has not touched a drink at all, and immediately quiets as Savio begins his turn. Tonight though she is all about listening and learning, observing and taking mental notes of what she seens and hears. She does offer another lady like clap and soft laugh though to Savio's powem and offers a nod to him.

Rowenova says, "Mm, Tropical Prodigal. Nice!"

Orland applauds and whistles after the poem, grinning, "Let's call him over, SAAAAVIOOOOO!" Like it was a chant. But then there's a wave from Orland, like COME HERE wave, that everyone can see. Someone's been pre-drinking.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Oh no. The wine is poison. The wine is /definitely/ poison. That's certainly the reason that Apollo suddenly starts coughing around a swallow of the stuff, choking. Not because it went down the wrong way, right? Certainly not because of the very capable poem, nor whatever Monique was murmuring his way, that would be ridiculous. This is the Ward of the Lyceum. he's been poisoned. Get a medic. Saving graces: he's wearing umbra, so even though it's red wine -

it's fine. He'll be fine! Someone remind him how breathing works.

Raven shakes her heat at Orland's antics but then turns to Apollo with a look of alarm and wonders to Monique, "Your friend there going to be alright?" there might be a look of amusement in that jade gaze.

Lianne, for all her easy smiling, does not seem an easy judge to impress, amused but unmoved until Savio's third verse, which earns a bright spill of laughter which doubles for the cries from the crowd. Another raise of her--thanks to attentive staff, recently refilled--glass, though she doesn't follow suit. Neither does she drink, distracted by Apollo's coughing as expression turns to concern. She looks to Fajra who then moves to check on the Guildmaster. There'll be no fatal poisonings tonight, please. That seen to, all without word, she sips her drink, sets down her glass, adjusts her smile and judges. "7" says the parchment and, "Delightful!" says the marquessa.

Duarte's head is down with his chin tucked to his chest. There are slight noises emitting from the man. Whiskey glass on his knee threatening to fall from loosening fingers any moment. Then the clapping for Savio sends a jolt through him. He kicks up a leg. Head snaps up. "Uh, 10!"

Medeia looks up as the door opens, dismayed to see her handmaiden (totally not a pirate in a silk dress... maybe) walking in with a letter for her. She takes it and reads it, sighs, drains her glass and very quietly makes her way out.

Khanne brings her note parchment forth again, poised to jot down anything she might wish. She shares a smile towards Savio at the mention of the poem being an introduction, then puts her serious Critical Judge Face back on. However... her lips twitch a bit as the performance is given. Head bent to write something, and then she takes the charcoal up again and a fresh parchment. "Nice to meet you, Savio," she says, then lifts the placard. Written there is a swirly sort of "8.5". Still holding up the score, Khanne's eyes shift to Apollo, wide in alarm. "Someone fetch him a honey stick. Poor man."

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Medeia has left the some plush comfortable couches.

Klavdiya, who is definitely a handmaiden and not a pirate, Fluffy, the wary wildcat, 2 Eswynd shieldbearers, Loryk, a cocky but amiable reaver leave, following Medeia.

Monique smiles blithely aside to Raven, her eyes sliding back to Apollo consideringly. "I think he might. He just needs to stop making wildly inappropriate proposals out of the blue. Tch."

Reagan lets out a soft, musical laugh at Savio's poem, delighted by it. She bows her head in his direction but she looks up to Teague and with a smile she shakes her head, whispering back to him.

Savio blows kisses at all and sundry with his free, not drink carrying hand, mwah, mwah. Then he weaves his way back toward the fireplace, and Orland, who had beckoned him!

Teague nods slowly towards Reagan as he sips his rum as he listens to the Savio's poem with a soft clap, as he grins at the man."I like that one." His voice is quiet enough, but not a whisper this time as he beams at Reagan.

Turn in line: Alessia

Lexir scarcely manages to stifle a snicker at Monique's explanation, and he casually reaches over to give Apollo's shoulder a pat or two whilst guzzling as much wine as he can - perhaps to stop himself from breaking out into fits of laughter.

The exchange of clean cloth and water for potentially poisoned wine is prompt and discreet. Fajra gives the glass a sniff as she wanders off toward the kitchen with it, but there's no indication whether or not she's discerned anything weird about the drink.

Not the first time she has seen people choke on their drink, Nova narrows her cobalt-blue gaze toward Apollo and then shouts aloud, "MEDIC!"

Venturo has left the a walnut wooden table stained a red-brown.

Zane, a tall and silent servant, Vaeri, a Prismed Scarab Marine leave, following Venturo.

Rising abruptly when it is her turn, as a cat hops off her lap, oddly preemptively, Alessia heads over to the center of the room. There's a glass in hand, though she doesn't /seem/ drunk.

