Chương 153: Chapter 174: And In This Corner

So I'm hosting a silly little party with a silly little theme and this was supposed to be just a bridge from my Halloween party to my birthday party but instead I've got the ruling monarchs of the kingdom and also my brother attending. Everything is gonna be fine, don't worry. There's no reason for me to feel like I am standing in a powder-keg factory with faulty wiring- a factory I own and am responsible for. And that's exactly the kind of feeling that I need to put aside.

Because this is not an evening for tension, anxiety and the seething edge of hatred. This is an occasion for whimsy, exuberance, jollity and recklessness. I can't be a decorous and dignified princess here, I need something a little more buoyant, vivacious. Not quite 'zany', that's a bit too far. But in that ballpark. For good measure, I rented a couple dozen sturdy little ponies and handlers for the gardens at the side of the venue.

We've got the neighborhood children taking turns with the pony rides, as well as the children of invited guests. A family event this time, the RSVP was for spouses and children as well, but only invitees were eligible for the tournament. And later when some of the adults get tipsy enough to need some fresh air, they're going to see these ponies and want a ride as well.

That's why I picked animals with short legs and surprising disproportionate strength and stamina, so they wouldn't be injured by carrying an adult's weight. And so it would look sillier when they did. But inside! Everything is just a little too big and bright and brash. We've got so many new sights to see, so many moving parts to marvel at.

The big tournament board, the penny-bookies, the streamers and pennants, the casino corner, Wendy's wreath, the master of ceremonies and the microphones, the food, the wine, the other guests, the demonstration vacuum tubes that look like they're doing something important near the bracket board. The band, the lighting system, the pageantry, and the actors we brought in. Four of them, all of them properly villainous-looking, were playing the parts of "ringers".

Two were set aside for Meadowtam, and two were free agents who would pinch-hit in the tournament for a nominal fee, a share of the winnings. There were no winnings, so it's all for show. I will not have my guests actually bribing the actors, and I made sure they understood that. They are allowed to haggle viciously for their percentage of the "winnings", however.

The bookies were given a little bit of a script, to casually bemoan that people take this game too seriously nowadays, they've lost the sportsmanship that made egg-racing great. The servers, when they overheard one of those conversations, would sometimes add that they had seen "unsavory characters" hanging around the tournament. The ringers all used custom-made spoons with an extra-deep bowl that was perfectly egg-shaped and smeared with honey.

They would reject their first few eggs until they found "the right one". Our staff spectators and staff members would boo these villains, and it's all in good fun. It all starts with the introductions. When I found out that the unlanded knight, Sir Caining, was returning for the tournament, I insisted that he be introduced first for being such a good sport. We had piped the sound system into the green rooms and vestibule as well, I want the experience shared by all.

The microphones picked up the voices cleanly, with just a bit of the background trumpets that were repeating a few dramatic, triumphant bars on a loop." The management and judges would like to thank allllll attending! This pinnacle of talent and sportsmanship is only possible with the integrity of our people and the fine athletes that represent them! So it is with the highest honors that we bestow their names and bring them before the adoring eyes of the entire sporting world!

We begin once more with the Master of Mojmoraku, terror of the south-southwest territory of the Hearster Invitational League! Last year's five-bracket advance was not enough to tame his ambitions and now he's here for the title! We are prrrrroooooooud to present the One! The Only! Ualter Caining!"

"Thank you Skip, it's great to be back!"

"Sir Ualter, before I hand you off to the head judge and hostess of the event, do you have any message you'd like to send out to the audience in attendance, or those who will read tomorrow's broadsheets?"

"Yes I do. Always pursue your dreams, no matter how far-off they seem! And keep a loose grip on the spoon, flexibility is key!"

"Thank you Sir Ualter! Next, do you have any words to share with the esteemed Lady Natalie?"

"Good evening, Lady Harigold. Big fan. I'm looking forward to taking the trophy today."

"And I would like to be the first to wish you luck! Have you been training hard in the off-season?"

"Yes miss, it was brutal. I ruined two rugs and three breakfasts." We already had a crowd assembled, mostly from the untitled and unlanded guests and invitees, but also by bulking out with all of our servers and caterers coming out at the same time, having the bookies all line up at the velvet ropes to show a more obvious presence, so that our first walk-on already had a crowd to cheer him on. And he was the first to clap and stomp for the other guests as they entered.

I held his arm for the first several rounds of introductions until his red-faced wife marched up and took him away from me, to the guffaws of many. I blew a kiss after him, the crowd loved it. I'm not normally this comfortable in front of a crowd. But channeling a lot of peacock, and a little gold, and a small essence of alcohol, gave me the right blend of showmanship, arrogance and abandon that I need to really shine in front of an audience.

