Set shortly after of Matters of Trade

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, how could I be so careless?”

It was the second time in the last two weeks he had lost his master. The first time around he hadn’t been worried until the second day. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to go off adventuring, after all. Day two he had started to be a little concerned. A small part of him had also been hopeful that he might turn up dead but also always that part of him lost out to his sense of loyalty. By the third day he had driven himself sick with worry. Not only would he have failed in his duties but he would have disgraced his family. When finally he had reemerged on the fifth day he had been overcome with relief. Now the man seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth again.

In a last ditch attempt he made his way to the Lovely Peacock, not expecting to find any sign.

Who would have thought that there he would me sitting there with a stupid grin on his face, sharing a bottle of wine with Micello Darrish.

“So anyway the Guild and the Company are now completely grid-locked in this legal dispute. It’s absolutely glorious…”
“Young master,” said Reynard, breathless and by this point close to tears, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you…”
“Francesco and I were just out celebrating his upcoming nuptials,” interjected Micello.

Interesting choice of venue.

“Well I wish you could have told me you were out drinking with your friends.”

Francesco waved his hand.

“As you can see, I’m fine. Anyway now that you’re here I had some things I wanted to go over with you about the wedding.”
“I thought the wedding to Penelope Cargan was called off.”
“Do try to keep up, Reynard, I’m not marrying Penelope anymore.”
“Yeah, do keep up,” added Micello, completely unnecessarily.
“Who is the lucky individual, then?”

Poor unfortunate, more like it.

“Armand Cargan.”
“Wait… what? The warrior priest?” replied Reynard, perplexed. He was pretty sure that the man despised Francesco.
“Yes, Reynard, the warrior priest,” said Francesco, rolling his eyes or a least the best approximation of rolling his eyes he could do with his magical affliction.
“I don’t know how you put up with him,” added Micello, following the statement up by snatching a blini from the silver edged platter sitting in front of them with his long sticky tongue.
“I think of it as an act of charity keeping him employed,” replied Francesco, “And by the way, Micello, that is disgusting, I hope you won’t be doing that at my wedding.”

Because obviously the development that Francesco would be getting to someone completely different was something he should have anticipated. If Micello Darrish had one talent, it was that he could inspire every one of Francesco’s worst traits.

“So anyway, we’re going to have to rethink everything, obviously the change alters the whole atmosphere,” continued Francesco.
“I think you’ve traded up to be honest. I’ve got to say I never much liked whatsherface anyway,” added Micello, who really needn’t have said anything because it was obvious he was going to think anything Francesco did was a great idea, “You’ll have to let the tailor know so you can coordinate what you’re wearing.”
“Yes, good point,” said Francesco, “Reynard, find out what he’s going to be wearing. Don’t tell me obviously, that would be bad luck, but do let my tailor know. Actually second thought… Can’t really leave that to chance. Doesn’t seem like he knows much about fashion, does he?”

Micello shook his head.

“No, get the tailor to send him over some sample swatches that he can pick from. Oh, this is the menu for the wedding breakfast- pretend to let him have some input. Now then- there’s the florist but we need to know the colour of the wedding suits first. Can you drop by the patisserie and tell them there’ll need to be some changes to the cake. Oh and the ice sculptures…”
“I liked the idea of the ice sculptures,” said Micello.
“Okay, we’ll keep the ice sculptures. Although maybe we do want to make it look less like the Wyvern is trying to eat the Rooster, I’m not sure that sends the right message.”
“Anything else?” said Reynard, glancing down at this ever growing list of demands. He pitied the poor man who would have to be married to the monster.

Francesco sipped his wine and rolled it over his tongue. It was a good vintage, bottled in 55 AR, or so the label said. He could taste every note on his palate, oak and then a finish of ripe blackberries. Was he sorry about the way things had went down? Maybe a little, he actually had kind of liked her but silly sentimentalities were for common folk and you couldn’t let foolish things like feelings get in the way of ultimate power. There was the family to think about as well, he couldn’t let shame be brought on them by tying himself to someone who was disgraced.

“Oh yes, find out his middle name. We’ll need to know for the invitations.”
“I’ll do my best, anything else?”
“No that is all for now but I’m sure there’ll be more to do later.”
“Well might I say congratulations, young master, I’m sure you’ll be very happy.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure I will be.”