Under the smoldering gaze of the Gun Knight's practiced expression (which he had secretly dubbed 'Iron Viper'), the princess melted into a giggling puddle of satin and fangirl glee. Zetsurin stared at the resulting non-Newtonian fluid with the solid appreciation of one professional appraising the work of an equal.

"My, my," the Merrow woman ara ara'ed, "That's quite the effect." She looked the Gun Knight over, and he struck a pose to accommodate her. "Hm. I have half a mind to offer you a position."

The Gun Knight changed poses, moving a few feet over so that an errant ray of light illuminated him.

"My dear, I never settle for just one position."

"Think she meant a job, Musashi." Rathus opined. Zetsurin waved her hand, as if to say 'either-or.'

Musashi sighed wistfully in response. "I regret to inform you that my love is not for sale. Much to the dismay of my wallet, and women everywhere."

Madame Seiryoku poured herself a drink, both bottle of gin and glass secreted from her kimono somehow. She gave Musashi a coy smile. "Well, if we don't pay you, then it won't be 'for sale'."

Musashi considered the generous offer for a moment, before sadly shaking his head. "You drive a hard bargain, but somehow I'll have to decline."

"Worth a try."

Zetsurin moved to the balcony, running her long nails along the banister with a whisper as she looked out over the crowd and stage. The first show of the night was about to begin, and the crew was busy setting things up, ushering the orchestra out of their holding pens and into the orchestra pit. She sat, deep in thought, as she observed the goings-on.

Rathus paused to check on Ruth. The princess seemed to be... fine? She didn't look unconscious, at least. Her face was frozen in a wide, goofy smile, her eyes glassy and unresponsive. Rathus figured there was no bigger issue, on account of the occasional giggle that bubbled forth from deep in her chest.

"I'm afraid I may have shorted out her fangirl breakers," Musashi explained. Rathus looked up at him as he continued. "She should be fine shortly. Very common."

"Well, I'll have to trust the expert," the older Gun Knight responded, standing up. He glanced over at the basket of pies. "Since when do you like mushrooms, anyways? You'd always pick them out of your rations."

Musashi winced, turning away to stare into the distance, an effect which was ruined somewhat by the fact that the wall was only a few feet away from him. He set himself instead to study the portrait of Zetsurin hanging on the wall. He was distracted from his thoughts by the craftsmanship of the work, as well as the suggestive way in which she was holding her spear. He tore his eyes from the portrait to answer Rathus.

"I... ah, my apologies. Truth be told, I'm still not much of a fan. On one of my Quests, I happened to remark to a Duchess on how delicious her pie was. " He considered for a moment, then clarified, "An actual pie, mind you. Beef and mushrooms, gravy, that sort of thing. I believe my exact words were that it was 'the finest thing I had ever eaten'. To my luck, it turns out that that Quest in particular became quite a popular story. And so now my love of Blue Helmet mushrooms is common knowledge."

The Gun Knight shrugged, tucking his hands into his pocket as he walked around to the other side of the table. "Nevertheless, I was not lying, Rathus. It was delicious. Because it had the most delicious ingredient of all in it."

"Flava beans?" Rathus suggested.

"Okay, it had the second-most delicious ingredient in it. Love."

Rathus sighed. "Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that." He looked over at Ruth, resting recumbent on the recliner. "Still, I can't say you're wrong."

A sudden clearing of a throat drew the attention of both Knights. "Pardon the interruption, gentlemen, but while on the subject of food: I had a few questions. Do you have any dietary restrictions or preferences?"

"No radishes," Musashi replied.

Rathus shrugged. "I ain't picky. Good with most things."

"Very good, sirs," Regis acknowledged, jotting it down on a notepad and looking over to the princess. "And, Her Highness? Do you happen to be familiar with her preferences?"

Rathus gave him a slow, reluctant nod. Yes, as a matter of fact, he did know her preferences. She'd made her preferences abundantly clear the first time Rathus had started cooking on the road. The Gun Knight's eyes flickered, as he recalled her exact words, and the lecture came flooding back.

"No raw tomato, no zucchini, cut the crust off of bread if it's a sandwich, otherwise leave it on. No shellfish. Beef must be medium-well, pork and chicken must be fully cooked, but never boiled, never charred or burned. Spinach only if it's been properly triple-washed..."

Musashi left him to his recitation, heading out to the balcony, to stand with Zetsurin. The Merrow woman was smoking a cigarillo while scrutinizing the proceedings below. A stagehand below threw a side of beef into the orchestra pit, where it was immediately set upon and torn apart by a pack of flautists.

"It's quite an impressive business you've set up here," the Gun Knight observed. The Matron glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but simply shook her head, blowing out a spiraling ring of smoke.

"No... not yet. All this..." She gestured at the ballroom below, "It's a good first step. I'm not about to pretend it isn't already the best place in this sleepy town. But this is only a fraction of what I have planned. It's a dream in the process of coming true."

"So this isn't even its final form, eh?" Musashi muse-ashied, scratching his cheek. "A mighty dream indeed."

Zetsurin stared at the stage, a faraway look in her eye that had nothing to do with the conductor forcing a snarling second-string violinist back into the pit with a stunprod. She looked wistful, as if she had just eaten a big bowl of wists, and was so bloated that they were coming out of her eyes.

"Mighty? Well, of course. I only wish it weren't so... fragile." She winced, as if this admission was painful to her. "If this discussion with Crumpet doesn't go well..."

Musashi nodded. "Well, I'll keep my fingers crossed on your behalf." He started to stand, then paused, as if something had occurred to him. He leaned back onto the banister.

"Speaking of that..." he began, lowering his voice. "You are aware that rooting out and dealing with corruption is one of the duties of a Gun Knight, yes?"

Zetsurin turned to face him fully, blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth in a huff. Musashi continued, staring her in the eyes.

"Now, myself. I consider myself easygoing. I am perhaps a bit more lenient, depending on the situation, but Rathus is..." He looked over at the Gun Knight, who was animatedly discussing the complex geometric patterns that Ruth demanded her pizza be cut into, for 'optimal topping-to-crust ratio and aesthetic.' Musashi leaned in a bit closer to the ex-adventurer.

"Rathus takes that part of his job VERY seriously. He has a certain zeal to the task. Something of a... personal history, you might say."

Zetsurin glanced over at Rathus, nodding. "I'm not a fool, you know. Do you really think I would bribe somebody so openly?" She took another drag of her cigarillo. "It's... let's call it more of a contractual dispute. The Empire isn't holding up their end of an agreement. All of this..."

She gestured to the balcony to the right, where murky shapes could be seen moving in the darkness. Presumably, Kate and the official. "It's not a bribe, it's just tactics. I want him in a good mood before the battle begins. If you want to sit in to make sure there's no hijinks, be my guest." Her eyes flashed. "In fact, it's good that you're here. I could make better headway if you had my back."

Musashi turned and leaned against the banister, casually splaying his arms across it. "Well, I may be otherwise occupied. Depending on the 'when', I'll probably be busy..." He grinned, "Having somebody else's back, let us say."

Zetsurin gave him a dismissive wave. "Yes, well. Your patronage is always welcome."

Musashi nodded towards the older Gun Knight. "But Rathus would be happy to help, I'm sure."

"—but only the red ones on Tuesdays," Rathus finished. He took a deep breath as the Dwarf finished jotting down on his notepad. "You get all that?"

"Very good, sir," Regis answered, completely unphased by the princess's complex tastes. "I'll be sure to relay this to the kitchens. If you excuse me, I'll be back shortly."

Regis excused himself and headed out. Moments after he left the room, the lights began to dim throughout the ballroom, every mage-light apparently synced together. The ballroom hesitantly descended into darkness, like it was entering a cold swimming pool, easing itself in an inch at a time. The warm flickering of candlelight marked each table, as waiters and waitresses navigated the darkness using pure instinct, like a salmon returning to spawn. Fitting, as many were carrying caviar. Suddenly, a series of spotlights snapped into life, bathing the stage in a bright white glow.

"Ah, it's starting!" Musashi gasped, turning to beckon Rathus to the balcony. The older Gun Knight joined them, taking one of the balcony seats. His belt caught on the coral teeth of the open-backed chair, but he shifted a bit, getting it loose before settling in.

Zetsurin settled in to her seat, and Musashi plopped into the seat next to her. "You know," he asked, "I've never heard of this 'Magical Margeret.' What sort of show is it?"

"Well—" Zetsurin began, before a voice suddenly interrupted her.

