"Could be worse," Amy replies, after shooting Wukong the expected glare.  She licks idly at the last dregs of the popsicle, doing her best to look dignified.  "The Festival's going pretty well, but we spent fucking<em>ages</em>planning it."<br/><br/>Trying to argue through all the details with the Chancel's many-faceted bureaucracy would have given her an aneurysm if she'd still been mortal.<br/><br/>"Anyone want to take odds on something going wrong before the night's out?"