Bacchuspaw would never say no to a party, even if this one had the feel of business to it. The Minister and Commissioner might be tense, expectant, maudlin, other cats might guess at what was going on and be uneasy, but Bacchuspaw was utterly, devilishly cheerful; he always preferred to be kept in the dark, unaware of whatever irritating drama was going on in MoonClan, oblivious to wars or plots or in-fighting so he could instead focus on what truly mattered in this world where nothing mattered at all: getting absolutely [expletive]-faced. Though he was aware Puzzlemaker wanted something from the elite in the side room, the Mother would stay out in the main halls until he was, finally, the last to arrive in the quieter billiard room, all the voices of outside muffled — he already knew it would be gloomy, suffocating, that he’d be trapped in there while the party was going on out here, able to hear it but not able to sneak away, and so he would drag his paws until the last minute and then, likely, make a great fuss of finally arriving. He finally had his fledglings taken care of and cordoned off upstairs; he’d had a chance to groom his fur until it was sleek, all the disarray of Motherhood cleaned from it; he was free, just for the night. And if Puzzlemaker wanted him, he was going to make it hell for him.

There was an underlying air of cold aloofness to him that night, though — specifically directed at Orrerypaw. While Bacchuspaw chatted, perfectly charming and at ease with meaningless social niceties, he pretended the Luminary didn’t exist. It had been like that since the Ball started: his golden gaze would pass over him like he were invisible; anywhere the Luminary was, Bacchuspaw would very soon stand up and move away from, without stopping whatever he was saying and with no show of ruffled feathers; for all the world, it was like Orrerypaw were a ghost to the Mother, unseen and unheard. Bacchuspaw went about in the diffuse glow of the halls, tired but electrified by the early morning sunrise, by the bubble of voices, by the smells — talking, mingling, easing in venomous quips and comments with hooded, arrogant eyes and a low, drawling voice that sparked explosions of shocked laughter from whatever group he was holding court with at the dark, shadowy fringes of the ball, slipping in at the edges like a lazy snake who no one quite remembered arriving and immediately monopolising them with such disinterested allure; and all the while, he ignored the Luminary like he weren’t there at all, aware of him past the ears and heads of faceless cats but pretending, rather cruelly, not to be.

Windsweptashes had made an attempt to stay near to Puzzlemaker's side at the start of the party. In part because it seemed fitting; like a thing of support, like it created the sense of a strong, united image, with the second-in-command standing so resolutely by the head of clan at the start of a big, showy gathering. But more so because Windsweptashes had no clue what to do with himself whatsoever, and when Puzzlemaker joined into the crowd, socailizing and mingeling, the Commissioner was left alone, awkwardly standing near the front of the room, wishing that they were anywhere but there. They hated crowds, they hated gathering, they hate social events. Well, okay, maybe hate was a strong word; perhaps more like they felt immensely out of their comfort zone and one step away from a panic attack. But either way, they were certainly not happy to be there, but equally not rude enough, and not without the common sense, to realize that they needed to show up.

For a while they considered just locking themselves up in the billiard room the rest of the night, where there most certainly would be less cats to have to "mingle" with. But then, it hit them that there being less cats would make them stand out more and cause them to look even more like the awkward loner in the corner. At least if they were surrounded by strangers they could try and blend into the crowd, no matter how poorly that would probably work out for them as both one of the largest cats in the room and the second-in-command of the entire clan.

But, poorly or not, that's what he decided to do, because he couldn't think of much else. Quietly slipped their way over to the far side of the room, taking a seat leaning back against the estate's aging white walls and watching the goings-ons less like a party attendee and more like an adult chaparone at a fancy private school event who really didn't want to be there.

---

Soon Orrerypaw would probably realize he was being avoided, that Bacchuspaw had been trying to pretend he hadn't existed at all. And that, most certainly, would end in some type of way. But for right now, the Luminary was absolutely none the wiser.