"Thank you kindly, Ser Knight. That it meets with your approval is the highest form of praise I could hope for," Ruth announced suddenly. The Gun Knights glanced over at the princess, who had suddenly joined the world of the living once more. Musashi's eyes flickered, and he realized suddenly that she had picked up the conversation immediately from where he had left off when she gave him the pie. He would say that she hadn't missed a beat, but quite a few beats had in fact passed.

Ruth blinked in confusion. "...why am I seated on the couch?"

"Occupational hazard," Musashi explained, refusing to elaborate further.

Sufficiently cowed, the orchestra had seized their instruments, and began to play the opening overture. Ruth, realizing that the show was starting, quickly hopped to her feet and moved to the balcony. She hesitated when she saw the unoccupied seat between Rathus and Musashi. She gulped once, but steeled herself and sat down next to the legendary Gun Knight, and that other guy.

"Have I missed anything?" She asked.

"No," Rathus replied, "looks like the show is just about to start."

Down below, the curtains opened, and the show began in earnest.

******

Up in the rafters, a crew of stagehands was hard at work. Two massive magelights on either side of the stage made up the spotlights. They were mounted on a swivel, and the crew aimed them both to focus on the lone figure standing on the stage. A tinted lens was slid into place in front of the magelight, casting a purple hue over the star of the show.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the Dessite woman on stage shouted, "Thank you for coming out today! We've got a great show planned for you! I'm Magical Margaret, and these are my merry players!"

Margaret raised her hand, bringing forth a round of applause and cheers from the audience. The woman was undoubtedly a performer, as her outfit was one that even most adventurers would consider on the border of eccentric. Her outfit was a strange combination of a leotard and tuxedo. A black leotard below a white dress shirt and a full tuxedo jacket, long tails included. Atop her straight white hair, she wore a purple top hat, swimming with golden stars that shifted along its surface. Her outfit was completed with a pair of sheer black tights and a set of black pumps, complete with white spats. She gestured with one white-gloved hand, and sparks shot from her fingertips, before transforming into ephemeral butterflies that coalesced into a kaleidoscope of colors.

The Star Mage winked one golden eye at the audience, giving a twirl as she snatched the hat from atop her head, rolling it down one shoulder and into a waiting hand. She held the hat as if she were dumping water from it, and when nothing happened, she gave it an exacerbated look, patting the top of the hat like a ketchup bottle.

Her eyes flashed, and a cloud of glowing mist suddenly poured from the hat's opening, spilling out and billowing across the stage. From their vantage point in the balcony, Rathus and company could just barely see above the mist, to glimpse the stagehands moving a few set pieces into position.

For the rest of the audience, when the mist cleared, the scene had changed magically from an empty stage to a farm, with a stone well in the back-center. Plywood trees were arranged neatly in the back of the stage, with papier-mache apples carefully strapped to the branches. A fence surrounded the farm, with a rocking chair poised just outside, off to one side. A man was sleeping in the rocking chair, a corked shotgun draped across his lap.

From the cheers from the crowd, it would seem that this man was the lead. Either that, or they fucking loved rocking chairs, which is completely understandable. The man seated in the iconic rocking chair was Dessite at first glance, although a closer look revealed that it was merely a Stentorian man with a Summer complexion, a dark brown that was similar, but slightly darker than the common Dessite complexion.

He wore a jet-black wig on his head, short and slicked back, with a cardboard crown on top, sloppily crafted, but giving the impression of a crown made of flames. The man was wearing a prosthetic nose, a foot long and rigid, with a small mustache fixed to the very end of it. He was wearing bright, garish robes in a violent clash of purples, greens, oranges, and blues, like a Jester who was aiming for the 'being executed' speedrun.

"One day," Margaret narrated, smiling at the audience from the corner of the stage, "Dozing Lord Wyllem was hard at work, guarding his precious farm, and his beloved well."

The cigarillo holder snapped in Zetsurin's hand as she stared down at the stage. "They're doing Lazy Wyllem? Why tonight? I told them..." She looked nervously over to the Gun Knights, forcing a smile as she pulled another cigarillo holder from a sleeve pocket to replace the broken one. Her guests hadn't seemed to have noticed her, transfixed by the events on the stage. Whether that was good or not remained to be seen.

Down below, the orchestra settled into a low, suspenseful tune, as a skulking figure snuck in from the stage opposite the rocking chair. He was a tall Stentorian man, dressed as a dapper rogue, complete with a long goatee that hung below his chin. He was hunched over, a large pair of goat horns affixed to his head.

The rogue tiptoed quietly from the stage, looking furtively around as he took comically large steps. He reached the fence, and attempted to vault it, knocking the prop over and drawing a raucous peal of laughter from the crowd.

"But what's this? It looks like The Goat has come to cause some trouble! What will our hero do?"

The rogue sat up quickly, looking over to the hero in the rocking chair, who merely snorted and shifted in response. The rogue wiped his brow in mock relief. He hopped to his feet, skulking over to the trees. He snatched a few apples and tucked them into his basket, before snickering and reveling to the audience, like the absolute criminal madman he was. He was met with a mix of boos and cheers, which he quickly shushed, waving his arm and looking over at Wyllem, who snored in response.

The robber continued on to the well, where he rubbed his hands together and grabbed the bucket, holding it up reverentially. He chuckled to himself, shoulders heaving as he exaggerated the gesture for the benefit of the crowd. His heist complete, he tucked the bucket under his arm and ran off to the side of the stage.

The rope, still attached to the bucket, unspooled quickly from the crank on the top of the well, foretelling disaster.

Margaret wiggled her fingers, eyes flashing as she synchronized magical effects with the events on-stage. As the robber met the end of the line, the rope pulled taut. The snap of the rope immediately arrested his movement, causing him to pratfall backwards onto his rear end, accompanied by a magical "BANG" and a sunspot of light. He got up and silently lectured the bucket, before seizing it and trying, to no avail, to yank it free of the well.

As he struggled, our hero, Dozing Lord Wyllem, suddenly yawned, stretching as he awoke from his long slumber. He smacked his lips as he woke up, looking sleepily out at the audience. The Lord pulled himself to his feet, stumbling forward, his shotgun dragging across the stage behind him. He flopped forward, his legs still too tired to support his weight, and plopped onto the stage, accompanied with a loud SPLAT sound, courtesy of Margaret.

Amidst the laughter of the crowd, Wyllem dragged himself to his feet, and stumbled over to the well. He reached out, grabbing the bucket that wasn't there, and, in perfect pantomime, poured the non-existent bucket's invisible contents into his open mouth, tongue extended. He shook the invisible bucket long enough for the audience to laugh at the suggestive movements, then opened his eyes, confused at the refusal of water to materialize from thin air.

He stared at his empty hands in shock, before whipping around, looking for his precious bucket. However, The Goat had noticed his confusion, and had wisely chosen to hide, placing the bucket over his head. The tactic proved effective, as Wyllem scratched his head in confusion, wandering around and looking for the bucket. He walked past The Goat, even going so far as to casually move the thief aside to check behind him.

After a minute of searching proved fruitless, Dozing Lord Wyllem moved back to the well. He leaned against it, thumbing his nose while he thought, each motion causing the proboscis to bounce up and down like a spring. Suddenly, inspiration struck him, and he lit up, literally, as a gesture from Margaret caused a flash of light behind his head. Wyllem walked to the crank on the well, and began to turn it, drawing the rope towards the well, and with it, The Goat, who shuffled with tiny steps to travel closer.

Wyllem stared intently at the spool, as it wound the rope up, and missed as The Goat gently removed himself from the bucket, sneaking over to crouch behind the foolish Lord. Wyllem finished winding the rope, and let out a sigh of relief as he pointed to the bucket. He wiped his brow and reached out for the bucket, only to have The Goat shove him from behind, sending him tumbling into the well. Margaret thrust her hand out, and water splashed from the depths of the well in a great gout. The Goat seized the bucket, and immediately ran for stage left, meeting the exact same fate he met previously, falling onto his ass in his haste.

This time, however, he drew a knife and began cutting the rope. As he cut at the rope, a hand reached up and grabbed the edge of the well, and little Dozing Lord Wyllem drew himself up out of the stone ring, before slipping and falling back in with another splash.

"Will Wyllem be able to get himself free in time to stop The Goat's evil plans?"

To the encouraging cheers of the crowd, Wyllem drew himself out of the well, tumbling over the edge. The Goat finished cutting the rope, but stared up in horror as Wyllem marched over to him. The Lord lifted the shotgun up, slinging it over his shoulder, and aiming it towards The Goat. The Goat cringed in horror, closing his eyes, but the foolish Lord was holding the gun backwards, with the barrel resting on his shoulder and pointing out behind him. The Goat trembled, as Dozing Lord Wyllem fired the cork out behind him, accompanied by a loud POP generated by Margaret.

