[Anguirel]

The Lord Malfoidacil, having stashed his Map away, strolled into the next room where Angawen was looking daggers at a rather bored seeming Beauregard. Dracomir whistled jovially as he entered their presence.

"Hallo, chums. I do wonder where Hyarmenwe's got to. Most peculiar him going off with some Mordorian ambassador, isn't it? Still, stranger things have happened...as long as his professional dignity isn't compromised..."

He flashed a quick smile and tossed his head so that his scarily pale blonde hair flopped charmingly to one side.

"Still, perhaps we can do without his scruples for a bit. Any news from you lot?" he enquired, unable quite to banish an edge of disdain. "Or any sign of those Mordorian jokes calling themselves envoys?"

"None," Angawen replied almost mournfully. "The afternoon's only amusement has been kicking Beauregard."

"Or being kicked by Angawen, from my point of view," Beauregard pointed out brightly.

Still reeling slightly from the ingenuity of his Hyarmenwe/Maika accusation, Dracomir was quick to wonder...could there be potential for something here? But no, back to the daily grind of negotiating, or non-negotiating...