It is night/b/i, about 48F(8C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey clouds. It’s raining. The mist is heaviest At Autumn and Franklin
There is a waning gibbous moon.

Mercy turns slightly more pointed attention onto Lykaia for a few beats after the mask is briefly removed.

Jeremiah sweeps the camera slowly from left to right, then centers it on the road and zooms in for the wide-angle shot.

Lykaia adjusts the mask and slides it a little to the side to be able to follow through the mirrorgate, the adjusts it back when they are through.

Esme mumbles something about needing to add an umbrella to her ‘go bag’ when they come through the gate and it’s RAINING. But at least it isn’t freezing.

Mercy sighs a little when she feels her hair already becoming slick to her head from the rain, which of course only makes the chill ten times worse.

Beau pulls up his hood, and sweeps the boom mic around in the air, almost like he genuinely believes he can dodge the raindrops with that sensitive sound equipment.

Jakem seems mostly unfazed by the rain, the water just sort of running off his hair like he sprayed it with repellent, and just drenching the rest of him. Fur coat’s probably gonna get pretty waterlogged, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he looks about. “Oh that was a quick trip.” he comments.

Well it’s not as cold as Matthew had warned or predicted, but it’s raining, grey clouds are overhead and mud is already pooling and forming in the tracks of this road. It’s well traveled, the locals are using it right now, a few carts heading west– all of them are dressed like they extras in the most elaborate renaissance fair.

Matthew look around and over at the gate, his group having arrived before the contestants and he gives Jeremiah an approving nod, “Perfect, perfect. they should be arriving any minute now, uh… Jakem and Esme, if you two wanna start greeting folks when they arrive and letting them know that this is the set for a reality Ren Fest competition, that’ll be perfect.”

And then a woman arrives through the gate, she has black hair, hispanic looking followed by a GROUP… like twenty at least… who are already milling and talking to one another. She locks in on Matthew and heads his way to speak in quiet.

Jakem steps forward with an air of bravado, holding himself high with a big smile “Welcome folks, one and all. Who here’s excited about the games coming up? Everyone ready to be reality-tv famous?” he bellows in a booming baritone that could start birds from a hundred paces.

“First and foremost I’d like to congratulate you all on being selected. We got a bit of a trip ahead of us, the locations nice and exotic and we need to keep it that way. So no interfering with local flora or fauna.”

Beau quickly follows behind Jakem and Esme, and he holds that boom mic steady, positioning it within range of the fresh arrivals and greeters.

Lykaia follows through and after the party, she finds herself near Matthew at first, but when one of the people from the crowd looks at her, she places a hand over her heart and bows, her eyes look solemn in the way one may at a funeral for last respects.

Jeremiah pans the camera across the group, shifting focus back to Jakem as he speaks, then back to the influencers for their reactions.

As the larger group spills fully onto the muddy road the sight of the ‘film crew’ draws a wave of relieved laugher and excited chatter from the contestants at Jakem’s question. One of the women breaks from the crowd almost instantly, already fixing his collar and angling his good side toward the nearest lens like he’s found a lifeline. “Yo, before we do anything too ren fairy, can I snag a quick confessional?” he asks, beckoning toward one of the cameras with a reflexive confidence.

At about that time a pair of villagers in rough wool cloaks and muddy boots are passing along the road’s edge, heads bowed, murmuring to one another in their local Wildling dialect, it doesn’t sound like English, but they’re speaking low enough that it isn’t too easily heard. Another contestant immediately brightens at the sight, others are waving enthusiastically that way now too, calling out, “Hey! Love the commitment!” While another jogs a step closer to play for the cameras. The villagers only stare back with quiet, unblinking curiosity before continuing on, leaving behind an uneasy hush where the laughter had been.

Esme lets Jakem take the lead in greetings and intros. “Commitment! Exactly.” She pipes up. “They’re extremely committed to their roles. We want you to be as immersed in this experience as possible, yeah? So just like we don’t want to disturb the flora and fauna, we want to respect the supporting crew.” She tries to speak in a reassuring tone.

Jakem coughs “Hey folks, just a reminder, how well this part of the program performs is gonna be depending on your ability to play along with the world we set up for yah. No one’s ‘comitting’ to anything, and everything here is normal. Immerse yourself in the setting, and try and play along. Afterall, if the first episode doesn’t take off, the whole thing can get cancelled before the second airs.”

Jeremiah moves the camera between Esme and Jakem as they speak, then back to the group, zooming in on a few of the more attractive members, as these shows tend to do.

Beau did not dress well for the rain, but despite this, he’s standic stoic and proud with his boom mic. His head he keeps still on Jeremiah, and he angles that boom mic carefully to hover just above the center of the shot, doing his absolute best to not get into view. His poor shoes are quickly caked in mud, but he’s a professional– or thinks he is, and isn’t going to let that get to him.

Lykaia pulls the hood of her poncho over her head and crosses her arms over her sternum, watching over the group.

A few of the contestants nod along to what Esme and Jakem say, murmuring agreemeng while easing back from the villagers, though omre than one steals a last curious glance over their shoulder. The one requesting a confessional? He’s undeterred, though does question of Jakem and Esme, “So do we not…” he starts to ask, gesturing towards the only camera in the bunch, “give confessionals?”

“Don’t productions usually have more than one camera?” another contestant asks. The group starts to murmur, sounding more than a little discontent, and soon there’re questions of, “when are getting out of the rain, where is the camp?” About this time Matthew finally finishes his conversation and gives a smile to the group. “Alright, alright. Eyes up, folks. I’m your host for this stretch, and you’re gonna want to mind the producers–” he says gesturing towards Jakem and Esme, “and don’t stress about the cameras you do see, we’ve got plenty you don’t, so stay in your oment and trust the process.” Before he can say more

Another ox-pulled wagon lumbers out of the rain haze from the direction of the nearby town, just as it nears the group, one of the villagers suddenly steps closer to the road’s center as if to intercept it, forcing the wagon driver to haul sharply on the reins, and steer directly towards the group.

Jakem nods to the second contestant “Yeah, there’s a couple set up, though they’re pretty well hidden.” he says, pointing up towards the sky as he converses.

Jakem holds a finger up to his lips “Don’t point ’em out though, when you see them keep quiet.” he says a bit louder for everyone else. “Remember, this may be a reality bit, but immersion is key. Especially for reality tv.” He lets Esme field the confessional question.

Jeremiah sidesteps, catching all of this on the camera, because nothing glues asses to seats more than watching people die, or come close to it. He moves the lens dramatically between the cart and the vapid people.

Lykaia exhales when the wagon starts to haul towards the group, and alas, for the sake of pretense, she cannot just slice that ox down, so instead she makes to try and jump close to it and push back against the wagon, relying on her strength, maybe just enough to steer it away from the group, if she can get there in time.