Oh, what an error I had made,
It wasn't just a single cat I'd saved,
But a horde who'd follow me for hours,
No privacy given, even through showers.

Alas it truly took some time,

To realise that there was no crime,
And that there was something else afoot,
A path before me, someone else put.

I feel their path so profound,
The gods in their mercy laid the ground,
It wasn't what I first thought, that I'd see,
I didn't save them, but they saved me.

Again she doesn't seem drunk, but she may as well be, given the subject matter. She smiles brightly, raising her glass, taking a drink.

Sloane claps for Alessia cheerfully. "Purrfect!" Then Rowenova's cry has Sloane frowning over at Apollo. "If you die a welcher, I'm putting it on your gravestone." Sloane seems less worried by Apollo's pending mortality.

"They saved us /all/!" Monique calls out to Alessia, her voice ringing with heavy approval.

Apollo takes a cloth and some water from Fajra, murmuring thanks and deflections as he slants a look at Monique. "Perhaps I should do a poem on inappropriate proposals," he says to Monique, halfway between teasing and testy. "After some water. What?" What? Rowenova - what? He shoots a look at the drink that wandered off looks at his hands with the cloth and water - is he green? He smiles at Savio, tries to keep an ear out for Alessia's poem - but it's all a lot when he almost died. He throws the cloth at Sloane's head.

Monique is overheard praising Alessia: The cat's meow

Sloane checks dexterity at normal. Sloane is marginally successful.

Apollo checks dexterity and athletics at normal. Botch! Apollo is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Lianne assures Rowenova, "They Guildmaster's fine," then looks toward the crowd, attention settling on Alessia. Whose first verse has the marquessa tittering. By the end, she issues an, "Aww!," with a quickly scribbled, "6" and a quip of, "I don't imagine any of us have all our lives left." Apollo's suggestion gets a grin, a nod. "Bonus points, should you manage, Guildmaster."

Monique, for her part, doesn't look even remotely apologetic in Apollo's direction, smiling broadly to the Guildmaster. "That's a poem I'd dearly love to hear, in fact."

Teague watches now he as he softly claps at the poem, as his hand is places the empty mug down on a table. His eyes watching the stage, as he grins like the cat that got the cannary."Another good one." His voice is aimed towards Reagan as he chuckles again, as he looks over to nod towards his sister.

"Hey!" Sloane snags the cloth out of the air with a disapproving frown to Apollo. Then she ties it around her neck like the most elegant of aeterna scarves. She preens, fingers in her hair, to show off her fashion.

Apollo totally dropped that water, too, and jumps back out of the way of it. "Clearly I'm only here for poetry, and not to drink," he says, face... not behaving. It is not his night. Except maybe for poetry.

There's definitely a pleased smile given at the score she's given, before Alessia practically makes a beeline for Monique, leaning over to murmur something. Then she's looking up. "Gods, what did she do to you, messere?" She asks Apollo with a wry smile.

Duarte raises a hand and asks the Alessia in the middle of three Alessia's, "Was that a poem about felines?"

Braxas checks charm at normal. Braxas is successful.

Chiara slips into the parlor, peeking about at the substantial group before making a beeline for the alcohol, a cheerful expression on her face. Helping herself to a glass of whiskey, she takes a sip as she brightly considers the room. Spying Sloane's appropriation of the towel, she laughs, then winks at the other woman.

"Mhm, cats. I like cats." Alessia responds to Duarte before settling beside the Greenmarch.

Clarisse claps politely for the lady who stands up to offer her own poem when she is finished, not quite as amused as she was with Savio, but it was a great attempt. Though she really only knows what she likes, what is good and is curious to see what the others may think. "It is good to see you again Savio." She offers warmly to the man. She is looking worriedly until he seems to recover, she hopes.

Alessia has left the some plush comfortable couches.

Alessia has joined the a cozy stone fireplace.

"Aww," Khanne says in a fairly mild tone after jotting something down on paper. And then it is time to give her score. Charcoal in hand, she stares at the blank page a moment then nods. Two swift motions and the number is held up; "7".

Kane have been dismissed.

Lianne nudges Duarte gentley with her elbow. Has he provided something number-shaped yet?

After observing Apollo and hearing Lianne, Nova ohs quietly the nods twice. "Apologies... I have seen a few poisonings, so I assumed the worst. My bad!" Then, she looks to Savio. "Scout Rowenova of the Ranging Wolves, which are House Halfshav's military scouts under the direct command of Lord Arik who is our cohosts's brother." She motions forth toward Duchess Khanne over there before further explaining to Savio. "I am also personal retainer of Lord Arik and Trusted Servant for House Halfshav, too. Merry Messenger, Senior Scribe, along with a few other things. Esteemed Protege of Baroness Lucita Saik, and Esteemed Patron of Brewmaster Sven of Whitehold Brews. Freelance Alchemist, Freelance Scholar, too. And, I love a Morien Man known as Goodman Tarik, and this here is Sir Floppington the Soulful Hound. He is a Very Good Boy Indeed, the Goodest Boy, and the Bestest Boy Ever Born, among other various aliases." There! After rattling off all her titles, plus a little extra. She makes sure to work around the ongoing performances, so she is not rattling off 'all that' during someone's poetry (cause that would be extremely rude to do)!