After a moment of confusion, Wyllem began looking around for the shot. The Goat opened one eye, and pat himself down to realize he was unharmed, as Wyllem realized the cork was hanging from a string, bouncing against the small of his back. He tried to seize it, turning himself in the process, and quickly engaged in spinning in circles trying to reach the cork which hung, effectively, from his shoulder. The Goat looked over at him, and seized both the opportunity and the bucket, snatching it up and running off-stage.

Wyllem finally lifted the shotgun, ending his mad chase for the cork. He reloaded the gun and held it up, before realizing his error and quickly turning it around to wield it correctly. He braced himself, taking a beat before he realized that he was alone on stage. He dropped the gun and looked around in confusion, before scratching his head and giving chase, running the offstage, in the wrong direction.The curtains closed, hiding the set, while Margaret, outside the curtains, moved to the center stage.

"It looks like Lord Wyllem's precious bucket has been stolen! How will he get his water now? We'll find out soon! For now, though, it's my time to shine! Magical Margaret is here to bring you a shining, sparkling display of magic and wonder~!"

Zetsurin shifted uncomfortably. "Before you say anything, I just want to be clear that they are not employees of ours. In fact, I had told them not—"

"It's Dozing Wyllem now, huh?" Rathus asked. He leaned back in his chair."For Regent Shado, right? Dozing, as in, Dozarias?"

"I always thought the name was a bit of a stretch," Ruth replied. "Was it something else before?"

"When I was a kid, it was just Lazy Wyllem. There'd always be a couplea performers at the fair. Usually grousing about taxes or else just doin' run-of-the-mill antics."

"Name aside, they at least have the nose spot-on," Musashi joked.

Madame Seiryoku blinked at the knights, her normally sleepy expression widening for a moment in surprise. "That's a surprisingly candid take. Here I assumed you would be... displeased."

Musashi laughed as if he found the idea outlandish. "It's just a farce. No point in getting angry over it."

The other Gun Knight gave a noncommittal shrug. "I was never a big fan of them, but I ain't about to come down on them, if that's what you're asking."

Ruth shook her head. "Personally, I was never a fan of them. I tolerate them, of course, but I still feel that fostering and normalizing anti-government attitudes sets a dangerous precedent. Especially now, with Drover and his rebels about."

"I dunno about precedent," Rathus replied, "But the public's got a right to criticize the Empire. This ain't a tyranny, there ain't no point in crushing dissent. I'm fine with them shouting, just as long as it don't end in shooting."

On the stage below, Margaret was performing a card trick, throwing the deck into the air, where it transformed into a flock of doves. Before the audience's wondering eyes, each bird swooped out, grabbing twigs, bits of napkin, and other scraps of fabric, to come back and build a communal nest. Margaret reached into the nest to withdraw an egg, which she cracked and opened to reveal the 9 of Clubs.

The audience erupted into cheers, which almost drowned out the knocking on the door. After a perfectly-calculated polite delay, the door opened and Regis stepped in, followed by a few attendants, pushing plate-laden carts. They sprang to work, moving around the table and setting down the dishes.

"First course:", Regis announced, "A mixed green salad with a balsamic glaze and maple-crusted pecans. Beef filet, on a bed of pilaf. We also have a basket of pitas, served alongside artisinal honey butter and a garlic-infused mascarpone."

The plates were set around the table, two small plates per setting, one for the salad and one for the beef. Steam rose from the hot plates, filling the room with a delicious aroma.

Rathus's stomach grumbled. He looked back and forth from the stage to the table. "Can we see the show from the table? Seems a little too far in the room for that."

Zetsurin smirked. "Well, that's what the trays are for." She gestured to the side of the chair, folding out a table to fall upon her lap. "There isn't always a show going, but if you'd like to eat while watching, we've already thought of that."

"And..." she nodded to Regis, who grinned a smile, his eye glinting.

"There's no need to worry about eating it quickly if you're busy enjoying the show," Regis explained. He slapped the table like a used car salesman. "There is a Script built into the table, which creates a Domain of stasis, to keep the hot food hot, and the cold food cold, and everything fresh, until you're ready to eat.

Ruth smiled, nodding in appreciation. "My Grand Dining Hall has just such a table. It's marvelous. Especially when holding a ball."

"Indeed," Regis agreed, giving a quiet bow. "We hold a great many balls in this establishment. It has proven itself well-worth the investment."

Musashi whistled. "A Script like that is quite the investment." He glanced out over the balcony at the scores of tables below. "You have this on every table?"

Regis shook his head. "Goodness no. Only in the three VIP rooms. We could hardly afford to apply it to all those tables down there. Thankfully, there's little need to do so, as most of our tables are in plain view of the stage."

Rathus thanked the attendants, who bowed and backed out of the room. He stood and glanced down at the stage, where Magical Margaret had used her Star Magic to summon a blindfolded cockatrice, which she was prompting to leap through a floating ring of fire. He tore his eyes from the show, and got up to fetch his plate. Musashi leaned back and somersaulted over his chair, hopping over to scoop up a pair of plates, which he set in front of Ruth.

"Your Highness."

Ruth brightened, and, caught off guard, mumbled a quiet thanks. After a minute or two, everybody had fetched their food, and were settled in. Ruth took a bite of the filet, and her eyes went wide in shock.

"This is... perfect!" she gasped, delicately, but eagerly taking a bite of the pilaf.

Regis gave a confident laugh. "But of course. DWARVEN CUISINE IS THE GREATEST IN THE WORLD!" He trumpeted.

The party dug in with great zeal as Magical Margaret finished her latest trick, pulling a rabbit out of her hat by the ears. She held it out, and it transformed into a rabbit Walpurgis woman, wearing a similar outfit to Margaret. The audience cheered, as the assistant took a bow and left the stage.

Margaret gave a bow as well, then waved her hand, signalling the lights to dim. A spotlight centered on her once more.

"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, we'll check in on our old friend Dozing Lord Wyllem. Will he be able to save his precious bucket from the hands of The Goat? We follow him now as he goes to check in with his good friend..."

The curtains opened, revealing Wyllem wringing his hands outside his well. In the background, a few people dressed as farm animals, as well as a man dressed as a tree were holding signs, demanding water.

Regis looked over at the Gun Knights. "Oh dear." He glanced at Zetsurin. "Does the entertainment present a problem for our guests?"

"Please, think nothing of it," Ruth reassured him, "While care must be taken to balance the stability of a populace, it is equally important for a ruler to hear the grievances of his people. One must have thick skin to rule. After all, it is still the duty of—"

"And here comes his friend, King Dennis!" Margaret announced, as a man wearing a fake crown and a massive purple robe waddled onstage. His robe was stuffed with enough pillows that he looked positively spherical, and clearly had trouble walking.

"What." Ruth carefully set her food aside and leaned out of her seat, staring daggers down at the stage. "Is that meant to be my father?! Those disrespectful cretins!"

On the stage, the pair of hapless heroes were standing around the well, trying to figure out how to get it to work without a bucket. They tried to send 'King Dennis' down the well, but when he proved too fat to fit into the opening, they sent Lord Wyllem down instead, who climbed back up after some time, triumphantly holding aloft a thimble of water, which they offered to the protesting animals.

Ruth watched with a simmering malcontent that only grew as the farce progressed. She took her anger out on her meal, devouring it without a shred of thought given to table manners. Of course, she still used her cutlery, and was careful not to make a mess, but she was using her soup spoon for the pilaf, and her dessert fork for the salad. Like an animal.

A knock at the door interrupted the performance. Zetsurin took the opportunity to escape the growing tension of the princess, gliding away from the balcony to answer the door. Rathus turned out of curiosity, to see Kate standing in the doorway. She wore a sheepish expression, and spoke urgently to Zetsurin, although they were too far to be heard clearly over the show below. The Matron sighed, sagging slightly as she supported herself on the door. She shook her head, then reached into her sleeve and handed Kate the key-seal she had used previously to unlock the room.

Kate took it happily, muttering what looked like a thanks before heading off down the hallway at a rapid pace. Madame Seiryoku shook her head, closing her door before returning to her seat.

"You know..." Musashi mused as she returned. "Present company aside, I wonder how that official is taking this satire. He struck me as the sort of man who has no respect for levity."

Zetsurin's eyes glazed over as she considered it. "Ugh. I hadn't considered that." She casually bent and unbent her steak knife as she thought about it. "Maybe we'll be lucky. Maybe it'll impress on him the seriousness of the situation."

