Everything seems to have gone slow-mo as the snake dancer's tail, relaxedly swishing back and forth, thumps against the Savanite's ankle heavily, causing her to topple forward, the carafe of wine balanced on her tray beginning to go off balance… The snake dancer's eyes turn swiftly to the spotted cat that she has tripped, no look of surprise on her trim, sleek face, one of her two pairs of arms raising as if to fend off the falling cheetah…

Zoltan opens his mouth to respond to Faraon's latest question, but stops short as the slave tumbles. He makes a flying leap towards a spot directly between the dragon and the slave, hoping at best to catch her and her pitcher before she falls… and at worst to take the brunt of her stumble in place of the great dragon.

Bambridge's eyes widen, and without thinking things through, the lizard parts his jaws. A glistening rope of pink lances from Bambridge's maw, aimed at the toppling carafe…

The golden dragon draws back with surprise from the toppling slave, gasps appearing on the face of the richly-dressed Gallah pirate next to him (a Saluki-based canine) and the rather scruffy-looking wildcat Kattha… just as a black feathered body leaps up from his seat, the chair flying back, simultaneous with a tongue shooting across.

Two Naga guards at the entrance of the dining room drop their hands to the swords which are slung at their hips, seeing what they perceive as a hostile action…

The alarmed Savanite slave lets out the faintest of squeaks as she plows into the Vartan, her eyes wide, her ears flattened out, her tail puffed out like a bottlebrush.

Blinking, the Vartan pulls himself up… giving the Savanite a gentle pat and then holding up his hands, hoping to indicate that this was not a hostile action. He looks to Faraon, "My apologies, great one… but I not think it right for you to end up splashed with wine at you own feast. I take bump for you." he looks around. "Although I no see where wine go… "

"Your subject's eagerness to serve is a refreshing change of pace, Master Faraon," hisses the Wooden Shekel from where he sits. His head rests in one paw, most of his composure regained. In the other, he holds a pitcher of chilled wine by the base, wobbling slightly with the sloshing contents. "You must treat them very well. May I pour you a goblet? I hear a brisk shake brings out the flavour."

The Naga dancer, surprised by the sudden leaping of the Vartan, falls backward into a simulated swoon, "Oh! I am beset!"

Faraon, however, raises his eyeridges at the statements of both the Wooden Shekel and the Vartan. "Very nobly done," he murmurs, turning to fix both eyes upon Zoltan. The other two guests (apart from Bambridge) draw in their breaths, wondering if some dreadful punishment lies ahead.

The slave at the center of all this keeps her gaze down. She trembles lightly but noticeably.

Zoltan pulls himself to his feet, helping the Savanite up as well before brushing himself off. He looks up at Faraon, "I am very sorry for disruption I may have caused, sir."

The golden dragon narrows his glowing amber eyes. "It is quite gallant of you to fling yourself across the table, Zoltan Cambio, to save me a small indignity at the hands of this unfortunate servant. Such devotion to etiquette is, as the Wooden Shekel might say, quite refreshing. However, there is one small question I do have."

"Yes sir?" Zoltan says, feeling a lump form in his stomach.

The nearby servants mutter to themselves, "Quite shocking!" "Yes, one really shouldn't go flinging oneself over tables all the time… "

"Do you by any chance… know this servant?" inquires the golden dragon sweetly.

Turning his head, Zoltan studies the slave for a moment.

The snake dancer stirs her coils, still apparently swooned. Her eyelids have been pasted with many fine bits of colorful glitter, predominantly violet. "Oohhh," she murmurs.

Bambridge's eyes scan the room for something socially acceptible for him to do while the Vartan's run of luck takes its course. Drawing as little attention as possible, the reptile moves to the other side of the table, where the dancer is. "Ah… quite a dose of excitement you took there, my lady," he hisses in Imperial while he fills a chalice. "Are you quite all right?"

The slave does not return Zoltan's gaze, keeping her eyes fixed firmly downward until told to do otherwise. A few strands of curly dark hair that have tugged free of her shawl during the accident dangle before her deep brown eyes.

Faraon's quiet gaze remains fixed upon the Vartan.

Other Savanite servants, not as unlucky as the first one, move in to clean up some of the spilled platter of small birds and mop up the puddle of violently purple sauce.

