It had been a long time since Rathus had worn anything other than his uniform. He adjusted his bolo tie, evening out the two strings where they hung between his coat jacket's lapels. The figure in the mirror stared back at him as he turned, inspecting his new clothing. Well, "new" was perhaps not the most accurate turn of phrase, as he had simply swapped from one uniform to another, changing into the official Dress Raiment for the Imperial Gun Knights.

The Gun Knight lifted his arm, wincing silently at his limited range of motion. His movements were hindered by the stiffer sleeves of the formal jacket, thick with starch and clearly spiteful for the long duration they had remained unworn in his luggage. He was uncomfortable, feeling simultaneously naked and constrained. It was as if he were a turkey tied with butcher's twine or alternatively, like he were engaged in some of the things the Nobility got up to behind closed doors. He did have to admit, begrudgingly, that he at least struck an impressive figure in his outfit. As dapper as he looked, it was little consolation to him. When it came to clothing, Rathus McGaff was definitely in the "function over form" camp.

His Dress Raiment was still functional, to be sure. A close examination of the vest he wore over his shirt and under his jacket would reveal it to be not cloth, but in fact finely-crafted scalemail, an authentic piece commissioned from the Dwarven masters at Sparda. The clothing was also protected with a slew of True Name Overlays, as well as Star Magic enchantments: a few handpicked augmentations which made it far more durable, fireproof, as well as stain-resistant and waterproof.

However, this was nothing compared to the Combat Raiment which Rathus typically wore, which was so festooned with Overlays and Enchantments that even a single sock cost more than a day's wage. Sure, the Dress Raiment provided as much protection as a suit of full plate, despite the vest being the only non-cloth part of the uniform. But compared to the natural defenses of the living weapon that was a Gun Knight, it was as effective as nailing plywood to a tank.

Rathus sighed, buttoning his sleeves. Well, it would probably be fine. He doubted he'd be doing much fighting in a bordello. The Dress Raiment was at least a bare minimum of functional, compared to the Palace Raiment. And the Beach Raiment didn't even bear mentioning. He adjusted his hat and flicked off the light on the desk. The glass orb of the lamp was held aloft by a wooden base carved in the shape of a grasping talon. The orb had been left outside for the entire day, so its Script had been able to drink its fill of sunlight to release later, but even if it was full, that was no reason to waste it when he wasn't even going to be in his room.

He opened the door, to find the Innkeeper standing in the hallway outside his room, wringing his cap in his hand. His ruddy face had paled to a shade of salmon, and his wide eyes were whiter than the dingy apron wrapped around his waist. He looked at Rathus with a haunted expression, and by Rathus's judgement, it must have been haunted by some kind of poutergeist, as the man looked on the verge of tears.

"Begging yer pardon, Ser,' the Innkeeper began, nervously. "But it's your ah... cousin?" He cocked his head, not confident in his assumption. The Gun Knight nodded to him.

"Yeah, I think that's what we wound up going with. Has she been bothering you?"

The Innkeeper looked towards the stairs, as if hesitant to make a complaint. "She... my kitchen... she... took it over."

The Gun Knight, who had been on his way to the stairs, stopped mid-stride. "She what?"

"I've never seen anything like it," the portly man whispered. "She swept in like some kinda force of nature, I tried telling her that the kitchen was off-limits, but she just ignored me. Ransacked the cupboards and was going through all my recipe books."

Rathus sighed and made his way down the stairs, taking each step a bit stiffly in his starched pants. He supported his swaggering self with a hand on the polished banister as the Innkeeper trundled behind him. He did his best to ignore the man's curious gaze, focusing instead on working his stride back into a more normal one, subconsciously willing the pants to cooperate.

"Now, I don't usually take that sort of guff, even from a girl, but when I fetched my handy Customer Service stick, she weren't afraid at all. She even had me showing her where I kept things, before I realized what I was doin'. I even told her that if she wanted something specific, I could whip it up as a special order, but she said 'No, I have to make it!' She threw coins at me until I left her be."