"What'd Kate want?" Rathus asked. "That is, if it's not private."

The Merrow woman sighed for the four-thousandth time that night. She was quickly burning through her quota. "She accidentally locked herself out of her room, somehow. She couldn't find her key, and didn't want to disturb Oliver by knocking. Most likely, she left it on the table. Again."

Rathus had nothing significant to contribute to that, and so the group's attention quickly returned to the meal, and the show. It was entertaining at first, simple slapstick humor. But as it continued, Rathus found his smile slowly fading.

The heroes' attempts at drawing water became more and more desperate, the animals growing more and more insistent. The slapstick devolved in humor, becoming more violent as the animals went thirsty, taking it out on the heroes between attempts to draw water, each more outlandish than the last. Eventually, under assault by the animals, Wyllem and King Dennis resorted to pushing the entire well away, rolling the set piece on its wheels as they fled off-stage.

The curtains closed, and Margaret walked onto the center stage. "Will Lord Wyllem and his good friend King Dennis get their well fixed? Will they catch the dastardly Goat?" She leaned forward towards the crowd, giving them a wide-armed shrug and a wink.

"I suppose we'll have to find out."

"But! Before we go, I've got a final set of tricks for you!" Her eyes flashed, and she began floating into the air, as her Walpurg assistant pulled out a large box and a rack of spears

"That doesn't bode well..." Rathus mused.

"Indeed," Musashi agreed. "That's a lot of spears."

Rathus rolled his eyes. "No, not that. The Lazy Wyllem play."

"Dozing Wyllem."

"Whatever you want to call it. They usually have Wyllem, y'know, representing the Empire and all, blunder around for a bit. But, well, they always have a happy ending, at the least." Rathus stared down as Margaret jammed the spears into the box at haphazard angles, while the smiling assistant sat completely unphased, her head sticking out the top.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Hmm..." Musashi hmmed. "I can see what her highness was saying about precedent. You think people are losing faith in the Empire?"

"Perhaps the writers are part of the Rebellion," Ruth suggested, eyes blazing.

"I... don't know if I'd go that far." Rathus replied cautiously. "Although, I guess it ain't impossible. But I don't think it's likely, either."

"Well, it's just... so- so...My father is NOT fat, okay?" she blurted out, her voice high and defensive. "I... I know it's just a farce. I doubt the Lord Regent's nose is a foot long either, but. I just- just want to be sure that that's clear, understood? My father is not fat."

"Fear not, your highness," Musashi assured her, "I believe you. This play was... well, it was rather callous, if you ask me."

"AND NOW... MY FINISHING MOVE!" Margaret roared, and summoned a massive, ephemeral axe, which she used to violently bisect the box at a diagonal. The box fell to pieces, and the assistant popped up from the wreckage, completely unharmed. The crowd went wild, and the curtains opened, with all of the actors lining up to take their bow.

As some stagehands cleaned up the wreckage of the box, and the orchestra handlers came down with the nets, Margaret bowed once more.

"Thank you for coming out, Ladies and Gentleman! Feel free to stick around, because soon we'll have the Astounding Professor Wardenclyffe, and his wonders of technology! Be sure to tip your waitress, and if you're looking to give a tip to somebody else, please inquire about the affordable rates!"

Musashi stood and stretched, twisting with catlike dexterity, before he tapped Rathus on the shoulder to get his attention.

"I'm going to take a quick walk. I'll be back before the next course."

The Gun Knight nodded to his younger counterpart, who left the room at a casual pace. Once he was out of sight, Ruth buried her face in her palms.

"Oh Gods... Rathus, I'm making a fool of myself."

The Gun Knight casually patted her on the back, drawing a look of disapproval from Regis, who was of the opinion that such a gesture was wholly too casual to perform on a member of the Nobility. Rathus hadn't even extended his pinky.

"I don't think that's true. You did fine."

The princess shook her head. "I don't even know what sort of topics to talk to him about. And when I do open my mouth, it's either to gush over him, or say something foolish. Am I really just as bad as a simple, run-of-the-mill fangirl?"

"Well," Rathus said, scratching his chin. "That ain't being fair. You were raising a few good points about the play, for one."

"Sure," Ruth admitted, "until I made a point of telling him that my father wasn't fat. As if I were a child who believed that plays were real life, or believed in silly things like boogiemen or clowns."

Rathus decided not to take her comment personally, fingering his anti-clown charm that he kept in his pouch.

"Well..." he replied, "Look, the key to conversation is to talk about something you're both into, ain't it? Why not ask him about himself? That's his favorite topic."

Ruth snorted in laughter, then leaned back in her seat, calming down a bit. "Perhaps. I would certainly be glad to discuss himself with himself. Although I doubt that would do much to separate myself from the common chaff."

The Gun Knight shrugged. "Just a suggestion." He stood as well, stretching, and turned as a knock at the door revealed itself to be Kate and Mr. Crumpet.

"Pardon the intrusion," the official said, chuckling to himself.

"Oliver!" Zetsurin replied, her voice smooth and friendly like a puppy made of silk. "How did you find the food?"

"Oh, it was delicious!" the official said, rubbing his stomach. "I can never say no to a good meal!"

Madame Seiryoku smiled. "Well, let's keep that sentiment for our discussion. Ah... About the show—"

"Oh, that was wonderful as well!" Mr. Crumpet chirped.

The Matron looked at him, tilting her head, standing with a confused tension, as if she wanted to relax but wasn't sure if it was safe yet.

"Truly?"

"Oh yes," he gushed. "All those magic tricks, so amazing! And that fellow with the big nose, and that fat friend of his? It was hilarious! All the animals as well. Just a bang-up job all around."

"You weren't... offended?" she asked, quietly incredulous.

"Offended? About what?"

The Merrow woman blinked at him. He seemed completely oblivious to the message of the play. Well, she wasn't about to prod him on it. If he was too foolish to realize he was the butt of the joke, then all the better for her.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you enjoyed yourself. I trust Kate was," she smiled coyly at him, "accommodating?"

"Oh, very much so!" the official replied, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket to pat his forehead. "When my drink ran out, she was quick to go get it refilled. Excellent service! I could use an assistant like her around the office, I tell you."

Zetsurin raised an eyebrow and looked over to Kate, who gave her a helpless shrug, shaking her head.

"Fantastic," she said through clenched teeth. "Well, if you have a spare moment, I'd like to discuss my contract with the Astral Well."

"Ah, of course, of course," Mr. Crumpet replied.

Zetsurin led him to the table. He pulled out a chair, then shrugged out of his suit jacket. "I hope you don't mind. I'm afraid it's a bit warm in here." Zetsurin gestured her casual approval to him, and he looked around the room.

"You know, I might suggest getting a coat rack in these rooms," He noted He began folding his suit, setting it on the table.

"Perhaps that would be wise," Madame Seiryoku admitted. "Most of our clients check their coats at the door, so it usually doesn't come up."

Mr. Crumpet stared at her, aghast. "At the door?! Goodness, no! Could you imagine, walking around with no coat? It'd be the height of impropriety for me to be strolling around half-naked," He replied, scandalized in his half-nude state of wearing pants, suspenders, shirt, undershirt, bow tie, as well as both socks and shoes.

"O-of course," the Merrow woman responded. "Well, if you'd like, you can set your coat on the back of the chair for now."

The official shook his head. "Oh, I would never hang my coat on my chair, either. That's an excellent way to scuff up your neckline, you know. But that's fine. I can set it here, if you don't mind."

He set the folded-up coat on the table, and steepled his fingers, looking around the room.

Kate took a seat next to him, and Zetsurin gestured for Rathus to sit as well. Rathus was a bit taken aback, pointing at himself silently to confirm. When Zetsurin gestured towards the chair again, the Gun Knight shrugged, but took a seat, followed shortly by Ruth.

"Ser McGaff," Oliver greeted him with a nod of the head.

"Just Rathus is fine," Ser McGaff replied. Mr. Crumpet gave him a blank smile, offering no indication that the request had penetrated any further than the fat of his forehead.

"Now, down to business." Madame Seiryoku announced, her voice taking on the crisp, prim tones of a schoolteacher, or a matron (the arguably less-sexy variety).

"You are, of course, aware of my contract with the Astral Well. Due to the high demand for my establishment, we have an agreement for certain Mana demands to be met, which was drafted over a year ago, and has been ratified and in effect since. If I can direct your attention to Article 3, Paragraph 5, Line 3. 'This agreement shall not—'"

"Erm... Pardon me," Mr. Crumpet replied, raising his hand. "But I'm afraid I haven't memorized the contract."