Zoltan looks back up at Faraon. "I never met her before, sir. But she does match description of gardener I heard so many things about."

"I… I… ah!" The snake dancer's four arms wind themselves slowly about Bambridge as she blinks her eyes open. "It was only that I was so terribly frightened… When I felt that clumsy servant trip over my tail, and then saw that huge black mass lunging across the table… " She looks up trustingly at the Wooden Shekel.

"Indeed. So you have an interest in gardening… " Faraon's gaze shifts to one side as he leans closer to Zoltan, his fourty-feet length of muscles and golden scales reflecting the torchlight in shimmering patterns of red and orange and yellow and even white. "And for what, precisely, do you require a gardener?"

"I interested in skilled slaves, sir. Good gardener slave can teach other slaves to be good and make them more valuable," the Vartan replies, momentarily dazzled by the shiny scales.

Faraon smiles thinly, his lips finely scaled. "Well, this one is somewhat clumsy, Zoltan Cambio, as you can plainly see, and not quite so superior a gardener as another in my employ, from what I am told by my supervisors. Perhaps I should have that one fetched instead, to lend to your enterprise?"

The golden dragon shifts about again, lights playing over his scale, and regards the Vartan from the other side.

The Wooden Shekel's eyes bear the tiniest hint of frost. "Of course, my lady. Such an experience must be very trying indeed. Please, partake of a glass of wine, it may help take the edge off the suffering." (That you caused.) The latter remains unspoken, and the chalice is proffered by a scaled paw. Odd, the scales don't appear so bright anymore.

The snake dancer starts to coil again, straightening. "You're so very kind, my dear Wooden Shekel," she murmurs, twining her tail over and about behind him. She flickers her forked tongue out to taste the chalice of wine.

Zoltan bows his head to the dragon. "I am sorry sir, but I was told this slave was best gardener. No that I not trust you word, but I prefers to go by whats I know about, if I wrong, is my own folly."

"Ah, but you have done me a favor," Faraon murmurs, looking more amused now, his tail flicking about. "I would be only too pleased to offer you the service of my best gardener… But if the question is in dispute, perhaps there is a very simple test we might employ." His eyes flicker. "There is a certain kind of plant – we call it 'climbing lover's promise', but some describe it as 'shriekvine'. It grows very rapidly."

"Perhaps we might take our chosen candidates for the 'best gardener' out to some of my estates and, ah, test their abilities, hmm, Zoltan?" the golden dragon suggests.

Zoltan looks around nervously and motions for Faraon to bring his head closer to him. Intending to whisper something in his ear.

The golden dragon leans closer.

(Oh, bother… how do I get back to my seat now?) "Do you require any aid?" asks the Shiga. "That was quite a bump… it wouldn't do to… ah, have your beauty sullied by an unfortunate incident like this."

The syncophants whisper to each other. "How can anyone question Faraon's judgment?" "He should just sell him the inferior slave and allow him the luxury of believing himself the better off," the other replies, looking scornful.

Whispering, the Vartan says in the barest of whispers in the dragon's eat, "You misunderstand sir… I not looking for that kind of gardener. I looking for one that know how to tend certain… hrr… medicinal plants, if you know what I means."

The snake dancer strokes Bambridge's hand, looking reluctant to let him go. "Oh, but I shall reflect your own handsomeness, as does a mirror the sun," she whispers. "I can see in your strong, confident eyes that you are a man who will go many places."

Zoltan whispers, "I been told that this slave best for such things."

"Ah, but as you will see, this other slave is also a master of such talents," Faraon murmurs back gently to the Vartan, almost fatherly. "He is a recent addition to my dome, and thus it is understandable that your source might not have been apprised of his existence."

(Preferably away from here.) "Er, to call yourself the mirror is an injustice to the radiance of your scales, my lady. A thousand times brighter than the flowers within the Imperial gardens." hisses Bambridge, trying to keep a grip on his pitcher. "Perhaps I will see them again, and be reminded of you… but there's the matter of Master Faraon's test first, which I really ought to discuss with him."

The golden dragon straightens and claps his hands. "After dinner, my friends, we shall witness an unusual contest to determine which of my slaves is truly the better gardener." He smiles benevolently. "And then, gratis, the winner shall be given to this Zoltan Cambio as a token of my esteem for his willingness to throw himself into the way of harm for the sake of my dignity. Eat! Drink! And celebrate, for tonight is a night of new friends and new business dealings."