Rathus gave a quiet hum of agreement. "Well, I beg your pardon on her behalf. She does have a tendency to kind of tunnel vision things. I doubt she meant any offense, especially if you said she paid you."

"Well, sure, she did," the Innkeeper replied, rubbing at his bald forehead, "but I think one of the coins left a welt."

Rathus entered the busy common room of the inn. The last few rays of light were filtering through the windows, illuminating the haze of smoke coming from the obligatory mysterious figure in the shadowed corner, who was smoking a long-handled horn pipe. At the bar, a few day laborers hunched together, sharing a low conversation over their cups. One laughed in response to a whispered comment from his friend, leaning back and wiping suds from his bristling beard. He glanced around, catching sight of the Innkeeper, and waved the pair over.

Rathus and the Innkeeper headed over, maneuvering their way around the half-filled tables, as a pair of the inn's serving girls wove through the crowd.

"It's quiet now," the laborer declared, when they drew within earshot. The Innkeeper nodded fervently, turning to the Gun Knight.

"She was making a pretty big racket earlier," he explained. He glanced up at the door behind the bar, a wood-paneled swinging door, the sort that you didn't need to use your hands to open. The Innkeeper sucked at his teeth, his eyes gleaming with a sudden hope. "P'raps that means she's done," he suggested.

The Gun Knight walked to the edge of the bar and passed through, the Innkeeper helpfully lifting a hinged section of countertop to allow him access. Rathus stepped carefully over a few ancient stains, the sort that remained sticky for years no matter how much you cleaned them. The Innkeeper guided him pointlessly to the only door behind the bar, pausing only to shoot a glare of enmity at the immutable stain.

Rathus placed his hand against the door, and hesitated. He had no idea what sort of scene he might be stumbling into. He dropped his free hand to the revolver sitting in his Holdster. 'No,' he thought, 'that was probably too far'. Realistically, the worst that could happen is a fire. Probably. The Gun Knight steeled himself, then pushed the door open and entered the kitchen.

Immediately, he jerked back, face screwing up and eyes watering as he covered his face with his hands.

"Agh, what the hell?" he shouted, his voice distorted slightly as he clutched his nose. Ruth looked up from her cooking, surprised, but not alarmed by the Gun Knight's sudden appearance. The kitchen was surprisingly intact, with the Princess working at a central island, comprised of a massive wooden butcher's block. Rathus blinked away his tears as he looked over at a nervous cook working at a stove in the far corner. The cook met his gaze, risking a glance at the princess as if worried that the Gun Knight's sudden presence might bring the culinary tyrant's attention upon her.

"You should really know to announce yourself before entering an occupied room, Ser Rathus. I could have warned you about the onions." She gestured down to her cutting board, where a few peeled white onions sat patiently awaiting their turn to be brutally decimated (although in this case, it was a fine dice, so centimated is perhaps the more accurate term) and thrown into a copper saucepan, where some carrots and celery had already met their fate.

"Yeah, alright," The Gun Knight replied. "I just wasn't ready for it. He blinked away the last of the allium's olfactory assault, and regarded the spread in front of the princess with a begrudging respect. A pie pan sat with a crust already spread within it, and a bowl had been set aside with seared beef and the fried Blue Helmet mushrooms piled high. Ruth stared at the onion, furrowing her brow as she rolled it across the cutting board, examining it from each angle.

"You seem to be handling the sting pretty well," he noted, gesturing to her completely unphased eyes. She shrugged in response.

"Well, of course, Rathus. A Princess knows when one must hold back the tears."

"You're a princess?!" the cook suddenly blurted out, staring over in shock.

"Nah," Rathus said, waving her off.

"Oh. Never mind then." The cook replied, visibly relieved. She returned to her work, crisis averted and Ruth's identity secure.

"I'm more surprised that you know how to cook, if I'm bein' honest," Rathus said, moving over to the side of the butcher's block opposite the princess. "I figured you would have, y'know, had all your meals prepared for you."