Beau huddles back behind Jeremiah, holding the boom mic in preparation to catch the ensuing carnage.

“There’s going to be plenty of time for confessionals when we get out of the rain.” Esme assures those asking. “Use this trip to think about what you’re excited for, who you like, who you’re still feeling out, what you think might be in store.” She may be about to say more but there’s a wagon heading there way. “Everyone out of the road! Stay calm!” She motions quickly to the side of the road opposite that Lykaia is trying to push the cart.

Mercy has mostly been the silent sentinel in the background thus far, and when the crowd gets uppity she pulls the crossbow from her back and holds it up- not taking aim, but raising the weapon just enough to convey the message clearly that she’s here to keep the peace. Then the ox-drawn cart starts veering towards them and her composure cracks just a little as she backpedals in alarm.

Jeremiah continues to ‘film’ everything from the side of the road, moving between the cart, Lykaia, Esme, and the sheeple. He’s maybe starting to get a bit too into this.

The sudden burst of motion draws a sharp chorus of gasps from the contestants, several of them scatter instinctively as Lykaia lunges toward the wagon. Someone yelps. Another shouts, “Be careful!” while a few more grab their phones to snap up in a reflex when shock meets influencer, only for true panic to hit: Nobody’s phone is actually working.

The ox bellows and the wagon lurches, mud splashing high as the moment teeters between stunt and disaster. Matthew steps in, flashing a smile like this is all fun and make believe. “Welcome to–” his eyes flicker towards Mercy and that crossbow, continuing to speak, “Renfair land! You will be met with all sorts of surprises, twists and turns, let’s just–” he is nodding to the team now, “get going shall we? There is a ceremony and–” he checks his watch (which also isn’t working out here) “stick to the schedule, we just need to walk up a ways and get to the gate!”

The man seeking a confessional has forgotten all that, several of the contestants are murmuring to one another trying to make sense of Lykaia’s sudden burst of action and the feat of strength. The Wagon driver looks bewildered and thankful for the intervention, uttering in wildling what sounds like a word of thanks to Lykaia, offering her an apple from his cart.

Jakem shakes his head as a few people grab their phones “Sorry mates, read the contract. No cell phones. Batteries were replaced at the hotel with dummies to keep the phone’s integrity, but they don’t have power.” he explains glibly to the lookyloos with a good natured grin. “Now come on, get into things. We’re in a fantasy world. No electronics, no whatsits, no whosits, just enjoy nature. Or suffer by it. Either one can make great tv.”

Mercy thankfully doesn’t have too eager a trigger finger and no bolts are loosed either at the ox or the sheeple so far. Once the cart is dealt with and that momentary lapse in composure is over, she clears her throat and resumes her efforts to look imposing, stoic, and very obviously the hired security.

Lykaia lets out another exhale as the wagon does come to a stop by her, she straightens again, her white thighs splashed with some of the mud from both rain and the whole mess itself. She makes a respectful curtsy to the wagon driver and tells him “May your life last beyond this day, friend.” And then turns around to the people responsible, letting out a sigh and a small shake of her head before she moves aside again, towards the side of the crowd. Her arms cross over her sternum once more, watching over the group.

Beau brushes a bit of mud from his jeans after that splash, clearly not realizing just how close he was to that ox. That mic he’s holding surely would have swung into the shot by now. He uses his elbow to help push his damp bangs off his forehead, his eyes bouncing between Jeremiah, Esme, and Jakem as he reframes the boom mic to stay equidistant between them and the contestants.

Esme nods toward Jakem’s words about the phones and Matthew’s talk of Renfaire land. “Yes, embrace the moment and rest assured that everything’s getting captured for you to watch later. For now? As my co-producer says, Get into it! Enjoy the walk, take in the sights, and do think too hard about it all.” She motions as she starts to retreat back toward Matthew since he’s the one who knows where they’re going. “We’ll be to our destination in no time!”

Jakem steps back to speak to Beau, keeping either calm, or partially oblivious to the more exciting events behind him. “Hey, that guy that wanted the confessional…” he whispers loudly “Take the mic over towards him and kinda droop it nearby. Don’t ask him anything, and if he acknowledges yah, or does something to break immersion, move on to the next bloke, but if he starts hamming it up for the camera, keep with him. Make sure everyone else sees yah doin’ it too.”

Beau gives Jakem an understanding nod, and he plods over through the mud closer to the group of arrivals. Following instructions, he doesn’t move the boom mic exactly over the man, but instead droops it nearby, maybe geting give this guy more confidence.

“Dummy batteries?” one person asks incredulously. “Wait…what, really?” another groans, followed by, “Oh my god, I absolutely should have read the contract.” For the most part, though, the group accepts their fate: phones useless, rain soaking in, committing to the process whether they like it or not. By this time everyone is fully drenched, the rainfall unrelenting and the cold settling into everyone’s bones, harsh conditions prove remarkably effective at cowing a crowd into compliance.

Beau’s commitment to professionalism is commendable, several contestants glancing between him and Jeremiah as if their mere presence is confirmation enough that all of this is still part of the show. Another woman approaches Lykaia with visible excitement, noting, “That was really impressive… I think you’ve got a real future doing stunt work,” clearly assuming the danger was all an act. As for the ox and wagon, they’ve already continued on their way down the road, disappearing into the rain.

Matthew nods in Jakem’s direction and moves to take point, lifting a hand as he begins guiding the group forward. “Alright, let’s keep it tight and keep it moving,” he calls, leading them into their march through the sucking sludge of the road.

Jeremiah follows this with the camera, sweeping the group but keeping Beau out of the shot. The camera slowly pans over the influencers, and he begins to walk backwards, slowly, as he ‘records’ the scene.

Jakem starts to whistle a folksy tune as the rain pours down, moving to take up the rear for the most part, though he chats with various people in between his whistling “Doest thou lookest forward to the tournament?” he says in terrible renfairese to one. To another wearing a particularly fancy shirt he remarks “That is a dashing tunic m’lord.”

That confessional seeker spies the dangling boom mic in his peripheral vision and chomps like a fish on the hook, mud-splattered hand sweeping dramatically rthough his hair as he pivots just to ‘accidentally’ address the rain. “Wow, the elements are really testing us right out the gate, huh?” he says loudly, eyes flickering towards the mic with practiced innocence. “But adversity is nothing compared to what I saw in the ser vice,” he says gravely, pausing for effect. Another contestant glances his way but rolls their eyes, marching onward.