The other syncophants murmur between themselves surprisedly. The name of Zoltan has never been broached as a future crime lord.

The snake dancer appears to have eyes only for Bambridge, but she strokes down his arm as she lets him go reluctantly. "Do well, my dear. I shall be hoping for your success in every way."

Zoltan opens his mouth to respond… but finds himself to be too slow. He angrily digs his talons into the palm of his hand and casts one more glance at the slave. ( Please please PLEASE win… )

Hearing Faraon's proclamation, the Wooden Shekel takes the opportunity to disentangle himself from the dancer as gracefully as possible. "I will do my utmost, my lady." He returns to his seat, his sigh of relief mercifully masked by his cloak.

When he's sure that nobody is looking, Zoltan moves close to Moon-Brow and signs to her, "You must win. Try harder than you ever try before in you life… If you win, I rescue you. You be free, I am a friend of you family, you must trust me." Zoltan hands her a lock of red hair, belonging to Fire-Mane. The small piece he removed before she left for Tarsus. He puts his hand to his chest and then walks off to join the crowd of observers for the contest.

Dinner proceeds quickly and Faraon welcomes the Wooden Shekel to the family of thieves, criminals, and other 'businessmen' that form the underground economy of Rephidim. He also suggests to Zoltan that a second shop would do well, and proposes a grant of land in exchange for a very modest fee per month.

The gardener Savanite just blinks, staring at the crimson strands of curly hair, her mind swimming, no doubt, as she tries to make sense of it all. She signs nothing back, simply tucking away the strand, just going through the motions numbly and nodding quietly.

The Savanite is hustled away before the close of dinner in order to be prepared for her contest …

A slight crease forms in Bambridge's brow as he sees what he thinks is Savanite sign out of the corner of his eye. When he looks, however, whatever the Vartan was saying is already past. He returns to polite chatter with the other rogues.

After dinner, Faraon and his guests take a leisurely stroll down the stairs to a lush dome filled to every end with foliage, the ground soft and dark beneath their feet. "Ah! My pride and joy," he murmurs to the Wooden Shekel and Zoltan. "I have caused seeds to be brought from all across Sinai's many lands, and set aside domes for each of them, so that they may be raised as small bubbles of faraway climes – and all without leaving Rephidim itself. Is this not beautiful?"

The scene that Faraon describes as beautiful looks more like a slice choice of vegetable mayhem, the trees so thick that some grow atop others, their roots choking the others, violently colored flowers twining about the trunks and springing from bushes, with small chittering creatures flying between the branches.

Zoltan looks about, he's never seen many gardens in his time… ugly or beautiful so isn't quite sure how to rate this one. He simply whistles his approval.

Bambridge marvels, but doesn't dare actually touch any of the foliage. "Remarkable indeed, Master Faraon. So many climes, so many places, all brought into one. Some of these plants I have never before seen."

A short, stumpy pale wolf with a black circle over one eye that suggests he is not purely Jupani, grumps as he orders a team of slaves to clear some ground so that it can be used for gardening. Others are constructing scaffolding to place a bridge over both of these, ten feet high. To one side are all the gardening tools and supplies that one could ask for.

"The rules are quite simple," the golden dragon murmurs to Zoltan and Bambridge as he curls up upon a stone throne. "Climbing lover's promise grows so quickly that one might well watch it grow… But it will grow faster if it is given a sufficient quality of care, and dies in the hand of one who knows nothing about how to handle it." He flicks his tail carelessly. "And then there is the possibility that it will eat the gardener. Such small chances make life more interesting, does it not?"

The female gardener Savanite is dressed in stained garments more befitting working with earth and plants now, than that of a table-server. She has a woven leather headband that strains to hold her unruly black curls away from her deep brown eyes. A brown jerkin of heavy cloth is partially covered by a well-worn once-white apron, and her tan trousers have been patched many times. She has no jewelry, having need only for the tools of her trade.

Indeed, as one of the gardeners gets too close to the edge of the jungle, a length of some nasty-looking edged red plant snakes around his feet and pulls him off them! Two nearby gardeners spring after the hapless fox and start hacking at the plant, trying to terrorize it into letting go.

