Violets are Dead [closed] - Printable Version

Violets are Dead [closed] - Printable Version

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Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 05-25-2017

megs & lee & saronym

a J&O AU to get you feelin' some type of way

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 05-25-2017

He carried plum colored dahlias, some so dark they were nearly black. Maybe it was over-dramatic, but since her death he only dressed in black - black slacks, black button ups, black wool peacoats, black gloves - and he only brought the darkest colored dahlias he could find to her grave. It wasn’t out of any antiquated notions regarding a so-called proper period of mourning, no. It was simply that when she left the world she took all color with her. He had no use for color anymore.

It was a perfect day for mourning. The sky hung dark and heavy full with rain imminent. There was pressure in the air already.

The hands that placed the flowers on her grave did not feel like his own. They felt weaker without her. The ring that gleamed on his finger was more dull. Heavier.

He knelt down.

“Julianna,” he began as he always did. His voice was no more than a whisper. It didn’t even resonate in his chest. What was the point in speaking loudly to the dead. “It was not a good day, today. I fired a maid for throwing out your toothbrush. I chased a woman down in the market who had your hair. I thought - I wished..." He sighed. "Today I was informed that Elliot is petitioning the court for the throne. He is challenging me. The court, as you would probably guess, favors him. My legitimacy hangs by a thread.”

He picked up a bouquet of decayed flowers, removing the debris from the gravesite. As soon as he removed the dead flowers he regretted it. They had the appropriate tone for the site. He picked dried petals one by one and lined the curving top of her tombstone with them while he spoke. A mindless task to occupy those foreign hands of his.

“Forgive me.” He asked of the dead. “I have put into motion a nuclear option. I have contacted the CAF and arranged for their arrival to maintain my rule - through force, if necessary. Love, I am not afraid of the world’s opinion, or the court’s...”

When he was done lining up petals, his fingers dropped to trace the curving J of her name carved into marble. In his mind he remembered tracing the curve of her spine with the tips of his fingers over and over and over. He’d driven the softness of her body into his mind so thoroughly that tracing the first letter of her name etched in stone triggered the sensation of former touch. “This isn’t what you would have wanted for your country - but I’ve made assurances, love. For you. It isn’t perfect, but you must trust me. If I have any say in it, Elliot will not succeed in undoing your legacy. Let me handle it. You just rest.”

A Hart was in the ground. His beating heart was in the ground. Julianna’s death caused Owen to enter a sort of state of being akin to madness. The kind of madness that roiled beneath a tranquil surface. The kind of madness, though, that didn’t eclipse self-control. The kind of madness that might cause him to, say, kill a man - with a full awareness and comprehension of the act of murder, not in a blind rage - just for stepping on his toe. A calculated and self-aware and deliberate craziness.

“Somehow, I love you more everyday. How is it possible? I miss you very much. Our girls miss their mother.” His voice didn’t crack when he said it. There was no more room in him for that kind of grief. “Forgive me, Julianna, for what I am about to do.” He kissed his index and middle fingers and pressed them to her name.

Having said what he came to tell her that day, Owen stood wondering whether she would indeed forgive him. Whether she would or wouldn’t, he was the one that had to go on living in the world without her. He was the one who had to live with himself. Oil and water were no different to her now.

“I will see you tomorrow darling.” He said before turning with dead flowers in black leather gloved hands.

Owen stopped. He wasn’t alone. Someone was observing him speaking with his wife. He didn’t appreciate the lack of privacy. He frowned deeply behind dark sunglasses which were redundant in such gloomy weather.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 05-25-2017

A man currently known as Ximon Fen stood what he hoped was a respectful distance away from the current king of the Veridian Isles. He might have been uncomfortable by witnessing the extent of grief on display, if he was the kind to feel that sort of thing.

He'd dressed all in black--a sign of respect, more than any real preference for the color. He needed all the help he could get for this. This was not a plan years in the making, the way his opponents' probably was. This was a ploy out of sudden opportunity mixed with mild desperation. Not having the perfect plan made him a bit uncomfortable. Dealing with a man at least half-mad with grief didn't help. But the country--his country, though he was loathe to admit it--was on the brink of chaos. Civil war. Worse, his sources told him that his royal highness was contacting CAF for an alliance. A military alliance. He was, Ximon suspected, intending to conquer his own country with a foreign army.

