Marn Restoration Gala - Ascension

[Shanuri Laleonalia]

Shanuri spun around at Haneul's voice, relief washing over her. Vyaduka could wait. It struck her that she needed to get both of them out of there and into safety without raising suspicion, lest the whole existence of H2 was at risk.

"Haneul," she tried to keep her voice level. Good to see you upright and walking. Are you injured?" She glanced at the boy standing next to her, annoyed. I need you to not be here. I have to speak with her.

Behind them, someone was clearly trying to get some kind of order into things. She thought she spotted Doctor Shekhara. Looks like she didn't get to leave after all. At least she's not dead. She almost suggested the three of them went to get the guard, just to get out of the building, but what if the guard actually succeeded in finding out who was responsible of the explosion?

Someone here is on our side. Apart from the fact that they tried to blow us up. Another thought occurred to her, and she glanced back towards the doctor. No way… In plain sight?

What if the scene between Shekhara and Navarre had been intended as her safe exit? What if she had got the timing wrong?

She exchanged a glance with Haneul. I have no idea what is going on.

[Azuel Vyaduka]

Not nearly as strong as other guards, and wounded by his glancing encounter with shrapnel, Azuel’s arms felt like they might give out at any second as he sprinted and shoved his way across the room. After what felt like an eternity, he reached the side of doctor Sehkhara.

He screamed something completely incoherent, incomprehensible babble that seemed to make sense at the time. It was likely she wouldn’t have heard him over the din regardless. Having been at the tables, and now gathering wounded, there were moans and screams everywhere. He just wanted it all to end. This was surely what awaited those damned by Teodinus.

Some twinge of rational thought made Azuel realize the patients were being hastily divided according to severity of their injuries. He didn’t think twice before leaving Sehkhara’s side to put Latifa into the dying section. Her cheek was clearly torn off, and her entire left side had spots of blood scattered across her once-white dress. Maybe it wasn’t soon to be fatal, but Azuel didn’t know or care. All he knew was that this was his sister and she needed treatment.

His right arm’s ache built as he moved, and before he was even halfway it gave out entirely. Latifa’s legs spilled to the ground. Operating purely on basic drives, Azuel spun to compensate and dragged her the rest of the way using only his left arm.

He set her there on the floor. The people around him seemed calm. They seemed more subdued than the rest of the crowd. He looked around, and noticed the Captain striding confidently away.

The sight only gave him fear. If he should be seen now, it could reflect poorly on him, or any number of things could go wrong. He didn’t know what to do, but the instincts he had been relying on told him one thing. They told him to run.

He burst back out through the crowd, his right arm hanging limply from his side. He had to get out. Everything and everyone else be damned, he had to get out.

[Vicentius]

There was a moment, one glorious moment, when he thought they'd made it, then Sekhara's voice flew out of the crowd at them like a knife and that was that. Talia hesitated barely a moment before slipping from his grip to join the good doctor. Tius inwardly cursed and turned to follow her. He had no choice; to do anything else in this moment, when they were called upon would be seen as cowardice of the utmost degree. More to the point, it would ruin his standing with Talia before it had even begun. Such things would not do. And then there was Smithson. He'd given him a Look before it had all gone down, which could mean anything. He'd find out what in due time. As it was, they were in the way.

Before he reached Talia and the doctor, he caught sight of the two from before, the dancer and the oddity, making a swift exit. What was it about them? Shaking his head, he crossed to Sekhara, unbuttoning his coat. and tossing it to Talia. It wouldn't do for a bandage but it might do for a blanket. Yanking the cover off one of the tables, he hurried back with it, tearing it into long strips. He grimaced with distaste at the carnage. He'd seen similar displays before on the roads, but it never got easier. Taking a breath, he glanced over the wounds and looked Sekhara in the eye.

"Get as much clean cloth, clean water or alcohol as you can find. If you can get a belt or a sash even better. Any bad bleeding, either tie off the arm or leg above the wound and put pressure on it or just get a clean cloth and put pressure on it to staunch the blood flow."

