Fire. Why must they always use fire?

Melodhie drums three fingers against her thigh as she sits at a long marble table, one eye on the activity in the full dining room and the other on the torches and candelabras and lighted chandeliers.

Continentals are so barbaric. Why can't they use gas lighting or coul lamps for illumination like the Moors? Why must they remain in the dark ages and fill their homes with woodsmoke and flames?

She knows they're pointless questions, pointless worries--just like the fear twisting her stomach into knots. Pointless.

Stupid to still feel it after all these years. Stupid to still panic at the heat, the smoke.

Stupid to still see images in the dancing flames--the flash of a twisted face, the way the paintings slowly leached away in wreaths of blue. Stupid, Melodhie tells herself.

The feelings and images remain.

"You gonna eat that?" A rich, almost melodic voice comes from her left. Melodhie turns her head to see the newest addition to the Troupe--he's only been with them a couple of months--eying the leg of lamb she hasn't touched.

This Royal food is too rich for her palette. Just like the calm, soulless music drifting over the people seated at the six tables in the massive room. Only one table is on a raised dais, closest to the lifted half-moon stage--the Royal Family and those currently in favor seated at it. Melodhie and the Izani, of course, are at the table furthest from them.

Why they've even been given the opportunity to eat is a mystery. When Inex said they'd gotten an invitation from the Crown Prince to perform tonight, she expected little more than entry through the servants' warren and standing room behind a curtain before and after their act.

Instead they were ushered--like honored guests, no less--into the formal dining room and seated in velvet-cushioned chairs. The little metal disks atop the smallest plate in the unnecessarily large stack of dishware even bears her name. So wasteful, these Royals.

"No," she says, shrugging. She pushes the lamb toward Feng, and he gives her a bright grin as he puts it on his already empty plate. He's been making good use of the servants who constantly pass by with loaded platters. She isn't even sure how he's managed to eat as much as he has--he probably has an extra stomach somewhere. That or his legs are hollow.

Though, to Melodhie's right, Fletch is eating just as much if not more.

It must be a male thing.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Feng crows, rubbing his hands together before he digs in. He's a... strange man. Melodhie doesn't know what it is about him that makes her wary, but something does. She doubts he's really the easy-going, blubbery kid he appears to be. No one in the Izani Troupe is what they appear to be.

She just shakes her head at him and takes a drink from her goblet. Their wine is heady, a bit too spiced for her liking and much too watered down, but it's better than no liquor at all.

Especially with those flames reflected in the crystal dishes and the silver cutlery and the fine glass statues on the tabletop.

"When do you think they'll want us to play?" Fletch asks, his voice pleasantly raspy. He takes a drink from his own goblet--he opted for water--as he trains those yellow eyes of his on Inex, seated across the table between a pair of simpering twins from another Troupe. The dark haired beauties took one look at Inex and claimed the seats to his left and right, but have been unable to draw his attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

The poor things. Inex doesn't go after women. He finds the practice boring. In fact, Melodhie isn't sure that Inex likes women at all--though, he's never shown any indication that he likes men, either. Perhaps he's just picky.

Or doesn't have the needs of other males.

Melodhie doesn't quite know why it matters, aside from the amusement and curiosity it brings. The fact that he didn't look at her with anything other than friendliness when they met is what drew her to him in the first place, after all.

Sometimes she thinks Inex forgets she's even female.

"When they're ready for us," their fearless leader says absently, shrugging those massive shoulders. The twins' sultry dark eyes follow the movement appreciatively, but Inex doesn't appear to notice. Maybe he just can't tell the difference between human males and females.

Now that is amusing.

She might even ask him one of these days.

Fletch shrugs as well, sucking on a pheasant bone. He likes birds, Melodhie knows. Used to, she'd sometimes catch a brace of quail or doves just for him when she was hunting. Once she got him a whole turkey, but he tried to hug her for that one, and she stopped giving him gifts.

Melodhie doesn't like to be touched.

"What are we going to play?" Fletch asks, waving his bone, brows furrowed. He's looking across Melodhie at Feng, who has somehow loaded even more food onto his plate and is working his way through it.

"A ballad set," he suggests, twirling a finger in the air. "Or some love songs. This is an engagement party."

"You two only know bawdy love songs," Melodhie says dryly. "Remember where we are."

Feng pouts at her, his full bottom lip even quivering a bit. He is such a faker--she thinks. Maybe.

He's confusing, with that completely serious expression and those legitimately wounded eyes. Her instincts, though, tell her that he's lying. He gives her a headache.

"We can play songs that aren't dirty," Fletch protests, leaning over the table to make a grab for Inex's fork, since he managed to lose his at some point. Inex looks amused and pushes his fork toward the kid.