Speaking of things shining, as soon as we moved from the knights and dames into the liege nobility, I stepped up the display a little. I curved the tiniest portal to beam in a measured amount of bright white light. I formed it way up high, the arched rafters over the middle of the main floor, next to a diffuser to scatter the glow a bit and throw it onto a peculiar device I had made to my specifications. A fake egg, the size of a watermelon, covered in tiny squares and diamonds of mirror-glass.

Beams of faceted light streamed all through the room, twinkling all over, adding a surreal sense of movement to everything. All faces turned upwards, staring in wonder.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" asked my master of ceremonies, the microphone held low so he could whisper to me out of character.

"It's a disco ball," I said, beaming up at it.

"It's amazing," he said, awed. I did not even realize how much I have been missing things like that. It's the little things, you know? I don't miss airplanes or cars, I've even learned to not miss my phone. But small touches, things that I took for granted. Doorknobs, disco balls, the moon. Hot sauce, t-shirts, people taking medicine instead of just finding the nearest healer. I shook myself out of my daze. I tapped his shoulder to pull his attention back to the job at hand, but it was easier than ever.

The further in we got, the more excited the crowd was, and the more impressive our display. The trays were moving quickly, drinks distributed. And just like last year, I was adding just a bit more oxygen to bump the energy a little. The fictional victories and credentials of each competitor got more over-the-top the further in we got, but every one of them had to stop in shock at the top of the stair and take it all in.

I credit the disco ball, it is kind of a force-multiplier for spectacle, especially if you've never seen anything like it before. We moved past the barons and into the viscounts, so the next stage was fog effects. In a world that never knew dry ice, I have introduced an absolute wonder. Air essence can not only divide the air into parts and sort them away, but also to create the vacuum needed for a really strong chiller with only crudely-machined parts.

I remotely triggered the catches, and the water was spilled on, and a ground fog poured out over the top landing, swirling around the feet and skirts of each new count and countess introduced, then the fog would tumble down the stairs in a wispy carpet that added to the surreality of it all.

"And now it is my grrrreat pleasure to announce a crowd favorite and former champion, leaving retirement for the first time in ten years to grace this tournament with his presence! The first ever title-holder in the all-ages bracket and defender against all challenges to the title, an unprecedented and unduplicated feat! We bring you the first star of the sport, the hard-shelled hero, the top talent, the original victor!

Llllllllet's all raise our voices for the big man himself, Yyyyyyyyyyhetaaaa Snaaaaair-linnnnnn!" Fuck it. Let the man have his moment. This is one of the best favors I can do for him, giving him the attention of a room and calling back to our earliest meetings. He stands at the top, glowing with pride, arms raised, and then he drops a few shadow-boxing moves to the adulation of all. He is beaming, grinning, mugging for the crowd when he walks forward and misses the step entirely.

This is the fastest I have ever moved without channeling levin energy. The air around him lifts him, twirls him, and he somersaults over the top six stairs and lands in superhero-pose on the receiving riser. He poses there a second, or maybe he just freezes up in shock while he tries to figure out what happened. He stands slowly, looks around, and sees me urgently waving him to finish walking down the steps to the competition floor. He bypasses Skip entirely and grabs onto my arm as if he can't trust his legs.

After that debacle I wouldn't trust them either. But I had the air under control, and the peacock was not about to let a misstep fuck up such a critical moment in such a meticulously-planned display. But now I had him holding my arm in the bend of his, and it's feeling way too much like those birthdays from my childhood where he would drag me around and nearly knock me off my feet and I was so eager for him to go to the Academy and leave us in peace. And now we're back there again.

The more things change, the more I wish they'd change for the better. We move through the counts, we have a surprising number of those. I recognize names, people that have traveled in from out of town. Our reception floor is quite full, standing room only, and spectators are being approached by servers to move them over to the mezzanines to reduce the throng. I did invite every duke, and every one of them did respond to the negative.

I am still too radioactive, having a duke attend a gala I've thrown just two weeks ahead of Fashion Week just has too many opportunities for bad press, backlash, and far too little to potentially gain. They sent representatives. Counts mostly, or a count-courtesy. Just enough to give me a wave and signal that they don't want to be an enemy, not enough that they could possibly attract the attention of my enemies to themselves. Two dukes sent heirs.

"From the quiet glades of Meadowtam to the bustle and busy of Hearstcliff City, our next contender comes from a peerless pedigree of egg-race excellence! The silver spoon with a silver tongue, the brother of this tournament's mother! Here he is, Lord Nathan Astoniel Renault Harigold, the Prince of Meadowtam Duchy, the Earl of Lampset, the Count of Skydown, Brillentow, Protector of Ptashnim, Knight of the Realm, twwwwwwwwwenty-fifth heir for the throne of Hearstwhile of Freckentop House.