That seemed to cover the most of it, he knew that he was taking a calculated risk here but it had to be done. There was so much chaos going on around them that most of it would be lost to hearsay anyway. He looked to the head table and saw Isyrion standing emotionless as she looked over the dead. What in the hell was she playing at? This was all too strange. Too convenient. He recalled his thoughts from earlier. No. Now was not a time to cast blame. Pulling off his gloves, he tore off his sleeves and laid them with the rest of the bandages. Now was the time to make friends.

"We're fine. A few scrapes but nothing time won't heal," he said, then to Talia, "be careful. A bang like that puts you off balance for a while. Just concentrate on what you're doing and breathe."

He caught a worried glance from Sekhara towards the head table and did some quick mental arithmetic. It didn't take a seer to guess what she was pondering. He looked her in the eye, mustering all the earnestness he could. Taking up one of his sleeves, he folded it and put as much pressure on the gash she was tending to as he dared.

"If you've got magic now's the time to use it. Stall the bleeding and let the bandages do the rest," he said, leaning in closer, "who can say what really happened in all this chaos?"

He thought he caught Vyaduka wandering aimlessly through the crowd and frowned a moment before shaking his head to clear it.

"I've got this one, doctor," he said, "keep moving."

[Haneul]

At Shanuri’s pointed glance towards the weight hanging from her arm, Haneul thought the same. There was no way to speak privately as long as Christopher was in the way. But she couldn’t exactly just dump him either; too many people had seen them together. Her gaze flickered to the make-shift infirmary that had sprung into existence as Doctor Shekhara went to work with a few helpers and efficient orders. There were so many injured already however, some more horrible than others, and definitely worse than the Merynir, so maybe they shouldn’t just leave Christopher there. It was such a nuisance at that moment that they still needed him.

“Let’s get you to your carriage,” she finally told Christopher, forcing him to stay on his feet as they made their way outside. The man in question merely nodded, feeling sorry for himself. At least he wasn’t trying to grope her anymore.

“Minor injuries only,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I would have preferred the dress to stay whole though. I quite liked this one.” Too many ears to add anything else, but the meaning should have been clear enough. ‘If this was supposed to be our distraction, our exit, then I would have liked a warning to go for cover.’ Something much worse could have happened to either Shanuri or herself, which would have ruined quite a few of their plans.
Unless someone wanted that to happen.

As soon as they were outside, Haneul wanted to get to the Merynir carriage. She had not expected the complete and utter chaos that greeted them however. Injured and crying people everywhere, people running around with blank expressions on their faces, others ranting and raving like madmen. But Haneul didn’t care. She merely looked at Shanuri as she manoeuvred Christopher to the carriage she had finally spotted a few paces away from the heart of the crowd.

‘Are we getting in and out of here as well?’ She doubted that anyone would try to stop them. But maybe they should do what everyone else did. Stay.

[Navarre]

Navarre crossed her arms against her stomach and observed Guile as he went into the crowd. Just what was he doing? Perhaps he was having an episode as a result of his wife's death. Understandable. As long as he didn't hurt himself, she would leave him with his pain for the time being. Hermipises' death surely convinced him of the threat the insurrection posed, but letting him stew in the chaos would help the point sink in even further.

Glimpsing a burnt flower near her feet, she picked it up and examined it, slowly twirling it between her fingers. The insurrection's flames may have burned Marn's citizens, but they faded before they could do any significant damage. No doubt that was the insurrection's plan all along. Killing too many people would only hurt their cause, but a few casualties among the nobility would establish them as a serious force. And she was happy to let them, provided they didn't overreach themselves. Her success hinged on maintaining a balance between the rebellion's effectiveness and the strength of her own base. As long as the fire remained under control, it would be an effective reminder for why her followers needed their gardener.

She tossed the flower aside and leaned in close to one of her guards. “Search the crowd for Sehkhara,” she whispered. “If she's injured and alone, take her out quietly. Otherwise search for Calder and Lorenna and bring them to me.”