Ximon would be having none of that. Things had been going so well here under Queen Julianna that he'd been able to all but retire his operations in the area. And now this? A half-mad militaristic fool of a human and an imperialistic jackass with treason written all over him. Two shitty, shitty options.

So he'd just made up his own Option C and decided to go with that one instead.

But now the ruling king had gone and contacted the worst brutes he could find, and forced Ximon's hand weeks early. He wasn't ready, he couldn't fix everything yet. So here he was, approaching the king at his late wife's grave, of all places, for a ploy he would need, frankly, all of him charm to pull off.

He bowed his head in respect when the king finally took notice of his presence, pointed ears on bare display. "Your highness. I apologize for disturbing you in this private moment, but I needed to speak with you... away from curious ears. It is a matter of utmost importance--and national security." He placed gloved fingers against his chest. "My name is Ximon Fen, and I know who killed our queen--your wife."

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 05-26-2017

Grey eyes hidden behind dark lenses fixed somewhere on the horizon behind the bowing man’s head. Owen endured the ritual because it was expected of him. Usually he didn’t mind it. But now, at this moment, having been spied upon in his private, most intimate conversation with his wife, he resented it.

He blinked once which lowered his gaze to the man addressing him with careful attention to terms of respect. Owen kept his face a neutral mask as the man revealed, so very quickly, the nature of his seeking a meeting.

“Don’t waste your breath with meaningless apologies. If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have violated the sanctity of the bereaved.” Owen responded petulantly. His words were clipped and carefully enunciated.

Owen’s eyes made a trip south to survey the emptiness of the man’s hands. Hadn’t even bothered to come with a gift or flowers or a note for his wife’s grave as so many citizens who loved her so had done since her untimely death.

A telling tale that emptiness. In due time he would, perhaps, come to know what it meant.

“Luckily for you, I find conspiracy theories quite fascinating.” He let the dead flowers clutched in his fists fall to his side. Loose, dry petals fluttered to the grass underfoot. He wouldn’t let on that he was curious for what the man had to say. Owen already had a notion that his wife’s death had, in fact, been murder.

Not that it mattered to him. No justice he could bring against an attacker would bring his Julianna back. And so, he’d left it alone. Criminals had a way of showing themselves eventually, especially when they had yet to have gained something from their crime.

But he would hear the theory out. He had his own. Let's compare notes.

“Let’s hear what you have to say. Walk and talk. Graveyards are for the dead and the mourning. And you, clearly, are neither.” There was more than a hint of disapproval in his observation that the man had failed to pay his proper respects.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 05-26-2017

Ximon's face remained placidly friendly despite his minor irritation. He had expected a lack of manners--the combination of the man's species, position, and bereavement was guaranteed to make him absolutely unbearable to be around. Fortunately for his highness, Ximon had genuinely liked the queen, and did not one bit care for her brother's politics.

The important thing was that he wasn't being written off altogether--a genuine concern when one came bearing news like "the queen was assassinated, actually." Although even if his highness hadn't believed him now, he probably would have once the news began hitting all major media outlets.

"Of course, your highness," Ximon said, all deference and an apologetic tone. He would not bother informing the man of his time spent by the late queen's grave. It would seem performative. And also, his anger and grief had been too genuine for him to feel comfortable sharing, in any case. He followed out of arm's reach of the king--respect, and also for the comfort of any hidden guards watching from a distance, which there certainly had to be.

"I know it sounds madness to speak," he said, a quiet voice infused with just enough magic to carry to the king's ears, and his alone--an elf trick. "It's common knowledge the queen's death was caused by anaphylaxis, an allergic reaction to a bee's sting. But it seems so unlikely, does it not? You knew the queen better than anyone. Was she not meticulously careful around the insects?"

His feet crunched softly against the dying leaves on the ground--a courtesy to the human ears nearby. They could be so unsettled by silence. "I have proof the anaphylactic reaction was faked," he informed the king firmly. "And further evidence--though I will admit, less concrete--that implicates her own brother, Elliot Wilder, in the deed. No great surprise, perhaps, as he now moves against you for the throne.