Like everyone else it seemed -- bar for the Commissioner in the back of the room -- Orrerypaw loved parties as well. They loved the show of it all, the grandioseness of it, the feeling that in some ways, they were gracing the peasants with their very presence. Already they had begun greeting the cats here like it was their own personal party that they had hosted themselves, asking people if the food was alright, if they were having a good time, if they knew where to get things to drink, making a whole air of good hostmanship of it. And then, when he was done bothering one party guest, he would give a small lick of his paws, as if he had some subtle, unspoken disgust at having to be in the presence of the average citizen, as if merely being in their presence had soiled his nice, clean pelt, before then he moved on to another cat with the same vigour, and it was rinse and repeat rinse and repeat again and again. He had hardly gotten through half the cats and he seemed intent on getting to every single one, even if it was only for a brief moment.

So far, that had kept him occupied enough for now to not even yet take notice of the fact everywhere he went, Bacchuspaw was decidedly not. It was safe to assume soon he would take notice, it was evident enough in how Orrerypaw flaunted his very existence and presence here that he was determined to talk to everyone and make a show of everything, and there was probably, whether one wanted to or not, no getting out of "polite" conversation with him.

goldcrest
Jerking around expression still amazing mild mannered his blue eyes sparked as he gritted out, "behave yourself for a mere moment please darling." He glanced around and assured himself no one had seen his nieces less than polite tactic, and those that were looking over now only saw her innocent expression and his placid smile. "We don't want people thinking your a rabid animal after all." He huffed under his breath, a little freer with his words than he was with most. But only just loud enough she could have heard him but none of the others who were giving them a rather wide breadth. There was no use playing patsy with the little lamb he had found in the back alleys looking more a rat than a cat.

"Come Wickedpaw, I have a lovely discovery I've been dying to share with you." He spoke louder here, enough to be overheard and dipped his head to those around them, "excuse us won't you." The words were perfidious at most, an empty pleasantry to be polite as he pushed through them and they parted for him. He cut his eyes towards Wickedpaw — follow me and I'll fill you in — before hurrying on his way once more.

"Later might come a more.. practical application of your particular skill set. But for now that's all." He affirmed and let his grin take just a bit more of a meaner edge. After all someone would have to deal with Lotuscove in the end and it couldn't be himself or Windsweptashes; they had images to uphold. Wickedpaw on the other hand, well, she didn't seem to much care in the end. "In fact as things progress we will need to get together again to discuss how public we shall handle ending the issue after she's dragged forward in the Vesper."

He completely ignored her address, she was young, you were supposed to let the young have their quirks and fun so later down the line they could sort themselves out. He glanced off as he again puzzled if her execution would be publicized or if they would simply say he was exiled. The decision would likely only be made in the moment, after he gauged the crowd, or perhaps he might make it tonight as he saw how his closest took the news.

"Come along, lets go and see whose shown up for this meeting." He sighed in a sudden turn of mood, arranging his features once more and leaving the dark alcove and slipping into the hall. His tail flicked his niece on the side as he passed her and he shared one more secret smile with her over his shoulder before he headed off once more.

There was a strange patience Bacchuspaw had for Orrerypaw, a patience he didn’t have for anyone else, like the Luminary could have babbled about some irrelevant folly for an hour and he, who hated babbling, would have listened without interruption and with only a faint, rhythmic movement of his tail-tip. He had it now when Orrerypaw leaned in, when his eyes lit up with that excitement he only got when something truly despicable was afoot — at someone else’s expense, of course. Inside, he was smiling slightly — he was just as eager for gossip as the Luminary was to give it; but as he leaned closer in return, Bacchuspaw’s expression was as disinterested, as incurious and surly, as it always was, his eyes still half-hooded. His gaze stayed on the floor as Orrerypaw spoke, as he listened, his breath warm on his cheek. Bacchuspaw’s silence was both the conspiratorial quiet of a collaborator, of another, equal busybody talking about who had slept with who in the corner of a fancy white-tie party, and the patronising quiet of someone who had no stakes in any of this hearing the gossip from someone who always had their ear pressed to the ground. Really, they made a fine pair — Orrerypaw collected all the nasty, nattering gossip, and while Bacchuspaw read one of those obscenely large newspapers in a wingback chair, the Luminary dropped ten sugar cubes in his teacup and told him everything he’d heard. Divide and conquer.

