The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto 2.5

>DUCK AND COVER!!! The embassy is fast becoming a mad house AND a war zone!
>Adler, er- I mean, Fauxfox: Wonder how in the blueblazes the Embassy ever gets anything done.
Sam&Relda > Head towards the chapel, No Hijinks or japes is permitted there.
(Sam) Conduct Fauxfox to your office

"To my sanctuary shrine!" Sam exclaimed. "Permitted there, japes and hijinks are not."

Nimbly dodging pies and water balloons, he led the way through the winding paths of the Embassy. The strange honking sounds continued, but seemed to recede into the distance. We took a detour around a large conference room in which a simultaneous pie fight and pillow fight were taking place.

"How does this Embassy ever manage to get anything done?" I asked, over a cacophonous din of splats and gekkering.

"Fresh from the provinces are you?" Sam rejoindered. "Getting things done, our purpose is not. If it were, then overthrown already the Empire would be. Distract them with silliness we must, while for The Plan's fruition we wait. Ah! Arrived we have!"

He opened a door and gestured urgently for me to enter. I did, and he quickly followed - shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Hey now, just what exactly -" I began nervously.

>Relda: you do not recognize his monastic order. Is it a lecherous one like the Mephitist?
>Sam: Demonstrate the differences to the vixen who has caught your attention.
(Sam's Office) Be spartan, to the point of being completely bare except for one object.
(Object) Be a plate of green eggs and ham.
(Sam) Invite Fauxfox to empty her mind and contemplate the plate.
(Sam) Meditate, murmuringly softly as to your state of being.
a rare form of Gnostermongering, centered around the figure of St. Reynard, which is considered apostate to a degree due to it's believe that the teachings of Reynard outweigh the established Vulpitanian doctrine. Believe that Relda might also be a practitioner, and test her.

Sam walked past me and sat down on the floor in front of a plate which held what appeared to be a pair of unnaturally colored eggs and a succulent slice of juicy ham. The room was eerily silent, and the air was filled with a delicious aroma.

"Like them, would you, on a coach?" Sam chanted monotonously, with his eyes closed. "Like them, would you, boiled or poached?"

"I do not like them, Adoyret Sam," I replied.

"If ham all things are," he intoned, smiling, with his eyes still closed, "then from where come the eggs?"

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Spoiler

tell us about Saint Reynard from long ago
>SALV Chesswick: Discard tertiary uniform, if any. Proceed to the baths to rinse the itching-powder off.
>SALV Silverbrush: Sigh in frustration, sit down and read
honking, spread throughout most of the embassy. Terrify both SALV Chesswick and SALV Silverbrush.
doesn't the Foxspell sound pretty much exactly like someone we know?

Meanwhile, SALV Chesswick itched & wriggled her way to the vixens' bath, where she slipped out of her uniforms and into a soothing pool of warm water. SALV Silverbrush sat on the edge of the pool and read from the Foxspell in honor of Saint Reynard's day.

"Verily I say unto thee, Hudalaleigh; for thou art like unto a foul Tailipo, drunk upon the blood of its slave, himself drunk upon finest Elfhamian brandy. Sure and thou wilt be plucked asunder from the warm bum thou so cozily inhabitest, and wilt be cast -"



Sofia Silverbrush paused in her reading as a clamor of honking echoed through the hallway outside the bath.

"Fuma in Himmel!" SALV Chesswick murmured. "Zey haff sent in der Klowns!"

(Ministry of Fun operative, in full uniform) Barge in noisily.
(Sam) Without seeming to break meditation concentration, deal with the MoF operative.
Strand of beads, have magical properties, known almost exclusively to Gnostermongers.

Suddenly the door burst open, and a ridiculously dressed fox barged in. He wore a polka-dot shirt and striped pants with suspenders. On his feet were a pair of absurdly oversized floppy shoes. He had a strange red ball stuck over his nose, and a bizarrely tiny hat perched atop his head. In his right hand he held a squeezebulb horn, which he honked imperiously.

"Sam the Just!" the intruder barked. "Why do you detain the Marshal's flooz-"



Without opening his eyes - nor even seeming to move - Sam whipped the strand of beads off his shoulder. The beads struck the bizarrely-dressed fox's head with a loud wooden CLACK, and he fell senseless to the floor.

"Told these Klowns not to disturb me here, I have," Sam grumbled. "Tolerate japes and hijinks, I will not."

"How did you ever get to be appointed Emissary of Funtimes?" I asked, agog.

"A long story it is," Sam sighed. "To summarize: Part of The Plan it was. Speaking of which .."

He stood, picked up the plate, and turned away from me. While he rustled mysteriously in the corner of the room, I looked worriedly at the unconscious Klown.

(Fauxfox) Be a mixture of deeply impressed and deeply scared.
Relda, somehow manage to pass the test

"I think that guy might be seriously hurt," I opined.

"Never anything serious they do," Sam scoffed. "Fine in the morning he will be. Now here - for you this is." He held out a small paperboard container similar to the ones used by sidewalk food vendors.

"I would not like them in a box," I insisted, flinching away uneasily. "I would not like them with a fox."

"Definitely the one you are," Sam said with a grin, holding the box out for me to take. "Alice Chetsweeks' discombobulator array this is. The Plan dictates that take it you must. Now hurry you must, for soon more Klowns coming will be!"