The Queen's Stroll
Saxifrage, Punch, Dangeon, Darkfur
Location: Isle of the Unforgiven: Boardwalk
Saxifrage and Punch encounter surprising traffic on the boardwalk.
Late afternoon on the boardwalk is a searing experience. Though the sun has begun its descent to the west, afternoon reigns, and today is particularly sweltering. This region of the island is sandy; few structures' cast shadows tall enough to offer reprieve from the heat, barring, perhaps, the fortress. Everything burns. Saxifrage walks beside Punch with feigned ease and comfort, in spite of her billowy attire. "Do the workers ever give you trouble, Punch?" she asks, fumbling for conversation to take her mind off the heat.
Punch snickers at the question. Despite his walking companion's self-evident ease, the young maintains his distance from her both in gait and in manner. His gaze betrays a mind rooted in his work, and though he looks at Saxifrage when she asks her question, his eyes barely tickle her before planting themselves on the slipshod workmanship of the boardwalk. "The more a-apt qu-question is, do th-they ever not?" he says at last and smiles mirthlessly at the ground. The wood creaks beneath them as they approach the fortress.
His response invites a crisp laugh from the polecat. She then has a glance at the ramshackle walk, and cocks her head to one side. "Oh my. Sometimes I feel so oblivious; I barely notice the disrepair that has consumed our home." Though still in motion, Saxifrage adjusts her weight to a single foot, which incites a loud creak from the board beneath. "Perhaps I'd go crazy if I actually noticed." She hops to the next hunk of warped lumber; its protest is similar to that of the last. "I am glad my duties do not require me to pay attention to such distressing details."
The rat nods blankly. "Y-your father keeps the inn in... n-nice repair," he says with some obvious effort to form the words. For the most part, Punch has let Saxifrage do the talking, and his occasional, feeble remarks are transparently intended to deflect the conversation back toward the domain of her expertise rather than his own.
Dangeon has managed to get out of the castle and is, in fact, dressed back in her usual attire. Well, there's no sense in wearing the fancy stuff out and about if all one's doing is going for a walk about. She's alternating between watching where she steps, on the boardwalk, and looking where she's going; with an occasional look to the sunny skies- more a look of puzzlement than annoyance or pleasure.
"As he must." Saxifrage brings an arm to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun. "There must be at least one sanctuary from the shambles," she says. "Even with the dip in foreign trade, foreign emissaries should be.. protected from the levity of our island's financial circumstance." With an arm held to mitigate the blinding bright, the jill spots Dangeon. "Punch!" Finding the rat still mired in thought, the polecat extends an arm to his shoulder. "Punch, is that--why would she be all the way out here?"
The shout jolts Punch's attention up from telluric ruminations to the road ahead, where he spots the young queen's meanderings. "Foolish girl," he says sotto voce--though she is in fact probably somewhat older than he--then slips into an easy smile and a subservient grace. "Y-your highn-ness," he calls, gliding forward, paws cupped together in a gesture of affectionate deference. He bows then halts a couple paces from the hare. "Wh-what brings your highness out of the f-for-fortress?" A furtive peek over her shoulder confirms the pale advisor's suspicion: the queen is unguarded.
Dangeon tilts her head as she's approached and then blinks at the question. "Uh. Jus' goin' for a walk. Keeping an eye out f'r th'little rat. Might've missed lunch. Uh. How about you?"
Saxifrage briskly follows Punch. The jill sinks in a deferential curtsy. "Your majesty." She maintains a customary distance, using her rat confidant as a protective wedge, and is silent when the hare speaks. Having only seen Dangeon at royal functions, the polecat is alarmed to find her in casual clothes, though hides her shock with a cordial smile.
Punch scans the road to the castle once again for good measure; guards can conceal themselves, after all. Once again finding nobeast, he turns his smile upon her majesty. "M-might we accompany you?" He bows again, certain not to offend her with eye contact. "It is-is better i-if you have someone with you, but only if you w-wish it." He pauses. "I-if, ah, if her majesty s-seeks the p-prince, he was bound f-for the arena."
"Hallo." The doe raises a paw to give a sort of wave to Saxifrage at the formal greeting. It might be noted that, not only are her clothes 'casual', they're rather 'peasant-ish'. "Um. If y' want; I don't mind, wot. So, the arena then. Uh, are ye both well?"
To corroborate his news of the fugitive heir, Saxifrage nods her head, but remains mute and apprehensive. None of it is frantic; her painful reticence is rehearsed, as such behavior can be advantageous when seeking favor with monarchs. The smile is fixed, and she waits first for Punch to answer the queen.