"I can show you the evidence now, if you wish. But a patriot's duty has already been done. Tomorrow, the world will know what was discovered. But I thought, perhaps..." He paused, as if thinking of the best words, though he already knew them. "You would prefer hearing the news first, and not being caught off guard in the morning. A chance, at the very least, to speak with your family, so they might be more prepared for the inevitable chaos."

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 06-01-2017

The clouds filed in like an audience filling a stadium. An audience for what? Whatever performance this man was giving the king, one supposes.

The news was neither profound in its revelations nor was it consoling. Just a confirmation of what Owen already knew without concretely knowing so to speak. He’d felt it. Deduced it.

And so a mirthless laughter began to spew out of the king. It was uncontrolled and uncalled for, he knew it, but couldn’t care. He had no need to police his behavior before whoever this man was or was trying to be for him.

He had found the word choice to be amusing - madness, patriot’s duty - what could this man know of either?

Owen’s laughter quieted and the king stared thoughtfully at the clouds gathering overhead. He found that since his wife died that people were ever eager to push information at him packaged like some special revelation as if he hadn’t a brain between his ears that could figure things out for itself, as if he hadn’t been an integral part of the country’s politics and implementing policies for damn near three decades. As if he wasn’t a king, a military commander, a father who had raised three perfect daughters in a terribly ugly world. As if he wasn’t a man worth the investment that their precious queen had made in him.

And the way they said things to him: easing into it as if he were a delicate antique or an easily spooked cat.

No he was smarter and tougher than they thought and he would show them all when CAF bombers flew overhead and black warships dotted the sea.

“A patriot’s duty, you say. Unfortunately it comes too little too late. A dozen tabloids and half that number of media organizations will buzz with the news. So what? Elliot’s bid will be called into question, but what do I care?”

He had been speaking towards the sky and finally lowered his gaze to the other man’s. “No meagre serving of justice against Wilder will bring my wife back to me and to her people. And I do not fear his challenge besides...”

Something caught his eye. A colorful gauzy billowing in the trees that lined the cemetery. Owen’s gaze tracked what he alone saw. His wife, dressed in a nearly see-through robe of swishing violet material. Bare feet carried her over the spongey cemetery grass. A tinkling sound from a collection of gold anklets. She stopped by a tree, half hidden behind it. Smiled coyly and waved with her fingers at him. Owen was transfixed. He was conscious of the fact that she wasn’t truly there but he didn’t want to look away.

Owen turned towards the tree and made for it. He’d either entirely forgotten the presence of the other man or felt the conversation had come to a satisfying enough conclusion.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 06-08-2017

Alright, laughter was perhaps not the best response to 'hey, so, I'm trying to bring justice to your wife's murderer.' Ximon resisted the urge to sigh, and mentally cursed the various forces that stuck him in the situation of having to navigate around a half-deranged king. It was hardly the most difficult or even most annoying thing he'd done, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

"Very true, your majesty," he agreed easily, choosing to continue ignoring all the vaguely insane things the king was doing and pretend like this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having. He supposed given how poorly the king was taking all this news thus far, there was no good way to segue into his actual reason for being here. "Extremely true, in fact. Punishment for his crimes could not undue what Elliot Wilder did. But--"

It was also very hard to segue when the person you were attempting to converse with suddenly stopped and stared off, shocked, into space. Ximon paused himself, following the man's gaze, but saw nothing. The nothingness they were both staring at did not stop the king from running off towards empty space, however. Or possibly towards a tree, which was the only thing Ximon could see--and he knew he had better eyes than the king.

Hmm. Alright then.

The king running away from you: bad.
Stopping the king from running away from you: worse.
Running after the king, who was running away from you: also worse.

If Ximon had to stop a sniper from shooting him out of fear he was menacing their king, he would be very cross with how this day was going. With a long exhale through his nose, he settled for following the king, at some distance, and at a walk. It was a fast walk, though it didn't look it. He trailed behind the sprinting king, waiting for him to come to a stop, and wondering if it was possible to ignore 'running off mid-conversation like a goddamn fool' for the sake of a country without it just being obvious he was willing to ignore just about any increasingly bizarre the king did.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 06-17-2017

Owen stopped at the tree. He reached up and touched a lock of hair belonging to the woman who waited for him at that tree. She pulled her lower lip under her front teeth and smiled shyly up at him. She brought her hand up to cup his.