"Oh, I don't know how to cook," Ruth admitted. She reached out to a table-top book stand, upon which an ancient wood-bound recipe book was placed. "But I DO know how to read. Cooking is simply following instructions, when it comes down to it. This isn't nearly as difficult as I would have imagined it to be."

She stared down at the onion. "But this is a bit trickier. I know that one must first peel an onion, but..." She held the knife up, holding it at various angles over the round vegetable.

"It helps if you cut it in half first," Rathus noted, gesturing to the root cap of the onion. "Cut it in half along that, then it'll hold it together for you while you dice it."

The Princess nodded, looking up to the Gun Knight as he pantomimed the cuts. She set to the task of dicing the onions, and the Gun Knight glanced around.

"Would ya like a hand?" he offered, lifting his arm to unbutton his sleeve.

Ruth grabbed a wooden spoon, loading onions onto it with her knife and dumping it into the frying pan spoonful by spoonful. The cook in the corner stared in mute horror, vibrating with the tension of being held between the urge to shout at the inefficiency, and the numbing fear of standing up against the bizarre girl who had taken over the kitchen.

The princess graciously declined the Gun Knight's assistance, shaking her head. "I appreciate the offer, Rathus. However, I am afraid I must decline. This being a gift for Musashi, it's of vital importance that it be made by my own hand."

The princess looked up, and seemed to notice the Gun Knight's new clothing for the first time. She quickly snapped into an analytic scanning phase, eyes darting here and there to inspect his outfit for any potential flaws or faux pas. It seemed that he met with her approval, as she gave him the formal court etiquette equivalent of a roaring double thumbs-up: a double thumbs-up with both pinky fingers extended.

"You clean up well, Ser Rathus," she admitted, shaking off the gesture to start again at her work.

"Thanks," he replied, "The secret is to use soap and water."

The Gun Knight looked over the assorted ingredients, piecing together the recipe from the steps she'd been taking. He did a bit of mental addition, but the numbers weren't quite adding up in his head.

"Are you sure yer gonna enough time to finish before we leave? I figured you woulda wanted to get all dolled up for your big dinner with Musashi."

The princess disregarded his worry, shaking her hair with a toss of her head as she settled into a practiced aura of smugness. "Now now, Rathus. You shan't underestimate my ability when it comes to preparing for a social event. Despite what you might think, it's not about dressing up to your fullest extent at every opportunity. You must dress to match the occasion, and a casual dinner —even with such an august personage as Musashi — is only cause for a level three formal attire."

She hesitated, suddenly unsure. "Usually. Which venue did you say we would be dining at again?"

The Gun Knight grimaced to himself. He'd really wished that Musashi would have picked somewhere normal to eat. But then again, that would be expecting Musashi to not be Musashi.

"The Ocean's Motion."

Ruth froze like treacle, not suddenly, but with movements gradually slowing until she came to a stop. She flushed and covered her mouth, giving Rathus a scandalized look as her cheeks turned crimson. "The— isn't that a... a brothel?" she asked, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Apparently, it's a bordello, not a brothel," Rathus corrected, rolling his eyes. "But it's—"

"A BORDELLO?!" Ruth gasped, dropping the pot and spoon onto the butcher's block. "Rathus, why are you waiting until now to tell me this?! I have to completely re-evaluate my outfit for tonight. That calls for at least a level six outfit!"

"Am I missing something? Is there some secret difference between a brothel and a bordello that everybody knows but me?"

"I don't have time to discuss this with you, Rathus," Ruth declared, quickly pulling her apron off over her head. "I need to get ready." She hesitated, looking at the cookbook.

"I need to stew the meat and vegetables, then put them in the pie, then it needs to bake for about a half an hour. We have about an hour until seven, so... if I get ready while the pie is baking..."

Rathus felt a sympathetic sinking in his stomach. "Stew the meat?" he asked, confirming. The princess nodded, giving him a jeering smile as she leaned over the counter, picking the spoon back up to cock it towards him.

"Indeed, Rathus. I know it's a complex notion, but it involves water, heat, and ingredients. One of the most advanced culinary techniques."