Once her guard departed, she headed for Guile, moving past the injured and dead without acknowledging them. “The Guard will be here shortly,” she said from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You're in no position to be wandering around on that leg. Please sit down before you make it worse.”

As she finished speaking, she noticed Camulous coming toward them – without Sehkhara. She doubted the good doctor was dead, but at the very least she was unguarded. It was unlikely her guard would have a chance to kill her, but the opportunity was there. “Captain Smithson! I'm pleased to see you're still with us.”

[Metarie]

Tius rattled off instructions for Talia, looking to Ree for confirmation, before acknowledging that he and the young woman were minimally harmed. Ree nodded. The man leaned closer.

"If you've got magic now's the time to use it. Stall the bleeding and let the bandages do the rest," he said, leaning in closer, "who can say what really happened in all this chaos?"

Ree didn’t have time to stare, her eyes dropped back to the wound. Instead her mouth drew into a thin line as she continued to staunch the blood and apply what little medicaments she had at her disposal. Times like these always challenged her ethics, which toed the line between the oath she had given to uphold the laws of Marn and the gut-knowledge that she could heal these people, could do so much good if she weren’t fettered by that oath. Duty versus Desire, doing what’s right no matter the situation… and arguing in her head about it, until with pain in her heart, she would default to adhering to the laws… because if she didn’t, then who would? Ree’s gaze lifted back to Tius. Her pupils were wide and dark. Golden flecks seemed to move, alight, in the dark green of her irises. She stared at him, willing him, hoping he would get what she meant.

“I could. Patients must accept the use of magic. If they are unable to accept, I cannot use it.” Ree leaned over her patient.
“Do you accept the use of magic to aid in your recovery?”

The man’s lips barely moved, but his head jerked side to side. Anguish twisted her features as she sat back and resumed the manual work. Possibly out of mercy, Tius said,

"I've got this one, doctor, keep moving."

Tius set her free, which was fine. He seemed to have some experience with situations like this. Only later would she wonder how such a young man, especially a Morrington, was so knowledgeable in such things. For now, though, there was no time to wonder. She’d done enough to keep the man from bleeding to death and needed to move on to the next one. Somehow, enough people had been mobilized that her triage approach was working. Her face, arm, and leg throbbed, but she ignored it. She stumbled once or twice as she moved to stand and walk, limping, to the next one.

Ree did not distinguish care based on who the person was or their stance. These people were her patients, her neighbors, and members of her community. They needed her help. Some were coherent enough to accept magic-based healing, which in the scheme of things created more risk for her. Not only was she injured and bleeding through the make-shift bandages on her leg, when she used her magic she gave a part of herself, her own life-essence, as the spark for the magic. Magic required a sacrifice, a payment, while the seal was in place. It came at a cost. The more she did it, the more likely it would be she would jeopardize her own life. Her own well-being didn't matter right now, though, someone else would need to worry about her for her.

How much time passed before support and supplies from the hospital arrived was an unknown. Ree's time was measured in the seconds it took to get from one person to the next, to stem the life-threatening injuries and make them 'just injuries', to live in the knowledge that the longer it took to work on one person, the more likely it was someone else might die. No pressure...

Navarre’s guard found Ree fairly easily and made the judgment call to leave the Doctor alive, for now. He’d seen her sway and place an arm to her forehead, leaving blood on her brow. The motion pulled the gash on her cheek and blood trickled along the line of her jaw, which she rubbed across her shoulder before looking up gratefully at him as he used a clean cloth to wipe her face and provided a bowl of clean water. She'd thanked him. He wondered if she would've done so if she'd known he was there to possibly kill her. He’d considered it, but the opportunity wasn’t now. There were too many people. She was too coherent for him to make an excuse and carry her off. There would be other opportunities. When he returned to Navarre, Calder was in tow, limping, but he bore news about Lorenna. She had died in the blast.