“Madam, it honors my to hear you say as much.” Lykaia answers, giving the woman that’s approached her and started to chat a nod. “Would it not be the last time we would see another, perhaps we could have worked together on another future movie together.” She tells her, her neutral cadence leaning into something final again. “I am sure you can be a wonderful performer in what is to come, and that it may never just be the last performance you partake in.” She wanders along as the group begins to move. With mild interest, she gives Jeremiah a glance, but then displays something along disappointment as he slips more into his role.

The girl gives Lykaia a funny look, clearly not sure how to respond and assuming they are all in character now. “Right….” she says, laughing awkwardly, “a wonderful performer.” and she quickly filters back in with the group.

The march isn’t long by any means, but it is a miserable march through unrelenting rain, soaked clothes clinging heavy with mud and cold, the road finally breaks way to a low rise where a large black and white castle rears into full view: a massive sprawl of black and white towers sprouting up into the stormy sky. Water sheets off its sheer walls and floods the massive gate- the giant head of a magpie. Standing before it is a loen guard in the stark black and white uniform. As the group arrives he snaps to attention with exaggerated ceremony, head tiltling in sharp bird-like manner as he squawks out obnoxiously: “STATE YOUR BUSINESs, YOUR BURDEN, AND YOUR SECOND FAVOURITE LIE!” puntuating the demand with an unnecessary little hop as rain drums against his perfect, unmoving posture.

Beau hurries along, keeping pace with the confessional seeker as the group moves– perhaps looking for more good, cheeky one-liners that might make the faux audience groan. He does seem appreciative of the man’s practiced innocence, and looks amicable to move to mic around to any other dramatic influence-laden insights that may bubble up from the crowd.

Jeremiah takes some B roll of the surrounding area, before refocusing on the people, again lingering on the hot ones, swinging back to Esme and Jakem, and a long shot of Mercy, stoically holding her crossbow.

Once more the contestants start murmuring to one another, several of them pointing to the large eyes, another one, a woman, edges in closer to Mr. Confessional, “Skylerr,” she says, addressing him, “I need you to be honest with me right now, Is this a Renaissance fair… or did Hot Topic finally achieve sentience and join this circus?”

leans over to speak to some of the influencers “See, now this is how yah do a confessional in style.” he comments with a nudge as he looks to the talking bird creature. “Captilize on this, not gonna have a lot of footage of one on one interviews like this thanks to the vibe we’re going for, so you might have quite a while to wait before the next.” he nods over to Beau and Jeremiah, gesturing to the Magpie like Jakem was in charge “Hey, get the folks answering the questions, yeah?”

Esme keeps an ‘all business’ sort of demeanor despite the rain. When they approach, she moves to the side as if to help ‘present’ the influences while Matthew speaks up, ready to assist Jakem if needed or instruct any of the contestants.

Matthew steps forward through the rain with an easy and unbothered confidence, offering the magpie-guard a broad and theatrical bow that’s just shy of mocking. “Business is entertainment, burden is debt, and my second favourite lie is…” he glances around and says, “that we’re all dry right now.” He flashes a grin as he straightens, explaining further, “We’re expected, delivery for Merric’s games–” and he motions towards the group, “and if we’re late, I’d hate for the blame to land your your very impressive feathers.”

The guard’s owlish eyes widen another faction as he clicks his beaky helm twice in obvious consideration. “DELIVERY, YES. EVERYONE says that,” he squawks, producing along, absurd scroll from nowheere and beings unrolling it into a puddle at his feet. “However You’ve failed to declare your tertiary expectation, your favourite disappointment, and whether your burden is emotional, spiritual, or legally… legally…” he chitters to himself seeking a word, “fermenting! So I’m afraid you are currently pre-denied pending reconsideration of your reconsideration.” And before Matthew can say more he squawks out, “NEXT!”

Matthew starts to open his mouth but the guard simply squawks even louder, “NEXT. No Line cutting, there is quite the cue today–” that being everyone who has just arrived, “and rules are rules, back of the line.”

Beau hurries around, he’s physically fit enough that these light jogs aren’t enough to wind him. He positions himself quickly to get Matthew’s answer to the magpie-guard, holding the boom mic ready to capture any other answers to its list of three questions. He looks up at squaking creating, his brows drawing in like he’s unsure if the crew should be answering too.

“Flower-duty.” Lykaia starts with, taking to step forward after Matthew seems to had been denied, then adding, in a melodious neutral cadence “My burden is pacing along with everyone else.” She says, her head makes a little tilt “I hope there will be no bird hunt today, that would be quite and utterly terrible.” Another exhale as she often likes to do. ” Blue, red, pink, legal wisteria-” And the smell of Wisteria does fill the air for those around her, that are familiar with her. “Deeply golden depressed. The stars will fall on the ‘morrow, don’t let the leggings eat your pinky.”

Jeremiah films the interaction between Matthew and the guard, then takes a wide tracking shot over the group to gauge reactions, before returning his focus to Esme and Jakem.

Jakem tsks to the Magpie “You’ve erred my friend, my dear good compatriot here was in fact stating his third greatest dissapointment, our arrival at the games. It’s a complicated story involving love, loss, and ice cream, but I assure you it’s the truth.” He tells the Magpie “But before you accuse me of chatting needlessly, let me say that our business is show business, lieing for the sake of the crowd. My burden is three kilograms of water in my coat, and my second favorite lie is the one you told about Matthew’s failure. It was a hilarious deception, and I’m sure you’ve quite rattled him.” He sighs “As to my greatest dissapointment, it was that your lie couldn’t carry you to second place.”

He speaks quickly and fluidly, almost like he was practicing his lines in line.

Esme leans a touch, as if mumbling something to Jakem briefly, lips barely moving. Then her gaze settles back on Magpie with a subtly quirked brow to see how it reacts to his pitch. Apparently she’s planning on trying to go about dead last herself if she has to go at all.

Jakem hmmms and nods at Esme’s words “Quite the physical burden, this water in my coat.” he addendums to his statement.

The guard freezes mid-click as the scent of wisteria rolls over him, his glassy eyes shuttering with a slow, asynchronous blink as if a weight were settling in. He shoulders slump a fraction, voice dropping into briefly maudlin as he murmurs, “Legal wisteria is a registered mood violation… deeply golden depressed is a recognized… tone and the stars…” he pauses visibly fighting the urge to weep, “All the stars are scheduled.” Then his hand snaps back upright and a violent metalic whirr.

“HOWEVER!” He squawks sharpy, pointing one black feathered finger at Lykaia, “YOUR FLOWER DUTY REQUeST HAS BEEN MISFILED AS A TREAHT, YOUR BURDEN IS TOO POETIC TO BE TAXED, AND YOUR DISCLAIMERS ARE TEMPORARILY ACCEPTED UNDER PROTEST….. NEXT!”

