Rhonda
Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Depths of the Mizzen, Tonate Proper

There was something about the young Melsi boy that he found incredibly endearing. Maybe it was his Mainlander charm, or his country charm, or his jawline and fair complexion. Whatever it was, seeing him at the tourney was a pleasant reminder of his domestic life back at the manor. It was no slower than his life arranging the festival or preparing for the ball that would follow in the evening, but there was always something about a change of pace that made him long for the regular. 

Within the bowels of the Mizzen, the roaring crowd was nothing more than a muffled clamoring, the incessant buzz and drumbeat that shook the cool red walls of the inner workings of the arena. 

"I suppose that you felt a kinship with him." Silas said, wiping his hands upon an embroidered kerchief. He was thorough in his cleanliness, wrapping the fabric around every nook and cranny of his spindly fingers in an attempt to get them clean from the fine red dust and sand that covered them. "The Taemish Knight. Did you like him?"
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The dEpThS of the MiZzEn

Puckgordon kept his face straight as he followed Silas into the corridors. He felt... Almost uneasy to admit if he did or didn't. He took a deep breath, the sound hissing through his teeth as he followed Silas, trying to think of a good answer.

He watched the Seneschal fiddle with the red sand, and Puck looked forward once more, trying to remain devoid of most emotion.

"He's from the Steppes. We aren't that close." He finally answered, his hands resting on the belt around his waist that kept his surcoat snug. "It's more like what kind of squire would I be if I didn't at least try to... Assist." He said quietly. "Didn't know him long enough to *Like* Him or not." He said simply, swallowing whatever else wanted to spill out to spin webs of faulty excuses. 

"I don't know I... Ju-" He paused, his mouth opening as he felt something make a small crack in his mouth. He put his hand up to his mouth, looking at Silas with an *Oh shit* Look. He spat into his hand, which produced one of his canines, dislodged from him tapping his teeth together while speaking. He looked at it in minor disbelief, glancing up at Silas with a half-open mouth, displaying that his left canine tooth was indeed vacant from its necessary position.

"Uh..." He seemed a little dumbfounded. He was old enough that these weren't kid teeth.
Rhonda
Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Depths of the Mizzen, Tonate Proper

Through slitted eyes, he watched as his apprentice spit out a tooth. 

"I don't suppose that is an impermanent tooth, my young Puckgordon." 

The concept was peculiar but not entirely alien to him. 

"Was this why you were sick this morning?" He held out his hand expectantly, as if he was beckoning to an animal to give up something he shouldn't have. "Place it here, then. Is this what's been bothering you?"

Proper dental care was not something he was a stranger to. Many of his own servants had come to him with frantic fears, having premonitions of their teeth falling out only for the dreams to be realized within the light of day. Granted, they were not as young as his apprentice, but it was not within his occupation to judge the medically deformed. Discovering and recording the malady however... 

"Come." He said, reassuringly, "Give the tooth to me and we can talk about it. Or something else, if you'd prefer." A lie, but one that would set him at ease. He wanted to talk about the boy's decaying mouth more than anything else.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The depths of the Mizzen

Puck looked at Silas with uncertainty, as if he had known exactly why he'd just spit out a tooth, and was simply caught in the act. He took a deep breath, handing over the tooth to Silas with a shocked attitude, remaining silent. 

He couldn't come up with a lie that would satisfy someone so intelligent. If it had been anyone else, even the king, he might have gotten away with it. 

The tooth would feel too light to be a tooth, as if it were brittle and empty, eroded, although it was polished, and there was not a spot of uncleanliness on it. The root of the canine was shallow and sad, regardless.

During the time of it all,Puck's mouth hardly bled from it. He took a deep breath. "I don't know." Hesaid in his exhale, walking next to Silas a lot more stiffly, now. "It... I don't know." He wanted to correct Silas about the cause and effect that he was currently hypothesizing, but doing so would only dig him into the hole of truth. He was on the cusp of it anyway.

"Sorry, Seneschal."
Rhonda
Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Depths of the Mizzen, Tonate Proper

"My boy." Silas turned the tooth over in his gloved hand, inspecting the pristine whiteness of it before dropping it into one of the pockets of his azure overcoat, "Come now..."

A hand fell over the boy's shoulder, "You and I both know that you're not to blame for this. You can not keep teeth inside your head in the same way that I can't keep the moon from falling every night. It is as it's always been. Nature taking its course." He let out a puff of air and shook his head, "Nothing to be ashamed of, my Young Puckgordon, it is simple who we are." 