The Gun Knight nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I might have heard about it before. I was only asking because, well... you know that usually takes at least an hour or two, right?"

The smile vanished from the culinary master's face, and she darted to the cookbook, looking suspiciously at the Gun Knight, as if he were teasing her.

"It... it simply says 'Stew until just so'. It doesn't say anything about time." She looked up at the Gun Knight, holding out hope, "You... you are simply having a laugh at my expense, aren't you?

The Gun Knight stood silently, trying to decide how best to respond. However, his silence was all the answer the princess needed, and she deflated, collapsing into a heap of royal regret. The cook stared over from the corner of the kitchen and grinned a smile, smug in her silence. 'This is the fate that awaits all who underestimate Cooking', she thought, though she would never voice such thoughts aloud. Ruth seemed to receive the message all the same, staring despondently at the cookbook.

"I suppose... I probably should have accepted help after all."

Rathus scratched at the back of his head. "Well... A big pot pie might be out of the question, but... I think we can still salvage it. There's probably a similar recipe we can use in there." He unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up to keep the fine fabric of his jacket clean. This was pointless, of course, as his clothing was enchanted to be stain-proof, but he supposed Ruth wasn't the only one to act out of principle.

"Let's see what we can whip up."

*****

The Ocean's Motion wound up being much larger than Rathus had reason to expect. He'd seen quite a few brothels, as could be expected from a soldier, even an elite one such as a Gun Knight. While he might not have had much first-hand experience with them, especially later in his career, he at least knew the general ins-and-outs of the ins-and-outs involved. Most of them were holes in the wall (in the case of the cliff-dwelling Holy Prostitutes of Grasstown, literally so), and generally of a dubious reputability. Nothing came close to the building he saw before him.

Rathus stared up at the facade of the business, which was glowing with small bulbs of deep blue and red lights, arranged into lines to give the impression of a Merrow woman draping herself over a rock amidst crashing waves. She was half-Manifested, her lower half transformed into the long scaled tail of some sort of fish, and nude save for two strategically-placed clamshells. The structure of the building was almost castle-like, a low building connected on both sides to two large brick towers, several stories tall and at least five rooms wide apiece, if the windows were anything to go by. All in all, the building took up the better part of a city block, just by its lonesome.

Most striking, however, was a central tower, which to all appearances looked like a lighthouse in miniature. Rathus wasn't really sure what to make of it. It was certainly picturesque, squatting as it was on the edge of the lake, but it almost seemed like it was trying a bit too hard. In other words, its Dwarven inspiration was immediately apparent. The Gun Knight glanced over at Ruth, who was enraptured, staring up at the building. Her eyes sparkled in wonder, but the emotion didn't seem to reach her body. Her arms, which were clad in long white silk gloves, were rigid, stiffly holding the basket of hand pies in front of her at waist height. She stood straight, her posture perfect and unflinching, although Rathus wasn't sure how much of that was intentional, and how much of it was due to the corset she was wearing.

The Princess gulped as they crossed the street, then took a deep breath and regarded the Gun Knight out of the corner of her eye.

"Rathus, listen carefully, because this is of vital importance. This may well be my one chance at Musashi. If you ruin this for me, I will activate your Vow, and command you to chop down every tree in my ancestral woods using only your face."

The Gun Knight didn't bother to look over to her. "Unfortunately, your highness, the Vow prevents the Imperial Sovereigns from abusing Gun Knights in that way. There are ordinances against jobs intended only to humiliate or punish the Gun Knight."

"Ah," Ruth replied archly, "But it wouldn't simply be to humiliate you, you see. I would need all of that cut wood to build a funeral pyre for after I kill you."

Rathus nodded. "Very pragmatic."

"Indeed," the princess agreed, "so I expect you to keep your objections to yourself. I know it will be difficult, but I implore you—"

"Do whatever you'd like," he replied nonchalantly, staring at a man in a domino mask and a cape, who was juggling outside the entrance.