His attention whips to Jakem mid-monologue, owlish eyes narrowing as the scroll at his feet rapidly rewrites itself in a cackling silver ink. “OH NO,” the guard says with sudden relish. “YOU SPOKE FLUENTLY. THAT MEANS YOU’VE ENTERED THE PENALTY CATEGORIES.” He begins rolling the scroll up, between his feathered fingers, continuing on, “YOUR BUSINeSS IS ACKNOWLEDGED. YOUR BURDEN IS MEASURABLE. YOUR SECOND-FAVOURITE LIE WAS INDEED AMUSING.” A slow bird-like tilt of his head follows. “YOUR GREATEST DISAPPOINTMENT, HAS BEEN UPGRADED TO A TOLL.”

Then, loduer, so the whole soaked shivering group can hear: “ONE OF YOU NOW OWES ME SOMETHING UNREHEARSED!”

Matthew look towards the crew, he’s been already relegated to the back of the line, and so he gives them all, Beau, Esme, Jeremiah, and Mercy, an encouraging look.

Jeremiah begins to dance an Irish Jig, while still holding the camera. It’s not great, but it’s clearly not rehearsed, either.

Lykaia moves along, past the magpie person, and turning around after several steps. Her hands place at the sides of her hip, the rain falls onto the see-through hood of her poncho and the snowy eyes gaze back to everyone else after giving Jakem a brief look as they spoke to the magpie guard. “Move it along, people. Camera guy, microphone guy, also give an example to the others so they know what they’re doing. Let’s keep this moving along.”

Esme purses her lips as the Magpie rattles off their determination of Lykaia and Jakem’s words. She draws in a breath to speak but all that comes out initially is a short laugh as Jeremiah breaks out into a jig. She quickly clears her throat and recomposes herself. “Overseeing this is my business, my burdens are far far too numerous to name and my second favorite lie is that vaping makes you look cool.” She tches. “I expected to be done with this an hour ago and my greatest disappointment currently is in you holding us up.” She stares at the Magpie.

Beau pats around nervously at his soaked jacket, he chimes up to the squaking creature, “My business, here for Matthew, sir.” he continues, his voice growing earnest. “My burden? Well, maybe it’s exactly that sir, that maybe I’m not meeting people’s expectations. My burden is my burden, hell, worried now my damn foot’s in the shot.” he muses to himself, flashing a grin to Jeremiah, his Southern accent thick now. “Second favorite lie, Shit, it’s probably that I like mini-golf. Ain’t a lick of fun chasing after a small ball when it goes off track, is it?” he huffs to himself in a quiet chuckle. He hesitates on something, the word ‘tertiary’, “My, uh, tertiary…” he goes on, the word sounding foreign on his tongue, “…expectation is that I do a damn good job for Matthew. And my greatest disappointment is not seeing my mother enough.” with that he ends, maybe his cheeks flushing at his honesty to the question as his vision peers out to the larger group of arrivals.

Beau then speaks a bit belatedly, “That’d be an emotional burden.” he stipulates to the guard quietly, following a clear of his throat.

The guard’s owlish eyes study Jeremiah’s jig in stunned silence at first, the rain tickling softly against his armor as the camera wobbles with each of his hops. Then, slowly, carefuly, he begins to clap. Once, twice, totally out of rhythm with the movements. “Ahhh!” He sounsd delighted, “Unscripted humilation. Excellent currency.” He unfurls his scroll again, silver ink rewriting itself furiously as he points at Jeremiah, “THE DANCE IS ACCEPTED AS TOLL. UNFORTUNATLEY YOU WILL OWE ME A BETTER ONE… AT A LATER DATE.” A pause. “ONE OF MY CHOOSING…”

His gaze slides to Esme with an audible rustle of feathrs, head tilting in cool appraisal. “OVERSEER STATUS NOTED. BURDENS MARKED AS ‘EXCESSIVE’. SECOND-FAVOURITE LIE LOGGED AS DISINFORMATION.” The scroll curls smugly at the edges. “YOUR GRTEATEST DISAPPOINTMENT IS VALID…. REGRETABLY, SO IS MY AUTHORITY.”

He lets that hang in the air for dramatic effect, until he theatrically snaps his beak shut and raises a finger. “GOOD NEWS. YOU HAVE SATISFIED THE UNREHEARSED REQUIREMENT.” A beat. “BAND NEWS. YOU ARE STILL WET.” He’s just about to open the gate when Beau starts to speak.

The guard remains still for some time, thinking on all he’s heard and then, “OH. YOU ANSWERED BADLY!” Then his beak clicks with a sudden brightness. “BUSINESS ACCEPTED. BURDEN RECOGNIZED AS INTERPERSONAL GRAVITY. FOOT ANXIETY NOTED AS A SECONDARY SYMPTOM.” THe scroll scratches eagerly. “YOUR SECOND-FAVORITE LIE IS TRIVIAL AND THEREFORE EXCELLENT.” At the mention of Beau’s mother, the guard’s feathered collar lifts in something like approval. “GREATEST DISAPPOINTMENT LOGGED AS GENUINE. THAT MEANS I GET YOU KEEP A PIECE OF IT.” He lifts one black-gloved finger and taps lightly against Beau’s chest, no force, “YOU MAY VISIT HER IN DREAMS FOR THE NEXT SEVEN SLEEPS. AFTER THAT THE HOMESICKNESS IS MINE.” And then he finally opens the gate.

Jeremiah stops dancing, and sweeps the camera around again.

Shaky laughter works up from the crowds, more than a few people muttering, ‘what the hell’ and whispering rationalizations ripple through the contestants as they try to reframe everything they just witnessed as extreme improv, or avant guard security theater, or the world’s most cursed orientation skit. A few of them glance nervously between the guard, the gates and the camera, clinging hard to the idea that there’s still a show being filmed here. Matthew doesn’t give them time to sit with it, he claps once, flashes an easy grin, and smoothly herds the unsettled group and crew forward through the opening gates twoards the courtyard. “Let’s go folks, it’s almost time!”

Lykaia breathes deeply in and that breathe leaves from her a little sharply to the inside of her mask. As the gates open, she turns towards it and starts walking on ahead of everyone. Her hands drop from her hips to her sides and her head turns to quickly gaze around as they enter into the castle itself, eyes only briefly settling vaguely on the individuals ahead, before fleeing to the next figure and then the courtyard at large.

Jakem slips inside, broad smile everpresent as he greets anyone that meets his gaze with anything ranging from casual nod to courtly halfbow. It doesn’t seem to depend on the apparent status of the invidual in question however, bowing to servants, nodding to nobles.

The courtyard opens wide in a large sprawl of black and white marble and rain-slicked stone, banners of feathered silk rippling through the towers as Merric reclines up his gilded, branc-like throne with the three nobles arrayed nearby in all their ridiculous splendor. For a brief, dangerous moment, it almost feels like the arrival, like competition, as Matthew turns slightly, bnreath drawn to speak and signal that their part in this madness is finally done.

