Lost in distant thoughts, Dumas didn’t return his attention to Chester’s magic show until an astonished roar from the crowd signaled the arrival of something really spectacular.  Almost against Dumas’s will, his eyes flicked to the appropriate screen, and he sucked in a sharp breath.  Even when viewed through the safe separation of a video monitor, the Jabberwocky was still impressively terrifying.  Of course, Chester was always tweaking the illusion, making it better each time.  One day, Dumas wanted to see it from a spot in the actual audience.<br/><br/>However, a sneer twisted his lips when White produced the ‘vorpal blade’.  Dumas had opinions about sheltered rich kids who pretended to fight each other with expensive swords -- and none of those opinions were particularly flattering.  He’d like to see one of the little brats get dropped into the middle of an actual battlefield.  Then they could see how well their fancy footwork and gentleman’s rules worked against guns.<br/><br/>“I’m surprised he didn’t pull the damn blade out of his ass,” Dumas muttered to no one in particular.  “I know he’s got<span style="font-style: italic">something </span>shoved up there.”<br/><br/>Still, despite his prejudices, Dumas was forced to admit that White handled his role with admirable flair.  Dumas clapped as loudly as any other member of the audience when the fearsome beast was finally slain.  And snickered as loudly when White found himself kissing Chester.  Damn fool.  He always walked into Chester’s little traps.  And it would have been so easy to make it stop -- all White needed to do was feign enjoyment a few times, and Chester would leave him alone.  So either he secretly enjoyed the attention or whatever fancy school he’d attended hadn’t taught him a damn thing about human nature.<br/><br/>Shaking his head, Dumas almost felt a pang of pity for the hapless DJ.  “The Fondled Fop, the Molested Monarch, the Ravished Rabbit.”