Exeunt

Soon enough it gets to where the shark is afoot. All teeth and piggy black eyes, a natural outcome of divilment and excess… directed at my new compatriot in arms and, of course, shoes, he of the coatlessness nouveau. It’s a smirk I say, a smirk, a divilish smirk. Unclear whether he notices. But away! before he does, lest questions be directed in wrong directions. Not I my lord, not I. It went a-wandering indeed, went in search of its fortune, terrible thing but they do grow up, ahh, they do.

The lobby wishes to dance with me. I stand straight; excuse my manners. It would of course be rude to turn a lady down. Arms up, da da daa, da da daa… the floor flirts, a coquettish little wink and a touch of the hand. Not tonight my dear, not tonight. I may be that brand of gentleman in certain other lives and times but not tonight, I shall lay with you perhaps anon, but, I…

… up the stairs. Shifty little beggars too, roiling and tossing, like… the sea, made of… jellyfish… all in good fun though, it seems, or at least they have the benefit of the doubt for now, but well they know there will be no nonsense or words will be exchanged. In point of fact I am prepared to say there will be ructions.

A commotion… shocking rudeness at such an hour but I hear a commotion down the hall, and so caress my way down one wall, pardon me… a door presents itself, an aperture. My, and quite a tableau indeed…

“Ma’am,” I say, shark once more in vogue, to the be-towelled vision before me. She shrieks most musically, if a touch confrontational. I regret the lack of a hat to tip. “If you will excuse me,” I murmur.

The fellow is easy enough to pull off, although I believe he clips my ear once or twice. I give him the old Queensbury routine while Fournier tucks the tackle into leg number two – grey pinstripe, a fetching look, and so I tell him although he seems distracted. With himself suitably trousered, the time seems ripe for a hasty skedaddle.