The Fox whines piteously as he is parted from his floppy, feathered hat. "Don't eat meeeeeeeeeee!"

The Wooden Shekel stands to one side of the throne, a little bit of worry tinging his expression. "I'm … ah, sure that your gardeners are very skilled, Master Faraon. Such that the possibility of them becoming a meal is… ah, a very remote one?"

"There are three things one should never do without help nearby," the golden dragon says humorously to the Wooden Shekel. "Steal, fight, and garden. I am certain that both will be more than adequate to our contest tonight."

Haji tries to keep his distance from the garden denizens. He's dressed in a cloak and plain green pants and shirt, quite durable and tough although not very decorative. He has a red cloth bandana tied around one leg.

The hippogryph tenses at the mention of the plant eating one of the gardeners, he quietly does something he's never done before… he starts whispering prayers to the Star under his breath. The same Star that so many of the other Savanites he's met have called upon for strength.

The female Savanite's ears flick and she looks momentarily toward Zoltan … then sees him praying, and looks back to the plants, ears blushing faintly.

Bambridge's chortles courteously. "Sound advice indeed, mighty Faraon. I-… " His sentance is cut short as he seens the contestants, his attention on Haji. (I know that Savanite!)

The gardener calls both of the Savanites over. "Aw right, Haji! Star! Now the Master wants to see who's the better gardener. So I got here these shriek – climbin' Lover's Promise seeds. Haji! You get that one there. Star! You get the other one. Those are your tools, those are your supplies." He pauses, after giving each a spiky-looking seed about three inches wide and an inch thick. "GET TO IT!"

The golden dragon curls amusedly, still far taller than the others despite having so much of his length wound about.

Haji looks at the seed, examines it for a couple of seconds. He then sets to work, ears laid back.

The snake dancer snuggles up next to Bambridge and watches, her expression betraying a bit of discontent.

Star, the female Savanite, drops to her knees, digging a hole, and using her tool to break up the earth beneath the hole even more, to make sure that the beginning roots will be able to get further into the soil before they take a solid grip. In goes the seed, and a pawful of some filthy-looking material that must be fertilizer. It leaves greenish-brown stains on her hands, but she pays that no heed.

Faraon leans toward Bambridge, his bulk shadowing the Shiga from the lights of the strange flowers that climb over the walls of the dome.

Zoltan looks up from his prayers, he clenches his fist and watches 'Star'. ( C'mon… you can do it. )

Star fills in the hole, packing the dirt in only a very measured manner – not too dense, not too loose – and then rushes for a watering pot. Again, as much care is given to how much water is applied to the soon-to-be-newborn plant.

Bambridge's eyes fix on Haji, his face grimly set. (If you weren't a Savanite, I'd strangle you for that waashu venom fiasco before the plant got a chance… but… good luck.) He looks up at the only dragon that hasn't yet tried to do him in somehow. "I'm afraid my knowledge of plants is probably dwarfed by your own. Who would you place odds on, Master Faraon?"

Haji kneels and digs a hole with his hands instead of using tools. He wiggles his fingers as he drops each handful of soil, making sure it seems as if he's trying to get the dirt off of himself. He places the seed in carefully and looks at it a second. Then he drops a small amount of very black soil, followed by the original dirt. He brings his fist down once, very hard, on the top of the mound.

"Haji appears to be the superior gardener, judging by the increased, ah, 'production' figures he has achieved," the golden dragon murmurs very softly to Bambridge. "In truth however, I wished to speak more with you as to the nature of the task I wished you to accomplish… " Switching to Imperial: "If you are still interested, of course."

Over the course of just a minute, a small black shoot cracks the earth from Star's seed. It is followed within a few seconds by another from Haji's.

Haji sets aside the water, not bothering to water the seed, for some reason. He looks over his sharper tools as the seeds sprout.

"By all means, Master Faraon," replies the lizard. "I'm all Lapi-ears, proverbially speaking."

Star almost tumbles back as the black shoot arises. She takes a moment to arrange some little wooden sticks into a small pile, and to refill her water pot, though it's almost full anyway. She also readies some pruning shears.

The Vartan clasps his hands, watching each of the sprouts with his wide eyes. "Go… you can do it," he whispers to himself.