"I won't hear your refus... huh?" Ruth looked at him in surprise. The script she had prepared had gone out the window, which was probably for the best, since she'd lifted most of the lines from Two Crowns and a Rose, which she had considered a solid contender in the romantic graphic novel genre, hampered only by the fact that Musashi wasn't in it.

"If you want to try to seduce Musashi, be my guest," Rathus explained, shrugging. "My job description is to watch over you and make sure you're not in danger or getting into too much trouble, until such a time as you're reunited with your parents. I'm not a babysitter."

"Well goodness, Rathus. And here I was thinking that as a Knight, you would have some duty to protecting my innocence."

The Gun Knight chuckled quietly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Innocence? Don't you write smut as a hobby?"

The smut author colored, shoving aside the concept with one hand, the other carefully gripping the basket of pies. "This and that are completely different, Rathus. It's the principle of the matter."

Rathus shrugged. "It ain't really any of my business. You wouldn't be the first princess Musashi has had sex with. I imagine if it were a bigger deal, somebody would have probably done something about it by now."

Incredibly, Ruth's crimson expression somehow became a crimson that had ascended beyond crimson, also known as a Super Red 2.

"S— I never said I was planning on sleeping with him! I mean... if... but— I would..." She took a deep breath. "I was referring to c-courting him in a more official capacity, Rathus. It's-it's not unheard of that I might catch his eye. Such things have happened before, you must admit. I'm not looking for some c-carnal interaction or anything like that."

Rathus stared at her in silence for a moment before turning back to the bordello's entrance. "Well, I take it back. Maybe you are more innocent than you let on." He walked up to the ticket booth, as the princess rushed after him, affronted and shouting at him.

The ticket-booth had a single attendant, a cheery Walpurgis woman wearing a crisp uniform. A red vest over a long-sleeved white dress shirt, complete with a small round bellhop cap atop her head, nestled between two round, furred ears. Rathus couldn't place the animal they belonged to, and considering the Walpurg was completely un-Manifested, she looked like a normal Stentorian in all other respects.

She smiled at him, bright teeth flashing from beneath her freckled cheeks.

"Welcome sir! How can I help you today?"

The Gun Knight stared at her, then at the marquee behind her, confused. The marquee was little help, as it simply read "Magical Margaret", "The Astounding Professor Wardenclyffe", and "Bishoujeux Can-Can Revue", along with what looked like time slots.

"I'm a bit, uh, new to all of this stuff," he admitted, "But is this really the sort of thing you'd buy a ticket for? Do you just pick a girl and... and schedule it, or—"

"Sir." She interrupted him, giving him the polite customer service smile that translated loosely to 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on', "This is a BORDELLO. Not some common brothel."

Rathus took in a sharp intake of breath through his nose, and opened his mouth to speak, but the attendant barreled over him.

"These are tickets for the STAGE SHOW, sir. Whichever other services of ours you partake in are your own business, and are not handled at this booth. Thank you for your understanding."

Rathus sighed. He glanced past the booth, where a man in a tuxedo opened one of several doors, revealing a massive ballroom beyond. The princess glanced at him, then at the ticket-seller. She urged him onward with an arching of her eyebrows. Resigned, the Gun Knight took another stab at it.

"Look, I'm just here for a dinner party. I assume he booked it under his own name, for Musashi? Do we need—"

Her expression changed instantly, her smile brightening.

"Oh, well why didn't you say so?" She glanced down at something on her desk, then looked back up, all smiles. "You must be Ser Rathus McGaff, and Ms. His Guest. Your tickets are already paid for. You'll be in Madame Seiryoku's private booth, on the balcony seating. I'll have an attendant guide you there."

She gestured towards the entrance. There were several sets of ornate cherrywood doors, carved into floral shapes. One opened now, and a tall man wearing a matching uniform to the ticket-seller beckoned them inwards.