[Camulous Smithson]

Camulous walked through the debris carelessly. Glass and plaster crunched beneath his boots. He kept his eyes and ears open while adrenaline he knew how to harness sharpened his senses and slowed down his perception of time. He was determined not to let anything obvious slip by him while he walked through the mess, but nothing stood out in the chaos. Nothing would be settled in the University this night.

Part of him expected to find Navarre a bloody mess on the floor, victim of her own political gluttony. The other part of him knew she'd be alive, reveling in the social capital such a massacre would earn her cause. It was a testament to his single mindedness that he had no preference for either outcome. The damage was done and someone had crossed the line, be it Navarre or someone trying to kill her.

Nearer the center of the Gala the damage was worse. He passed Guile, who appeared to be in shock, and when he walked around what was left of Hermipise, he understood why. She was one of the worst victims he'd seen so far - torn up bad enough that it could have happened on a battlefield.

Camulous avoided stepping on anything that looked like flesh, and kept going. Blood mixed with a touch of sweat got into his eye and made him shut it tight. He wiped it away with a finger, leaving a smear across his face, and when he spotted Navarre with his good eye he looked anything but ready to humor her. Her faux show of support grated on him.

One of Navarre's guards hurried past him, and Camulous' eyes followed him until he was gone. The captain walked right up to Navarre and stood threateningly close. If any one of her lackeys wanted to stop him, they'd have to use force.

"Save it." He wasn't interested in listening to whatever she had to say. "You're under my custody now. You're coming with me to Fort Omenbryn. Argue with me, try and run, and you'll be lucky to see tomorrow."

[Navarre]

Before Navarre could register the news of Lorenna's death, she found herself with a new thorn in her side. She should have suspected as much, considering how Smithson had been trailing Sehkhara like a lost dog ever since they showed up. Putting this mongrel down wasn't a possibility, but she could certainly find a kennel for him.

She'd indulge him for the time being. After all, it didn't matter -- everything was in motion, moving too quickly to be stopped.

"Why, Captain Smithson -- such discourtesy is unbecoming of you. Even during a tragedy we must remember our manners, lest we descend into chaos." She glanced at her guards, who were standing closely around her, glaring at Camulous. "Now, gentlemen, there's no need for that. Captain Smithson is simply doing his duty. Why don't you help tend to the injured while we speak?"

Her guards gave Camulous one last threatening look, then departed into the crowd as instructed. Smiling, she faced him again. "If you have any questions for me, Captain, I'll gladly answer them," she said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. "But why in Omenbryn, away from the eyes and ears of Marn's people? Surely both of us have nothing to hide."

Turning on her heel, she walked further into the crowd, which spread out as she approached. "The Guard, ever our stalwart defender, is all that stands between us and the insurrection," she said, motioning to the carnage surrounding her. "Some might say they've failed us and the government, but I disagree. My father may have died under their watch, but I do not fault them for that. Nor do I blame them for Madam Vendeleur's death; nor Lord Modestine's; nor Lady Abernathy's. The bodies of our family and neighbors continue to pile up around us, but I'm sure the Guard is trying its best. So if Captain Smithson thinks I am an enemy of Marn, we should trust his judgment."

Looking over her guests, she saw anger growing on their bloodied faces. Perhaps the good Captain Smithson forgot he was in a room packed almost entirely with her supporters -- men and women who were emotionally unstable after losing friends and family. The Guard would arrive shortly, but how many? And would they be prepared for a riot? She would rather it didn't come to that, but that depended on Smithson's response.

"If I am a suspect, then we are all suspects. Lorenna Abernathy lies dead, and we are responsible. Minister Markus' wife's face is full of shrapnel, and we are responsible. Our loved ones are mangled beyond recognition, and we are responsible." Heated whispers came from the crowd. "But if Captain Smithson says so, who am I to argue?" She turned back to Camulous, revealing a sinister expression. "After all, if I refuse to cooperate, I will -- what were your words, exactly? -- be lucky to see tomorrow."