"As I was saying, certain documents are in the possession of a certain officer of the Temple, who appears to be using them to uncover affairs of mine that I would not wish revealed… You would be expected to penetrate the inner Temple, retrieve these documents and ascertain the existence of any copies, and destroy or bring them back." Faraon pauses. "Needless to say, you may count on the aid of any of my associates, and any monetary aid that might be needed in this endeavour."

Once the shoot has been given enough time to begin its growth, Star jams one of the wooden sticks into the ground near the base, gives the plant just a sprinkling of water … then hops back, giving it a wide berth.

Encouraged by early watering, Star's plant starts to grow, bursting forth in five stalks: one center stalk, and four spreading out across the ground, the runners with jagged edges. Little stripes discolor the bottom of the runners. The other plant is shyer, opening more slowly.

Haji takes a sharp looking instrument and pokes the shoot in certain places. It reacts violently to each jab. After a while, Haji has created several rings of punctures at regular intervals on the shoot's stem. It doesn't seem to like it very much, however.

Haji's plant hisses displeasedly!

The pale wolf gardener watches with lines of displeasure on his face. The other gardeners have succeeded in rescuing a sap-covered fox from a now-dead plant and are towing him away to be bathed.

The Fox whines … audible even at this distance and with the other distractions.

Star's plant sprouts more branches, the trunk thickening. It's a truly strange sight to see plants growing before one's very eyes…

Nervously, Zoltan looks up to Faraon, "Pardon me for interrupting, sir. But if plants get violent I would likes permission to rescue it, you should no lose a talented slave because of this." He tries to smile. "Besides, I a skilled fighter… perhaps I give you better show than gardener would."

Heedless of the Fox, Star prunes off some of the smaller growths, and holds another wooden stick, keeping clear of the spreading vines, and flicking her tail-tip in a steady rhythm like a pendulum … and then abruptly jams another stick in the ground, this just a little further out, and she gives a more generous sprinkling of water during her retreat.

The golden dragon glances toward Zoltan with amusement. He replies in Vartan, squawking, "An excellent fight, I am sure. Granted."

Bambridge rubs the base of his jaw thoughtfully, nodding slowly. He's mostly able to ignore the familiar whine in the distance. "A formidable test of skill indeed, but one I am quite willing to undertake, my Master. May I inquire as to a few details? The nature of my targets, both the papers, and the official holding them, would expediate my mission. Naturally, if those are unavailable for any reason, it is of no consequence."

Zoltan bows his head, a bit relieved and goes back to watching the plants.

Haji's plant looks rather more scarred now, at three feet much shorter than the other one, but also more vicious as it snaps at the air, trying for Haji's tail. The ground-running stalks prove themselves to be rather like tentacles…

"You will need to steal documents from Bridge Officer Nimiss, which are held secretly in his office. These documents concern the affairs of a certain Arch-Inquisitor, Moffat, and his dealings in, ah, 'underworld' affairs… " Faraon explains dispassionately to Bambridge in Imperial. "More information will be given to you by my aide before you leave."

Haji concentrates on his task, which looks as if he's torturing the shoot. However, the plant is growing rapidly in response to the prodding, even aggrassive. Haji grabs a set of lesser leaves that won't be noticed when the plant is fully grown and pulls them off instead of cutting cleanly. The plant wraps it's small but growing vines around his ankles, in response. They don't trip him, but the spottykitty pulls them off anyway.

Star's plant is much less aggressive than Haji's, and also growing taller as it seizes upon the sticks which Star has inserted into the ground, wresting them from the dirt and devouring them messily. It sprouts up to six feet, developing black flowers with centers of near-white yellow, but its runner tentacles are rather undeveloped in comparison.

With a sudden lunge, Haji's plant shoots out a tentacle to rip at the foliage of Star's climbing Lover's Promise! The other plant visibly shrinks back, keening.

Zoltan growls, feather's bristling.

Star's ears shoot back in alarm. Her plant may be growing faster and showing less aggressiveness … but at the expense of being able to defend itself from a hostile rival! She ignores the sweat threatening to blind her eyes, and jabs in another stake, going through her routine of insert stick, leap back, water vigorously, catch breath, grab stick…

Bambridge makes a slow bow. "On my life, you shall have these papers, Master Faraon." The reptile stands upright again, musing once more. He observes the contest still, but doesn't really absorb any of it.

