(Untitled)

[howling_laugh]

Coyote comes into the bar with a small stack of envelopes in hand.  She hums cheerfully to herself, flipping through them before dropping them off with a fond pat to Bar's surface. She's out just as fast, shutting the door firmly behind her.

They are addressed to:

Comments

[puckishly]

Where has Puck been?

And where is he going?

And why are there feathers sticking out of his hair?

Look, we don't claim to have answers. All we have is one suddenly delighted fairy who has just come into a lovely invitation. He reads it over carefully, sets it down on the Bar, hops up onto the Bar, and begins earnestly to pen a number of lines on a bit of parchment.

They all have spidery question marks at the ends.

[forewarned_is]

Nearby, at the bar, there's a goddess looking at an identical invitation. Her expression holds an uneasy blend of intrigue and annoyance.

Well. This could be interesting.

What are they up to?

[puckishly]

After a moment, Puck happens to glance up from his scribbling.

He smiles.

"Ah. Have we a friend or three in common, lady?"

[forewarned_is]

She glances up, and smiles back. "Perhaps. Acquaintance, at least."

Peer might be a better word than that, even.

[changeinasnap]

Well, shit.

Is there a way to decline the invite gracefully? Skip town? Come down with a convenient case of rabies? THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING DAMMIT.

Aaaaaand at the same time: he's pretty sure there isn't. Not if Coyote and Raven are involved. (Well played, tricksters. Well played.)

Oh, well. At least there'll probably be booze and cookies. Grumbling, he stuffs the invite in his pocket and flickers out of the bar.

[taishar_malkier]

...Really.

Lan is not going to be asking Coyote any questions. Let alone Ace.

Moiraine Sedai, however, is going to get a note shortly. It won't contain any questions, technically; it will be brief and factual, and any questions like WTF is this, and do you want me to come? will be purely between the lines. In (metaphorical) tiny text.

Communicating in nuance and silent understanding is old, old habit, and often a very useful one.

[awesome_lilly]

Lilly has not been around for a while. Things have clearly changed. And not just with the kids.

Dear Coyote, Moiraine, and Ace,
I can't believe you all got together while I was gone and before I got to marry any of you! Bitches. Oh well, I'm still totally happy for you and I will totally come to Raven's party. I'll even help with the waxing, and you know that generally I just get Tom Riddle drunk and make him "expellinairus" my legs. And stuff.

Anyway, can't wait to see you! I'll bring snacks! And a date!

love,
Lilly

[puckishly]

Puck, meanwhile, has come up with a lengthy list of useful questions.

What of a mortal tasting of strawberry? Friendship?

Must I bide the entire quarter of the moon?

How is a raven belike unto a writing desk?

He sniggers pleasantly in the midst of these and glances up for a moment's thought.

His eyes widen.

[awesome_lilly]

Lilly's surveying the bar. God, it's been a long time. She turns. Her eyes widen.

Music doesn't play. The bar isn't replaced with a flowering meadow. Lilly is not suddenly wearing something soft and floaty and virginal. She doesn't start running slow-motion into Puck's arms as he bounds towards her.

But that's cool, because if any of that had happened, they'd only get halfway across the meadow before being shot down with tranquilizer darts and carted off for treatment by Havelock, who is equally suspicious of meadows, sentiment and the adjective virginal being applied to an adult Goodfellow-Kane.

"... Puck?"

[puckishly]

While all of these things are busily not occurring, Puck has sprinted past eye-widening and straight into staring.

He appears much closer to her, the scroll and quill clutched in one hand.

"Ay, me," he says, with an owlish blink.

(He may also sniff the air. This should not be taken as an insult.)

"You are no vision, all compos'd of airy smoke. Are you then my lady wife?"

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock doesn't really drop by all that open to collect mail, being busy working in noticeably quiet and modest a way as possible at the Palace, and avoiding assassination contracts at the Guild. This is usually fine, since he doesn't get all that much in the way of post.

So he's mildly surprised by the invitation that appears along with his coffee, but smiles faintly - and a little ruefully at Vanilla mortals attend at their own risk.

Isn't that always the way?

Still, it hasn't exactly stopped him yet.