And then the gates slam shut behind them. Ominous.

Merric rises in one smooth, delighted motion, sweeping his arms — way too wide and way too long to belong to any human–as his voice echoes out across the courtyard. “Late,” he laments theatrically, peering down at the soaked mess of contestants. Then his eyes slide to Matthew and his team, as low grin carving across his hookish face. “But… oh! You’ve brought extras. How thoughtful.” He lingers on that, seemingly considering it for a second before stating, “I’ll allow it.” He claps once, sharp and jubilant, “Place, everyone. The Games begin with our first event.”

Lykaia breathes in deeply through her nose and takes up place near Matthew. She does try to meet his gaze once, and then only makes a very firm nod to him if she can manage it, and then gives everyone else a look, briefly lingering on Jakem and Esme before looking to the lord. She curtsies to him, again, her head bows a little deeper, hem of her dress raised a little bit again. “Your grandest of grand birdships! Pray tell us, how shall, -we-, the final contestants perform for thee?” Her head stays bowed.

Jakem takes a moment to process, then gives a solemn nod, calling out behind him “All right, this part is gonna be semi-scripted, everyone take your places.” he declares to the crowd behind him before turning back to the bird king. “Gonna head to the kitchen to confer with the caterers. Games

Jakem takes a moment to process, then gives a solemn nod, calling out behind him “All right, this part is gonna be semi-scripted, everyone take your places.” he declares to the crowd behind him before turning back to the bird king. “Gonna head to the kitchen to confer with the caterers. Games’ll sour if no one’s fed and everyone’s sober.” he comments as if this were just standard procedure, moving not to leave, but rather to venture further in.” (fix)

Even more nervous laughter ripples through the contestants, some clapping uncertaintly as if they are unsure if this is what they should be doing to such a cold open. Others are whispering that this has to be the main set at last. A few exchange wary look at the nobles, who look well, insane and impossibly dressed, verging on unreal. But the presence of cameras and Matthew’s earlier confidence keeps the illusion barely in tact, not that it matters anymore, they’re inside the gates.

A bookishly narrow man steps forward, face pinched in scholarly offense as he sniffs and unfurls a self writing scroll. “Welcome, Temporary structural elements, I am Lord Thimblewick Quibblestarch.” He declares before announcing the first event in dramatic legal cadence, “This first event is The tower of Too Many Rules.” He snaps his fingers and the teams bare assigned, “IF your name begins with the letter A–” several contestants and people are suddenly dragged off by an invisible force by their ankles, “If you have ever lied about your height,” Another group dragged off to the left, leaving all other people (including Matthew and any of the other team members who have never lied about their height) blinking confused in the center as a third team. “And this is our default team and moral liability.”

Jeremiah pans back and forth with the camera, from Big Bird and company, to the sheeple, and back. He lingers on a few places, like Esme’s ass, but not for long.

Lykaia gets dragged along on ‘if you have ever lied about your height’. Clearly there is history there for as small as she is in a lifetime of military service.

There’s a sigh of relief that washes over Beau, thankful to bare a name starting with the next letter in the alphabet. His eyes grow wide as there are multiple teams snatched to either side of the courtyard. Beau finds himself in the center, still holding that boom mic, evidently not someone who’s lied about his age.

“Moral liability?” Esme half asks to herself with a furrowed brow. “The fuck does that mean?” She asks, looking to Thimblewick while she tries to run through what might be going on. She flicks a glance in Jakem’s direction to see if he’s managing to keep walking or if he’s been corralled into a ‘team’.

Beau definitely also hasn’t lied about his height, having still stuck it out in the center.

Jakem has been corralled into a team, though someone seems to take special note of Jakem. He’s dragged either to team, has lied about his height, or finds himself back at the center.

Matthew watches as Lykaia gets dragged off and then look sto see who else ends up taken to that group.

Jakem has been corralled into a team, though Merric seems to take special note of Jakem. He’s dragged either to team, has lied about his height, or finds himself back at the center.

Matthew watches as Lykaia gets dragged off and then look sto see who else ends up taken to that group.

Jakem has most certainly lied about his height, indeed if you were to take an account of things he hasn’t lied about at some point or another, the entire list could likely be shorter than his fingernails.

Jeremiah has never lied about his height, as he’s always been on the tall side.

While the teams settle in, Lord Thimblewick snaps his fingers again, materials simply appearing at the center. “You will all build a tower,” he announces, the materials are all matters of things, floating bricks, spring-loaded wooden slats, overripe and hardened pumplkins, glass rods etched in text, Vines that seem to react and move and grow, and folding furniture scattered about.

“NOw the rules are simple,” the Lord continuse to explain, “Whichever team builds the tallest tower following the rules will win my favour!” And with that he claps his hands. The rules appear in golden text in the air for all to read, some contestants are still operating under the illusion that this is all one big elaborate set. Some are starting to panic and ‘walk off the set’ only to find that they keep being dragged back to their groups by some invisible force.

“Oh. That should not be too difficult then if I can figure out the rules and how the material is going to work, through I’ll have to consider the unreliable aspect to it with fae shit.” Lykaia mumbles, breathing in as she steps closer to Jakem. “Good fortune I brought my kit.” She places her hands along her hips, narrowing her eyes to see what the rules are.

Matthew look over at Jeremiah, seeing where he’s been dragged to, team height lie or team moral liability

Jakem nods over to Lykaia, who’s likely also in the same position, and looks over the rules. “Huh, okay, so how many of these do you think we can break in one go? I bet there’s a special prize if you can take a single action that breaks all five rules.”

Jakem frowns dourly at the rulset “Number three isn’t even a rule, how am I supposed to break that?”

Esme stares at the golden rules for a long moment, as if trying to attempt to puzzle out a loophole, scrubbing a hand over her face.

Jakem complained too soon, getting to number four “This is balderdash. These are guidelines, not rules.” He says to no one first, then looking upwards to Merrick “Hey! What’s with rule three and rule four?”

40OOCLY There is now a list of the current materials available

Beau scratches at his face, eyes squinted at the rule set. “…emotionally secure?” he mumbles, then flicks that brown-eyed gaze to the available pumpkins for some reason. “Do we gotta whistle? I don’t know if I can…” he admits sheepishly.

Lord Thimblewick looks on, watching as Esme puzzles over the rules and he calls out, “You’re trying to understand the rules. That’s adorable. Stop.” It’s too dry to tell whether he’s attempting to be encouraging or not, but he walks around like a teacher through the courtyard. Team first name begins with the Letter A just stares, they have no clue what’s happening. And then one person runs up and reaches for one of the floating bricks. It floats out if their grasp, another game inside the game as that poor A-name tries to corral what should definitely be still, and most certainly shouldn’t be floating.