Helpless to affect the outcome, Zoltan just sits and glares daggers at Haji's plant.

Haji steps away from the plant as it grows bigger and hence more dangerous. He picks up a long-handled rake and a very large set of chitin pruning shears that could nearly pass as a weapon. He whaps the plant accross it's center blossom and it opens, revealing a red flower with a white center. He then drops the rake and picks up the shears in case the plant takes a chance at him.

"Do so, and you will be rewarded richly," the golden dragon murmurs to Bambridge. "It is no easy task I have set you, but I believe that you have the wherewithal to accomplish it, and thus demonstrate your fitness for greater things."

Haji's plant is distracted from ripping at Star's plant's foliage by Haji's action, and lunges at him, bending its six-feet length over!

Star's plant keens meanwhile, huddling its foliage over from the agressor plant, not yet noticing the new nutrient sticks which have been planted. It remains eight feet tall.

Star gasps for breath, setting down her tools, and fumbling for another tool. This one looks fairly odd compared to the rest. It's reedy, long and cylindrical, with several holes drilled along its length.

Haji hacks at the plant, whipping his tail furiously and taking a few steps back as he ducks the plant's first attack. This one's really aggressive, all right.

Tensing, Zoltan continues to keep his eyes on Haji's plant. At the very least, if it attacks the Savanite he'll have an excuse to rip it to bits, not much chance of it winning that way.

The Wooden Shekel smiles quirkily. "And an oppourtunity to tweak the "all-powerful" temple will be the honey-glaze on the locust, Master Faraon. I shall truely enjoy this." He returns to speaking Rephidim standard again, cocking his head while he watches the combatants. "I had no idea gardening was such a… rigorous pastime."

The golden dragon chuckles, "Indeed. I assumed that your companion would rather not wait a few weeks for results from more sedate plants, however." He watches the attack of the vine with great curiosity.

Star puts the 'tool' to her lips, and holds it like a flute. Perhaps that's because, as crude as it is … that's exactly how she uses it. She blows over a hole, playing her fingers over the smaller ones along the length, playing what might charitably be called music. It does not stir the soul or bring tears to one's eyes, nor does it make one's ears ache on the other hand, either. It is a simple melody, on the lighter side of things, and Star plays with her plant as her audience.

Haji watches as the plant continues to get bigger and angrier. He looks at Bambridge and signs, {It's not suppossed to do that.}

Haji's plant snakes a crawler around the hapless gardener's ankle… And pulls!

Star's plant slowly untwists and sways to the rhythm of the flute. Amazingly, the apparently carnivorous plant actually responds to the charms of music.

Zoltan jumps to his feet at this. "Great Faraon… if I may?" He unfolds his wings, ready to spring.

Bambridge looks rather startled, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Ah… Mighty Faraon, I'm certainly no expert on such things… but I do believe the vine that the male Savanite is cultivating has grown rather more unruly than anticipated. I humbly suggest the contest be cut short, and judged on current results."

Faraon watches with half-lidded eyes. "Patience," he murmurs, watching Haji's actions.

Haji falls on his back! He hacks at the crawler as it drags him forward. It's REALLY not supposed to do this. It stops for a moment as it hears the music close by, however. Haji pulls himself free and darts forward, slashing the plant's base while it's distracted. It gives off what almost amount to a scream and attacks him!

Haji keeps the plants 'mouth' from attaching itself to him with the huge shears, but he's barely able to do anything else, let alone sign for help.

The reptile quiets, but fidgets slightly by the snake dancer while he watches, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"There, you see? Haji is prepared for its action and taunts it to create a livelier plant," Faraon murmurs. "While he will create a far stronger and powerful plant in the long term, however, it seems that he has forgotten that the first plant to touch the bar placed therein shall be the winner." He shrugs his coils.

Meanwhile, having regained apparent awareness of its situation, Star's plant voraciously starts to gobble up nutrient sticks, its roots twisting up the earth to find any nodules that might exist underwater. Little wriggling worms go *snap!* in its clutches.

It grows upward… and out… and wraps its tendrils about the bar above, beginning to exert plantly strength against the wooden construction.