Her smile widened when she heard the gasps. Just as the crowd erupted into angry shouting, she raised her arms to silence them. "What do you need to know, Captain Smithson? I'm eager to continue doing your job for you."

[Guile]

As Guile moved through the crowd to Metarie, he was stopped by Navarre herself. She told him to sit down to avoid making his leg worse. He looked down at it; blood was beginning to soak his shoe, but he knew that it probably looked a lot worse than it was.

Guile gave her a stern look and promptly pulled away from her. "I am one of two people c-c-capable of helping in this st-storm of shit," he sputtered. An ache rumbled the pit of his stomach, and a foul emptiness swam up his backside as the thought and image of his dead wife followed him like a ghost. Guile was accustomed to seeing bodies cleanly cut open, and terrible injuries were things he'd seen many times. However, nothing like it had ever occurred to a loved one.

He pushed past Navarre to Ree, who was tending to the wounded. She didn't have many supplies either, but apparently had been able to get someone to bring her water and cloth. She was getting the required acceptance of magic to treat people. He barely paid attention to it. Instead, he grabbed a tablecloth that lay in a pile on the ground. There was a jug of water which he also took, and limped off in the opposite direction toward a group of people who has clearly been hit hard by the blast.

Two people were on the ground, unable to walk. The first had a leg bleeding profusely. Guile worked with quaking hands to stem the bleeding. His forehead was shining with sweat. The work was sloppy, but there was little he could do with such limited supplies. He made a tourniquet from a piece of torn tablecloth and wrapped it despite the wincing of his patient. He moved to the next, who had a similar story for her arm.

He heard commotion happening behind him, and turned to see the Captain and Navarre standing dangerously close to one another. Some people were shouting, but most were running and generally panicking.

[Luca Abernathy]

Conrad arrived on the scene swiftly, the large manservant to Luca Abernathy fit as a fiddle and motivated to run by the distressing sound of screams coming from the university hall where the gala was being held. In the chaos of the bombing's aftermath, Conrad was able to push his way in with little effort.

It took slightly longer to find Luca amidst the chaos, but the dandy's indigo and silver jacket was easy to spot even with the damage done by the shards of terracotta in his sometimes-lover's back. Conrad was next to Luca in an instant, and recognised Luca's cousin readily enough. A glance around told him Doctor Sekhara had her hands full, even though it seemed minister Markus was pitching in, and the number of wounded meant that Luca and the now-motionless Lorenna had not yet been seen to. The manservant made an executive decision. "Luca, can you hear me? I will take you to Reynard."

Luca was vaguely aware of Conrad's voice. "It's too late, old bean. I keep on telling them she's dead. It's always too late for things of beauty in this world". Yes, that was suitably melodramatic for the scene. That fit the script. Luca felt that he was starting to adjust to the scenario. Conrad sighed, convinced himself he was doing the right thing, then slapped Luca.

The self-absorbed Abernathy was shocked out of his malaise by the sting of Conrad's blow "What in the blazes are you doing, man?!" Conrad considered a second slap, but the bite of petulance in Luca's tone told him that his lord was back in the land of the lucid. Conrad stated the obvious for Luca "We must be getting you to Reynard, Luca. These doctors are too busy. You and the mistress both, yes? I will carry."

Luca didn't bother protesting as Conrad carefully picked up Lorenna, nestling the side of the woman which had not been peppered with potshards in his arms. The unconscious Lorenna looked very much like a corpse in Conrad's grip. "Come, Luca. I have her. We can be arranging the necessary things after you are being tended to." Luca came, cheek still stinging, and with the lucidity came the awareness that his back was stinging too. The nobleman's voice held a quavering sound as he asked "I say, Conrad, but how bad is my back?"

Conrad glared people out of his way to the door as he answered "Your coat is being ruined. And after I spent all that time cleaning it. Is beyond repair." Let Luca fret about threads and not rent flesh for now. Reynard could handle that side of things. Luca just nodded and trailed after his manservant, blood continuing to stain the jacket on his back, until they returned to Luca's nearby home to make Reynard's night miserable with actual medical work rather than the usual hangover remedies.