“Confusion is not a flaw in the system. It is the system,” Thimblewick continues to state.

Lykaia says something at length to Jakem, her tone quiet enough to not be heard across, but then also starts to take out her pack, lifting her dress up, revealing a pair of hotpants underneath and retrieving a bunch of items from it.

Esme flicks off Thimblewick and then turns to confer with the others in her group.

Beau cuts a glance over at Jakem as he whispers, and he huffs loud enough to hear. He’s already heading over to some pumpkins when Esme speaks, the not-ripe ones, and picks one up with a grunt of effort, hurdling it back towards his other team members.

Beau then displays the pumpkin to Jeremiah and Esme, uttering just one word. “Pumpkins.” it drawn out in his Southern accent.

Beau also shows it to Matthew, he’s apart of the team too!

Jeremiah nods. “I’m an engineer, but mostly computers and electronics, Still, wider base is necessary to structurally support greater heights.”

Matthew loooks to Beau and catches the pumpkin just as it comes hurdling his way, “Okay, great, and he plops it down. Wide base, leaning tower of pizza…” he a glance towards the team of liars.

Beau is already heading back to that pumpkin patch, looking for another ripe pumpkin he might be able to stack on top of the previous as his other teammates discuss more sane approaches.

Matthew is OOCLY moving around between teams to play atmosphere, but for all intents and purposes he’s a grunt on team moral liability.

But Matthew look sback over to where Jakem is on his team and calls out, “Good idea, I have no clue what happens if we break the rules….”

“Unless all of the pumpkins are the same size and shape, they’ll be uneven support materials, but… a layer of wood, pumpkins on top, then more wood, and so on. Try to firm up each level with downward pressure, but not so much that any of the pumpkins get crushed. Once we have a base that’s maybe waist height we can consider shaping it if we want to.” Jeremiah suggests.

Lykaia grins at something Jakem says, though it is hidden under her mask. And then she goes on to take the bricks and also calls out “You- you and you- Do not bring me all the same colored bricks.” But all of her own bricks are same colored, and the same applies for the spring-loaded wooden slats. “Jakem, do not help me with the right colors, I think everyone around us on our team is far too smart.” She does also take out a small protractor. “We should never get all the pink items, of course.”

She starts with a foundation, trying to keep the floating bricks in the air. The slats are actually cut, broken, turned as thin as possible with the tools and expertise she carries along, though it may also not be as milimeter thin as she would like. “We should not get a musician to play the tiny violin in sounds are couldn’t be whistle noises.”

Jakem nods a bit, squinting “It’s a good thing we’re not after green items.” he says with a dejected sigh as he fondles a bottle of green nail polish from his satchel, shaking his head with remorse. “Don’t worry though, pink items are off the menu.” he says, approaching Lady Pompadour Wifflefan “Excuse me madam, not to worry; I know you’re doused in pink, but we’re not after any of that.” he says, doing a novice magician’s trick of distraction while he purloins pink plumage from the noble lady.

Beau circles the pumpkin patch, and pulls out miraculously a blue pumpkin this time. He hurries back to his group, arms hugging this blue pumpkin like it’s a life line. He’s all smiles, beaming with pride as he shows off the pumpkin and promptly hands it off to Jeremiah.

Esme casts a curious glance toward Lykaia and Jakem as they work but refocuses on her team, “We just have to make sure that matching colors don’t touch.” She sends some of the others in the group to scavenge up good frames, rods, and vines. “Nice find!” She tells Beau. Once someone comes back with a rod she examines it to try and read what one of them says.

Lady Pompadour freezes mid-way through preening as the pink plumage disappears, her painted smile twitching once before widening into somethign dazzling. “Ohhhh– pickpocketing via emotional misdirection, how… provincial,” she trills, turning slowly as mirrors ripple behind her to show Jakem the theft from every possible angle at once. Wit ha lazy snap of her fingers, the stolen feather ignites int oa burst of rosy illusion. Fire in his palm. “You may keep the idea of stealing from me, darling, but the actual color remains under copyright.”

She glides closer to him, eyes glittering, “Do it again, and I take something of yours that doesn’t grow back nicely.”

Beau gives Esme a quick thumbs up. He watches as Jeremiah begins to work, and curiously he tries to whistle, but the attempt is poor, sounding much more like that of some pregnant-lady breathing excises.

Jakem tuts at the Lady Pompadour “A chance to be immortalized in a game, and you pass it up like tinder and flame.” says as he withdraws, returning emptyhanded to the wild manifestation of a tower. “We’re doing pretty good at this.” he declares with an approving, unphased by his own netzero contributions. “Oh I think I spotted more pieces…” he says, putting hands in pockets and heading over.

Jakem approaches the stack of remaining pieces for team moral liability and gives a faint nod “I have an idea.” he says to Esme and Jeremiah, moving to collect a few bricks and one of the slippery glass rods. “Can I borrow these a moment?”

Jeremiah nods. “Feel free.” he says, clearly open to any good ideas.

Esme nods to Jakem, “Absolutely.”

Jakem nods, moving with the items back to team height lie and dropping off the extra items before Lykaia before dropping the mask.

Jakem nods, moving with the items back to team height lie and dropping off the extra items before Lykaia before dropping the mask. (and now with his true face)

Team ‘A’ is an absolute wreck, instincts overlapping one another, the one person from that team is still chasing that brick. Merrick points and laughs, the Duchess drinks from her cup, while another of the A-team contestants has claimeda glass rod and is trying to balance it on the pathers. The third and final member of that team is bargaining with the materials, causing one of the living vines to suddenly bloom and sprout all kinds of flowers as it starts to grow, up, up, up.

On Team Height Liars the tower is coming together, but are they following the rules? Lord Thimblewick comes over to inspect closely, seeing whether they are in fact keeping colors from stacking on colors.

Meanwhile on Team Moral Liability the logic is sound, the base is wide, the pumpkins are colorful, the glass rods… everything is looking like it could be a strong result…

But then Lord Thimblewick suddenly starts laughing and says, “Okay, those rules are boring, NEW RULES! Height is now a rumor! Any piece placed with confidence will immediately develop doubts. Intent counts as structural support. Anyone who says ‘I’ too often will be considered a single-point failure in the structure, Whistling no longer reinforces, it testifies it.”

Lady Pompoadour watches Jakem retreat with a slow, incredulous blink, then lets out a light, laugh that ripples through her mirrors. “Immmortalized? Darling I am already a recurring legend around this town,” she croons sweetly, smoothing an imagineary crease in her violently magenta plumage. Her eyes narrow just a touch as she adds, voice turning velvet-sharp, “You, however, have just volunteered to be rememebred as an afterhought with pockets.” As he wanders off she calls, “Do build carefully, it would be tragic if your confidence finally learned how to fall!”