The pair followed him, sweeping into the grand ballroom of the Ocean's Motion. As impressive as the building had been on the outside, that was nothing compared to the sheer image of luxury which fanned out before them. The ballroom itself was a single large, open-concept theater. The stage was what immediately caught the eye. It towered at the far edge of the room, massive silk curtains the color of the deep ocean billowing, suspended on casters and hanging down from a height higher than most homes. The raised stage was wood, save for a brass relief that skirted the rounded edge of the stage, displaying a number of iconic scenes taken from literature, drama, and history that were frankly, as a wise man once said, totally fucking epic.

The curtains were drawn now, but down below, an orchestra was assembling in a hidden alcove, preparing for a show that seemed soon to start. The stage claimed most of the room's length, rising above the dance floor of the ballroom, a lowered section lined with polished hardwood. Only a small section of the ballroom was open for dancing at the moment. The bulk of the space was filled with dozens of tables, each set with fine cutlery and satin tablecloths in various shades of blue and green. Dining parties were starting to filter in, and Rathus noticed that most seemed to be well-off, finely dress ladies and gentlemen, rather than the sailors and deckhands he would have expected to see.

Rathus and Ruth stood on a carpeted walkway, which bordered the full length of the dance floor. A waist-high marble wall divided the ground floor and the recessed ballroom, broken only by a few sets of carpeted stairs to allow passage back and forth. Marble columns erupted periodically from the wall. Sculpted female figures curved around the columns, supporting a mezzanine above the passageway. As the curved hallway followed the edge of the ballroom on one side, the opposite side opened into smaller alcoves, which seemed to serve a myriad of purposes.

Rathus took it in, seeing a few smoking rooms, hazy clouds of tobacco smoke billowing within, butting up against an invisible boundary marking the edge of a Domain some Juror must have set up, which kept the smoke from invading the rest of the ballroom. The effect was mesmerizing, but Rathus had seen similar things before, and tore his eyes from it, scanning the edges of the room. Most of the side-rooms were darkened, reserved for the more secretive patrons, or perhaps simply a place to eat away from the bustle. He was startled to see that one of the alcoves even seemed to contain a Makka's restaurant, complete with a goblin chef violently hurling hamburgers directly at a few of the customers, who were lined up with their complimentary catching plates handy. He hadn't been expecting fast food, but considering most of the patrons seemed to be eating proper fine dining, there must have been another kitchen hidden somewhere within the building's depths.

There were two full bars within the ballroom, one on either of the far sides, each with people swarming opportunistically around it. As he watched, he noticed a number of them staggering through the wide curtained archways leading out of the ballroom. The two towers must be the private rooms, the Gun Knight reasoned.

"This way, please," the attendant beckoned, guiding the pair up a set of stairs tucked against the wall. They took the stairs up to the mezzanine, before turning to head back towards the center of the room. The outside wall of the upper floor was also filled with private rooms, although these were not alcoves, and were instead rooms proper, each with a wooden door for a more secure sense of privacy. The balcony edge of the mezzanine was open save for a low wall, and Rathus could look out onto the main room. As they passed down the length of the hallway, the wall filled in, a smooth wavelike pattern protruding from top and bottom until it met into a solid wall, providing privacy for one of the reserved balcony booths. They passed the booth, and the walls opened back up, revealing the view of the stage once more. A few two-top tables sat along the edge of the balcony, smaller tables providing quiet seating for pairs or single diners.

"The murals," Ruth muttered quietly.

The Gun Knight glanced at them, two massive multi-story murals flanking either side of the stage. The left depicted the Making of The World and the Bestowing of Gifts. the square map of the World featured centrally, and was flanked by each of the Gods and Goddesses. These hovered protectively over the Inheritors, the first Human that each of the Gods and Goddesses had been tasked with creating, representing each of the races of Humanity.

At the border of the mural, ringing around each figure, was the symbol of each of the Prime Names that corresponded to each race. Earth, Wood, Water, Air, Metal, and Fire. Rathus sought out Setenaya. As the youngest Goddess, who was left with no Prime Name —no Gift to give her own creation — there was no real Canonical placement for her on the chart. A lot of depictions arrogantly placed her and her Stentorians in the center, but it looked like this one tucked her between Metal and Fire. Wily Sosruko sat below her, smug between Spardacus of the Dwarves, and Kresnik of the Orcs.