[Shanuri Laleonalia]

Shanuri leaned against the carriage. With the initial surge of adrenalin fading, her own wound was starting to ache harder, and the combination of pain and tension made her feel slightly nauseated. "Let's go with him," she responded to Haneul's wordless question. "I could use some stitching as well, otherwise I'm going to have a scar."

Sure, it would take a bit longer before they were rid of the boy, but they had a legitimate excuse of leaving the scene. Most likely the guard would seek them out later to ask questions, but as they did not actually know anything, and their backstories checked out, she told herself there was no reason why that would cause problems.

I wonder if Aurelio knows already.

She eased herself in the carriage and sat sideways, avoiding to lean her injured shoulder against the backrest. The carriage started moving jerkily, navigating its way through the meandering crowd. After the panicking and shell-shocked party guests seeking help or just wandering aimlessly around, there were the curious spectators, attracted by the noise and commotion. Shanuri closed her eyes and prayed for a quick exit. She was used to being on edge, as the performer on stage and as the assassin on the hunt, but the role of the prey was new and unpleasant.

If only I could know for sure it was us. And that the two of us weren't supposed to be among the targets.

It did occur to her that, intentionally or not, they were being made to taste their own medicine. Nameless terror was the Rebellion's main weapon. Whether someone was using it against them, or they had fallen into a trap set by their own people, was a question Shanuri knew was unlikely to ever be answered.

Let's just get ourselves out of here. Worry about implications and consequences later.

[Talia Idris]

Talia spent the next little while following the Doctor and Vincentius around, washing and binding the smaller wounds and even just comforting and calming some of the more panicked patients while the former or later performed more intense first aid. Although several hysterical women, and the rare man, were barely hurt and seemed to be making a big deal over nothing. Talia felt like slapping those ones in the face and tell them to get a grip and help out, leave or shut up but she had a feeling that would be the wrong approach, at least for someone of her status.

Things seemed to slowly becoming more organized and gradually Talia felt herself being less and less needed until she found herself standing against the wall, much like the start of the night. Her eyes darted around the room for Vicentius but either he had left or merely escaped her glance.

Sighing she waited a few more moments before quietly creeping towards an exit. She was tired and was holding back the desire to cry. With luck she could get away and pretend that the night never happened...or at least the end of the night. A small smiled darted across her face before quickly disappearing as her whole body shuddered briefly.

[Vicentius]

As the minutes wore on the sheer volume and mundanity of the task ahead of him wore through any horror that Tius might have felt. Pushing down his nausea, he took a sip of water to moisten his mouth before dampening a cloth and wiping away blood from another wound. Binding it as best he could, he wiped his hands on a bloody rag and leaned back to catch his breath. Around them, the inhabitants of the room had settled back into something resembling order. By which, he noted with a grim smile, he meant that they were whining and shuffling around with an air of entitlement once more. Using his status as lesser healer to full effect, he pawned off the more odious and less injured complaints on others and preserved what remained of his sanity.

Standing, he stretched and made for the kitchens. He needed a change of pace, and fetching some water for the healers would make a decent excuse. Somewhere along the line, he had lost Talia. She was doing admirably, for someone completely unaccustomed to this type of thing, but he couldn't blame her for wanting to duck out. Sure enough, when he glanced around, he spotted her making for the doors. Stopping, he listened to the hum of activity and watched the flow of people. As many people as were trying to get out of the building, there seemed to be equal amounts filtering back in, and above the moaning and the cries of pain he could hear shouting and the sounds of panic from outside. Something told him that as bad as things were here, it was not a good time to be out in the streets. Casting a weary eye at his now torn and bloodstained outfit, he winced as a brief pain arced through his thigh and paused near Talia.

"Abandoning us already, Talia?" he asked with a small, smile. "Can't say I blame you."