The Merrow woman blinked, then gave him an understanding nod. "Ah, of course. My apologies. Serenity is an easy thing to take for granted." She snapped her fingers, and Regis produced a small sheaf of papers, handing one set to Mr. Crumpet, and another to Rathus and Ruth, who crowded to look over the paper.

"Mind if I...?" Rathus asked, taking the paper in hand. Ruth nodded to him, and the Gun Knight held each paper up, flipping through them for a second until he'd looked at each page in turn, then handing it fully to Ruth.

"Alright, it's all yours," he said. When the princess raised an eyebrow, he tapped the side of his head. "It's all up here. Eiditic memory, remember?"

Zetsurin gave him a sly look. "Useful, isn't it? Now then..."

She closed her eyes, and they flickered under their lids. "Please turn to page 3, where you'll find Article 3."

Ruth and the official flipped to the appropriate pages, while Rathus closed his own eyes, Recalling the page he'd just looked at, and bringing a crystal-clear memory directly to mind.

"As I said prior, Article 3, Paragraph 5, Line 3. 'This agreement shall not be infringed upon by yearly changes in quota, or by changes in regulatory policy, unless directly addressed by the CLIENT and the ASTRAL WELL under arbitration."

She smiled to Mr. Crumpet, with a friendly mouth full of fangs. "I would certainly classify the current situation as a 'change in regulatory policy'. As you can see, our current agreement is still valid."

Mr. Crumpet shook his head. "That may be true, but under the Resource Emergency Act, we can cancel or defer existing contracts in a state of emergency. Which, of course, is clearly what we are in. I'm afraid we need to ration our Mana for all but the most vital of services."

Zetsurin nodded quickly, "Of course, of course. But I'll remind you of how vital this establishment is to the city. The tax income alone represents a significant portion of the city's income, and that's not even counting the less quantifiable benefits it brings."

Mr. Crumpet frowned, clearly unhappy at hearing the words 'less quantifiable'. "What sort of benefits do you mean?"

"Well," Madame Seiryoku asked, giving a broad smile, "what sort of reasons would bring somebody of means out to this, the edge of the civilized Empire?"

"Political gain or contractual obligations?" Ruth suggested.

"Plentiful natural resources?" Rathus opined.

"Yes, yes, both of those are true," Zetsurin replied, agitated, "But neither of those necessarily present a reason for them to STAY. After all, a town like this barely has the sort of luxuries they're used to. Except, of course, for the Ocean's Motion. That's the sort of experience worth staying for. The sort of experience, in fact, worth traveling for. Tourism brings compounding opportunities."

Mr. Crumpet shook his head. "It's certainly good food, Miss Seiryoku, but I don't know that I'd say it's vital."

The business owner sighed, then looked over to Rathus and the princess.

"And, is there anything either of you could do? What's your take on this state of emergency?"

Ruth shook her head. "While I am an Imperial Sovereign, I unfortunately have no such power to de-escalate a state of emergency. As for other means, I've not completed my Law studies fully, but this contract does not appear that it has anything preventing it from being deferred by the Resource Emergency Act." She bowed her head. "I apologize."

"That's fine. Thank you for your consideration, Your Highness." Zetsurin replied. She looked over to Rathus, hopefully.

The Gun Knight cleared his throat.

"Well, uh, I'm afraid there ain't much I could do in this situation. If Mr. Crumpet were embezzling or somethin' like that, I could shoot him for you." He gave Mr. Crumpet a measured look.

"I-I'm not!" the official insisted. Rathus nodded once.

"Unfortunately, that looks like the extent of what I could do. Besides, I doubt killing him would help you much anyhow."

Zetsurin sighed, muttering something under her breath as she leaned her cheek against her fist.

"But," she replied, grasping the faint hope that had presented itself, "The Resource Emergencies Act does make allowance for vital businesses, yes?"

Mr. Crumpet gave her a level look, hesitant. "Well... yes. I said as much, but I don't believe that—"

"Well, if you'll allow me, Oliver, I'm prepared to make a believer out of you yet. If I may? I have some documents that may help convince you."

Mr. Crumpet, who was about ready to stand, froze in his seat. He looked over at Zetsurin, gulping. "D-documents, you say?"

Zetsurin eyed him, and something in her instincts triggered, bringing a dangerous glint to her eye.

"Nothing special... just a few diagrams. A couple of charts. Perhaps some... graphs."

The official slid back into his chair, doing his best to sit still. "I... well, that may bear investigation. Tell me more about these... c-charts."

"Oh, it's nothing important. Just an examination of all of our finances. Income. Expenditures. Client turnover and future forecasts."

Oliver shuddered, gasping quietly. Zetsurin smirked, and snapped her fingers once.

Regis handed the official a folder of papers, which he took greedily. Mr. Oliver stared down at them, his eyes glistening. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

The official jumped in his seat, slamming the folder closed as if he had been caught doing something improper.

Zetsurin sighed, but nodded to Regis, who answered the door. It was another nameless attendant whispering to the MC. He leaned to the side, glancing over the Dwarf's shoulder to peer into the room. Regis nodded to him, then closed the door, moving over to Rathus.

"Ser Rathus, it would seem that Ser Musashi is requesting your presence."

The Gun Knight sighed. This was how it always started, and it almost never turned out well. He hoped that this wasn't going to wind up one of the ones where the bordello gets burned down. "Do you know what he wants?"

"No, sir. He simply asked after you."

Rathus nodded to the rest of the table. "Beggin' your pardon. I'll be back in a bit."

Zetsurin dismissed him, and continued her discussion with the official, who was flipping hungrily through the packet.

"If you turn to page 8, I think you'll find the figures are quite... fiduciary."

*******

"It was this room here," the attendant said, gesturing to a wide mahogany door, with silver insets. Rathus glanced at the placard next to the door, which read "304 - Deluxe Ultra-Passion Party Room."

"Of course it is," Rathus sighed. He turned to the attendant, who was standing at attention.

"I don't suppose you know what this is about?

The attendant shrugged. "I'm afraid not, sir. If that will be all?"

Rathus dismissed him with a nod, flicking an iron Emone to the man. The attendant caught the coin, then gave a curt bow and hurried off down the hallway. Rathus looked at the silver pair of knockers on the door, in both senses of the word. He debated simply leaving and returning back to the VIP room. He felt a bit uncomfortable just being in the hallway.

Dim red magelights cast the entire hall in scarlet hues. The walls were soundproofed, but incompletely so. Faint moans and voices drifted through the hall, barely at the edge of perception. You could hear people speaking, laughing, or making more provocative noises, but it was too deadened to make out any words, which only served to enhance the feeling of taboo. He wondered whether it was intentional. Whether it was simply mundane soundproofing that wasn't fully effective, or whether they used soundproofing Domains, specifically designed to let some sound through. He wouldn't put it past Regis. It seemed about in line with Dwarven expectations.

Rathus steeled himself, and reached up, knocking on the door and ignoring the silver knockers entirely.

After a moment, one of the indistinct voices drew closer to the door, which opened to reveal Musashi. The prodigy was wearing his Gun Knight jacket, which was surprising. He generally only wore it about half of the time, ignoring the fact that it was both part of a uniform and also extremely useful armor. Less surprisingly, he was also wearing a pair of boxers, and nothing else. Rathus stared intently at the ceiling, making a point of not looking at the multiple figures cavorting within the room.

"Musashi, if this is another proposition, I swear to GOD—"

"Rathus, please," Musashi interrupted him. "I know that you must be desperately lusting after me, if that's the first thing your mind jumps to, but unfortunately, I must disappoint you by declining. The only proposition I have for you is a business one."

Rathus rolled his eyes. "That seems like the sort of thing that can wait till you're fully dressed, Musashi."

Musashi shook his head. "I can think of no such occasion that would be improved by me putting MORE clothes on. Regardless, I didn't want to interrupt dinner, so I waited until we were between courses."

"Right, sure." Rathus replied. "I get that, but it seems like you're just interrupting one thing for another here."

Musashi shrugged. "I can multitask."

Rathus was unimpressed. "So, what did you want?"

Musashi leaned against the door, casually hooking his thumbs into his jacket pockets. He leaned towards Rathus and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you happen to have a... Potion of Life? I'm all out, and find myself in need of one."

Rathus looked down from the stucco on the ceiling to stare at Musashi, disturbed.

"Now look, I usually don't bother you about your habits, but if you need a potion of—"

"Rathus," Musashi gasped, quickly cutting him off. He gave the older Gun Knight a reproachful look. "It's not for THIS. My goodness. You act as if I'm some kind of sexual deviant."