"Ahh… that would explain his higher yield overall," agrees the Shiga. "Still the short term could be his undoing. And the female certainly has a way with that flute."

Zoltan remains on his feet, he holds his breath as he watches Star's plant grow.

Star watches and continues playing, swaying with the music. Her eyes are wide as she watches her 'creation' reaching for the bar…

"Ah yes," Faraon murmurs with a hint of disappointment. He claps his hands. "Very well, Star shall be yours, Zoltan. Perhaps her gentler ways will avail you better." A smile spreads across his thin lips.

Bambridge suppresses a slight grin. "And you yet retain the superior gardener, Master Faraon. Your workings are indeed intricate."

Star does take a few steps back, though…

The pale, eye-circled Jupani closes in, and calls his crew. "Come on! Let's root 'em out 'fore they REALLY take root here an' eat the whole garden!"

Zoltan bows deeply to Faraon. "Thank you, great one. Now may I rescue you other gardener from his plant?"

The golden dragon winds his head the other way, looking at Zoltan from one eye, then the other. "As you wish," he murmurs.

The Vartan bows deeply to Faraon again and leaps from his platform, going after the plant with talons bared.

Haji finally bats the plant's main blossom away and hacks at its base for all he's worth, disappearing among its leaves as it tries to protect itself. After a few moments the plant stops moving, gives a long whine, and collapses to the ground, twitching.

Haji reaches up a single hand from among the leaves, all that can be seen of him, which signs, {Some help here! 'xcuse me! Anyone got a really big knife, hello?}

Faraon laughs softly, a rumbling of rocks deep in the earth. "Perhaps so, Wooden Shekel. Well then, are we done here? Jat! See to it that Star's belongings are packed so that she may go with the Vartan immediately." He addresses the gardener with this last exclamation.

Haji signs, {Uncle! Uncle!}

Star's plant, meanwhile, has crushed the bar and is now keening under the attack of gardeners viciously hacking at its limbs and roots. They make copious use of the shears to try and cut away excess botanical material.

The Vartan rips, shreds, and tears away bits of leaves and vines… clearing our a path for Haji's escape.

Sap leaks all over the place, disturbingly red…

Star backs away, letting the flute dangle from the fingers of one hand. She looks sadly at her 'creation', with a look that almost seems … guilty … as it is attacked by the gardeners.

A gardener gets flung through the air! "AHHHHhhhh!" screams the fox.

"It would appear that Zoltan has some gardening know-how as well," remarks the Shiga.

Haji tosses the shears through the hole made for him, then follows himself. Leaves and parts of vine are stuck all over him like sap-soaked confetti. {Maybe not so aggressive, next time. There almost wasn't a next time.}

Faraon smiles slyly at the Wooden Shekel. "A Vartan of many parts," he agrees, then switches to Imperial again. "Perhaps he would make a worthy partner in more endeavors than the simple huckstering of trinkets?"

Haji kicks the main vine in frustration, which burps a thick wad of sap on him in return.

The gardeners take torches to the plants, now that Haji is free, and start searing the ground… The plants shriek, keening as their branches die in black coals.

Zoltan backs away as Haji escapes. He rips away any vines that try and grab at him or simply grinds them under his hooves. With a snort of disgustm he pulls a piece of vine off of his arm and walks over to Star. "May I help you pack?" he signs. "You do very well, I proud."

Bambridge folds his paws behind his back, rocking slightly on his feet. "He certainly has the talent, my Master… however, I am not entirely sure he has the will or desire for such things. He seems comfortable with his current station."

Star manages, at last, a faint smile, but it quickly fades to a more proper expression. "There is nothing to pack," she signs. "I am but a simple slave, and have no possessions."

Faraon murmurs to Bambridge, "True. This bears some further thought. A strong and honorable individual is an asset to many projects, and I am always at a lack of friends upon whom I can count. Be that as it will, rest assured that I seek only mutual benefit."

The golden dragon nods to the others. "Shall we enjoy dessert upstairs in one of the overlooking balconies? I shall hope that you will share your tale of the legendary island of Paradys, Zoltan Cambio, and perhaps we may discuss the opening of a 'Shinies Shop' to cater to our many Vartan patrons."

