Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,
Sythyry
sythyry

The Treatment of Troubled Foreigners in Hanija [21 Nivvem 4385]

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Jagraton lay flopped back in the cushions of the circular couch in Lady Noshi’s parlor. He was paralyzed, in the sense of having been rendered incapable of moving his body, and his brain buzzed with a great and extensive drunkenness far beyond the three cautious sips of wine he had tasted. He lay in a comfortably relaxed position.

The prince did not notice Jagraton’s incapacitation. Indeed, after a bit of the most casual and insipid repartée, Prince Rastomil and Lady Noshi had removed or opened certain of their garments, and were now shagging — no more dignified term would fit the character of their junction, and even “rutting” might not be utterly inapplicable — quite frantically on the couch. Even drunk, Jagraton found this behavior unexpected, even to the point of being surprising. Perhaps Jagraton remembered the Hanijan laws on the topic, or perhaps he considered the situation in light of the prince’s general preference for privacy and infrequency in his amours. Perhaps, again, the presence of Lady Noshi’s husband (no matter how drugged with that fuming nacreous purple beverage), might have been thought to inhibit such matters. But the lord simply muttered, “That’s how it starts, yes, for me too,” in a very vague voice, to which his wife snapped, “Be quiet, Kethji!”

Despite all these things, inhibitions were desperately lacking.

Or, more specifically, Prince Rastomil’s inhibitions were lacking. The Lady Noshi, while she can hardly be said to be non-receptive — for her entire body was clearly and completely devoted to the task at hand — maintained a certain ironic detachment on her face. She seemed, if anything, to be deep in contemplation of some distant mathematical theorem or abstruse philosophical principle, at which the frenzied rocking of her hips and the occasional orgasm were, at most, a minor distraction — if that.

She almost seemed to be performing some intricate and long-term sorcery, but Jagraton could clearly see that there was no magic at all involved. Not that he was spell-blind! Not a bit of it. He could clearly see the Ruloc Corpador spell that had paralyzed him.

After some time, Lady Noshi turned her head from her efforts with Rastomil. (Rastomil’s stamina, which was ordinarily quite ordinary, was quite infinite this time.) “Kebu! My work is about to get difficult, and I don’t want any interruptions. Please dispose of that bodyguard.”

Kebu, the withered butler, nodded. “Does your porthaceous and umnolent ladyship wish for him to be found ever again?”

“Best if he is not,” said Lady Noshi. Prince Rastomil grunted, though whether in assent, protest, effort, or pleasure, I cannot say.

“I shall render him mortaceous and pulpish,” said Kebu. He took a long and sharp carving knife, and stepped over to the paralyzed bodyguard.

I think I must do something about this, said Jagratonl. He was more of a warrior than a mage, but knew some magic. Not enough to fight off a butler, especially one who seemed quite experienced in wickedness, but enough to escape. [Bard notes that spellcasting on the World Tree does not actually require speech or movement, though it is easier that way and not everyone seems quite aware that it does not. -bb] The prince seems to be safe enough. Indeed, his current course of blatant adultery is practically obedience to his duty. I am afraid that flight, rather than active defense, is the best course of action for me. It will not look well on my report. Still, staying here and being killed by a carving knife would not look well on my grave.

So he cast his best teleport spell, which was tolerably good by the standards of most primes. (Your impression of Locador may be spoiled by the way that Vae uses it, or hCevian, or even Feralan and I. It is usually much more modest.) He had no idea where anything was, so he told it “as far as possible that way”.

Back in the parlor, Kebu set down his carving knife neatly, lining it up with the forks and chopsticks. “M’lady, the bodyguard has rendered himself strossulent and disproximal, in defiance of your wishes.”

“My wish is for quiet and calm while I finish this!” snapped Lady Noshi. Her body was quite occupied and entangled with Prince Rastomil’s, but her face showed not the slightest interest in those proceedings.

Kebu curtsied quietly, and stood by for further commands.

# # #

Hanija is a city of canals. Teleporting blindly around town is perhaps unwise, especially if one is paralyzed and unable to swim. Fortunately for Jagraton, he teleported somewhat over the water, and fell in with a loud splash.

An Orren boater pulled him out in an instant. “Hello, Sir Mister. Are you all right?”

The boater’s companion started doing the squeezes and presses that push water out of the lungs. “I think he’s drunk. There’s the gin and the arak, stinking on his breath.”

“He’d have to be, to do such a stunt as that. Hif-hith! He’s a well-dressed fumbergine, at least. Let’s take him to the house and let him sleep it off. Should be he’ll pay us a nice rescue-gift, if he’s got manners to match his clothing.”

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