My love. She spoke in a small whisper. Her ears twitched a top her head and her tail flicked to brush against his leg. That man follows. She peered around Owen almost fearfully watching the approach of the man behind him. Be careful of him. She warned before fading.

When the vision of her disappeared Owen realized he was touching leaves on a low hanging branch. He plucked the leaves free and turned to face the man who persisted after him. Tucking the leaves into an inner pocket of his coat, Owen settled the man with a hard stare having been warned by his hallucination of his wife to be wary.

“Is there something else?” He asked with impatience as he pushed up his coat sleeve to evaluate the timepiece on his wrist emphasizing the fact that, indeed, a king was busy.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 06-18-2017

The king stopped at a tree on top of a hill which he then, ah... sort of... stroked. Ximon let a hand trail down over his face. He'd expected an angry, suspicious, grief-ridden king. Complete lunacy was even worse than he'd feared. Who even knew what this man would do to the country, unhindered.

And Ximon had decided to throw his lot in with this idiot, instead of the fellow necromancer who caused this. Who was actually an islander.

But racial purity had never been important to him--for obvious reasons--and he'd respected Julianna Darkwillow. She'd done so well for the country, with so little prodding. He'd abandoned his plans for unseating the monarchy, because he'd just liked her that damn much.

And now this.

Now this... mess of a man, staring with love and longing at a tree and then turning to glare at him with anger and suspicion. Not that Ximon could blame him for the anger or the suspicion, really. He was a suspicious sort of fellow, suggesting suspicious sorts of things. And he'd been robbed of a decent segue into the most suspicious of them all, thanks to his royal highness, King Treefucker, running off like that.

"You miss her," he said bluntly. "We all do, of course, but not like you. No one could miss her more; no one could need her more. But others do need her, and that's why I'm offering this." Ximon let out a huff of air through his nose, unhappy with the way this conversation was going. "You were right. Bringing Elliot Wilder to justice, while satisfying, will ultimately accomplish nothing for the country besides keeping a treasonous bastard off the throne. What the kingdom needs is her. Meaning you no offense, your highness. And I can give the country--and you, and your family--what it needs to have back." He splayed the fingers of one hand against his chest. "Of course, I realize what I'm claiming and what I'm asking. I wouldn't ask you to trust me on a whim, or give me access to her royal highness' remains on a spur decision. But I beseech you to hear me out. Give me a chance. Get to know me, investigate my methods and motivations as much as you feel necessary. Whatever it takes," he added firmly, eyes a bit hard at this.

Because submitting honestly to any degree of scrutiny from this man would be both a huge risk and huge pain in his ass.

But he was going to bring the queen back.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 06-24-2017

Owen was silent and immovable while the other man made his speech. Whether he was surprised, or offended, or intrigued he didn’t allow his face to show. His mouth was pressed into a thin vaguely disapproving line and his eyes were hidden behind dark lenses.

His pride and suspicion weren’t so easily pacified by what sounded to be a well-rehearsed performance. Owen’s eyes narrowed behind his lenses as he gave the man a more full once over from top to bottom.

Remains.

Remains.

This man dared to speak to him of remains.

“Remains?!” Owen’s voice pitched with the insult he felt and he took an aggressive step towards the man who had offended him. “Do you think that Julianna was so insignificant a person that her only remains are bound up in the body that decays under ground?” His voice had grown louder and sounded to him quite thunderous. He rode the wave of his indignant rage. With a dramatic flourish, Owen pulled his sunglasses from his face to reveal stone grey eyes that were lit with passion and pain. “Julianna remains in so much more than a corpse. That body never contained all that was her. She is in the policies I continue to enforce in her name. In the beautiful daughters we made together.” He mimicked the other man’s gesture to himself - hand splayed out on his chest. “She remains within me. My memory and devotion to her. Julianna’s remains are so much more than a body. And if use of her body would bring her fullness back to me then so be it.”

He paused to allow his words to sink in.