Musashi slid to the side to allow a pair of people to leave the room. He didn't break eye contact with Rathus as Magical Margaret left the room, hair messy, but still otherwise dressed in her magician's outfit. The actor who had played The Goat followed close behind, still wearing the goat horns from the play.

"We've gotta head out a bit early," Margaret explained, "But it was nice to meet you." She glanced at Rathus, not sure how to react, but blew a kiss to Musashi as the pair headed down the hall.

"Of course," Musashi replied, winking at her. He looked back to Rathus, who had turned to watch the pair leaving the room.

"Anyways. Potion of Life. Could I buy one off of you? If you're concerned, I can give you my assurance that it isn't a sex thing. Well... mostly. Everything I do is a sex thing on some level. The unfortunate price of stardom."

"Uh. I... sure," Rathus said, distracted. "But I only have the one on me right now. I didn't bring my full kit."

"That's fine. I doubt we're going to get into a gunfight in a bordello," Musashi replied, incorrectly.

Rathus reached into his pouch and handed the small glass vial to Musashi. "You can uh, pay me back later." Rathus glanced at Musashi's state of dress knowingly. "I doubt you have any money on you right now. No money I'd want to touch, anyways."

The younger Gun Knight nodded, happily snatching the Potion. "Amazing. Thank you, Rathus. I'll see you back at the VIP room for the next course. Unless, of course, you did wish to join in the fun. There are a few ladies in here that I'm sure are just dying to meet you."

"I'll see you back at the VIP room," Rathus replied brusquely, turning away from the door. Musashi gave him a quick and casual salute before tucking the potion into his jacket pocket and heading back into the room.

The Gun Knight shook his head, heading back towards the VIP room. Thankfully, while the Ocean's Motion was fairly large, the layout itself was relatively simple. He made it back to the mezzanine of the ballroom, and was nearing the first of the VIP rooms, the one on the opposite side of Kate and the official when he came across Regis, arguing with another familiar face.

"Are you kidding me?!" Lucas shouted, defiant. "There's no way I'm gonna give up on Kate!"

"I'm telling you this for your own sake. She doesn't want to have anything to do with you. If you keep accosting her, I'm afraid we're going to have to bar you from this establishment."

The young sailor drew back as if he'd been struck. His surprise boiled over, amplifying his defiance. He scowled at the Dwarf.

"Accosting her? You're lying! You just don't want us to be together, admit it!"

"Oh, gladly," Regis replied casually. "You are correct that I wish for the best for Kate. Should she decide to be with anybody, I'd much prefer it not be the human equivalent of something you scrape off of the bottom of your shoe. And I'm sure that Kate agrees."

Lucas stood straight in a hurry, giving a few quick nods as he struggled to contain his anger. He began to root around in his coat. Rathus watched from a distance, settling his hand on the butt of his revolver.

"She agrees, huh? Would she be writing me letters if she didn't want anything to do with me, huh?"

He drew a folded piece of paper from an inner pocket of his jacket, waving it in the Dwarf's face.

"I have dozens of these! She gave me this one today, so you can't even say it's something in the past."

Regis sighed, giving the young man a condescending glare. "Oh dear. Did you think you were the only one?"

Lucas froze. "W-what?"

"The letters," The Harem Master replied, unaffected by, and perhaps even quietly reveling in the discomfort of the man in front of him. "You think you're the only client to receive such letters? Or even the first? It's just practice. Letter-writing is an important skill for a consort."

The sailor shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the letter. Doubt clouded his features, as he unfolded the letter and read it again.

"You... you're lying. How could she write this if she didn't mean it? Why'd she give me—"

"Reality won't change simply because you will it, sir. If I could make a professional suggestion: Kindly get over yourself."

Lucas's eyes contorted in fury, and he stepped toward Regis, fist tightening on the letter.

Regis stood stock-still. unafraid of the man. "I'm afraid that I am going to have to insist that you leave the premises, immediately."

Lucas grit his teeth. "Yeah? Or wha—" He trailed off as he looked up and noticed Rathus for the first time. He jerked back in surprise, eyes widening in fear. In a flash, he spun and sprinted for the stairs, disappearing down to the first floor.

"Hm," Regis mused to himself, "That went smoother than I had anticipated."

The Master of Ceremonies turned, and saw Rathus approaching. "Ah. That would explain it. I apologize that you had to witness such unpleasantness, Ser Rathus."

"It's no problem," The Gun Knight replied. "How'd the talks with Crumpet go?"

The Dwarf sighed, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I had to step out. There's a lot of business that goes into running a bordello, after all. As for Mr. Crumpet... he seemed... titillated by the Madame's avenue of attack, but I fear he remained unconvinced. I worry that he may decide not to honor the contract after all. For if he doesn't... well... it's no secret that a venture like this is expensive."

He gestured to the lights lining the hallway. "Half of our utilities run on Mana. Being a diligent business owner, of course, the good Madame keeps a reserve of Mana in the event of outages. But we only keep enough for short interruptions. Nobody anticipated an outage lasting multiple days."

He leaned against the railing, head poking just above the banister to look out on the ballroom. "I'm afraid if things continue like this, we may need to shutter the doors. And if we do that... we may not reopen."

Rathus nodded uncomfortably. He wasn't really sure what to say. He felt duty-bound to help the populace, but what could he even do that would help in this situation? Supposedly, they were shipping reserves into town, but who knows how long that would take, or how thin they'd have to spread that shipment out amongst the townsfolk.

"Well..." he finally replied, "I'll keep my fingers crossed for ya. If there's a way you think I could help, let me know."

An attendant walked past the pair, holding a plate of salmon, grilled to perfection and heaped atop a plate of pasta in a lemon and caper sauce. A side of carrot wedges, glazed in honey and butter, was stacked perfectly alongside the plate. The smell of the dish drew a rumble from Rathus's stomach, reawakening his appetite, despite the fact that he'd eaten less than an hour ago.

The attendant smiled at him, then ducked past the pair to open the VIP room and enter it. Rathus peeked in out of idle curiosity, but the room was empty, whoever was using it must have been out during the intermission. Most likely engaged in 'extracurricular activities', by which I mean fucking.

Rathus turned to the Dwarf. "You certainly know how to run a kitchen though, I'll give you that. The food is top-notch. Any chance that salmon'll be our second course?"

Regis smiled. "I'm sure that can be arranged." He gestured down the hall. "Speaking of, I do believe that it's just about time for us to return to our own room."

Rathus nodded, and followed the Harem Master back to the central VIP room. The door opened as they approached, and Mr. Crumpet stepped out, pulling his coat back on. "I just don't know. I'm sorry, Miss Seiryoku, but—"

"Please." Zetsurin said, with a firmness that turned the request into a command. "At least stay for the next course. I can assure you, you'll see how vital the Ocean's Motion is to the city."

"From another stage show?" the official asked, arching an eyebrow

"Not just any stage show!" Kate chimed in, eyes sparkling. "It's the Astounding Professor Wardenclyffe! He only comes around once a month or so, but his shows are the best ones we have here! You've never seen anything like it!"

The official sighed. "Very well... I'll stay for a bit longer at least. This 'Professor Wardenclyffe' sounds interesting enough, I suppose. But I won't be kept here all night, there's a mountain of..." He licked his lips. "Paperwork back at the Well I need to attend to. I'll defer my judgement until after the show, but once I give my decision, that's final. Understood?"

"Absolutely,." Madame Seiryoku replied, giving him proper bow. "I assure you, you'll be glad you decided to stay. Please, enjoy the show."

The official huffed a bit, but headed off towards his own VIP room. Kate trailed behind him, but Zetsurin placed a hand on her arm, holding her back a moment. She leaned in towards the younger woman, speaking in hushed tones.

"No luck?" she asked quietly. The young courtesan shook her head.

"He had no interest, like, at all."

"Damn it," Zetsurin swore. "Do you think I should call one of the Hosts instead?"

Kate shook her head. "I don't think that's it, no. It didn't seem like it was about, mm, taste." She looked after the official as he meandered down the hall, and shuddered. "I'm... I'm not even sure if he's human. You saw the way he was looking at those charts, right?"

Zetsurin drew out her cigarillo holder, fingering it as she fixed her gaze on the official. "I did. It seems like an in."

Kate cocked her head at the Matron. "I guess, but that doesn't seem like much of an 'in'. Do you want me to dress up like a slide-rule or something?"

Regis cut in, appearing suddenly behind the young courtesan. She jumped with a start as he spoke, voice bellowing with the deep and reproachful tone of the wisest, oldest anime sensei.