"It's pretty nice," Rathus said honestly. Despite what some of his peers assumed, he did have a passing appreciation of the finer arts. Ruth gave him a disbelieving look, and he followed her pointing finger to the second mural. Rathus looked upon it, and could only nod, keeping a strict poker face.

The second mural was strikingly dissimilar from the first. It depicted an abstract, repeating pattern of shirtless, musclebound dwarves striking various bodybuilder poses, overlapped by a row above, with several women of the various other races, each striking a unique, vaguely provocative pose, silhouetted in muted colors. The dwarves got no such treatment, instead being depicted in full, exhausting detail. This pattern repeated, a row of dwarves, a row of women, each slightly differing from the other, for the entirety of the mural.

"Hm." Rathus wisely observed. "It's ah, definitely unique."

"OF COURSE!" A voice roared jovially behind them, causing Ruth to jump, almost dropping a pie from the basket. "DWARVEN MURALOGY IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD!"

Rathus turned, cool as a cucumber, hand calmly resting on his belt, and looked down to meet the eyes of an immaculately well-groomed Dwarf. The man was dressed to the tee, wearing a bespoke three-piece suit and silk gloves. His dark beard was bound into three tight braids, each capped at the end with a round, golden bell, and his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that tapered down to the base of his neck. The Dwarf gave a curt bow, extending his hand for Rathus to shake.

"You must be Ser Rathus. I've heard much about you from Master Musashi."

Rathus reached out, grasping the man's hand to shake it. He was met with a perfectly-calculated handshake, of such perfect firmness, of such measured arc and length of shaking that Rathus was inclined to offer the man a job on the spot. He blinked in confusion, banishing the strange thoughts, and smiled at the Dwarf.

"That I am. But I'm afraid you've got me at a disadvantage, Mister?"

The Dwarf nodded sagely, lowering his eyes respectfully from the Gun Knight. "Ah, my apologies, of course," he replied. "I am known as Harem Master Regis Priapus, Forged in the ways of Service, 'Service', and Staff Management. I serve as the Master of Ceremonies for Madame Seiryoku."

"Rathus McGaff," the Gun Knight confirmed again, "Imperial Gun Knight, in service to the Empire of the Eternal Star."

Regis smiled. "It is a fine thing to meet you, Ser." He released Rathus's hand, and shifted to face Ruth directly. The princess handed the basket of pies to Rathus, and extended her right hand out, fingers splayed downwards. The Dwarf didn't miss a beat, and gingerly accepted her hand, brushing his lips a fraction of an inch above her hand in a ceremonial kiss. He looked up at her expectantly, and she hesitated, glancing at Rathus.

The Gun Knight seemed to read her expression, and gave her a halfhearted shrug which seemed to say "Go on, then." She looked back to the Master of Ceremonies, and her eyes sharpened, and she stood straighter, seeming to fill the space more fully, becoming more present as she looked (slightly) down at him. She glanced again at Rathus, this time as if she were waiting on him. They stood for heartbeat before Rathus realized that she was expecting him to announce her. He sighed silently. That would be the way of propriety, wouldn't it?

"Her Royal Highness, Ruth Greer, Princess of Dennis, Imperial Sovereign," he announced.

Regis raised an eyebrow, but stood, his posture shifting in ways almost too small to notice, but with a grand effect, changing his already formal bearing into a mind-boggling liquid grace and propriety. He bowed once more, this time much deeper.

"Your Highness, I am your humble servant."

Ruth let out a long breath, closing her eyes and visibly relaxing as if she had surfaced from a long dive through the perfume section of a department store, breathing in fresh air for the first time.

"It does my heart good to be among people who are so educated in the proper ways of response," she replied, giving Rathus a pointed glance.

The Dwarf bowed to them once more. "Your praise pales only in comparison to your beauty, Your Highness."

He turned smoothly and walked from the pair, heading towards the central, and largest of the private balconies.

"But please," he said, "Follow me to Madame Seiryoku's private booth. The show is about to begin."