"How many cats?" Duarte further questions the central Alessia. "Ouch!" at Lianne's nudge. And a frown toward all the Marquessas.

Monique loops her arm around Alessia as the woman settles next to her, her smile growing just a little brighter. "She /loves/ cats. And as a consequence of her presence, I've grown quite fond of them too. Enchanting creatures. Very useful."

Nova looks up to Alessia, "Yeah, how mewny?!" she somewhat echoes Duarte there.

Raven grooooaaans at the pun.

"I have thirteen cats." Alessia says, dead serious on that front. "It was fourteen but I sent one away. For obvious reasons." She turns back to Monique, responding quietly.

Lianne giggles seemingly out of nowhere. Might've been Duarte's ouch. Might've been whatever Khanne's scribbled on her notepad. Leaning into the latter, she quietly wonders of Rowenova, "Is that a poem?" before looking to the judge on her other side and wondering, "What did you score Lady Alessia, darling? How... mewny." Her lips press flat.

Duarte slaps the table and grandly decrees with a sweep of his arm that the score shall therefore be, "13 or 14!"

Turn in line: Sloane

"My prompt if you please." Sloane beckons to the judges as she rises and, at what she hears, casts them a most wry look. She rubs her hands together - then laughs. Sober face, Sloane. Sober face. "Alright. My friends? My strangers? My peers in the drink? I give you the Travelling Toads." She clears her throat.

"Oh toads, oh toads, where will you be,
When I'm a grand lady, proper, unfree."

Sloane curtsies, not particularly well while batting her eyelashes.

"For you swim the creek, on out to the sea,
while I'm a grand lady on bend-ended knee."

Sloane wets her lips with her tankard and is definitely not stalling. She chugs some of her ale then offers the tankard to Duarte. "Hold this, my darling?"

"Ahem. My toads, my toads, all covered in slime,
You've gone through the swamps that used to be mine.
And high in the trees - so high do you climb
I'd with you climb too - ah, uh - but I can't find the rhyme."

When she sits on the edge of the table, that's definitely not stalling for time either. She's laughing. It takes her a moment to get out the words.

"Oh, toads, oh toads, you travelling two
To lands far off, to adventures so new
I wish all my heart, I could be still with you
But my home is the court, and yours the mildew."

Sloane lands on both feet. And bows, flame hair toussling.

Clarisse smiles at Braxas as he introduces himself and offers a generous and respectful bow of her head towards, "Lady Clarisse Charon." She tries her best to remain proper as she remains sober this evening, knowing her limitations when it comes to alcohol, which hopefully doesn't get her thrown out.

Hearing of the 13 kittehs, Nova awws softly. She smiles likewise, too. Then, "Where did the one you sent away go?" She soon winks to Lianne over there and then helplessly shrugs, "If you thought it was, feel free to judge!" Then, hearing about the toads and the slime, Nova redirects her focus to Sloane.

Teague watches now his arms crossed over his chest as he listens to the next, as he chuckles softly to himself.

Apollo puts in his name. Apparently a challenge... suits him? In -this- wreck of a night? Umbra. Umbra saves all.

Khanne checks composure at normal. Khanne is marginally successful.

Duarte sniffs at the tankard and squinches up his face. "One," he scores, and passes the thing to Lianne to enjoy.

Chiara blinks at Rowenova's introduction, glancing towards Lianne; clearly wondering the same thing for a moment. Then she laughs at Sloane's poem and antics, applauding carefully so as to avoid spilling her drink, blue-grey eyes twinkling. Making her way over to a couch, she sips from her drink before sliding onto the cushions.

Chiara has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Lianne may well be smitten for the wide-eyed delight with which she watches Sloane move and perform. She moves to applaud at the end but finds one hand with tankard and the other with glass, and she... blinks over at Duarte. "You're rating the ale, surely, darling." Though she gives that a sniff, a sip, and finds it probably rates above a one itself. Her, "Seventeen," unwritten, is for Sloane's poem, a bit of defiance, one-upmanship for the 'sixteen' the count had tossed out earlier, setting the bar sixty percent higher than it was meant to be. "Utterly enchanting." The tankard, then, is passed to Khanne.