As Orrerypaw’s voice dropped further, Bacchuspaw’s brows shot up. “Oh?” he asked lowly. “Well…” He mentally went through the Lunar Code; he taught it frequently enough that it was always laid out in a list at the back of his mind. He couldn’t escape it even if he wanted to. His brows rose impossibly further. “Well… There are only so many that would warrant that sort of punishment — I think we’d have noticed a new elemental that had been hidden from us, and Puzzlemaker hasn’t been in so emotional a mood that he’d make a big show of reprimanding some cat who’d said something nasty about him…” If he were, Bacchuspaw would be up on the pyre — and the atmosphere was all wrong for that. “So,” a little hint of a smile, utterly at the unnamed victim’s expense, pulled at the edges of his mouth and, slowly turning his head, he looked Orrerypaw in the eye, like they’d cracked a little code; their noses were almost brushing, “someone must have done something terrible with someone outside the Clan. Must’ve done the foul deed.” He laughed, long and genuine, and drew back, sitting up straighter. “What a moron.”

Standing, he shook out his fur, still grinning faintly to himself, a vindictive, amused sort of grin. Every heretic that stumbled into the fire, that wasn’t him, was a good one. “This party just got a whole lot better. Shall we?” He looked at Orrerypaw. Wickedpaw and the Minister were just walking along the landing and into the back room. “We’d better not tell anyone about your little jaunt to SunClan, had we?” Bacchuspaw added to the Luminary as he made his way through the pressing crowd, leaning in closer with that same teasing, hooded-eyed little grin, their sides bumping together among the shifting throng of bodies. “Then the little lord will really be in trouble.” It was a harmless, taunting jab, borne of the intimacy of keeping a mutual secret, a secret that could ruin the both of them, topple them from their lofty stations and leave them in the gutter. Without waiting for an answer, he fell in beside Conjuringpaw, dragging her into the twosome with no regard for her willingness as they happened to pass her. “Heard the news?” he asked, breaking from the crowd and padding quickly towards the more hushed side of the hall with a new pep to his usually drawling step; as they freed themselves of the common crowd, they looked every bit a group of secretive, old money elites heading off to some sordid, backroom hazing. Without the press of bodies, the air felt cool; it was clear it was early in the morning. He didn’t focus on Orrerypaw as he paid attention to Conjuringpaw on his other side, just trusting that he was following along — but that wasn’t disregard as it usually was, wasn’t him ignoring him; it was a recognition of the Luminary’s unspoken place in the conversation if he chose to have one, of him being welcome in the trio as he made his way to the billiard room. “There’s a wrongdoer among us.” He gave the other Mother a little grin, full of the irony, the hypocrisy, of the situation. They weren’t friends, weren’t anywhere close to it, but they spent almost every waking moment somewhere in one another’s company across the nursery, enough that there was a secondhand, indirect sort of esprit de corps — soldiers in a company may be averse to each other, but they still share gossip in the mess hall; they may be grudging, but they’ll still set it aside to talk about how the sergeant’s wife dumped him for the hot yoga instructor. Plus, Bacchuspaw really didn’t dislike anyone individually, because that would require some recognition of them as being worth that much — there was the same disdain, the same distaste, across most of the board, and when that lifted for an hour or two, he was perfectly, drolly companionable. Then, spotting the Inquisitor, he quickened his pace.

