Afternoon of an Empire
Punch, Darkfur, Guard [Wallace], Dangeon
Location: Throne Room
Punch's rapid steps bring him speedily into the uncertain light of the chandelier, which he regards with a supercilious glance of reproach: somebeast neglected his duty today, and several wicks have snuffed themselves out amid waxy corpses. Droplets of wax on the floor, too. The rat's tongue clicks disapproval while his paws evade it with the effortless poise of a tumbler. He holds a sheaf of papers to his chest.
There is darkness underneath the colonnade leading to the bed chamber, and through this two pale eyes are seen reflecting the dim chandelier light, as they make their way, if a bit unbalanced, toward the throne. The rat stops for a moment to rest a paw on one of the tall columns, coughing and clearing his throat. "Visitor, ehh! Go away, I'm expecting somebeast--wait, we'llhaveyourname firrrrst, wadisit? Hurry up 'n out with it, befo..re m'insides rot out!" Darkfur climbs the pedestal to the chair, and rolls sideways into the seat, flopping his paws onto the armrests.
One of the guards, standing as stiff as the marble they're posted by, sneezes and almost drops a poleaxe taller than he is. On second thought, not -quite- as stiff as marble. The faint smell of alcohol wafting from the emperor gets a sturdy reinforcement.
Punch stops abruptly, and his thin, embroidered cloak sweeps mildly forward before him. He lowers his documentary load to his midriff and dips into a shallow bow. "M'lord..." he says in his high, intelligent voice, "Do you not know me?" His eyes fall deferentially to the floor, though doubt can be read in the way they trace wavering lines along the marble ambulatory. Damn them. Even the floor is dirty today!
Darkfur gives the guard a stare of death, made subtly less intimidating by a gaseous chaser emanating from the stomach of the monarch, which seems to startle him back to the visitor's attention. He squints. The warlord leans ever so slowly forward, gripping the guilded paws of the throne and his features abruptly becoming apathetic and relaxed, "Oh, you. Well, I didn't think you'd be here /this/ earrrly. Must be the'xperiensse preparing for thoseshhhows.. 'smade you, ah.. er.." He snaps, at first just innocently, in a general direction toward the guards, then increasingly with razor precise technique and with increasing tempo, eyeing each and every one of them in turn. "What's the word!!"
Punch's back mostly straightens, and he allows his eyes to rise to the level of King Darkfur's hem. "M'lord," he repeats, a shade less tensely than before. "It ith patht midday, your... grace." The young rat's manner is excruciatingly proper, but his words are less than fluent under the strain they are made to bear. He hurries onward nonetheless: "The project ith... protheeding. Though, if I may... Given the rethent... remunerative cutbackth... you may with to compenthate the laborerth by other meanth."
The ratking's head tilts as he listens, and he allows himself an eye-roll as he sits back in his seat and crosses one leg over the other, drumming a pair of claws on the armrest, accidentally sliding down the seat in his intoxicated stupor, and scooching back upright (or so much as he's able). "Punnn...ch.. s..stop, stoprigh'there.. 'other means'? Waddotheywant?! They... they're proceeding, eh? No!! They'rebe...hhhind!" This 'hh' interferes with the atmosphere surrounding a rat servicing the emperor's other paw with a file, and the servantrat looks ready to pass out, but holds out long enough to finish his work and bid a hasty retreat!
Finery kept from (not so long ago) better days grace the doe. Her scar and the damage to her ear give some clue to a different past, contrasting with her noble attire; a forest green kirtle, the hem dancing around her large feet, while a circlet of gold rests between her ears. A golden thread encircles her waist in a looping pattern and is knotted in the front at two points to fasten it in place upon her hips. The hare has wandered in, somewhat cautiously, but with a smile gracing her lips, perhaps out of boredom. Dangeon hesitates, however, and 'hovers' near the door through which she came; hare ears twitching to the conversation.
"Ath you thay, m'lord," the younger rat says. "And drink. It keepth them manageable, for me, for the other overtheerth. Keepth them at each other'th... other'th throatth and not ourth." Punch's lisp is a soft one, but his nose blushes red when he finds himself caught in a thicket of sibilance, as he does now. He pushes on: "And your queen... Er, Lady Dangeon. Her demandth... (Sh)e ath... requeth..." A blush. "The materialth we need are no longer available."
Darkfur doesn't yet see her, and sobers up a bit, afraid of showing any further sign of weakness in front of the advisor, especially with mention of Dangeon. The emperor stands, and slowly, cautiously, makes his way down the pedestal and to the floor, coming over to Punch and gripping his shoulder tightly, "I needdd.. er, ehrm..." He starts over, this time fighting the swirling room and tendency for his words to flow out unpunctuated, "I need to keep a tight cellar, you understand... right? But I will allow some merriment among them, so long as you report that it slows /not/ the work being done." He crowds his ear, perhaps getting a bit too close for comfort, "As for the lady, let there be no beast what asks her favors but she.." He steps back and smiles, nodding, squeezing the shoulder.
Punch briefly meets the emperor-king's gaze. "Of courthe, m'lord," he says mechanically.
