[ Somehow Gildor finds himself sitting in the higher sections of the audience, where dignitaries of every envoy view the chase below through tiny binoculars and have servants bring wine to their tables. This isn't at all as exciting as the last round of events, where he could hear the beat and rush of mechanical hooves and feel the vibrating energy of the crowd. Today it's just tea and scones and the occasional cheer from the audience whenever something happens. Gildor can't tell what. Normally such a thing wouldn't bother him, but right now it's making him bubble over with anxiety. ]

(Can anyone tell me what's happening below? I am up in the dignitaries' box, and the most exciting thing any of them are talking about is a recipe for some sort of mashed potato.)

[ Again Gildor finds himself alone - surrounded by food, servants, and merry diners in the feast tent, but alone and holding a glass. If it weren't for the robes covering his every feature, his distress over it would be obvious. He just wanted to finish a modest dinner, but before he could leave a well-meaning servant slipped the drink into his hand and he's become awkwardly frozen by it. The liquor inside is the same grassy-smelling stuff that has been enticing him every night with another event, and now it's nearly in his face. For once he's thankful for the veil, but it isn't enough. ]

(Someone come take this from me before I do something I will most certainly regret. Please.)

[ The last word is more pleading than the rest of his clipped thoughts. More than anything, he's distressed - knuckles white under the gloves, the greenish liquid inside the cup shaking. ]

Got an idea for something with Gildor? Hit me in my PM's, or on plurk! He's mostly eavesdropping on the envoys in the audience, but available for pretty much any CR!