Patting Star on the shoulder again and casting a glance to Faraon and Bambridge, Zoltan nods to Star. "Perhaps you can get chance to say goodbye to you plants then before we leave. Surely you must love them to make one so beautiful… I sorry it had to be destroyed."

Haji looks at 'his' plant, unsure whether to be angry or happy to be alive. His thoughts are settled when he watches Zoltan and Star.

Bambridge bobs his head, watching the sap-stained Vartan from a distance. "However indelicate he may be, Zoltan would probably be honored that you would broach the subject. I hope a mutually beneficial arrangement can be made." At the mention of dessert, the reptile quiets and stands off to one side as the group re-assembles.

Star shakes her head. "That will not be necessary, Master. I serve you now. Faraon will find a new one to tend them in my place."

Faraon nods to the Wooden Shekel, and then claps his hands. "Servants, please attend to any needs that my guests may have. I shall be upstairs in the Ice Flower terrace." He flashes his ivory fangs in a sleek smile and then proceeds away in a flurry of servants.

"I would be honored to tell you my story, great Faraon. Although I fear it may be disappointing to you," Zoltan scrawks.

The reptile watches the group file away, chatting amongst themselves. After a moment, he turns his gaze back to Haji, and slowly ambles over toward him, his face impassive.

An officious-looking Skreek in Faraon's colors trots up to Zoltan's side. "Perhaps a bath, sir, before you go to dessert with the Master? Or a change of clothes?" he suggests.

Haji bows his head as his 'patron' approaches. A big whad of sap-soaked leaves falls off his head as he does so.

"Haji… old friend… " hisses the reptile quietly. "Do you remember me?"

Haji does something he usually shouldn't do, which is look up at his masters. He quirks an ear.

Haji signs, {I believe so.}

Zoltan quietly follows after the Skreek, eager to wash off the drying sap.

Bambridge switches to signing, his gestures slow an methodical. {And do you remember buying waashu venom from a Lapi apothacary?}

Haji's eyes open in recognition. {Yes, yes I do. you were there?}

{No… mine was the name you signed for the poison under,} comes the reply. {Is it coming back to you, now?}

Haji ulps. {Actually, that bit's a little hazy, I'm not quite sure, uh. . .}

Bambridge's paws open and close several times before they start signing again, the gestures quicker, and a little more forceful. {Then you perhaps recall reports of a very high-profile opera singer dying a while ago. Of poisoning. With my name attached to it. My real name. Ringing a bell?}

Several gardeners walk by with large buckets of water, which they throw out onto the smouldering embers of what were once two rather large and vicious specimens of 'Climbing Lover's Promise'. One can only imagine the twisted mind that would ascribe such a name to two sociopathic examples of ugliness.

Haji signs, {I am only a slave, I run errands from time to time. My master would have . . .well, he would have done something bad if I had not come back with what he requested. I did what I had to do.}

Bambridge raises an eyeridge. {And who was your master? Not Faraon?}

Haji signs, {My master is . . .someone who expects loyalty. And gives death to those who are not. He doesn't quible with mercy when it comes to someone like a slave he owns.}

{And his name?} inquires Bambridge, an impatient edge to his fingerwiggling.

Haji signs, {My immediate master is Jat. He is the master gardener. And a bit more.}

Other gardeners, under the leadership of the pale Jupani (his black-circled eye emphasizing his scowl), dig up the earth and begin to re-pack it down, healing the wound in the dirt so that it will appear as if it had never been there before. Jat looks over at Haji from over by the remains of the lumber that had held up a cross-bar. "Stop malingering!" he yells.

Bambridge sighs gustily. {Look Haji, anyone else put in my situation would have bought you from Faraon for the pleasure of flinging you off the Dome's porch. All I want is to know who had you buy that venom. I'm free of the situation, but my name, and several lives might still be in danger. Quickly, I must return to the banquet hall soon… }

Haji jumps at the sound of his master's voice. He backs away from Bambridge, his hands hidden from Jat so he can sign to Bambridge, {The one who is yelling for me, Jat. He is more than he seems. I must go, I have to help clean up.}

Jat taps his foot impatiently. "Some master gardener. Huh!"

Bambridge nods in return. {Thank you. I'll remember this." The shiga turns on his heel, and hurries off to catch up to the group.

Haji picks up his tools and heads off to finish his work for the day.