“Dirty stray,” he greeted Wickedpaw breathlessly as they passed the dark alcove she’d just been secreted away in with the Minister, catching her tail-tip under his paw before she had a chance to follow her uncle. He was now as eager for information as Orrerypaw had been, though he doubted he’d get anything. They were just about to slip after Puzzlemaker into the billiard room anyway — he could see the dim yellow light spilling out from the hole at the bottom of the door, reaching out towards them down the hall like a jagged, ominous finger — but he wanted something, something, before they were in there with the official story. Something had awoken in Bacchuspaw, something that, for once, was involved in the scandal of the Clan. “What was that about? What do you get to know that we don’t?” Nothing about him was intimidating or demanding, not then, not there, not as he stood there trapping the Inquisitor and leaning in — really, for the first time ever, he looked like he was enjoying himself, his eyes uncommonly bright, his voice light and rich with amusement, a faint, crooked smile on his face. If he were rebuffed, if he were shoved back and told to mind his business, told he’d find out when he found out by the for-once important Inquisitor no doubt living for being the only one in the know, the one with juicy details to dangle and withhold and mock with, he’d laugh at that too. The clock was ticking; the seconds were running out; any moment this gaggle of apprentices, for once seeming more like school-aged gossips crowded in a hallway and trying to piece together a whodunit Poirot story, all unspeakably mean and clique-y above the nameless masses, than haughty lords and ladies running a Clan, would be called into the side room and locked in with the Minister. This was their last chance for unfiltered information. It felt tense and exciting, despite of and because of the tremendous, suffocating darkness of the subject. By the time Puzzlemaker finally told them, Bacchuspaw at least would be buzzing with anticipation, alive and vibrating with it. 

Puzzlemaker's ears twitched as he heard rushing paws before he slipped into the billard room and an amused smirk crossed his lips; young cats were ever so amusing. Bunching his muscles he leapt up onto the pool table and made himself comfortable on the felt, the maroon a nice contrast to his brown shaded pelt. He let his blue eyes narrow in thought as no one was around to see and lashed his tail as he considered he best options.

As much as these cats would grow to be his best and brightest, not to mention his closest; they were still young yet. And the young had an annoyingly frequent tendency to get caught up in morals, or upset about others facing harsh consequences. He liked to think the environment they were growing in was doing a good job to squash that but they weren't like the newest fledglings and hadn't been born into the cold moons doctrine.

So there might need to be some clever misdirect with his words if he saw some getting uncomfortable. Though, he had only seen a few of his favorites even looking towards the room and as such thought he might have a larger problem in some not prioritizing their duties. Wickedpaw would be very busy if that was the case.

“What a moron.” That realization, the burn of excitement that flickered in the air, the way Bacchuspaw laughed and the hint of churning malice in the flicker of dawn light. God, it couldn't have been more perfect. Orrerypaw gave a small, conspiritorial laugh as well, joining in with a smirk of a grin on his face that was more at the rise of the mood and the thrill of the shared rumor than it was at the dots finally connecting. He was excited for the downfall of course, but it was second to the newfound buzz that seemed to stir everything in that moment, the feeling that whatever was soon to happen would be somehow monumentous, somehow enthralling and worth getting every bit of news on. It was that high of social interest and sharing hushed whispers and callous laughter at the expense of others in shady corners, it was every bit the kind of thing Orrerypaw thought he could only daydream about, and it was happening in right in front of him. He was swept up in it, so much so that he wasn't even quite so aware of the moment as he was the feeling of it.

"Truly." He agreed, and it mixed in with a half laugh; but he had only spoken to feel like a part of it, in the mix of it all again. To say he added something, even though to have just laughed would have been just as much of an addition and just as thrilling for him. And so, at the offer to follow at the "Shall we?" Orrerypaw merely threw a sort of "in kinship" of grin and followed along. It wasn't the sort of hostmanship-style eagerness that he walked through the halls with anymore as they moved through the crowd, there was a new sort of spirit to his step. The kind that betrayed a certain menace, a prowl, but in that jovial sort of way; a predatory glee. It only briefly faltered at the reminder, at the recollection of the experience at the Sunclan border, and that in a snap drew him back to reality. With only a brief comment the world was no longer that perfect, fantastical picture of an ideal party scene that it been in that golden haze of insidious gossip and rumors being spun at another's expense; it was soured slightly by the bitter reminder that they too could just as easily be the ones being gossiped about in the far side of rooms, snickered about with a amused grin about those two idiots who ruined their life for a day out. He hardly noticed Conjuringpaw get thrown into the mix, in some ways it felt like a small relief. He was a jealous person, a bitter person, a selfish person; he was never content to share the spotlight, content to share a gossip partner, and most certainly, he would never have been happy to have anything bar Bacchuspaw's complete and undivided attention. Normally it was the sort of little display which would have brought up a silent hissy-fit on his part at even the appearance of being traded up for a new person in conversation, but right now it felt like a mercy, only aided by the fact that Conjuringpaw seemed sincerely unamused by the fact she had been dragged into their little two-now-three person gossip group.