Raven's gaze swings between Orland, Braxas, Savio, and the poets as they get up and spin their words...and then something said where she's seated causes her hand to lift to catch her face for some reason.

Sloane flops down aside Chiara with a wink before she frowns over to Duarte. "One... hundred? That's good Raconteur brew, I'll have you know." Her smile returns for Lianne. "Yes, you are, Marquessa." Shameless? Undoubtedly. It's not a night for sober compliments.

"My ratings, love, are entirelt precise and as scientific as anything." Duarte states matter of factually to one of the Liannes in his vicinity. He stands and sways himself to a balance, then proceeds to walk forward.

Duarte has joined the line.

Apollo has joined the line.

Applauding Sloane when she finishes her poem, Alessia grins when Lianne breaks the bar. "What is this out of again?" She can't help but ask with laugh.

Looking up at Rowenova who gave a litany of Halfshav connections and then to Lianne, Khanne smiles. "Perhaps? Could be." But she is then giving her friend a blank stare at the pun spoken to Duarte. Thankfully, Sloane steps up to offer her best representation of the prompt the judges had chosen to give to her. Khanne tries to keep a straight face. She's supposed to be the critical duchess tonight! A small snort of what MIGHT have been a laugh can be heard before she covers her mouth with fingertips before reaching for her glass of whisktea to help her regain what was nearly lost. Setting the glass down after quite a bit is enjoyed, she begins her notes, nodding a few times, then reaches for the charcoal and a fresh piece of parchment. She looks aside as Lianne announces the seventeen and hands off the tankard. She takes a sip then looks back down at her written score, adding a line to the 0. When she holds it up, the writing is not even, but clearly says, "19". She then sets the score down and goes for the tankard again.

Turn in line: Duarte

Lexir departs from his usual spot, making his way back over to the drink and picking out a fresh one for himself, replacing the empty wineglass in hand with it. Then, before making his way back to Monique and company, he leaves a word with an attendant.

Lexir has joined the line.

Lianne murmurs aside to Duarte, "I do believe that you should come by another night that I might educate you on matters of science and preciseness." With sly smile and sharp-eyed attention, she follows the count's departure and waits. "I may call upon the audience to stand-in for the count, who must recuse himself from voting on his own work. Volunteers?"

Seeing other contestants hop up, Duarte swings around and stumbles back to his chair to attend to his responsibilities.

Oh no. If you're going to ruffle his feathers and set him all akimbo, you get to be part of the theater. Apollo, caught in thought briefly, turns and gives Monique a smile - then catches her hand, draws her to the center for his turn. Rather than delivering to the judges, he instead speaks his poetry directly to her - as if /she's/ the one full of inappropriate proposals. And he says, gently, earnestly:

"Who are you to ask for me
to sort impossibility?"

"What is this you want - the stars?
That mine and yours should become ours?"

"When upon your lips should fall
a litle, few, some, most, then all"

"Where is it in all these lands
you'd ask attention, time, and hands?"

"Why envision all these schemes;
for truth and beauty, love and dreams?"

"A thousand questions, I have now;
The only one I'll ask is how."

Turn in line: Apollo

"Alas, I'm not drunk enough." Alessia says to Lianne at the call for volunteers, her tone teasing.

Teague watches Apollo now as his hand is rubs along his beard slowly, deep in thought at the words. His eyes thinking now as his hand is strokes it slowly, with a little chuckle. Trying to figure out the riddle, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

Monique is overheard praising Apollo: I'll never tell

Orland drops a brocaded vest of citrine seasilk cut with a high collar and subtle vents.

The addition of Khanne's score has Sloane tossing up her hands in triumph. She sinks back against the couch, content as one of Alessia's cats, to watch the remaining performances. When Apollo rises, Sloane tugs on the knot of her very fancy scarf. "Marvelous! Magnificent! Majestic!" Then she adds something for the benefit of Chiara and Pasquale.

Lianne checks composure and manipulation at hard. Lianne is successful.

Orland gets a brocaded vest of citrine seasilk cut with a high collar and subtle vents.


With a subtle tap on her shoulder from Abigail and a quiet whisper in her ear. She stands and makes her way quietly from the grand parlor. It seems she is being called away, and looks apologetically to those at her table, and her brother as well. She does offer a smile and nice applause for Apollo's poem before she takes her leave.

Duarte coughs and lifts his hand, snapping his fingers at Apollo. "We're over here, love." He motions a fingers at the three judges.

Orland checks stamina at normal. Orland marginally fails.

Into the middle of the room the Minx goes with Apollo, laughter on her lips and brightness in her emerald eyes. And it only grows as he recites his poem. By the end, Monique is laughing, dabbing at her eyes. "Ah, Guildmaster, you are a /gem/. You know that, right? I'd lay the world at your feet instead of answer that question, though! How, indeed." There's a snort of amusement. "Can anyone answer that? Alessia? Lexir?" She innocently looks to both of them.