“Do not-” the care he took to enunciate the words came as a warning, “patronize me. Presume to know my private interior state. What I want. Or what I need. I have enough advisors and counselors for that. At this time you have my tenuous permission to tell me about you and your processes. But make no mistake, I have no desire to get to know you. On any personal or intimate level. I have no desire to know a man who does not consider the words he speaks to a grieving husband. And fankly, I’m concerned as to what you think you are waiting for. If the country is so dire as you suggest, then why are you wasting my time? Some of us, my good sir, are taking necessary action to prevent further harm to this country.”

He hinted at the warships that were no doubt departing on their journey across the sea to the isles to assist him in retaining the throne. Owen was rather pleased with his impassioned speech and placed his sunglasses back on his face to resume that same impassive stare while he waited for whatever else the man had to say.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 06-24-2017

The ticking time bomb of a man finally blew, in a conveniently small, manageable manner. Ximon stood is ground as the other man towered furiously over him; he'd never been particularly tall to begin with, so towering wasn't overly difficult even without the righteous fury. He stood stiffly in place under the verbal and emotional assault; waited for the king to finish. Once again regretted that this was what he'd sunk to.

You could have taken advantage of the chaos, he reminded himself dully as the man went on about remains and love and passion and whatever other things caused him to act such a fool. Could have moved to tear down the monarchy once and for all.

But he'd chosen the way he had for a reason. Not just his fondness for the fallen queen, but the likelihood that the CAF was planning much the exact same thing. And Wilder was hardly an option. No, this was the best choice.

This half-broken imbecile was the best choice. Ximon kept his sigh internal.

"My apologies, your highness," he said, in regards to the furious monologue. "You would think, given my profession, speaking to the bereaved would be more of a talent of mine, but it never has been. I used technical terms, without a thought for how offensive they might seem. I wish I could say that access to her..." He cleared his throat. "Corpse. Was all I needed, for sake of both speed and lack of distress. It's obviously a very important part--arguably the most important--but there is more. I've been working it on my own, in the hopes that your highness would be as reasonable about this as you clearly are. They take time, however, and resources. The resources, obviously, I can take care of myself." As if he was so petty as to ask the king for money. What was he, a con man? "The time, however, is something that I will need you to provide. I've given Wilder enough of a headache to hold him off, but, say, were there anyone else making power grabs towards the country," he said pointedly. "Then I would be unable to assist in time.

"As for myself," Ximon said with a sigh. "As I said, my name is Ximon Fen. Necromancer, licensed, of course. I won't be so patronizing as to give you my card. When your highness looks into me, you'll find I was born here in the isles, on Macrilan, but operate primarily out of Singapore. I specialize in soul retrieval and transfer. It's a difficult and personal sort of specialization. I don't wish to be condescending, as I don't know how familiar you are with the concept or process," he added apologetically. "You seem as though you might be, given your knowledge on the nature of remnants, or 'remains,' as you put it.

"To access the queen's soul, wherever it rests, I need to familiarize myself with her remnants, more than any corporeal form she held, as you said. The life she left behind. The person she was, and hopefully will be again. Her hobbies. Beliefs. Her loves. You. Her family." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I understand and respect your desire to know nothing about me personally, your highness, but if I'm going to reach through the veil of death and steal the queen's soul back, I'm going to need to know her, you, and your family, with some degree of familiarity. Hence my assumption you would want an extremely thorough background check."

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 06-29-2017

Owen wasn’t feeling particularly inclined towards giving the man anything other than permission to attempt what he claimed to be able to do. But then again this was for Julianna, maybe he could be accommodating. He pushed up the sleeve of his suit and showed the other man his watch. Second hand making gentle ticks towards the future.

“Time moves at its own pace.” He said quite simply meaning: I cannot stop what has already begun.

“What I do know is that what you speak of is black magic. Forbidden in my home country. If you have questions about Julianna’s beliefs, practices as queen, family tree, and the like you may review such information at the national archives which are made available to all Veridian citizens in the capitol.”

He folded his hands neatly in front of him. “I will grant you special audience upon request and in the presence of armed guards. Does that satisfy you?”

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 07-08-2017

Time moves at its own pace? Ah hell, what had this man done? Last news Ximon had was that there were 'talks.' That didn't sound like just talking. Had he struck some sort of bargain with CAF already?

Ximon didn't let the stress show, but he was far from pleased with that implication. He had to stall for time, or the poor queen would awaken to a country already in the middle of a hostile takeover. A war. And then it might be that all her hard work--and more importantly, all his--was for naught.

