Where had the staff come from? Nobody knew. But sometime at six in the morning, a group of people arrived in the park and immediately spread out over the premises, constructing a bunch of nondescript stands at a rapid pace. They set out cheap soft drinks on the picnic tables, put up some large banners, cleaned the place up and scared off a few
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"'lo, chef," he said, in merry Irish brogue. "What's all this then? I didn't know they broke out the Michelin stars for this sort of gathering."
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Cassidy did not sound very thrown by that.
"I take it you're a bit more familiar with the particulars, chef. Looks bloody French from where I'm standing, that's about all I've got."
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Hannibal nodded at the food. "Largely French or French-influenced, yes. Can I interest you in any of it?"
[Have to go out, so SP for a bit?]
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[[ sp is awesome! ]]
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He smiled. "And those are known as 'devils on horseback'. Medjool dates, asiago cheese, and homemade bacon."
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Cassidy looked at the spread. Then he looked up at the castle. Then he looked back down at Hannibal.
"So this kidnapping thing," he added, conversationally. "You reckon it's the French government? 'Cos I've met me some government types lately..."
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He waved vaguely with one besleeved hand. "So what's it like, living on an isle with a mind of its own?"
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Particularly when you missed another wedding because of it.
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Cassidy had to check.
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He was just a regular 100-something-year-old vampire with a best friend who could compel people to do whatever he pleased, conning drugs off of government agents that may or may not have been actual angels. Waking up with tits, now: there was something unusual.
"Sorry, mate," he added, actually at Hannibal. "That's just the sort of thing where you have to check and be certain. Nothing personal."
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