Chiara grins at Sloane's reaction to the undervaluing of the ale, then she sips from her drink before sighing. "I should have grabbed the bottle," she mourns briefly before switching her attention from the glass to the next poem. "It's lovely, but to be fair, I liked the toads." Her lips quirk as she glances sideways at Sloane.

Alessia has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Monique has joined the line.

Ah, but back the count stumbles and forward the guildmaster comes. Lianne watches the performance, her smile more muted than it had been for the last, warmed, perhaps, by the substance of the poetry, by the questions it asks, by the intimacy of its presentation. She reaches aside to touch a hand to Khanne's arm at its conclusion, leaning in toward her friend to murmur something softly. She'll need a moment to consult before scoring.

Raven watches Apollo and d'awws softly, politely. She scans the room and notes the copious sentiment from all angles from multiple people tonight but she keeps a close attentive eye on Orland.

Clarisse has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Abigail Bassett, Lady in Waiting leaves, following Clarisse.

"How, why, with a poem!" Lexir calls out from the sidelines as he makes his way forwards. "With poetry! With verse! With that argent tongue of yours made quicksilver by whiskey and other, sundry, lesser drink," he tells Monique. "Is it my turn?"

Sloane adds, looking to Chiara but speaking in a voice clearly meant to carry to the judges, "I hate toads. I hate slime. I hate warts. But I like that you liked it." Distracted, Sloane searches out a drink as well as the next erstwhile poet. "Do you need a volunteer? I'll /happily/ score him." Sloane's smile is shameless.

Apollo gives a kiss to Monique's knuckles before leaving the circle - telling Count Duarte, with a put-upon scowl, "Oh, you'll have your turn!" Which is a... promise? Of sorts? He smiles and heads back to have a seat, giving the other judges an apologetic dip of his head.

Duarte looks to Lianne and Khanne, lost, as the poem was not directed their way. "Was that his turn?" he whispers at their direction loudly behind an open hand.

Then he's scowled at! So avantgarde. "20!"

Raven is overheard praising Savio.

Monique laughs to Lexir's approach, bowing her head to Lianne and Khanne. "I defer to the lovely hostesses on whose turn it is." The kiss to her knuckles receives the widest smile of the night as Monique returns to claim her seat, eyeing the proceedings with ominous intention.

Notes notes, Khanne writes some notes, strangely, without even looking down towards the parchment, eyes set upon Apollo and Monique. Once he finishes, she remains looking at them, the inked tip of her quill tapping the bottom of the parchment, leaving a few splotches. She's thinking... thinking... With a a twist of her lips and a tilt of her head, she writes upon the placard and lifts it. "9.5"

Something murmured at the couches is met with a thoughtful look. "I will try make sure I don't ever bring you a live toad for a present," Chiara replies cheerfully to Sloane. taking another large swallow of her whiskey. At the offer to judge the judge, she laughs before adding something more quietly to those near her

Teague claps softly at the next poem as he gets a message reading it slowly his eyes studying it. As he makes his way out with a wave over his shoulder, as he nods towards Orland.

Lianne looks to Khanne as if she is going to say something more, something /heavy/, but she laughs instead, nods. Then jots down her score, adding it to Duarte's. "10." She declares it, "A remarkable recovery. A fine assist from your... poisoner?" Brows arch inquisitively. Scores all recorded, she looks to Lexir expectantly.

Turn in line: Lexir

Near the fireplace, Savio is donning a new vest and swanning around in it. Bards. What can you do.

Lexir nods humbly, clearing his throat and holding up his glass. "Now, you must pardon me, for I'm typically a man of prose, and not poetry. But here now, I give you, AN ODE TO WHISKEY."
%
"Amongst friends and fellows, beer brings cheer and wine is fine,

With kith and kin, the din of gin, is what will fill my tin,

But when nights are cold, when life is short, when I am old,

Only one drink will do. And that, is because whiskey, makes me frisky."

"25!" Duarte scores Lexir the very second the man is done speaking.

Stands to find herself more to drink and hops over the back of her couch, silks fluttering. She does call out to Lexir, though, while walking backwards and stumbling into a table, "Drink, my Lord! Drink!"

Nova cracks up about 'whiskey makes me frisky'!

Back by the fireplace, Apollo mutters. "Maybe that's my trouble, I should have had whiskey." Harumph.

Savio checks dexterity and performance at normal. Savio fails.

Orland checks composure at hard. Orland is successful.

There's a pause as Lexir speaks, then Chiara toasts them with her glass before downing the rest of the amber liquid. The toast is followed by laughter and cheerful applause, then she turns back to Sloane and Pasquale, grinning at the former.