“There’s a wrongdoer among us.” Those words that would have been so harp-strung sweet a moment ago still felt tinged with a slight unease, and the droll, bored response of Conjuringpaw in return, the way she merely arched an eye-brow in some mock interest, or more like she was mocking the interest, didn't aid in reviving his spirits. "When is there not?" That devil-may-care cackle she followed the question with made the fur on his shoulders bristle, and his gaze narrowed on her a bit, the way that was a tacit "I wish you'd just shut up and go.", even though a moment ago he had been more than content to have her take the attention off of him for a moment to re-center himself. Now, she was just aiding in his disquiet, and she'd spoiled the mood further; he was seconds away from not-so-politely asking if she had anywhere else she might need to be, when he heard Bacchuspaw speak up again. "Dirty stray,” His attention was snapped away from the calico mother and instead on the newly named Inquisitor, a little taken aback to see she of all cats was who Bacchuspaw was referring to.

Orrerypaw was skilled at few social graces that didn't hold a hint of irony somewhere in them. He was very extroverted, but he was equally childish in his approach of others, he was very good at manners, but he stuck to them to the point of being stupidly stiff, he knew all the rules of polite conversation, but he couldn't hold a polite conversation that was interesting to save his soul. Those were perhaps more-so the follies of youth than his fault, the fact he wasn't naturally gifted in any sort of social theater and was having to learn it from scratch to the backdrop of sudden tragedy. But all the same, it proved to make him a very mixed bag when it came to company and his social graces. However, if there was one skill he excelled in, one measely thing he was incredibly, unbelievably good at, it was spotting who was the best company to get into the good graces of authority. He'd known long ago that being on the good side of the Minister's family was probably ideal -- after all, there was a clear display of nepotism everywhere one looked in the clan; one of Puzzlemaker's nephews was the commissioner, another the inquisitor, and it wasn't hard to believe that being in the favor of his family would be an easy stepping stone to being in good favor with him. And yet, here Bacchuspaw was calling her a stray. And worse, not a moment later, he had to watch with another wave of unease and slight horror as Bacchuspaw clamped a paw on her tail.