Let's hear some noiiiiiiiise!" I boosted the applause a little by rattling some of the tables at the back of the room. Just because he's screwed me over a few times doesn't mean I want him to get a weak reception on an entrance to my event.

"And our last delegate of the dukes, the prince and the penultimate, from a tradition of warfare, piety, strength and loyalty, here to do battle on the field of servingware and soft-boiled shells. His opening bouts of balance and boldness reveal a talent like no other, a nat ural genius for the sport! I know you're all on the edges of your seat to show allllllll our appreciation for himself!

Lord Wellstrong Benvenot Caracel Greifir, Prince of Woadrun, Earl of Evajean, Count-Consort to Crale Rock City, pro tec tor of many, baron of a bunch, Knight of the Realm esquiiiiiiiiire!" Which was how I found out that Millstrong's nine-year-old son already has a law degree. Hearstcliff's courts are a joke, but I'm not the only one laughing. The kid had seemed so quiet and reserved when I saw him last, content in his father's shadow.

But Wellstrong reacted like any nine-year-old boy who's just been given a top-shelf ring-announcer intro. He ran out to thunderous applause, struck a pose and flexed, mugged for the audience, and ran down the stairs towards someone in the audience that he apparently already knew. There are a lot of children here, and I only know a handful of them. Ten years ago I had resented that all the social events divided the children from the adults.

And while I haven't set aside a segregated room for the youngsters to keep them away, I do feel a little bit like a hypocrite just because I don't know any of them nearly as well as I know their parents. While the MC was doing his next wind-up, I ascended the stairs, with Yheta still clinging on. I came up to the riser and turned, ready to bring in big gestures while my announcer did his part with his big voice." One more guest to announce, one more gla diator to herald.

A dark horse with an air of mystery, his training is secret, his strength is unknown. A name to conjure with, a title to contend with, could he be the key to it all? A champion in the making, an up set waiting for the chance to strike? Only time will tell, by the end of the night we will have a champion! We bring to the stage now: the crown of the land, the re gent of these people, the man with a clan!

Principal Lord of Hearstcliff City, First Citizen of Hearster Province, High Voice of the Freckentop House and all its holdings! Arch duke of Jangale, Ar biter of the Council, the speaker of law, the Lord Pro tec tor of all Hearstwhile, Earl of many, Count of a slew, loved by many and known by few- I bring you King! Voble! Freckentop!" I had forgotten how very many titles the man had. We were in danger of losing the momentum of this party by the time the name crashed in.

The doors to the parlor flung open, and the king strode out with arms raised for applause. I threw a gesture his way, to get every face to turn his way at once- and half the lights in the room died, along with the vibrations I had been using to amplify the applause. Everyone turned to see him striding out, and the response was underwhelming. It was his idea to stay in the parlor until the last minute instead of using the raised stage.

Only the few rows nearest could actually see him, and the rest were wondering if we were playing at some kind of prank. The ones that could see were torn between applauding and just genuflecting, their king had just walked into the room. The moment was confused, the momentum was broken, and it took an awkward minute for most of the room to realize it was supposed to kneel and bow. The disco ball shut off, all the fancy lighting shut off, and the air felt stale and used-up.

He had a look on his face, and it was a slowly dawning blend of disappointment and annoyance. He wanted his moment to be bigger than anyone's, upstaging everyone, center of attention. Instead all he got was a mucked-up version of his usual honors. He tried to rally.

"All rise!" he yelled out, but his voice was feeble and untrained in the silence of the disabled microphones. I looked down at Skip the MC, who was sucking in huge gulps of air and blowing them out, hyping himself. And then, with a truly heroic effort of vocal power, he leapt into it." That's right, one and all, rise to your feet, raise your hands, and let me hear your cheers for the man himself!" I truly did not know it was possible for an unamplified man to be that loud.

But the applause came in, and we salvaged the moment. I felt myself wilted too, the peacock was gone. My hand pinched Yheta's wrist.

"Yheta," I said, pitching to be heard over the crowd noise, "your mission is to get to the king's security detachment and find out if they can restrain the countermeasures enough for us to have a party." He nodded and sprinted off. I turned, spotted a caterer staring at me as if waiting for instructions. I had some.

"You! Get the catering storage bin. We're gonna need some eggs that I haven't conjured!" Maybe it's symbolism. Even when we're actively trying to work together and meet in the middle, the king just can't stop fucking things up for me. Goddammit. It's okay, I'm gonna get this under control. We'll get Voble's staff to ease up the counterspells, we'll bring in some unconjured eggs for him to use, and everything can continue without any trouble. And now Nathan's walking my way with Kurumi Lautan on his arm. Goddammit.