a feast of friends and foes [open]

[pan]

Pan bleated softly and sorrowfully as the strings to his guitar burst apart loudly, and to Pan's ears at least, painfully. The shock was enough to clear his thick skull somewhat, and after a second his dullard's tongue loosened itself from the roof of his mouth where it had momentarily become glued. "Pan, Seeker of the Seelie Court, M'lady." He managed, with only a mild amount of drunken slurring, pushing himself to stand on both hooves, and bow from the waist to the Queen of the Seelie Court.

The alcohol still pulsed through him, the wild wines of Dionysus himself had rarely intoxicated Pan to the extent he now found himself reveling in daily. It was this lubrication that allowed the next slip of his tongue, gone before he could stop it, realizing it may mean the death of him. "Though apparently not brilliant enough." He quipped jovially, in his intoxicated state, gesturing at the now useless guitar at his feet. His laughter bleated out sharply, as he realized his position, more nerves than anything else, his drunken mind slow to come back to him. "Mayhaps the Lady would prefer I play something else?" He inquired tentatively, waiting to see if his vocal chords would be slashed as easily as his guitar strings had been.

[Queen Annette]

Annette’s head bobbed in satisfaction at the dictation of his title. She always appreciated it when faerie, even garlangers, showed some formality when in her presence. This was a stark change in comparison to the first few faerie that had come before her; the irritation fostered by the insolence of Fia and Julian still simmering quietly beneath the surface. However, Annette would deal with that later, for the queen had planned his banquet out of her own kindness. With the Imbolc festival looming ever nearer, Reticent Fury should have been focusing on preparations for that holiday, not holding lavish banquets where any of her court could come and partake. She should have sighed; her generosity was so often overlooked.

Her gaze shifted back towards the drunken lycanthrope. Despite her obvious displeasure when it came to listening the satyr play his lyre, he still wished to continue on with his performance. Annette knew very little about the intoxicating feeling of spirits, and thus she knew not what drove this faerie to lunacy, nor did she have any sympathy for him.

She flicked her head upward and suddenly one of the lions alongside of her sprung forth, pouncing on the satyr but only pushing him to the ground where it remained standing over him, waiting for a second command. ”That is quite enough Pan…Pan of the Greeks?” She asked, inquiring about his origins. She would have found it interesting that a creature who was once regarded as a God amongst the Greeks now bowed to her, a former muse.

[pan]

Pan bleated fearfully as the lion pounced upon him. The drunken haze cleared for a second, and he was filled with nothing but hope for the preservation of his own life. Yet it was that same instinct of self preservation that might prove to be his undoing, for Pan immediately rolled as the lion hit him to the ground, and landing above, him, coming onto his hands and kicking out quickly and powerfully from the ferocious beast with his powerful haunches of a mountain ram driving into the lions jaw as he pushed himself to momentary safety, dropping his hands and tucking into a roll again as his kick launched him away from the beast.

Yet before he could even see if the lion was so much as stunned the pure animal instinct was wiped from his mind as he comprehended the Queens words, both shocking him into place and sobriety, a state very rarely occupied by the constant drunk. "Ye-yes my Queen." Pan bleated in surprise, though his features swiftly gave way to fear when he realized his current situation. "I dined in days of old, with Dionysus, but your court has liquor far superior to even his wild wines m'lady." Pan offered with a fearful smile.

[Queen Annette]

The lion took the kick without wavering. Pan striking the marble lion was akin to one striking stone; it was fortunate for Pan that he did not hurt himself in the scuffle. The lion, whose sole purpose was to obey the queen, did not act further, but simply stood with its stony gaze. The creatures were not alive save for the magical presence that ran through them. They felt no pain, no remorse, and no emotions and the creatures could not even reason. What governed the lions was the magical that flowed through them, the guardian magic that forced them to protect and serve the monarch and court at any cost. The lions were damn near indestructible as well, which made them perfect bodyguards for the court. They were eternal sentries to the Seelie.

The queen smiled softly, satisfied with the quivering voice he spoke with. Her body relaxed at his words, a little bit of her anger (all of her anger towards the satyr) dissipated. ”Then I welcome you to my court, Pan. Though you are not sidhe, I am impressed with your history. Now if you’d like, you may sing.”