It would be wrong to say that Orrerypaw freezed, but he grew very close to it -- he stiffened, his gaze slowly falling down to where Bacchuspaw's paw held the Inquisitor's tail and rose, as he held back a near grimance, up to the Inquisitor herself -- he felt himself very slowly lean back while throwing her that hesitant, awkward, appeasing sort of smile. The kind that if he were human would have been accompanied by wringing hands and a bit inner-lip that all but politely, humiliatedly, seemed to both apologize for Bacchuspaw's actions and say that he certainly had not been a part of it. It was the timid, spineless sort of "I'm sorry." of a host at a cocktail party who had just watched another guest insult another unprompted outright, and instead of bothering to say a word about it, there was just an uncomfortable and awkward washing their hands of the responsibility to handle it at all. Until, of course, Wickedpaw started to speak, and he felt his stomach churn with a mix of emotions. The passive insults, about the information being important things to only be heard by important people made a wave of newfound distaste hit him. He disliked -- no, he hated -- the implication of any cat of a similar rank to him talking like that; even if it was more directed at Bacchuspaw, it was in another way directed at all three of them, and Orrerpaw had to swallow a rise of resentment that even still turned their meek little smile into a forced one, a one for mere politeness sake. It took everything for him to maintain some shred of composure, but he forced it on; and it was working fairly well for him, until Wickedpaw had to open her mouth again. "Who's your friend. Boyfriend?" At first Orrerypaw's eyes had widened, the mild horror of having caught her attention for the first time out of the three of them. But then the words, the actual comment settled in, and without even intending it, all the very cordial airs he had put up disapeared in a heartbeat, turned to narrowed eyes and a burdgeoning snarl in bitter distaste and disgust at her comment. Bacchuspaw was right, it was the second time the pair had heard that jab, but the last time it had been with the mercy that it came from an inferior, mundane citizen, someone he could shed blood from, someone he had been able to personally humiliate in a crowd of their peers in a way they would likley never fully forget. But he couldn't do that to Wickedpaw, even if ever fiber of his body wanted some release of the cold burn of contempt that made him still with malice. He felt the fur on his shoulder blades bristle, his lower-lip tremble with pure, absolute rage, and it was likely a mercy that Bacchuspaw spoke first, because he had no clue what would have come out of his mouth if he had opened it. He was content -- or rather, accepting, because really he was not content with anything about this situation in the least -- to only let Bacchuspaw humor that with a response. If only because he knew, somewhere in the stewing of emotions that were roaring in his chest, flushing hot on his cheeks beneath his fur, in whatever iota of logic was winning out over a gut emotional response, that if he spoke it would humiliate himself further. That he would just scream, and yell, and make a scene, which was exactly what he wanted to do. He was deaf to most of the rest of the conversation, he felt more like he had been slashed across the face than mildly humiliated, his adrenaline spiking as he feelt teh rush of blood to his ears. He was only slightly broken out of whatever fight or flight-style daze he had been put in by the the brief mention of his name by Bacchuspaw. "If you’re an example of how much better Orrerypaw can do, you truly are the pinnacle, Wickedpaw.” He merely managed to puntuate the other tom's words with a scoff aimed right at  the she cat, a sound of such visceral hatred and venom that it betrayed a little too well all the words he had barely bitten back moment ago, and as Bacchuspaw turned away, continued on ahead, he hesitated a moment.

There was a burning need to say something warring with the fact that it would be so unspeakably stupid to, that knowledge that unlike Bacchuspaw, he didn't have the grace of an aristocrat in fights. He had the grace of a bitter child, an angry, spoiled, rotten little brat prepared to scream and cry and have a meltdown, to hop up and down with violent, unseemly rage until he flew into near tears and he grew bright red and lost his voice. But there was that weak, one harp string frail sort of dignity that kept it all together, like some thin frabric seam fraying, but still keeping the piece as one, on achingly weak thread. And so all he threw back was a glare and a "Hmph!" that mixed with a burgeoning growl, before he whirled around on his heels so violently he saw stars for a moment, forcing himself into a proud -- if not visibly agressively in nature -- "trot" after Bacchuspaw, still feeling himself seathing with a ice-like chill that threatened to choke him out, to break into something more vile and tumultuous at any moment.

Following into the billiard room, he took a seat nearby the door, listening in, watching the scene. Normally, he would have done what he had done with Wickedpaw. He would have looked with appeasing eyes, pleading the Minister not to take offense. That sort of protective little timidness; a "Pwease Miwster, my fwiend is an idiowt" that ironically was what Orrerypaw was best at. Baby eyes, doll faces, being something of a darling child in and of himself. He truly was a cat of two reasonably well-crafted facades, full of "mature" arrogance and displays of unbridled, merciless power to his peers; but still to adults, the few adults left lingering in the clan, he had that small, frail charm of an innocent, loyal, obediant little thing, the sort of sweet, honest child that could be trusted to make sure all the other rambunctious, over-eager children that were going to cause problems stayed in line. And seeing Bacchuspaw do what he was doing, playing little power games with the Minister of all cats, would have typically made him fall back into that honey sweet baby-eyeing persona immediatly to soften any of the harm that might have been done; an appeasing, charming display he probably could have managed with more grace than he managed any other sort of social charisma, because it was the one he had mastered far before his life had been turned upside down.