Dangeon frowns a little bit, twitching her ears slightly more and finding herself wandering closer as the pair speak closely with eachother. Of course, now, she realises she's going to be rather more visible; she holds off for as long as she can until she feels that just a glance could reveal her position and so clears her throat, turning her gait into a normal hare-stride, as though she's just come through that door and walked across now.
Darkfur's gaze snaps immediately from Punch to Lady Dangeon, and then back to Punch, "Eh? What's themeaning of this? Having your /pet/ running errands ahead of you? He's /my/ advisor, Dangeon, not your personal 'honeydoo' list to me. Are you listening? Oh, my love..." His mood immediately changes and he grins, ignoring Punch completely and going over to the haremaid, "You /know/ you can come to me if there's a problem, yes? What needs you have I am willing to hear from you, but you are too concerned.. leave me to handle these things, my dear.." He's a bit shorter than her, of course, but raises her paw at least to his evil-looking nose, giving it a soft kiss and gently easing it back to her side, "You look lovely, hm? Gown is nice..."
Punch stiffens to attention as Dangeon strides in with her elegant hare-gait. "M'lady," he says softly. He discreetly watches the two royals interact. A beast new to the court might gawk or snicker at the spectacle, but if any such impulse stirs within the young advisor, his sober mien does not betray it.
"Oh, I didn't send him, though I'm, uh, bally well pleased that he should be considerate enough to be considering the both of our needs, M'Lord." It's a practiced word; it never quite sounds formal from her. "Thank you," She responds with a smile to the kiss and then brushes out her kirtle "It was the one left in the room yesterday and I had thought it would be a jolly good day for wearing it today."
The warlord clears his throat and eyes Punch out of the corner of his vision, "Yes.. well, perhhhaps the beasts around here could show a bit more initiative where it is needed, and a bit /less/ where it is not." He circles the hare, humming gleefully, "Mmm, yes I know, I arranged for it to be left there. You picked an excellent day, too, of course. Today I announce the games, love. Those wonderfful things." There's still a bit of slurring together of words, though not any more than his accent should do well to cover up, "We've needed them, like in the old days, when our ancestors were deified and their enemies made to suffer to our gain... we'll show them again! And they will all see you, finally, in public - no longer a rumor for those arrogant rumor-spreaders.."
Punch's clenching jaw is barely noticeable in the flicker of the candlelight. He repeats his bow, first to Dangeon in acknowledgment of Dangeon's compliment, then in tacit agreement with his king. He makes no move to speak, exercising due caution before the tipsy tyrant.
"Well, I can't really say I remember those days, M'Lord..." Dangeon borders on being cheeky, but doesn't seem all that concerned. "But I am glad to have chosen such an appropriate, uh, day, wot." She frowns just a little bit at the idea of being 'shown off' to all, especially 'rumour-spreaders', but tries not to let on.
Punch crinkles the papers in his arms rather too loudly to be unintentional.
The guard again hiccups loudly, and begins to wobble a bit, shuffling from foot to foot and staring grimly ahead with bloodshot eyes. He smells drunk and looks hungover, perhaps taking after his king.
"Yes, well. You wouldn't." Darkfur blinks, not perceiving the light-hearted nature of her cheeky remark, "...um, oh. Punch, you may go on your way. Meet up with the cellarkeeper on duty and let them give you half a bottle of the peasant stock for each head, for tonight. Be /sure/ you tell them it is a gift for their continued hardened efforts." The emperor swishes his cloak and heads back toward the colonnade, "Dear, be ready and waiting for me in the antechamber to the overlook; those rumorbeasts have surely spread word of the announcement and I want to have you there. Meanwhile I must ready myself to look my best. That is all."
Punch clears his throat. "Sir..."
"Oh what is it?! Make your thoughts plain, Punch!" The emperor pauses for a moment, and spins on his heel.
..losing his balance a bit, and leaning on a guard.
The guard promptly stumbles sideways and topples over, trailing alcoholic fumes. His poleaxe clatters loudly to the ground, the sound echoing around the throne room.
The architect is silent for a moment in the aftermath of the guard's tumble. "Well, m'lord," Punch responds hastily, moving at last from his station and pulling the papers from his chest. "The thipth have not come in. Her majethty'th bathhouthe demandth marble and lapith. The planth--" he shakes the sheaf of documents "--cannot go ahead without modificathon."
"Unleth you have retheived word from the fleet?"
"Oh. That... well, I did not receive word - find a /way/ to proceed, there must be some minor modifications a talented builder such as yourself can make without ruining the specifics of the design? Make the structure taller! That's it - make it taller with the existing material until the supplies come in... that way, we have a better structure /and/ it gives us time. You agree, don't you?" The emperor is really leading the answer, as he's already turning around to leave, "Good, I will see you when you have developments to share."
Punch can do no more than watch the monarch's retreating back, though he takes a few deflated steps after Darkfur before abandoning the chase. He sighs. Then the rat turns, looks at the dirty floor, at the guttering chandelier, at the windowless room--shabby, almost, in the tentative light--and the inebriated guard. He shakes his head and departs.
