Before Dinner In The Star Chamber PetraIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Before Dinner In The Star Chamber | BeforeDinnerInTheStarChamberPetra Having obviously not gotten Flora's memo, at 8:00 on the dot, Petra prowled in looking like the cat that just ate the canary and was now eyeing the goldfish. She was wearing an ombré gown of violet, cream and teal with flutter hem and a surplice sweetheart neckline that displayed her shoulders and her Etruscan Singer's Tear to perfection. The colors of the gown matched the jeweled dragonflies that held her hair up, emphasizing the elegant curve of her neck. She was carrying a glass of dark Atlantean Firewine swirling with strands of color, recognizable by any in the room that had visited the Queen. It was the Strong Stuff. She felt him before she saw him - a prickle across the back of her neck that told her Mandor had entered the room. Petra had long since learned to suppress the shudder that once went with that feeling, so it was easy to look over at him and smile. In that 'Here I am. Now what?' manner that went with the slight uplifting curl of an eyebrow. Morgan, leaning against the wall and pouring the last drop from the bottle into his glass, smiled as he watched Petra turn to look at Mandor. He murmured quietly, "Won't you step into my parlor?" Mandor turned and gave him something that was not so much as smile as an amused, slightly quizzical lift of his eyebrows. Then he moved smoothly forward and raised Petra's hand to his lips. "Enchanted to see you," he said. "I trust your day has been more peaceful than its commencement?" "Ah, mi bellissimo mago," Petra all but purred. "It would be very difficult for it not to be. There //was// a bit of amusement on the docks earlier, but was just a civic minded fellow taking care of the trash." "Really?" said Mandor, with deep interest. "Do enlighten me." "I think they rather more hope I protect them from certain other people," said Mandor drily. "Such as those of your family who want to blow them up or deprive them of their hard-earned gelt at the least opportunity." "Those cockroaches -Lowenstien and his little bottom feeding friends, they were taking advantage of grieving widows," Petra sniffed disdainfully. "We have a name for people like them in Cornaro. Alimento per i pesci - food for the fishes. Some thoughtful gentleman apparently agreed, and expressed his displeasure with his fists." Morgan lifted the bottle he held in his left hand and tilted it over his half-filled glass once more. When nothing came out he frowned, then raised the bottle over his head and stared up into the opening, shaking it. He blinked as a single drop fell out, then tossed the bottle contemptuously aside. He brought the glass to his lips and sipped from it as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to where Mandor and Petra stood. "Beautiful lady," he said. "How delightful of you to grace us with your presence today. And hello to you, too, Mandy. The King will be along shortly. When I described the lovely visitors you have brought to Amber he decided he didn't feel the least bit sick after all." Petra smiled. There was a trace of amusement in it. "Hello, Morgan. I see you are no worse for wear after this morning. I am happy to hear Merlin has recovered sufficiently to join us." "I had every faith in the King's recovery," said Mandor. "After all ... I'm afraid it's not the first time his indulgences have led him into excess. But his resilience is good - it always has been." Petra gave him a look of amused indulgence, letting him know she wasn't buying that story at all. "I'm sure he gets that from his father's side of the family." "The indulgence or the resilience?" Morgan asked with a smile. Mandor merely smiled, his eyes half lidded with lazy amusement that had a decidedly feline quality. "Why, both, my dear Captian," Petra smiled. "If the tales are anything to go by." "Ah, truly legends walked, and slept, among us in those days," Morgan answered. Petra leaned towards Morgan slightly and responded sotto voce; "Oh, they still do, Captain. They still do...." Morgan winked in response, then finished off the last remnants of what was in his glass. Mandor regarded the pair of them blandly, with the polite interest of a social anthropologist. Petra turned to regard Mandor, and smiled slyly. "It's been ages since I attended a family dinner up here. Tell me, are they still as stiffly polite as the last one I attended, or have we moved past that into more exciting things?" "I try to liven them up a tiny bit, as a public service," Morgan said. He appeared to be addressing his empty glass. "Truely, you are a gift to mankind," Petra smirked. Then, struck by a happy inspiration, he held the glass out to one side, and waited to see if it might be filled by something. Mandor smiled. And it was as though a stream of glittering light fell from the empty air to fill Morgan's glass to the brim before resolving itself into a sparkling straw-coloured liquid that glittered in the glass with its own lights. "Not vintage," said Mandor. "A naive little wine, you might say. But I think you'll be amused by its presumption." Petra snorted in amusement and sipped her own wine, which was hardly naive, as she scanned the rest of the room. "I like presumption," Morgan answered with a smile. He took a sip of the wine and nodded. "Not bad at all, Mandy. If the whole benevolent despot thing doesn't work out for you then you can always fall back on headwaiter at a fancy restaurant. Pretty much the same thing, really." "Pretty much," agreed Mandor. "Except there the guests are at least, by and large, hoping to be pleased by what one is serving, rather than the converse." Petra turned from her people watching, one eyebrow curled elegantly in question over green-gold eyes. "And who might be depriving them of their hard earned gelt, mi elegante felino?" "Really?" Morgan asked. "Don't you think your adoring populace hopes that they will be pleased by you? However unlikely that may be?" "I heard there was some desperate fellow on the docks earlier," saiid Mandor, smoothing one of his cuffs. "Attacking women and children, I believe. Didn't your people come to the rescue?" "Mandor, protector of the striving mercantile classes," Morgan marvelled. "I can see the tri-vid series now. This week, brave Mandor battles against the evils of socialized medicine! Stay tune for exciting scenes from next week's episode, when Mandor has to go undercover to defeat a villanious ring of unionizers, who are determined to demand a decent wage for the workers!" Petra gave him a look. "The 'desperate fellow' was not attacking the women and children. He was giving those cretins who took advantage of grieving widows a richly deserved beating. I have a copy of one of those contracts they lure them into signing in my office. If you are serious about protecting them, then we need to talk." "Well," said Mandor, "as long as you promise you're not a unioniser or promoting social medicine, I daresay I could take a look after dinner." She laughed. "A child of Benedict knows how to pick her battles, caro mio. Currently, they are not socialized medicine or unionization. You are welcome to accompany me back to the Queen after dinner - as long as you promise to not make such a dust up as you did the last time. People getting shot at when they disembark is bad for my PR." "Rrrrrraow," Morgan said. It wasn't immediately clear what he meant by that. Mandor simply smiled slightly - but it was clear that something else had taken his attention ... The arrival of his daughters in the doorway, accompanied by Amba. "Three little maids..." Morgan said in a sing-song rhythm. At this point a deep, low gong sounded - drawing their attention to the door. |