"You are forgetting your training, Kate," he chastised her. "You are a student of the Dwarven style! Act like it! Are you going to throw in the towel at the first hint of an unusual fetish?"

Kate turned and nodded at him, eyes determined. "I won't give up! But how should I..."

The Harem Master turned from her, folding his arms behind his back. He closed his eyes, brushing his beard with one hand while he considered it.

"Perhaps... yes..." he suggested. "Style OL-13-A."

Zetsurin raised an eyebrow. "Shy bookworm secretary with a secret dominant streak?"

Kate looked over at the official as he disappeared around the gentle curve of the hallway.

"That might work..." she mused, nodding, "I dunno if I can pull it off in this outfit... what about an IM-7-S?"

"Hmm." Regis hmmed. "A next-door-neighbor math tutor who acts like a younger sister?" He looked over, conferring with Zetsurin.

"Difficult," the ex-adventurer replied. "But it may work. And it doesn't need the work uniform or stockings."

They exchanged a silent look, and seemed to arrive at a consensus. "Do whatever you need to," she ordered Kate, "Trust in your instincts."

The lights dimmed once, twice, in quick succession, signalling that only a few minutes remained before the intermission ended.

"Make us proud," Regis ordered, giving Kate a crisp salute.

The courtesan turned and began to head back to her assigned room. Zetsurin ducked down and spoke to Regis, lowering her voice.

"You don't think there'll be any... problems, do you?"

"Well, if you're talking about Lucas," Rathus interrupted, "The last I saw of him, he was making tracks real quick."

Kate stopped mid-stride, turning to look back at the group.

"Wait... is Lucas here?" Her hand unconsciously went to her hair, fixing a few loose strands. "Was he asking about me?"

"Kate. Focus." Regis replied, sternly. "The life of this entire bordello is resting on your shoulders."

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. "R-right. Sorry, sir. I'll do my best!"

She turned and picked up her pace, her dress billowing out behind her as she hurried to the VIP room.

Zetsurin watched the courtesan disappear from view, then turned to Regis and the Gun Knight. She fixed a cigarillo into her holder, twisting it into place. "I was referring to the Wardenclyffe show, by the way."

"The... show? Is it dangerous or somethin'?" Rathus glanced towards the stage, sizing it up in case it decided to suddenly lunge at him.

"No, it's..." she paused. "Well, yes. But that's not what I was worried about."

The Gun Knight narrowed his eyes at the billowing curtains. 'Just try something', he silently dared the ill-defined threat.

"Kate is a big fan of Professor Wardenclyffe." Zetsurin explained, pausing over each word as she fished a lighter from a sleeve pocket.

"To the point of mania," Regis elaborated.

"I think I'm familiar with the type," Rathus replied, as Ruth delicately covered a sneeze back in the VIP room.

"Quite. The last Wardenclyffe show happened to correspond with one of her live training sessions, where she was to sit in with a client for a dinner date. It was... a less than stellar performance."

"A disaster, is what it was." Zetsurin replied. blowing out a stream of smoke. "She ignored the John for the entire show. Didn't even acknowledge him, or notice when he got up and left halfway through. It was like she was in a trance."

"It may have had something to do with Professor Wardenclyffe's 'Hypnomatrix', however," Regis suggested.

Rathus did a double-take back to the Dwarf. "His what?"

"No," Zetsurin replied, her eyes closed and flickering beneath the lids. "That was a different performance, not the one Kate saw with her client. The Hypnomatrix also exploded at the end, so I don't think we need to worry about it. Probably."

"Exactly how worried should I be about this show?" Rathus asked, mind abuzz with a barrage of questions.

"You don't have to worry about it," the Matron replied dismissively, "you're not in the first row."

Rathus stared at her, expertly de-assured.

"She's kidding, mostly," Regis explained. "For the most part, Professor Wardenclyffe's shows are only a threat to himself. And his assistant, of course. Actually, mostly just his assistant, for that matter."

The lights dimmed again, indicating the start of the next performance. Rathus and the rest rejoined the room, where Ruth was snacking on one of the last of the pitas. They were joined shortly by Musashi, and settled back into their chairs. The spotlights flared into life, illuminating the stage below.

The pair of lights focused on one edge of the stage, as a wizened Orc man in a robe hobbled his way on-stage, in front of the closed curtains. He nodded from the center of the stage, looking out at the crowd. "Good evening," he rasped, his voice dry and crumbling. "Are you ready for an exhilarating evening?"

This was met with a few assorted cheers, while those new to the show stared at their joyous neighbors in confusion.

"I said..." he rasped, grasping the front of his robe. "ARE YOU READY FOR AN EXHILARATING EVENING?!" His voice boomed suddenly, as he tore off his robe, revealing a high-collared lab coat and long black rubber gloves beneath. He slammed his walking-stick on the stage, and a wave of electricity rushed over him, catching the whisps of his hair, which shot up and swept behind him into a wild, rigid hairstyle. He bared his teeth at the audience, slapping a pair of goggles over his eyes.

The audience erupted into a cheer, as the Professor gestured behind him, the curtains opening to reveal a number of strange devices. There was a large wooden box with a long, curved horn on the top, shaped similar to a cornucopia. It had a glass door on the front, revealing a few pieces of food within. There was also a tin canister with a funnel on top, and two spigots on the bottom. Finally, an object that was clearly some form of gun was seated on a stand. All these objects, along with a few more trinkets, were scattered around a giant iron statue of the professor himself, standing in an A-pose, 12 feet tall. The Professor himself stood in front of it, coming a little over halfway up its length.

"TRUENAMING . LAW. SCRIPTING. ETYMOLOGY. ALCHEMY. NATURAL LAW STUDIES. IN THIS FANTASTIC WORLD OF OURS, SCIENCE TAKES MANY FORMS."

He paced back and forth, raising a finger as he lectured the audience. "Many of them strange. Many hard to understand. But all AMAZING."

He lifted a large copper plaque, with a Script carved into it. It was connected to a wooden block, which itself had a glass orb attached to the top.

"Perhaps Greatest of all of these is scripting. The ability to make LAW ITSELF into a permanent fixture. To create an Artifact, which can be USED BY ANYBODY."

He leaned in, screaming conspiratorially to the audience. "After All. Only a Stentorian can use LAW, CAN THEY NOT?! If you aren't born a Stentorian, THERE'S NO POINT TO BOTHER WITH LAW YOURSELF, ISN'T THAT SO?!"

The Orc Professor chuckled, holding his head to his forehead as his laughter picked up in pace, becoming wild and maniacal. He threw his head back and roared with the iconic mad scientist flavor.

"NOT TRUE!" he shouted. "Can only a Stentorian put Law down into Script? PERHAPS! Can only a Stentorian use spoken Law? Very well, this is true! But... does that mean Law is useless to somebody like myself? To somebody who is not a Stentorian? NOT. TRUE."

He shook his head, then after a pause, his fist. "THEY CALLED ME MAD, YOU KNOW. 'Why would you want to learn Law? You can never use it!' BAH! THE FOOLS. I SHOWED THEM. I SHOWED THEM ALL."

He squatted down, regarding the audience. "You see... I found the great secret. And the secret is this:"

He stood, holding up a sheet of paper. "I COME UP WITH THE IDEAS. THEN I GET SOMEBODY ELSE TO DO THE WORK!"

He walked quickly to the glass-faced box.

"Even if I know the syntax of Law, the specific passages and clauses to use, the way to formulate a Script, even if I write that all down, it will only be plain words on a page. But... all I need is to have a Stentorian assistant take my words, and put them down to copper. And VOILA!"

He gestured to his box, complete with spirit-fingers, wiggling his digits wildly at his work.

"Take the coldbox, for instance. Many of you are familiar with this. One of the most common Artifacts. One of the simplest. Simply create a Domain within the confines of a container, and shift heat out of it, to the surrounding area."

He shook his head. "But so wasteful! That heat just sits outside. And worse, threatens to invade the Domain once more, causing needless expenditure of precious, precious Intent."

"There is a better way." He pressed a glyph on the side of the box, and ice began to form on the glass.

"Why move the heat when we can convert it? The Wardenclyffe Coldbox 2.0, which doesn't bother to move the heat from inside the box, and instead converts it..."

A horn suddenly pealed from the top of the box, filling the room with sound. Professor Wardenclyffe, somehow, managed to shout above the cacophony.

"INTO SOOUUUUUUUNNNNNDDD!"

"Now, this is practical in many ways, you understand. You can find my whitepaper after the demonstration is over, but this algorithm is very significant to the field of energy conversion. But MY GOD ISN'T IT SOMETHING TO BEHOLD."

