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Meanwhile, back in the Great Hall, the Velour sat, still stunned into immobility by the events of the past moments and hours. Not that immobility was unusual for them, unless they were pursuing recreational activities…
“So what do we do now?” Manuël asked. “Everything is so confusing – Yawanna allying herself with Melvin, that bunch of newcomers leaving an audience without so much as a “by your leave”, and Melvin’s demand for the firewood that they are towing with them. There’s an army out there to enforce his message – should we do something about them?”
“I say we fight,” shouted Tulk Hogan. “We haven’t had a good battle in ages. Let’s get ready to rumble!”
“But fighting is so messy,” Prada objected.
“Yes, so hard on the nail polish,” Chanessa agreed.
“Besides, I have absolutely nothing appropriate to wear to a battle,” Vairsacë complained.
“Did you see what that Elven dudette was wearing?” Estë-Lynn asked. “It looked feminine yet practical – I wonder if that’s the style this age in Muddled-Mirth?”
“We haven’t had any new styles here for such a long age,” Nír-Vana sighed. “It would have been fun to, like, ask her who makes her clothes.”
“Why did all this have to happen now, just when the waves are perfect?” TM Ulmo grumbled.
“But a battle would finally get some action into our lives, dudes,” Mantoes protested. “Since the Loyers took so many of my clients, it’s boring at my place.”
And so they sat in the Great Hall, talking without acting, a veritable Committee for Matters of Muddled-Mirth; and the AllOnOurOwnShip stood at the front alone.
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