He paused and listened again to the sounds from outside. Closer to he could hear the barked commands and shrill whistles of the Guard and the Fire teams as they went about their duty. No, chances were what they were seeing here were the least of the city's problems. He cast a sidelong glance at Talia, who seemed to be barely holding it together, and shrugged.

"Sounds rough out there," he said, "I was going to fetch some tea for the good doctor. Couldn't tempt you, could I?"

Smiling again, he headed into the kitchen and began rooting through the chaos for crockery and warm food that hadn't been abandoned or smashed. It was a hard search. Everything seemed to be in chaos, and as he gathered the makings of a quick brew together, he wondered again what could have caused this. The blasts and shrapnel seemed to have come from the tables but he hadn't seen anything that could have hidden a bomb. But there had been no flames. Was it magical? No, Sekhara would have noticed that. Chemicals then? He'd have to look at the tables again when he got the chance.

[Talia Idris]

As she approached the doors a voice called to and caused her to stop in her tracks. Turning to the side she caught a glimpse of Tius, a rather comforting sight. Of course it would be even more comforting to be at home in her own bed, curling up in her own bed after a hot bath to soak away all the blood and ease the dull aches she was starting to feel. But he was right, it didn't necessarily sound safe out there. Perhaps if she stuck around a bit longer he would be willing to escort her home once things settled down a bit. She certainly wasn't in the mood to get any more cuts or bruises tonight.

Holding back another sigh Talia nodded stiffly and followed him towards the kitchen. As Tius searched for tea she set herself into the task of looking for teacups, sugar and milk that wasn't warm. "Just because everything is a chaotic mess isn't any reason to not have a proper tea." She murmered almost to herself as she emptied a tray of food and broken dishes into a sink as a garbage receptacle of any kind seemed missing from her sight.

Once the tray was set up with the mis-matched tea set Talia leaned on the counter, a hand creeping up to rub the kinks in the back of her neck. "Once we serve the Doctor some tea perhaps we can see if the rest of the crowd would like some. Not much can calm a crowd than a good cup of tea, think there is enough to go around?" Talia paused for a moment. "You sure you know what you are doing? I would rather not have tea spit back in my face because you brewed a minuted too long." She said trying to sound serious.

[Vicentius]

"I wouldn't joke about that," Tius said, with a smile, "in Tian Xia they take their tea very seriously."

Setting two kettles down to boil, he brushed himself off and crossed to where she stood. It was good that she was trying to lighten the mood, even if she didn't feel well. Faking it was sometimes an important part of making it, after all. But he could see that the events had shaken her badly, and who could blame her? These kinds of attacks were designed to shock and horrify people, after all. Yet again, the thought skittered across his mind; who had the resources to do this? And who stood to gain? There were too many unknowns. His eyes fell on a planter sat on the counter as he wondered. He had his suspicions, but this close, he dared not voice them. He could hear raised voices from the main chamber and sighed at the predictability of his countrymen.

"Hopefully they'll have other things on their minds than how they take their tea," he said, raising an eyebrow, "judging by the...tone...of our hostess' voice."

It was more than her tone; her whole posture screamed triumph. But Isyrion had created quite a stir with her xenophobic proclamations prior to this outing, and with her announcement of her patron's death she'd radiated satisfaction. But was she satisfied that her predictions were coming true, or was it satisfaction at a plan well-executed? Not that the good Captain was any better, he supposed. It seemed the default response to pressure was yelling and posturing. If it went on for too much longer, there would be war of a different kind in there. But, for the moment at least, that was someone else's problem.

"I'm glad you decided to stay," he said, "if I have to face a tea-hungry mob, I'd rather not do it alone."

The kettles began to whistle and he took them off the heat, filling some teapots and letting them brew. Even amidst all the panic, the smell of tea brought a smile to his face. He associated many fond memories with tea. Content that it had brewed for long enough, he poured out a cup.

"But you look like you need it more than they do," he said, sliding the hot cup and saucer to his companion. "Do you think it will pass inspection?"