But instead, this time he just stayed where he was and sulked, and every word that Bacchuspaw said felt vile all of the sudden. It stoked that petty kind of anger, the one that couldn't stand to be alone, but made every word someone said an insult enough to make you want to strangle them -- it was a miserable sort of hatred and need that danced together like a poison in his chest. He wouldn't leave, he wouldn't dare leave; he knew somewhere in that muddled of hazy resentment and anger and unexpressed hatred that he still wanted answers, still wanted to be a part of the center of attention and to be glowing with the buzz of what their position bestowed them in terms of knowledge, in terms of power, in terms of being in on everything. And it was even more potent of a feeling when he considered the fact that Wickedpaw already knew, and it made the need for him to know even more impatient and gnawing. The entire scene, Bacchuspaw and his Minister, their little power play, what he was sure was going to end up horribly and stupidly, was a miserable little show, and one at the moment he would have rather clawed his own throat out than been forced to sit by and listen to. But he had to now, he needed to know as much as he hated needing to know, he needed resolution even if resolution would now only taste like bitter poison on his tongue.

---

If Conjuringpaw had a nickle for every time she got wrapped into something horribly stupid and above her paygrade, it would have only been two nickles, but it was weird it had happened twice at least. But she was content, in that sort of lazy, slowly amused sort of way, to follow along and by beside the action. She could almost tell the two of them -- and when Wickepaw was added into the mix, the three of them -- were the kind of cats who striked matches and stoke flames in magazines and then wonder why the entire place blew up around them. Or maybe they lit it because they knew it would blow up -- either way, she wasn't too different herself. She may have at least knew she wouldn't normally be the one to light the match, but then, she supposed, that didn't mean much in the long run. Just because she wasn't the sort to start fires didn't mean she had any more intelligence than the rest of them, or by any better sense of self-preservation or survival instinct; it was only because she would have been sure to travel with the person who brought the lighter.

And so she sat by in that sort of lazy, uninterested way as Wickedpaw, Bacchuspaw, and Orrerypaw had their petty little back and forth, only once in a while letting a sickly, amused smile fade and grow as the different insults rose and fell from their lips. It was nice and impersonal, it was like drawing ticks on a team's scoreboard for two schools that weren't your own; no sort of joy better than watching blood get shed when you had no skin in the game other than watching the chaos unfold. She might have added in a jab or comment of her own, but really, she enjoyed just reading the scene, taking it in like it was being made all for her. And after all, it had been such a pleasant little unprovoked invitation on Bacchuspaw's part, made even more amusing that he brought her to that same scene that would have him riled with such an unpleasant little insult to his and the Luminary's pride.

She didn't care to say anything for a while, she let Bacchuspaw walk off, then amused herself in seeing Orrerypaw follow with his pathetic little childish display of a tacit "come-back," and it took all she could not to give a little snort of laughter at it all. But lazily, slowly, she turned her gaze back to Wickedpaw, rising to her feet from where she had been sitting like an audience member to their passing interaction; her face as straight and unamused as ever -- but her eyes dancing with a laughter that was almost menacing in its contradictory sort of enthrallment. "Well, that was interesting. Nice meeting you." She said, as if their meeting had been the sort of friendly back and forth of exchanging names, instead of an unwanted bystander in the entire affair. And with that, she padded off after the two toms, content at least for now to be a lackey involved in the gossip. There was no kindship; only the passive, underbelly current of entertainmment to be had in the moment, and the flow of it went into the billiard room. And, like a ship with no path but towards new sights and something that could be barely classified as "adventure," she followed the pair inside.