Punch's manner fairly oozes pleasure at the attention. "Busy, your h-highness. There is, ah, work. Work always to be d-done." He tries on a faint smile. "But come. W-we will accompany your highness." He stands aside to let Dangeon pass.
"Ah. Well. Y' could at least take a bally couple 'f hours off 'r somesuch, wot?" The doe offers them both a smile, then watches Punch step aside for her to pass. "Uh. I'll... lead the way, I suppose?" She doesn't sound all that sure as she steps toward the arena.
Darkfur arrives, though he's ahead of the cavalcade of beasts, on foot; presumably he'd gotten out of the carriage some ways back, wishing to stroll out in the open air, and /almost/ nobeast has any qualms. An advisor, a conspicuously new one, approaches him, "Sire, not wise to travel on this rugged island on foot, not wise. If you should fall, or, or..." The ratking interrupts, "Are you saying I could be anything but graceful and regal, Grimeclaw? I'm about to fire one advisor for not being focused on his duties, perhaps you are testing another of my limits, so that I might search for somebeast with qualities in better moderation?" This gets him a shaking of Grimeclaw's head, "No, sire, of course not!" This followed by a nervous glance to a few guards, who scurry ahead, kicking away rocks and roots leading down to the boardwalk.
Saxifrage takes up the rear of freshly formed retinue, following the mismatched pair to search for the queen's ward. There is only time for a few nominal paces before the arrival of the king and his cavalcade makes the jill reel. "Ma'am," she says, meek, from behind Dangeon and Punch. "I believe his majesty is nearing?" Her eyes dart down the boardwalk; this is far more action than she expected from her lazy afternoon walk.
Just as Punch is taking his station alongside Saxifrage and in Queen Dangeon's immediate wake, the polecat's words, not to mention the slow crescendo of clatter behind them, alert him to the king's approach. His acrobat's delicacy pulls him backward, off the path, in a picture of perfect obsequiousness. He holds out a paw to Saxifrage. "Clear the way!" is his whispered counsel.
Dangeon's ears raise and twitch as she looks toward Darkfur, approaching. "Oh, so he is." Up goes an arm and she waves at him in a rather jolly manner. "H'lo Kingy!" She's smiling and the wave is quite energetic.
Saxifrage nimbly hops from the walk, guided by Punch. As soon as the jill has 'cleared the way', she has already stooped, head low, to await acknowledgement from the king--or lack of it, as his sovereign choice finds fit. She remains frozen, statuesque, for now, though begins to tremble, having misjudged the duration of his ancient gait.
Darkfur blinks, as he approaches the mirthful hare, as it hasn't yet registered with the rat that he'd been disobeyed. The king approaches her in turn, the guards quickly partitioning the two beasts from the rest of those present, "Ho, and what's this? What /are/ you wearing, my dear? Who are these?" He looks past the line of guards, squinting and not having had a clear line of sight of them, "And above all else, why are you even down here? A delicate... um," /He's/ looking up at /her/, "...flower, should not be out of earshot of my trusted line of command, at /any/ time."
Punch steps humbly forward. "B-begging your pardon, y-your highness," he says, gaze deferentially averted, "M-my companion and I were a-assisting her highness. Your young heir seems t-to have run off to-to the arena."
"Punch. Well, at least you were watched by /somebeast/. Very good, well, your work here may resume on other things; I have this very well taken care of. The arena!" Darkfur rubs his chin and beckons the carriage closer, "Let us to it, then - take us to the arena... I will continue to walk, as it seems more romantic at this time of year to do so; Dangeon, I will send a guard running back to the palace to fetch a better dress for you, and dare you not step a foot outside of that carriage on the way until you have found yourself in it! Are you listening?" He taps his foot.
Once again, Saxifrage lingers behind. Because of her rat chum's unexceptional height, neither Punch nor the jill towers over the other, but she does have a clear view over his shoulder. Lacking any relevant input, Saxifrage just watches the exchange.
While the king awaits his dawdling consort's response, Punch gently clears his throat. "If I may, then..." he trails off, seeing the king preoccupied. Seizing the chance, he takes hold of Saxifrage's paw and attempts to firmly guide her southward. "Good evening, your h-highness," he emits in haste before departing from earshot.
The haremaid, is, at least, obedient today, if jolly. She attempts to plant a kiss on the King before she's ushered away inside the carriage, awaiting a dress. Leaving the pair to explain and vouch for themselves.
Hardly used to such unceremonious handling, Saxifrage hooks an accidental foot on the edge of the boardwalk. She recovers from the blunder, dignity intact but heart pounding, and submits to her chaperone. With no time for a farewell curtsy, the jills dips her chin and echoes, "Good evening, majesty."
Continued in Fun and Games.
