ways_back_room | And with a Crash-

Fading out is an echo of two voices...

"He's an angsty, emo, heartless sorcerer swordsman."

"He totally needs to get laid, then."

There's never a good closet around when you need one- at least, ever since someone came up with Rule #3. So what if Laini and Zelgadiss missed the stairs and whatever else door they were aiming for- They're at least out of the bar right now, and Laini is doing her best to get him out of his clothes.

(As for hers- Shapeshifter. That will only take a moment, unless he wants to help as well!)

They crash the door into the back room and onto a convenient couch. Zel winces a bit as the back of his head hits the armrest (because Laini is totally doing the pouncing) and, noticing their surroundings, says eloquently, "Um. Where are we?"

Laini blinks, maybe finally distracted. Somewhat. "Good question- though someone did leave a drink here."

Zelgadiss eyes said drink. It's blue. Very blue. "Yeah, but what sort is it?"

BACKROOM INVASION! Tag freely! Threadhop! Make crack! It's not canon and it doesn't really happen! Allons-y!

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'Do you want the long list, or the longer list?'

This question is mostly directed into the mug.

Gramarye eyes the words above.

'That ought to have been me,' she says, reproachfully.

Rym answers the question by nodding pointedly in the direction of the hunchbacked gentleman. "I suppose I'm lucky. There could have been more of them around."

'This is most certainly true.' The hot-water bottle gets a protective cuddle as she follows Rym's nod. 'He's going to be in for it soon enough, if I remember rightly.'

There's a small girl watching this exchange warily.

"What," she demands, "do you two want with my uncle Archibald?"

"It's a long story."

Realizing what she said, Rym claps her hand over her mouth, but woefully, it is too late.

Saph pours Rym more tea (she'll need it) and then shuffles out of the way.

Lalala, nothing to do with the Dark, here.

Mary is eyeing all of them with equal sharp suspicion.

She folds her arms, and stamps her foot in frustrated emphasis.

"What story?"

'A long and by no means interesting story.' Gramarye shoots a wary glance at the departing Saph before looking back to Mary. 'We were planning to ask him for his opinions about Irish Home Rule and the split in the Liberal Party...and bimetallism! Yes, bimetallism.'

Not that Archibald Craven is likely to have any real opinions on politics, but of all the boring topics she can think of, politics is as good a topic as she can get.

Rym has no more opinions on the Liberal Party and bimetallism than Archibald Craven does, and her thoughts on Irish Home Rule are fairly vague, but she follows Gramarye's lead.

"We are taking surveys, you see," she adds helpfully. "On current issues as they relate to the English upper classes."

"You are not English," Mary points out, her eyes narrow and suspicious. "And I am of the English upper class. And anyways, why were you pointing to him instead of going over and speaking with him?"

Gramarye opens her mouth, then closes it again.

'Because we aren't dressed properly for it.'

Totally lame, and totally true.

Rym flashes Gramarye a relieved look: Good answer. "We're working on the survey now, and when we're done and we've changed our clothes, we'll go talk to him. But since you're here, we might as well ask you too. Gramarye, do you want to try the survey questions?"

"Lots of people aren't dressed properly, here," Mary says scornfully. "I should think my uncle would be used to it."

But the lure of the Survey is strong, so she uncrosses her arms and tries not to look expectant.

Her smile is just this side of brittle.

'By all means.' When she looks over at Mary, her face is composed and as professional as she can manage while wearing a bright red dressing gown. 'Do you consider Joseph Chamberlain's conception of the Liberal Unionist Party to be a formal break with the Gladstonian tradition of liberalism?'

Because when you fake it, you might as well fake it with flair.

Rym just listens in a certain amount of awe.

"No."

Mary's voice is very flat.

"For I do not know what the Liberal Unionist Party is, and I do not know what Gladstonian is, and I think you are just making things up."

'Trust me -- if I were making things up, I would make it much easier on myself,' Gramarye mutters. 'And there would be references to Monty Python movies.'

And with a Crash-

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