"You do not call me Seneschal. You call me Sir, or Master Silas, or Magister. Seneschal is my job. It would be like apologizing to that corn-fed Knight out there with a 'Sorry, Knight', do you understand?" 

He purses his lips and looked down at the boy. He placed a hand underneath the boy's chin and tilted his head upwards, "Do tell me you're being honest in your statement of unwittingness, Puckgordon. If not, tell me truly. I shall investigate it if you desire, but I will be truly cross if I find out I've had my time wasted by bashfulness."
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The depths of the Mizzen

Puck felt some type of way when Silas put his tooth in his pocket, but he didn't dwell on that stemming discomfort as he listened to Silas chastise him about calling him Seneschal. "Yes sir." He said, slurring his words as he tried to get used to the feeling of a hole in his teeth. He didn't speak to the point of if he could help it or not, either. Puck, deeply, thought maybe he could have, but he just... Didn't see it coming.

He froze as Silas grabbed his chin, his lips parting. *Fuck*, he thought to himself, his hands clenching into fists as his hair fell into his eyes. It took everything he had not to shy away from Asgarov. 

"I... I'm sick. Always have been." He said quietly. "There's nothing left to be done, I don't think." He said, trying to lean his head back to get away from the interrogation. "Probably why they sent me off in the first place... Couldn't get rid of the problem so they just booted the whole son. An insult, to the King." He held a bitter smile for half a second, glancing down. "Tossing away trash and expecting a royal to clean it up." He shook his head, already knowing that he was stemming off of emotions. 

"Anyway, I just... I'm ill. And I always will be. I guess this is just... A new symptom."
Rhonda
Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Depths of the Mizzen

The Seneschal's eyes lit up when Puckgordon mentioned his sickness. "Is it... Fatal? Or did they send you to us because they thought that we might be able to cure this malady? Open your mouth, I should see the socket." 

Silas placed his hands behind his back when Puckgordon moved from his grasp, and through slit eyes he began to mutter to himself. Symptoms, diseases, past cases of Tonati coming to his King's court to beg for the court Mage's wisdom and help. "Well I can assure you that you have nothing to fear, my young Puckgordon. Much to the contrary. I'm not sure what barbarians your father pegged us as, but I can assure you that you find yourself in the presence of one of the most eminent scholars of medicine and curative practices in the _world._" In a smooth motion, his hands came out at his sides, fingers uncurling like the petals of a flower as his lowered his head to bow. 

Perhaps he was inflating his importance, but certainly he had the resources and knowledge to diagnose him, let alone cure him. When he stood to face the boy, he straightened his posture and placed his spindly hand against his chin. The sapphire against his cheek flickered wildly as he ran his eyes over him. When all else failed him, there was always the occult. "And you are not refuse, even if they gave you away. Our King has a habit of collecting broken things and making them whole again. " His mouth turned up into a wide smirk, "What is a tooth, more or less? Replaceable. Our own King has golden ones, I see no reason to not give you matching set. But you say you have always been ill." The Mage began to strut through the sand covered floor of the torch lit hallway, into the blackness. He beckoned for Puckgordon to follow him. 

"What _are_ your other symptoms? I can not mitigate them until I know what they are."

The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Royal Balcony, the Mizzen

"Aye." Bradai said, watching as the Islander began to rant and rave to the crowd. He looked like a fool, falling off his horse the way he did. The sooner Brightwater ran him through with his lance, the better. "Fight on." He waved them with his hand and made his way to sit down next to Dennon.

"Queen Lucrezia and I, finking alike?" A raspy laugh bubbled up from his chest, "Forgive me for laughing, Dennon, but 'ow? Yes, we're boff cautious, but vhat's only because we've killed people. Please tell me vhat's where tha similarities end." He glanced over at him briefly, "Well, 'ow _is_ she, aye?"
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Depths of the Mizzen

Puck was a little discomforted by Silas' *Excitement* Surrounding his ailment, and he swallowed hard, becoming physically nervous, looking around, his bottom jaw quivering. He rubbed his hands together as he looked at Silas. It was obvious that his admission was not relieving in the slightest, in fact, it seemed to make him nauseous. He shook his head at the thought of just showing him his mouth, and then even more-so when he insisted on the symptoms to be told.

He did, however, listen to his master when Silas explained how the king operated with broken things. The issue with that, well, it meant that he would have had to been whole in the first place. He was fucked from the get-go. He took a deep breath, looking around again to make sure they were alone. "Can we go somewhere more private? Please?" The little snake seemed to loose all his gusto. He didn't know what to do with his hands, his head hung low in a sense of defeat.