"Forbidden several places," Ximon agreed, not at all concerned with the accusation of black magic. It was boring, and true, and therefore unimportant. "But not here, fortunately for us all." He said this with a smile. If it weren't for his black magic, the queen would be well beyond reach. Honestly. A bit of gratitude would be nice. Ah, well, maybe after he'd actually shown himself successful.

"Special audience with yourself and other members of the queen's immediate family?" It was phrased a question, but more of a request, really. The family part wasn't really optional. And he did need to stall. Somehow. "An armed guard seems more than reasonable, given the circumstances," Ximon agreed. "Perhaps this... give me one week." He held up a single finger. "To get to know the queen and her family on a more personal level. Then I should be able to locate her soul, and reach it enough to hold a... seance, of sorts." His nose wrinkled at the crude language, but it was easier than a convoluted explanation. "You'll be able to speak with her, that's the important part. Possibly see her, if my grasp is firm enough. And you'll be able to see I'm no silver-tongued con man." And, hopefully, in a week he'd have a better grasp on how long he had to pull together everything else he needed to resurrect an immortal queen.

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - saronym - 07-22-2017

“I’m the closest family Julianna had at her death.” Owen replied flatly. He believed himself, and rightly so, to be the best resource by which to know Julianna. He wasn’t enthusiastic about letting this man know him personally but he could certainly impart any information he had on Julianna.

Owen shrugged and spread his hands as if the timeline were out of his hands. “I suppose you might have a week. Depends on how fast things move.”

As for seeing Julianna, Owen would very much like that. He was already seeing her so he figured it shouldn’t be that hard for someone claiming to be a professional to conjure her up. At this point, he didn’t quite believe it could be done and if he did see Julianna through this man’s magic or trickery, well, how could he even be sure it was truly her and not some clever illusion gleaned from the information he was requesting Owen impart to him?

It was a mess.

“I would very much like to speak with my wife and will try to be accommodating. I expect you will work quickly and efficiently. If you do anything I do not like, or give me any more reasons to suspect this is a rouse of some sort, well, quite simply I will pull the plug on this...operation.”

He gave Ximon a tightrope upon which to balance.

“So, how much money are you going to shake me down for? What favors do you expect the crown to throw your way?”

RE: Violets are Dead [closed] - SolitareLee - 08-02-2017

Interviews and long talks with the king would not be the most pleasant way for Ximon to spend his time... particularly compared with, say, speaking to any of his three daughters instead. But if it would get him access to the queen's soul... well, he'd done worse, that much was certain.

Although if the man expected him to be able to summon an immortal queen back to proper life, not just an undead facsimile, in a week, well... They were both fucked, then. Hopefully the king was bluffing about how fast things were moving, and Ximon would not be dodging bombs in a week's time.

"I will strive to be as respectful and punctual as possible," Ximon promised, and for once, he meant it. The last thing he needed to blow this by being a dick, even if it was something of a personal hobby. This was too important to risk with a bit of sly pettiness, and the king was far, far too on edge. "In the name of speed, then, I will contact your security team to set up appointments with yourself and your family throughout the week. Later today, so that you have time to brief them, of course."

Ximon waved his hand idly through the air, as if trying to brush away the thought that he might be shaking down the king. "Your highness, there are things in this world much more important than money, and I can think of no better cause to spend it on than this. The materials, the cost, I will handle that myself. Any favors the crown wishes to bestow on me after the fact, I'm sure will be up to you and the queen--assuming I'm successful, which I very much intend to be. No, I'm certain that this sort of a deed will be its own reward... And of course, it will be an absolute pleasure to get to know you and your family on a more personal level." He said this with a bit of a wry smile, because he could apparently not resist at least a small bit of sly pettiness. "To summon a soul back to proper life is--pardon my language--a hell of a task, and it will take the cooperation of us all to enable me to do it in a timely manner. I'm sure we'll all be quite familiar by the end.

"Who knows. Perhaps by the time all is said and done, I'll practically be a member of the family."

He moved into a full bow, proper for royalty, although how many actually bothered to bow to the traditionally friendly royal family of the Veridian Isles was uncertain. "If this is all agreeable to you, your highness, I'm certain I've taken up more than enough of your time already."