“Mekaj, the lady has all the pink, but this is green.” Lykaia gestures to the pink piece, slowly working along things. She uses her small protractor to angle them to be what looks to be right angles, and the slates are a different color, but so thin that they make to try and vanish between the same colored other materials. With the work she started, the foundation of the tower started mid air, and she tells the materials things like “I believe in you! But I’m also disappointed you are not taller yet.” or “I’m sincerely holding you up, b ut only because no one else clearly ever holds me.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m being honest, I don’t want to be here.” Or questions like “Are you emotionally sincere?” And then “I sincerely don’t know.”

When new rules come, she gives the Lord a look, tilts her head and starts to plan on ways to break those, too. She does make a little hmm, and pauses, a thoughtful look in her eyes for those close enough to see them.

Esme watches Matthew walk off and then blinks twice. “Goddamnit Jakem!” She shouts his way, though it’s mostly heatless. Mostly. She sigh and clears her throat, giving up on trying to continue reading the rod she’s been holding on to. She rolls her eyes as the new rules are rattled off. She Very Uncertainly sets one of the rods into a spot near a vine.

Beau hurries back, he’s running laps, and he’s all in on pumpkins. He’s currying to and from that pumpkin patch, providing ample blues and oranges, and the occasional pink pumpkin for Jeremiah to work with.

Jeremiah growls as he realizes they’ve been tricked, the board in his hand cracking as his hands ball into fists. He shakes his head as if to clear it, then discards the now useless board, grabbing another. He doesn’t stop to consider if it should go where he places it, and instead just drops it down, connecting the gap between two random pumpkins.

Lord Thimblewick Quill is passing Lykaia as she speaks to her team’s tower, and immediately freezes. “Ah, a mid-air foundation,” he intones voice thick with beurocratic relish. “That falls uner…” the quill stabs down, “Aspirational tresspassing.” was that even a rule??? “His eyes narrow sharply as she whispers those affirmations at the materials– the vines are responding positively and growing taller and taller with each word. “Stop asking the beams questions,” he snaps “They are not witnesses. They are evidence!” A beat, then a thin smile creeps in as he catches her planning around the new rules, “However… I do see you working against me in good faith.” The scrolls floating around his head begin to scribbled, “FOr that , I shall introduce a friendly amendment, Anyone who openly plots to break the rules must now announce which rule they are about to offend.” He inclines his head politely, “Transparency is pillar.”

Lord Thimblewick Quill is passing Lykaia as she speaks to her team’s tower, and immediately freezes. “Ah, a mid-air foundation,” he intones voice thick with beurocratic relish. “That falls uner…” the quill stabs down, “Aspirational tresspassing.” was that even a rule??? His eyes narrow sharply as she whispers those affirmations at the materials– the vines are responding positively and growing taller and taller with each word. “Stop asking the beams questions,” he snaps “They are not witnesses. They are evidence!” A beat, then a thin smile creeps in as he catches her planning around the new rules, “However… I do see you working against me in good faith.” The scrolls floating around his head begin to scribbled, “FOr that , I shall introduce a friendly amendment, Anyone who openly plots to break the rules must now announce which rule they are about to offend.” He inclines his head politely, “Transparency is pillar.” [Fix???]

Jakem hmmm’s as he looks over the new rules “You know I heard it was almost eight inches? I bet that’s an exageration.” he comments, nodding over to Lykaia with a stroke of his chin “Aye, aye aye aye.” he agrees in piratical, looking to a few other members of the team. “We Ai it.” he adds in Japanese (sorta). He declares as he ignores someone prohibition and moves to take the reigns of the device; proverbially of course.

He starts a tinkering with the various objecst at hand, kind of aimlesslly “Breach of rule seven underway; No ferrying frantically ferous ferengi for felonious purposes.”

Jakem hmmm’s as he looks over the new rules “You know I heard it was almost eight inches? I bet that’s an exageration.” he comments, nodding over to Lykaia with a stroke of his chin “Aye, aye aye aye.” he agrees in piratical, looking to a few other members of the team. “We Ai it.” he adds in Japanese (sorta). He declares as he ignores Lykaia’s ‘prohibition’ and moves to take the reigns of the device; proverbially of course.

He starts a tinkering with the various objecst at hand, kind of aimlesslly “Breach of rule seven underway; No ferrying frantically ferous ferengi for felonious purposes.”

Lykaia can’t help but find to grin under her mask. She breathes in, deeply, and then out, a hand places under her neck, over her collarbones bared under her poncho. She announced “I am not about to break rule whistling testifying.” And then, with a voice that reflects true talen, she whistle sings, it is really really high pitched. “This tower was not stable at the time of construction.” Little sentences that somehow fit togetther “The vines were present on the night in question.” or “We have always heard of gravity.” And it still keeps to the inverse, saying one, but meaning the opposite.

From his gilded branc-throne Merric has gone utterly still, chin propepd lazily on one knuckeld finger, eyes bright and round as silver dollars. Each illegal placement, each whispered contradiction, each accidental compliance draws a faint, delighted twitch at the corner of his mouth. WHen Jakem loudly declares a breach in mock-formal nonsense, and Jeremiah brute forces a board into place without intent, someone finally laughs. Soft at first, then openly, the sound cacophonous like a murder of crows. “Oh, that one is ruined in all the right directions,” he murmurs to the duchess, who remains at his side.

Across the courtyard, Team A has descended into full existential collapse. Alex is arguing with a vine that keeps trying to replace their arms as a support beam. Ari is stacking glass rods with religious care, whispering apologies to each one as they tremble in her hands. Avery has stopped building entirely and is instead standing statue-still, eyes wide, quietly repeating, “Height is a rumor, height is a rumor,” as if that will count as a tower. Their tower is technically frowing, but only because none of hte materials agree on what ‘up’ is anymore.

From his gilded branc-throne Merric has gone utterly still, chin propepd lazily on one knuckeld finger, eyes bright and round as silver dollars. Each illegal placement, each whispered contradiction, each accidental compliance draws a faint, delighted twitch at the corner of his mouth. WHen Jakem loudly declares a breach in mock-formal nonsense, and Jeremiah brute forces a board into place without intent, Merric finally laughs. Soft at first, then openly, the sound cacophonous like a murder of crows. “Oh, that one is ruined in all the right directions,” he murmurs to the duchess, who remains at his side.

Across the courtyard, Team A has descended into full existential collapse. Alex is arguing with a vine that keeps trying to replace their arms as a support beam. Ari is stacking glass rods with religious care, whispering apologies to each one as they tremble in her hands. Avery has stopped building entirely and is instead standing statue-still, eyes wide, quietly repeating, “Height is a rumor, height is a rumor,” as if that will count as a tower. Their tower is technically frowing, but only because none of hte materials agree on what ‘up’ is anymore.