Apollo spying someone wiggling a bottle at him, Apollo heads thataway.

Apollo has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Apollo has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Lianne, contrary critter that she is, counters Duarte's high score with a, "3." And an apologetic look to Lexir. Not his fault she's being a brat. Still, she does go right back to her whiskey.

"I mean... Whiskey." She shrugs a shoulder and without making any notes before hand, she reaches for one of the previously written scores and lifts it up. "8.5" She then reaches for her Whisktea, which someone has thankfully seen to refreshing, and lifts it towards Lexir before taking a sip. After setting it down, it is only then she takes notes.

Turn in line: Monique

Near the fireplace, Savio has received the gift of a vest. Does it go great with the particular shirt he has on? No. Is that stopping him? Also no. It's colorful and it really is a very pretty garment, and the gift has prompted him to pace the length in front of the fireplace in what he imagines might be a model-like walk. He is not a model. It is not good. Charming in maybe a pathetic kind of way? Sure. He's happy, at least.

Lexir takes a bow, whether asked for or not, and downs a gulp of some delicious, amber-hued concoction (whiskey?) before sharing smiles all around and heading back over to where Apollo lingers. He passes by Monique in the midst of that, bumping his hip to hers and holding out his half-drunk glass to her.

Parker, a quietly assertive servant arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Parker, a quietly assertive servant arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Parker, a quietly assertive servant arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Parker, a quietly assertive servant arrives, delivering a message to Pasquale before departing.

Monique rises once more, accepting the glass from Lexir as she passes, two ships in the night. "How can I top whiskey? That's impossible. And yet. And /yet/..." She clears her throat, solemn and serious. "I'll speak on the subject that most terrifies me in /all/ of the world."

Another dramatic pause, and the Minx recites one of her infamously /terrible/ poems.

"The sea during the day?
I'm filled with dismay
But the sea at night?
Now there's a fright!

Alone without a hint of solid ground
Amid lustrous shadows I'll surely drown

Something slides by
No, I won't cry
With that slippery feel
Surely an eel!

It couldn't possibly be a shark
Swimming alone in the dark

My kingdom for a boat
Or just to float
Crabgrass
Seabass

Anything smaller would be just fine
Maybe a glimpse of the coastline

But these aquatics at night
Will. Never. Be. Right."

She gives a shudder, entirely emphatic on this particular subject.

Raven Grins at Savio and gives him an approving nod and gesture before her polite attention shifts to Monique and her eyebrows shoot up while she listens with interest.

Rowenova says, "I once punched an eel in its face!"

"Five?" Duarte looks around the room and the other judges for their agreement on that? Five? Five? No? Ok. "I mean.../thirty/-five!" :D

Lexir laughs and claps his hands, his own temporarily void of anything to drink (tragic, really). "Drink!" he calls out enthusiastically. "Drink, you minx!"

Duarte has joined the line.

Lianne checks willpower at normal. Lianne is marginally successful.

Pasquale receives a message from Parker. Then another. Then another. His expression getting more disbelievingly baffled with each one. With the last one he just turns the paper over and writes a clean crisp 'WHAT?' on it before once more sending Parker on his way.

"I'll need far more whiskey after traumatizing myself on that subject," Monique replies, tossing back the contents of her glass and looking around for another. "/Swimming/. Ugh." She shudders, making her way back to the couch.

Sloane looks to Pasquale askance. "At least give him a drink next time for the road, my Lord."

Lianne listens in stunned silence to Monique's poem-on-the-fly about the ocean at night, eyes widening and giggle spilling when she gets to 'seabass.' She opens her mouth to ... comment? Speak her score? Whatever it is, Duarte gets there first with his enthusiastic appreciation for the minx's verse. Oh, it takes effort not to dip into negatives just to balance the count's high score, but Monique surely deserves better than that. "Five." She lays claim to the original number. "Plus a whole slew of bonus points for fearless application of /crabgrass." A lift of her glass, then and... oh gods, was anyone keeping track of these seemingly arbitrary numbers the judges have been throwing out? Fajra, surely. Right?

There is a snort again that comes from Khanne and she writes some notes, or draws some pictures, then takes up the charcoal again. Her hand lifts to her chest, fingers tapping, forgetting that there would then be black smudges upon her pale skin. She hmms, then reaches for a paper, blinks at Duarte, looks to the paper and writes out a "9".

Turn in line: Duarte

The line has been dismissed by Lianne.

"What, me? Now? Ok ok..Okay!" Duarte murmurs to his fellow hosts before sliding off his chair and floating to the fore. Demanding attention. Such presence. Burp. Excuse me.