Fletch is older than Melodhie by a good four years, but he might as well be the youngest instead of her. He certainly acts childish enough--and despite his rough life, he's very naive, innocent even. It's cute.

"Sure," she says doubtfully. "Like what?"

"Like Caendan and The Uulgar March and The Road to Mèndulthë," Feng says.

"Uulgar is about a barren woman stealing her sister's child and Mèndulthë is about a monster who makes men fall in love with her and then eats them," Melodhie says, her voice bone dry.

"See? Not dirty, just tragic," Feng says cheerfully.

Melodhie sighs. Men, she long ago decided, are imbeciles.

Their existence is utterly pointless.

"Play the set from midsummer solstice," Inex says, gesturing at them with his wine goblet.

"Ooh," Feng agrees, grinning around a turkey leg. Men are disgusting. "Perfect. Sweet enough for an engagement--"

"--bright enough for dancing--" Fletch continues, and the two boys glance at each other with twin grins before they finish at the same time.

"--and not bawdy."

Inex just gives them one of his lazy grins, looking content. It's nice to see him that way. Melodhie shakes her head, taking another drink of her spiced wine. "And I suppose I'm to dance?"

"Of course," Feng says, smirking at her. "We'll even give you one of those sexy Scaran costumes." Melodhie gives him a vulgar gesture in response, and he laughs.

"If you'd like," Inex tells her over the rim of his goblet. The twins are starting to look annoyed by his lack of response to them. "You could help me work the crowd too."

Melodhie wrinkles her nose. "I'll dance."

Inex just gives her a serene smile--he knew what she would choose. Working the crowd means touching people. At least she dances alone.

She turns her head toward Feng, who has moved from the meats to some sort of pie. "No costume."

He pouts. "But you'll look great."

She merely gives him another vulgar gesture and scoops some sort of noodles, cheese, and meat concoction onto her fork. It's good--still too rich, but not as bad as the sauce that was on the lamb.

Feng releases a mournful sigh. "Doesn't that get uncomfortable, Lodhie?" She doesn't see why he insists on calling her that. She wishes he wouldn't.

In response, she simply arches a brow without looking at him, chewing.

"The stick up your arse," Feng clarifies. "Seems like it would--"

Melodhie lifts her goblet and throws its contents into Feng's face, silencing him. He sits there for a moment, taking in the stunned quiet from the guests around them. Wine drips from his lashes and the tip of his nose, running onto his shirt.

"Ouch," Fletch observes, and Inex just gives them a wry look, amused. The other guests don't seem to know how to react.

Feng, for his part, blows out a breath, spewing droplets, and licks the substance from his lips before picking up a cloth napkin. It stains maroon as he rubs it over his face, and he gives Melodhie a very dry look when his eyes are open again.

She continues eating as if nothing happened. "Sorry. My hand twitched."

Feng snorts, eying his wine soaked shirt. "Now what am I going to wear?" He mutters, his tone mournful.

"I think your ego is plenty," Melodhie says, sickeningly sweet.

Feng turns a grin on her. "Aww, see, I knew you thought I was sexy. It's okay if you swoon, love." He smirks at her and starts unbuttoning his shirt. The dark eyed twins on either side of Inex suddenly find themselves interested in another target altogether.

Fickle sluts.

Women like that make Melodhie embarrassed for her gender.

Feng hangs his shirt over the back of his chair, completely comfortable in his skin. Melodhie has to admit that he has reason to be comfortable. Most women probably would swoon at the sight of all those muscles.

In fact, Melodhie is pretty sure a couple of women the next table over just fainted. And the twins are practically salivating.

It's too bad Feng's personality is so ugly. Otherwise, he might be the most handsome man in the room. Melodhie, however, thinks Inex is ten times the man Feng is. He may not be conventionally handsome, but he has a steady strength and an aura worldly wisdom that puts him years ahead of Feng in the 'attractive' department.

Though why Melodhie is comparing them, she has no idea.

Fletch likes to tease her, saying she has a little crush on Inex--and it might even be true. But it's certainly not the physical sort of crush. It's more that she... admires him. She respects Inex, and that's more than she can say for any other male in existence.

Especially Feng.

Melodhie is still debating whether or not she should even bother responding to Feng and his idiocy when a servant stops beside Inex and stoops to his ear. Inex tilts his head at the whispered words, then nods once and jerks his chin at Melodhie, Fletch, and Feng.

"We're on."

Finally. Melodhie is sick to death of the air at this table.

She doesn't even bother to finish the food on her plate before she shoves out of the chair and heads for the servant who's waiting to lead them backstage.