Beau pauses in his pumpkin currying, eyes fixed on the other team. “She’s got some pipes.” he mutters about Lykaia, and takes a small break, wiping sweat from his brow as he stands appreciatively before his mound of colorful pumpkins and Jeremiah’s dutiful but uncertain work.

Esme is working with Jeremiah to keep the structure mostly in tact. She has no idea what she’s doing which is -very- helpful in adhering to the rule of not placing things in confidence. “We can probably use the folding furniture now. And all the…angles it can help make.” She squints a little. “Though Think our tower might really be the tallest already. Mean, it’s gotta be at least getting close to six feet.” She lies easily. But is it really a lie if Height is subjective?

Jakem snaps his fingers as he looks over to the A’s tower. “I knew we shoulda re defined up before we started. They stole my idea.” he says complains with the moral weight of a feather behind his outrage. At Lykaia’s singing, he pauses in his rant to listen, giving a favorable nod “Terrible, worst singing I ever heard.” he says with genuine admiration.

Jeremiah nods to Esme, and says something that his engineer’s mind almost can’t wrap itself around. “Sure, just throw them in anywhere. Doesn’t matter.” He gives a nonchalant shrug, but it’s clear from his face that this is killing him.

As for the rest of the contestants, poor unaware humans, are no longer pretending this is normal, they’re simply trying to pretend it’s all a script. Some clap too late , some laugh too loud, some stare openly in horror at the vines that move of their own accord and the pumpkins crack and shadows fuse where hands used to be. One contestant starts crying quietly while still holding a decorative glass beam like a prop she’s afraid to drop. Another keeps saying, “This has got to be like AR, right? Are we in VR?” Louder each time as if volume might make it truer. Phones are useless. Their denial is wearing thin.

The Duchess Scree is having the time of her life. She has climbed onto the edge of a nearby wrecked tower (one of Team A’s first attempts) and crouches like a gargoyle in bright silk. She claps, kicking her heels everytime something breaks wrong. “When Esme claims their tower is six feet tall, she calls out, “I heard it’s the tallest,” shrieking loud with laughter.

Then, Merric rises.

After catching his breath, Beau eyes the folding furniture, then those eyes bounce back at the uncertain tower Jeremiah and Esme are working on, like he’s trying to decide if these colors go with that. “Definitely the tallest,” he agrees proudly after the Duchess’s words and starts collecting folding chairs beneath his arms, bringing them back to his teammates to start to use.

Jakem nods a bit over to Lykaia, his acquiescence to her point wordless, perhaps to save his vocal chords for the bellowing that follows “As you all have heard, It’s not how big the grandest tower is, it’s how you use it that counts.” he declares in a showman’s baritone that echos lewdly across the landscape.

Lykaia stutters and gasps and then bursts into loud laughter. “Oh, Mekaj, that is the worst thing I’ve ever heard! How could you!”

When Merric stands vines freeze mid-reach. Glass stops trembling. Even Duchess Scree goes still, balancing on one toe. Merric looks over the towers, such as they are, the materials, the trembling humans, and his grin is radiant. “Pause,” he says lightly.

The world obediently inhales and holds for him.

He steps down from the throne, slow, deliberate, savoring the moment as his gaze passes over the contestatns and then settles on Matthew. “You brought me confusion that thinks it’s clever,” he says fondly, eyes flickering towards someone doll, “Panic with stage presence. Disobedience in polite packaging.” His eyes glint in fading light. “You’ve all been exquisite couriers.” With a lazy flick of his hands the invisible weight keeping Matthew and his team tethered lifts, the obligation loosens, and it’s clear they are dismissed from immediate danger.

“Go,” Merric says graciously, “I will finish breaking them personally with the real games.”

Behind him THimblewick look vageuly offended that his game wasn’t formally notarized.

The games are paused. Matthew and his team are released. The humans they transported remain.

When Merric stands vines freeze mid-reach. Glass stops trembling. Even Duchess Scree goes still, balancing on one toe. Merric looks over the towers, such as they are, the materials, the trembling humans, and his grin is radiant. “Pause,” he says lightly.

The world obediently inhales and holds for him.

He steps down from the throne, slow, deliberate, savoring the moment as his gaze passes over the contestatns and then settles on Matthew. “You brought me confusion that thinks it’s clever,” he says fondly, eyes flickering towards Lykaia, “Panic with stage presence. Disobedience in polite packaging.” His eyes glint in fading light. “You’ve all been exquisite couriers.” With a lazy flick of his hands the invisible weight keeping Matthew and his team tethered lifts, the obligation loosens, and it’s clear they are dismissed from immediate danger.

“Go,” Merric says graciously, “I will finish breaking them personally with the real games.”

Behind him THimblewick look vageuly offended that his game wasn’t formally notarized.

The games are paused. Matthew and his team are released. The humans they transported remain.

Matthew wastes little time in locking eyes with each member, giving them a nod. He does say to the contestants, “Remember, play along, and you’ll be fine, this is a blessing in disguise, trust me.” Then, just as smoothly, he pivots and starts to lead the hispeople away from the courtyard before the Magpie Merric has a chance to change his mind.

Lykaia makes another curtsy to Lord merric “Thank you not, your birdness. May we always meet again.” She keeps on the inverse and then tells to the people that had largely not been useful “It will all be fine and we will meet again.” She makes another nod to Jakem, firmer, her eyes still show a little sparkle and then turns to walk closer to Matthew to find her place near him.

Beau does pause abruptly when the ominous Faelord speaks, and he stands utterly still. After Merric’s decree, he lets the folding chairs beneath his arms drop and huddles quickly in line with his other team members– he also remembers to pick up that boom mic.

Esme doesn’t need to hear anything further. She does vaguely remember to at least nod to the Fae Lord and his group before grabbing Jeremiah’s hand and turning to follow Matthew and the others.

Jakem moves over closer to Matthew “Eh, isn’t the standard policy to send like changelings back to be put in the missing people’s cribs or something?” he asks with a glance over his shoulder, frowning. “I just thought that’s how the kidnapping thing worked.” he says, shaking his head a bit. “Ah well.” He shrugs it off and follows after.

Matthew shrugs his shoulders at Jakem “I thought changlings were babies… are any of them pregnant?” gets wondered and then, “Honestly, the Concordat probably has an extraction team,” gets reasoned, “or… not.” He shrug, don’t know don’t care, as the group is lead out.

Merric declares in their wake, “The games will now resume, Duchess, if you will, the cake walk!”

Jakem begins whistling a merry little tune.

Jeremiah grabs the camera and follows along with Esme, not looking back at the fae as they leave.