Sloane is overheard praising Lianne: You know what rhymes with Marquessa? Nothing. But she is magnificent.

As Duarte moves forward, Lianne calls, "I believe we're--" Who? "--tallying scores, but I invite the whole audience to judge whatever nonsense our darling Count of Bravura cooks up."

Monique is overheard praising Lianne.

Monique is overheard praising Khanne.

Monique is overheard praising Duarte.

Sloane is overheard praising Duarte: His moustache is hypnotic.

Khanne is overheard praising Lianne: I confessa, the Marquessa is amazing, yessa.

Sloane is overheard praising Khanne: Halfshav, all delight.

Duarte coughs and lifts a hand. "harp.." to the elegant harp, "...oh harp....you are not..."

"...Uhm....sharp!"

Duarte closes his eyes and puts thumb to finger as he continues, moving his hand as if sketching out his words.

"...which is a shame...because Lianne...likes to see the pain..." He coughs into a fist. Then continues, "...oh harp...elegant harp...wishing to be climbed...so firm and bolted down so straight...can you hold...

"...people numbering eight?"

When the count gets to that final line he looks drunkenly to the crowd but not without expectation. He motions them to the harp with a challenging stare.

Seeing no movement yet, he says sternly (but still sounds to the ear like silk) "Well? Climb on!" and he downs the rest of his whiskey.

Apollo is overheard praising Lianne: An incredible host

Apollo is overheard praising Khanne: An incredible host

Apollo is overheard praising Duarte: An incredible host

Apollo is overheard praising Monique: Such a good sport

Chiara is overheard praising Lianne: For arranging an excellent time

Chiara is overheard praising Duarte: Harp

Chiara is overheard praising Khanne: A lovely judge

Duarte has left the an elegant rosewood harp.

Lianne is overheard praising Sloane: Best poem about toads I've ever known.

Lianne is overheard praising Monique: Seabass.

Lianne is overheard praising Apollo: A remarkable recovery.

After the word 'sharp', Nova lets out a little laugh which causes Sir Floppers to wag more swiftly! Then, the scout laughs even more for the euphemisms.

Morphius, the sad, gentle Mastiff arrives, following Decius.

Khanne leans back and turns to the side to watch Duarte... closely... warily. When he coughs into his fist, she lifts her fingertips to her lips and does the same, impish eyes glancing towards Lianne. But then, he's asking for more people to climb on. Khanne gathers her notes and her glass and rises up, stepping aaaawwwwaaaaay from the harp.

Khanne is overheard praising Duarte: Um.... (she seems to be speechless)

Nova eyes the harp but seems to be of the same mind as Khanne and stays away, over here where she is already sitting, just petting the good boy but whilst curiously watching. "Should I yell for medics again, pre-emptively this time?"

Orland is overheard praising Savio: The best of the night!

Savio has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Savio has joined the an elegant rosewood harp.

Sloane has left the some plush comfortable couches.

Sloane has joined the an elegant rosewood harp.

Orland is overheard praising Braxas: Pretty fly for a Tall Guy

Rowenova is overheard praising Khanne.

Rowenova is overheard praising Tarik.

Duarte has joined the an elegant rosewood harp.

Lianne has left the an elegant rosewood harp.

This can only end in tears. Is climbing the harp a good idea? IT IS NOT. Therefore, Savio is down for this, and scampers over to do exactly this.

Sloane rises from the couch and stalks toward the harp. Her skin is drunkenly flushed. She looks doubtfully up - and up - to Savio. "Can you lift me, Saviooooooooooooo-" She takes a breath. "-oooooooooooo?"

Khanne looks over to Rowenova and gives a small shake of her head. "Surely, if needed, we can bring one here in a hurry... hopefully they are not needed." Blink. "Hopefully."

Chiara is overheard praising Sloane: Ode to Toads!

Nova amenably nods. "Hopefully." she quietly echoes.

Savio checks strength at normal. Savio is successful.

Duarte grasps an upper curvature of the harp and places his foot indelicately between strings. He hefts himself until he is in some semblance of balance on her belly, legs sticking off and out, upon the top of the harp.

Plucking up her drink, Lianne slips /away/ from the harp to watch Duarte. And, oh, Savio! Sloane! This is a horrible idea, but that doesn't keep her eyes from dancing with brilliant mischief. Thank the gods there's a physician here, empty hand raised when Rowenova asks. "I'm a physician." She's a coroner. No reason for concern, surely.

Chiara is overheard praising Monique: Beware the briny deep

Rowenova says, "Thank the Gods and Spirits."

Lianne has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

Khanne loops her arm into the crook of one of Lianne's and leans in to whisper to her, red hair against brunette.

Khanne has left the an elegant rosewood harp.

Chiara is overheard praising Lexir: A true devotee of frisky whiskey.

