Assuming a familiar pose of reluctant inebriation, Stephanos sat beneath the arching boughs of a somewhat spindly silver birch. Opening a battered leather bound edition of Radical poetry he adjusted his breeches so that he was comfortable. He pretended not to be assiduously studying the faces of each new arrival.
He saw Princesses fair and comrades ...well, comradely... and considered rising to meet them. This would however reveal the fact that he had misjudged the beginning of the party and had "started early". Thus disguising his impaired stride and faltering vision, he remained cross-legged, smiling beatifically.
Behind those blue eyes however, were a million Machievellian machinations musing the best way to obtain fresh coffee without the need for motion.
Mithadan's good humoured recital cheered him and he briefly pondered applauding but the thought of the movement sent greasy shivers floating around him. He reached into his mysteriously compact bag and withdrew a dull and somewhat overused beaten pewter hip-flask and his tobacco pouch. Conversation would have to wait. Indeed, mayhaps he could play the misanthrope without causing offence...
Seeing some of the guests thronging towards the silken pavilions and recognising the smiling faces of those it would be unwise to ignore however, brought him to the realisation that he would not be able to remain here guiltlessly. Added to which he really had to remonstrate with Mithadan about the long curved blue slippers the man seemed to be wearing. So last season...
[ May 20, 2002: Message edited by: Stephanos ]
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