Enter, Master Snakebite

[not_snake_bite]

"Ha! You ill-begotten, unworthy wretch!  You did not kill me!  Nothing can kill Master Steerpike, nothing!" He claims, repeats, singing and dancing madly as he flails in the darkening, rainy night.  Until... In a surprising deft movement he turns and stares at an uncanny source of light, a beacon in the night, and he suddenly realized he is no

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[hardlyagravated]

Laurel's had a long day; snapped at by a suicidally depressed teenager, utterly unsuccessful at finding her husband, and feeling very alone at present. But she's long internalized manners as a survival skill, and curtseys shallowly.

"Good eve, sir," quietly but not timidly, perhaps the fairer for her preoccupation, though it's been long enough since anyone found her so.

[not_snake_bite]

Well this one is certainly well spoken, Steerpike notes, though why she lets his stand in the rain any longer, he can't fathom. "Please," he says with puppy-set eyes, "It's so cold and damp outside, and I am such a long way from home..."

Of course, that the devil be so far from home is to him a blessing he couldn't expect - isn't that just what he needed? A fresh start in a new and luxurious place?

[hardlyagravated]

"Oh, aye, sir, come in," she says. "It is not my house, but no one yet has claimed to own it. You must have just arrived. But come in and get warm."

[not_snake_bite]

"Why thank you My Lady," he replies as he enters the place. She has a look about her of the concerned (selfabsorbed?) Fuschia, and for a moment he only examines her under his brow, like one might a kitten, trying to decide whether to pet it or drown it.

Having already caused on kitten's death by drowning (Fuschia), Steerpike decides against anything unpleasant for his greeter, for now. She's lovely enough to entertain him, at least.

T: I'm so sorry about my puppet. He's such a bad socken. Shall I put him back into the puppet bag?

[hardlyagravated]

"Do you want me to show you the kitchens? Or perhaps a spare room with a fireplace is more in order." She is watching him carefully, though not warily as yet. He's a stranger, but he's been nothing but polite so far.

T: Laurel's married to a huge asshole. She can deal with a lot. XD Also, I'm an evil typist. Fire away.

[not_snake_bite]

"Whatever you find fitting, My Lady," he replies with a silly bow. Steerpike hasn't played clown for anyone in a long time, but he remembers the ropes.

T: Oh, yes, poor Laurel. Agravaine is indeed quite aggravating.

[hardlyagravated]

"Laurel," she says, quietly. "This way." And she starts to lead him to room, picturing one unoccupied and warm, and assuming she'll find it.

[not_snake_bite]

Steerpike has to shake himself a little, and says, "I'd offer you my arm, Lady Laurel," (he's just been forbidden to call Fushcia by her familiar, he's learned his lesson), "But I'm afraid it would be highly unpleasant."

He's not lying, for once. He is, after all, soaked from top to bottom.

[hardlyagravated]

"It's alright, I quite understand. Is it raining here as well, or just where you were prior?"

[not_snake_bite]

"Both, I'm afraid," Steerpike responds with pleasant smile (oh, no, Laurel, it's a scowl), that's just a bit conniving. "Though it's much calmer here."

Indeed it is. Gormenghast was completely flooded when Steerpike left, though it's not impossible it was what afforded his unlikely escape.

[hardlyagravated]

"Well, I suppose I shall have to stay until it eases up." She tries a door, and it's the sort of room she's looking for. Warm fireplace and empty. "Here we are."

[not_snake_bite]

"Thank you," he says as he enters the room. But he does not go to the fireplace, rather staying on the otherside of the room. "Is there any chance I might locate some dry clothes?"

Steerpike is getting comfortable, and in the firelight Laurel is seeming prettier than in the hall.

[hardlyagravated]

"There's a closet that will probably have some nearby. If you want to dry a bit, I can fetch some things."

[not_snake_bite]

"My Lady Laurel should not proceed to such lowly tasks," Steerpike obsequiously exclaims. "Is this the closet?" He asks, pointing at an ornate cabinet with three doors, one of them decorated with a mirrror.

[hardlyagravated]

"It isn't the one I meant, but there may very well be some things in it that would suit. And truly, simply Laurel will do. I cannot recall the last time someone bothered with the title."

[not_snake_bite]

"You honor me," he replies - and there's a hint of truth there. "Then please, allow me to change into more suitable garb, and I will return to you anon."