Khanne has joined the some plush comfortable couches.

"Yes! Yes I can!" Savio brightly assures Sloane, regardless of whether or not he can. He believes in himself, that's the important thing here. Raven and Orland get a grin and a thumbs-up from the harp-located area, and then he laces his fingers into a step for Sloane. Does he have an end game in plan for where she might go harp-wise after being lifted? Nope.

Lexir leans in to Monique for an exchange of words, then departs off to the harp, hands on his hips, a skeptical eye cast along its breadth and width.

Lexir has joined the an elegant rosewood harp.

an elegant rosewood harp looks large enough that it could comfortably hold 5 more people, honestly.

Sloane checks dexterity at normal. Sloane is successful.

Raven watches the drunken antics with a look of bemusement and gives a slight shake of her head, "This won't end well."

"It'll be okay," Sloane promises Orland and Raven, despite not knowing them at all, before Sloane gamely puts her foot in Savio's hand. Then she retracts, dubiously, laughing. "If I die, I want you to say my eulogy. Can you do that?" Then she steps into Savio's hand and, with a squeal, scrambles to find purchase onto the harp. Duarte's braces hold! Gleefully, Sloane lifts her hands in victory.

Orland has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Orland has joined the an elegant rosewood harp.

"Do you remember the old summer parties in the garden," Lianne asks of Khanne while watching the growing chaos of limbs and strings and maybe the count beyond. She doesn't finish the thought, but one might imagine this has some of the pool party antics she recalls. And recalls, specifically, watching from the sidelines just like this. She should've brought out the Setarco Fire for the night...

Orland is rising up from the chair, looking all determined toward the harp. "My ass isn't light," he notes, "someone's got to move up and I'll hoist you up." TRUST ME, this is practice for PIEROS.

Braxas has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Apollo has left the some plush comfortable couches.

"Yes," Savio promises Sloane a euology. He solemnly intones:

"Here lies you, I don't remember your name
Graceful and lovely, moderate fame
But as for your brains, perhaps not so sharp
Because you fell down and were crushed
By a real big-ass harp."

Orland gets a grin next. "You want to hoist me up?"

Sloane is overheard praising Savio: I don't have words. But I have whiskey. And love.

Duarte scrambles to the topmost part of and pats a particularly dire looking harp edge. "But will the Marquessa of Nilanza climb the harp?" He laughs and looks away, dismissing the thought, knowing the answer is 'no' <.<

Clearing her throat, Khanne lifts a hand to push some hair behind an ear. Is she blushing?" Um... some of them, of course." Maybe she had too much of the Setarco Fire for the others.

Orland checks strength and athletics at normal. Orland is marginally successful.

As Apollo rises, Monique does too, her eyes clearly on the Guildmaster. And her hands, too. She reaches out a hand to snag his arm, tugging the Guildmaster away clandestinely. The sneaking, it's real.

"Gods no," Lianne answers Duarte on a spill of laughter. "I am an /admirer/ of such magnificent work, so well-sung by Savio, but I'll watch how the wood holds and the strings cut from here."

Why sneak, when the seduction was so public? Well: lady's choice, of course. Apollo laughs lightly as he moves along, taking a small box prize with him.

Sloane applauds Savio's euology, utterly delighted. As Apollo starts to scamper away, she calls out over the room, "Don't forget!" Then she looks down to the men below the giant harp. "Help me down. I need to go dancing. Or swimming."

Raven rolls her eyes, "You all are all gonna break things you're attached to." She intones, green eyes pausing on each of the harpers briefly in turn with Judgement before she just shakes her head and turns to stride out.

"Yes," Orland says with a flat tone and looks to Duarte, "I'm not boring. See. His ass is going to be on my head and somehow I'm going to try not to grab someone else's privates for balancing..." he looks at the others and then finds somewhere to perch and support Savio.

Monique has left the a cozy stone fireplace.

Siri, an attentive apprentice, Paris, a charming mercenary, 2 Keaton Huntsmen, Nomius, a deeply skeptical bloodhound, Monique leave, following Apollo.

From over here (with Sir Flop), Nova lets out a big laugh. "Well said, indeed!" says she to Savio.

Duarte counts carefully the number on the harp - being sure he only includes the middle one of each person. He declares, then, to the judges, "5. Only 5 upon the harp. But I'm positive it could fit 3 more. Clearly. Look at all this space." He motions to the already tangled mass of humanity attempting to sit on this god forsaken thing.

Savio checks strength and athletics at normal. Savio is marginally successful.

"Raven," Orland turns to her, head probably stepped on, "You're required."

"Raven," Sloane says like she's known the woman all her life. "You're /required/."

And so the evening descends into drunken, many-limbed discord. What more could one want?