Growing ever more frustrated with the spiraling chaos about them, as well as their strange inability to grab just one young man, the smooth-talking guard changes his tactics: You should all be helping us, citizens! We are here on business for the Count's city guard! Grab that kid, that Daniel!!
And he drops to the floor and scoots beneath the table, catching sight of Daniel's heels as the younger fellow squirms along the floor and then back into the throng.
Daniel's cries of innocence are beginning to have some sway with the crowd, and he begins to hear a murmur of assent. A handful of voices rise up: Let the boy finish the Trial, at least! and You're a long way from Three Waters! Got a writ from the court to chase that youngster all the way here? and A cheap shot, trying to get a collar at a Vale party! Got no class, huh?
Brel gets a confused look on his face when he finds his partner staring back at him from under the food-laden table instead of Daniel, so he whips his head back and forth quickly, scanning the hubbub for his mark.
Ha! Not so fast, punk!! Gotcha on the run now! he crows, and bolts after Daniel, bulling his way through the throng.
Alaros might be terrible at hiding (at the moment), but he can tell that it won't take much more to flip this from a crazed pursuit that will be the talk of the town for a few days into a brawl that will leave a mark on the Vale's memory for years. And he knows that Clem and Durr will be the ones that give it that last little . . . push.
Young Clem looks at the old fella and then finally just shrugs and says hey sir, that guard has your cheese and then runs after the offending departing cheese like a maniac.
. Meanwhile Durr looks at the manhandled woman and says ever heard of the bard Rodney of Dangerfield? He had the best one liner. Take my wife... No seriously will ya?
Ye took m'cheese, you scabby lout! cries the old-timer, and with that, he hurls a table knife at the back of Clem's head:
And on the other side of the table, Durr turns to find himself face to face with a . . . well-fed . . . male citizen who looks close to hopping mad. And said big-fella does not try to hug the rascally Durr . . . .
. . . but Durr finds himself tangled up with a man near to twice his size.
And as the thrown knife ricochets harmlessly off of the floor at Clem's heel, it plows directly into an elaborate coiffure of an attending lady. Which then plops off her nearly-bare scalp into an oversize bowl of soup . . .
. . . and the ensuing eruption of broth douses a host of other persons, who take umbrage at the assault.
Hard-baked loaves are launched in fusillade. Bowls of salad, stew, and vegetables are cast spinning through the air, scattering their contents and bludgeoning no one in particular. The last aliments to be thrown aloft are the various steaks, chops, and rib portions, often with sighs of loss and resignation.
The Great Food Fight of Last Rest has begun.
And seizing upon the opportunity, Lord Mactus waves away his guards and roars over the din:
And he flings himself over the table and into the fray.
Fitz
Clem
Durr
Fitz grabs the first guy he can find who laughed at him when he was making his introduction and punches him like he was chopping down a tree!
Young Clem continues running for his life and does a drive by grab and pie to some unsuspecting guards face!
Durr meanwhile gets grabbed and tries to weasel his way out!
Clem's thrown pie falls to the floor, totally missing any possible target, but adding to the gathering residues that will soon make footing precarious.
Fitz's quick-step jab completely levels a snooty-looking intermediary who had been sitting at the masters' table. Fitz feels a deep sense of satisfaction as the fellow's overconfidence turns into unconsciousness.
Durr begins to strain against his captor, but doesn't make any real progress toward escape. The burly man reacts by trying to turn the grapple into a rib-cracking bear-hug:
Purity's giggling fit may feel fun, but the poor girl's drunkenness is doing her no favors in the realm of 'danger awareness'.
Albion tries to brace himself versus the oncoming tide of bodies, hoping that he can just stay upright and not be trampled as the former dance floor becomes a mosh pit.
Allvin's surprise increases as the Lord of Last Rest himself wades into the brawl, and the middle-aged man aims a left hook at his jaw! Hello there, kid! Best of luck tomorrow!
What had been a pleasant evening of conversation turns into a madhouse of shouting, flying food, and random attacks -- this was the worst behavior Daenara had ever seen! Shock upon shock!!
Alaros tries to curl up into an even smaller space next to the legs of the trestle table he's under, and is safe . . . but only for a moment. Too many people are hitting the floor for someone to not notice him hiding away under there.
Sven's sloppy opportunism may be rewarding him with some tasty treats, but having your hands full and trying to eat while standing in the thick of an ongoing battle (no matter how friendly) isn't such a good idea . . . .
Caraya's clothes were absolutely covered with . . . barley broth? Is that what it was? It was going to a true bother trying to get it out in the wash . . . . But in the moment, other things were more pressing!
And in the midst of all this, Daniel, still seeking to evade the Three Waters Guard, can't make good progress through the crowd, but does manage to catch Brel full in the face with what may be the best-thrown pie of the night!
Blizzard's only advantage in all of this furor is that he'd only just gotten back from visiting his old comrades, and was on the edges of the scene as it went from mildly funny to absolutely hilarious. It's a good thing, too, because his reactions weren't up to speed . . . .
As the madness continues, the two guardsmen attempting to bring in Daniel do their utmost to wend their way through the crowd. Brel attempts to wipe the muck of pie from his face while blundering in the direction he last saw his quarry, and his partner tries to dash along the festhall perimeter after climbing out from under the tables.
Brel's vision is still clouded by crust and filling, but only barely. Even so, he still manages to shove past no few of the now-marauding partygoers.
It seems that the Three Waters duo divided their responsibilities based upon their own personal strengths, and for good reason. Though he's a fair hand at speaking politely and winning folks over (usually the "good cop" in their work), the spokesman-constable isn't so deft on his feet, and he slips to the floor, and barely manages not to join the Regurgitation Regiment after he notices what caused the slip.
Meanwhile, Allvin's jaw has been introduced to Lord Mactus's fist in the most incredible of ways . . .
. . . and the young carpenter drops like a rock to the wood floor.
Fitz has a wolfish expression now on his face smiling from ear to ear as he looks for another target among those who found it funny to laugh at him.
Clem continues to run right for the door and jump outside to escape the puke smell and food all mixed together not up for a fight.
Durr still keeps on trying to escape!
Ultimately, through the uproar and salvos of foodstuffs, Daniel manages to give the Three Waters guardsmen the slip. As he races off into the growing twilight, he passes the outer ring of wardposts and approaches the canyon.
Well, what now? he asks himself.