Taking a seat next to the luminary, who she threw an almost mocking smile that seemed to nearly chide his own sulking half-frown, she too was content to watch the scene. It was good enough fun for now, watching stupid shows of bravado, watching an idiot make powerplays that would either be respected or curbed with a quick show of authority. And really, there was a cheap thrill in knowing she was getting all of the answers she probably could ever want at her work buddy's expense, and at the bitter misery of the other tom she was sitting next to. She threw Orrerypaw one more look, a sort of insidious little, "Oh chin up, what's gotten you so down?" prodding little grin, just to poke the bear a little more, befor turning her attention back to the Minister and the Mother's interaction with the anticipation of a guest at a play about to start.

Conjuringpaw turned her gaze slightly, seeing the calico shape of the intern hesitate in the room. Out of place at parties most likely, she decided, and it struck a slight cord because she felt similar. Dumb-luck was all that had gotten her dragged into anything more amusing for the first part of the event than just ruminating in bitter silence and biting back sighs as she dealt with the typical not-so-pleasant pleasantries from cats that were barely more than stangers to her, and getting dragged into the fold by Bacchuspaw had proven an amusing escape, if only because his and Orreypaw's own excitement was amusing to her. It was like watching vultures around a piece of carrion, thrilled at their find; she had no interest in what they were interested in, only in observing with a mixture of intrigue and a hint of contempt.

She figured Brokenpaw didn't share the latter sentiment; not that she knew the she cat all that well, but she knew archetypes. Medics, medicine cats, healers, interns, cat of her ilk normally fell into a set of pre-defined personality traits. Kind cats, soft cats, or morbid mad scientists; there were inbetweens of course, but they were far and spread out, and she already pinned Brokenpaw as soft, at the very least sensitive. She had a sort of awkward, out of place delicateness to her that she could have spotted from a mile away, and most likely she had no interest in the sort of sadistic glee she got from those around her chasing gossip and rumors like puppies chasing their tails, so convinced their trivial excitements were the most enthralling things in the universe. Ah well, either way the she cat was alone, lingering by herself, and dragging her into it would at least mean she wouldn't be stuck feeling a pang of sympathy for a cat just wavering there, out of place. She threw a glance at the Luminary sitting next to her, gaze having fallen to the ground in a bitter huff, and a small, thin grin of cruel delight slipped onto her muzzle. At the very least, her company would probably make the tom next to her a little more miserable, and that alone was reason enough to drag her over.

With no sense of decorum or respect to the mounting tension, the she cat rose a paw and eagerly waved the Intern over, like she was some close friend that she hadn't seen in forever, leaning in closer to her. Her action were that of someone telling a secret, pressing in near to her, putting up one paw by her muzzle and giving her a very "serious," "conspiritorial" look, but it was all so over the top, all so fake and acting and show-y, that it was clear she was mocking any sort of secretivenes at all. The unconcerned and clearly un-secretive loudness in which she spoke all but broke any chance of taking the little charade seriously. "Did you hear?!" She said with a fake gasp, her mock-solumness from a moment ago now breaking into a wide grin. "Someone did something! Shocking, am I right?" Conjuringpaw added with a half cackle, looking more toward the Luminary beside her as she spoke than Brokenpaw, just waiting for the tom's reaction.

And she got one, a hint of one, the Luminary looking away from where the Minister and Bacchuspaw were about to do something, to turn a cold, seething gaze at her that mixed with a hint of a sneer. It was too evident he was barely holding back at growl, and he only briefly took a moment to look Brokenpaw up and down with a tacit, near-condescending look of distaste that seemed to ask "What are you doing here?" It wasn't personal, really, he was mad and bitter. He knew that, Conjuringpaw knew that, but of course poor Brokenpaw was out of the loop. But if the Intern was upset about it, she would have had to have been upset about it while Conjuringpaw gave another small laugh, she herself completely loosing interest in the luminary beside her and her amber gaze returning back to the other she cat.

"I know I know it's all very earth-shattering, try not to get too shaken." She added, her word practically dripping with wry humor. At this point the Minister himself probably could have heard her, the way she was making half a scene -- but she figured most likely he was too busy with Bacchuspaw to take note. She wasn't the interesting one here really, and she knew it. There was a much more important cast of characters around her, but she was happy to make use of her own inconsequentially to have some fun with the moment.