Khayyal entered the concert hall and looked around curiously.  He was new enough in town that this was his first Consilium meeting.  He’d settled here for a time on Motoyoshi’s advice.  Over the last two weeks, he’d unpacked, sent in this months issue before his editors had convulsions, and met up fairly briefly with representatives of the Arrow to introduce himself.<br/><br/>He entered the concert hall in a fine tailored long coat and bowler hat over a suit.  His sword was strapped behind his back under both coats, as was his wand, but he’d grown accustomed to carrying them that way.<br/><br/>Magic hummed softly in his inner ear, or maybe he just imagined it, for he’d taken to donning an unseen shield every morning, and that subtle evidence of its presence was how he assured himself it was still active.<br/><br/>He made his way down to the buffet, taking in the crowd as he went.  It would be good to see a familiar face.  He gathered a few cheese cubes and olives from the front, offered Red a bow, then moved back.<br/><br/>While looking around for a seat he spotted someone and his eyes widened.  Working his way over to the man he only knew as Martin Chore, the black man offered him a firm handshake.  “Shalom.  It’s good to see a familiar face.  Call me Khayyal.  How is” he made a sweeping gesture to indicate the room, “all this treating you.”