He nodded to the audience, many of whom were clutching their ears. After giving another satisfied nod, he pressed the Sigil again.

"NOW, IT TAKES A WHILE FOR THE SCRIPT TO RUN DOWN. THE DEVICE WILL RUN OUT OF CONVERTED SOUND IN ABOUT A MINUTE OR TWO. LETS MOVE ON TO THE NEXT DEVICE!"

Rathus, outside the effective range of the horn, nodded at the display. "Seems a bit, uh, odd. But interesting."

"Come now, Rathus," Musashi replied. "This is unprecedented. Now you will always know when your food is cold."

"Speaking of," Regis replied from the door, "It appears that the second course has arrived." The attendants brought in the plates.

"Salmon a la Grenobloise with fettuccine," Regis announced, "With a side of asparagus and a garlic aioli."

The plates were set around the table, and Musashi was quick to grab his, as well as Ruth's. Rathus got up to grab his own plate. He turned to offer to grab Zetsurin's as well, but she waved him off. "No thank you. I'm not hungry just yet. I'll grab it in a few minutes."

Rathus nodded, and settled back in his seat with his food, as the attendants headed back to attend something or whatever they did when not delivering food.

On the stage below, Professor Wardenclyffe was showing off one of his amazing inventions.

"PROBLEM:" he shouted, "Your local cafe only serves TERRIBLE, WATERED DOWN COFFEE. A tragedy, absolute and unavoidable."

He held up a finger. "But, let me show you a dodge-roll to avoid the unavoidable! Behold! The WARDENCLYFFE COFFEE DISTILLINATOR!"

He held the device above his head, while Bertram, his Stentorian assistant came out, holding a steaming carafe of coffee. The mousy young man had a weary expression on his face, and adjusted his glasses, the over-large sleeves of his lab coat shifting along his arm.

"Pour me a cup of that, Bertram!" Professor Wardenclyffe demanded, removing one hand from his device to hold out an empty mug. Bertram poured a cup of coffee for the Professor, who quickly took a long, noisy sip from the cup.

"MMM," he noted, "IT'S SHIT."

"I... I thought it turned out alright," Bertram replied, quietly.

"Unfortunately, Bertram, your opinions are WRONG," the Professor informed the unfortunate lad. "Your lack of skill at making coffee is as evident as the acne on your face!"

"O-oh."

"BUT DON'T WORRY, MY UNFORTUNATE, TALENTLESS FRIEND," Wardenclyffe shouted, throwing an arm around his assistant.

"For what is the use of skill or talent, when we have the COMFORTABLE CRUTCH OF TECHNOLOGY! NOW! Pour the coffee, Bertram!"

The Professor sat expectantly, holding the machine above his head. Unfortunately, the Professor stood an average seven feet tall, and Bertram at 5'6" couldn't reach the machine. After some maneuvering, the young man climbed onto the base of the statue and reached up, pouring the coffee into the funnel on top of the device.

"SOON," Wardenclyffe announced, "WE WILL HAVE THE COFFEE WE DESERVE." He tossed the remainder of his mug's contents off to the side of the stage, and held the empty cup below the left spigot. After a bit of percolation, a steady, black flow of concentrated coffee poured from the left spigot, into the cup, while a stream of boiling water poured from the right spigot, plummeting unhindered to the ground below.

Bertram stared at it, startled, and did his best to reach around the Professor to catch the boiling water back into the pot.

"Now, I know what you may be thinking: 'Professor, can this technology be used to filter contaminated drinking water?' OF COURSE! Now, not this device, specifically, mind you. This one only works on coffee. 'But Professor!' You might plead, 'Why did you make a filter for coffee, but not for dirty water?!' "

The Professor chuckled.

"BECAUSE! I don't want to filter dirty water. I want STRONG COFFEE!"

Zetsurin, having stood to finally get her food let out a strange noise, a mixture of disappointment and disgust, colloquially known as the 'pineapple pizza cringe'.

"It's just one thing after another today, isn't it?" she sighed. "They KNOW I hate asparagus."

Regis turned and paled. He quickly sprang to his feet. "Ah, Madame! My apologies. They must have made a mistake in the kitchens. This is... unacceptable."

"It's fine," Zetsurin pouted, "It's just a vegetable. I'll just eat this.

Regis emphatically shook his head, grabbing the plate from the table. He bowed to the Matron. "I refuse to let such an error abide. I must care of this personally. I'll be back in a flash."

He disappeared out the door, and Zetsurin slogged back to her seat, sagging gracefully into her seat.

"I hope Kate is making progress on Crumpet..." she sighed, shaking her head.

"Do you have a backup plan in place, if he denies your request?" Ruth asked, glancing around Musashi at the Matron.

Zetsurin paled slightly, the wood of her armrest creaking slightly as her grip tightened around it.

"If he denies it?" She took a deep breath, and shook her head. "Let's not think about that right now. He has to approve it. That's all there is to it."

Musashi exchanged a glance with Rathus. The older Gun Knight simply shrugged. Down below, the Professor was harassing assistant, firing the gun-device at him, which seemed to use applied-gravity Domains to safely launch small bottles, which smashed "harmlessly" on Bertram, who yelped and did his best to avoid the various ichors as the laughing Professor kept a bead on him.

"YOU SEE?! THIS WILL REVOLUTIONIZE THE FIELD OF BOTH SKIN CARE AND MEDICINE."

Within a few minutes, Regis arrived, holding a plate of salmon in one hand. The asparagus had been safely replaced with carrots, and he swept it onto the tray in front of Zetsurin. The steam billowed up, and she smiled down on it.

"Much better. And in such great time. You were only 10 seconds short of your record."

Regis bowed his head. "Than I shall endeavor to be 11 seconds faster the next time."

Zetsurin's mood seemed to pick up, but as the show went on, even the antics of the Professor and the delicious salmon and pasta couldn't keep her from growing more and more anxious.

"AND FINALLY!" Wardenclyffe roared, stepping towards his statue. "MY GREATEST INVENTION!"

He clapped his hands, and the statue suddenly unfolded, revealing a large cavity in the center. The Professor lifted himself up, climbing into the statue, which slowly closed to cover him.

"WHY BUILD A GOLEM, WHEN YOU CAN WEAR A GOLEM!?"

He stepped off the platform, iron feet shaking the stage with each step he took.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" He roared. "LOOK AT ME NOW, YOU POMPOUS FOOLS. HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?!"

The arms of the golem expanded outwards, revealing an array of cannons. The shoulder-pads unfolded, a machine-gun turret popping out the top. He lifted one arm, which suddenly vibrated, then spun 180 degrees to point behind him with a sickening CRACK.

"MY COMMAND SCRIPT!" He roared, in frustration and pain. "BERTRAM! BERTRAM! ACTIVATE THE EJECTION SCRIPT!"

The suit, unbidden, turned and walked off-stage, while a panicking Bertram and a few stagehands rushed after the armored Professor.

"I remember why we don't have him come in very often," Zetsurin remarked.

Regis nodded. "At least nothing is on fire this time."

The curtains fell on the stage. The show was over, and it was time to face the music (similar to the handlers below, who were doing their best to keep the orchestra in the pit, ducking a cymbal thrown like a destructo disc).

Zetsurin sighed, standing up. She adjusted her clothes and hair. "Well... time to face the music, I suppose." She walked for the door. "Let's see how Oliver is feeling, hm."

"Good luck," Regis replied, saluting her smartly. "I'm sure he'll hear reason."

"Best of luck," Ruth wished. She stood and gave a quick curtsy as Zetsurin nodded, closing the door.

Musashi stood and moved to the table, grabbing another of the hand pies from the basket.

Rathus stared after the Gun Knight, perplexed. "Are ya really still hungry?"

"Being this incredible is a full-time job, Rathus. It's hungry work."

The princess gave Musashi a warm smile. "It gladdens my heart to see that you are fond of the pies."

She hesitated, then pressed forward. "I was wondering if we might discuss—"

The princess was rudely interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream that split the air. Rathus was in motion before the scream even finished, already halfway out the door. Musashi was close behind him, shoving the rest of the pie into his mouth like some battle chipmunk. Regis and Ruth hurried to follow the pair, as they raced down the hallway seeking out the source of the scream.

However, they didn't have far to travel before they arrived. Kate was standing at the door to the VIP room three, two broken glasses staining the rug where she had dropped them. She pointed through the open doorway, where Zetsurin was standing, stunned, over the prone and lifeless body of Mr. Oliver Crumpet, a knife protruding from his back. She turned to the door, eyes wide.

"It wasn't me."