?I was going to ask something,? Lucien Mallorek thoughtfully posed to the Priestess, ?before the Fire Marshal barged in.?

About an hour earlier, Tara Longden nee Rynieyn had stormed into the Harvest Ball and caused a rather spectacular scene which culminated in thrown pumpkins and tomatoes and threats of litigation. After the hysteria quieted down, not a few people made their way across the street to the Red Dragon Inn, still clad in ball gowns and tuxedos, where they were plied with drinks by Tera and Gavilean Starfare. Alysia took a long drink of coffee, trying to get the taste of Elly?s green champagne to go away, then set the mug down and grinned as she looked at Lucky. The Priestess commented ruefully, ?She set a few fires, I think.?

?More than a few, I'd say.? Lucky laughed. He sobered a little. ?I was going to ask you for a dance before we were so abruptly interrupted.

Caught off guard, Alysia considered the implications of his statement. She was about to make a flippant remark about Tara escorting him around to all available females as if he was a prized stallion available to stand stud when Tera Starfare, aka RDI Destre, ever the diligent newswoman, suddenly looked at the barrister. Destre interrupted, saying, ?The Fire Marshall came to the Ball tonight??

Lucien nodded to Destre. ?Aye, she did and she didn't need a siren to mark her arrival,? he quipped.

?Elly's voice was close enough to a siren,? Alysia pointed out in response to the temporary distraction offered by the bartender. ?She sings quite enthusiastically.? Indeed, the little witch?s energetic rendition of ?Like a Virgin? had ended up exploding a few pieces of sound equipment.

Lucky agreed, chuckling. ?She gets an A for enthusiasm.?

The Priestess tried to pick up the thread of conversation again, tapping her fingertips against the bar. Dancing. . . She remembered having this conversation before with him years ago, and the irony was not lost on her. ?You should know that I don't dance, Lucky.?

He simply smiled. ?You have before.?

Still thinking about the Fire Marshall incident, Destre looked at Lucien, interrupting again. ?Would you please make a little note of that and send it over to my Oracle desk for the paper next month?? She went on to cheerfully encourage people to route their Holiday Greetings ? for both those loved and unloved ? to Amaltea for publishing in The Oracle.

Curious, Lucien?s brow quirked. ?A note of the Fire Marshal's arrival at the Ball??

Making no attempt to hide the fact that she was getting annoyed by the interruptions, Alysia questioned whether Tara pretending to be a Fire Marshall was really a newsworthy event. Destre looked from Alysia to Lucky in turn and nodded, explaining blandly, ?Gotta have news about the Ball for the paper. If the Fire Marshall was there it is news.?

Lucien couldn?t help but chuckle. ?Well, I'll try and jot down a few things and get it over to your office then.?

?Thank ya!? Destre continued, smiling happily. ?Ya get paid for it if ya want your own by line and everything!?

Alysia tried to choose her explanation carefully, without betraying her volatile emotions. ?I'm too prone to indulging in memories. . . ? And it?s those memories I should find distraction from. I don?t even know what happened between us, or why. She held her tongue, recalling the recent questions posed to her by a few, then rambled on. ? But now is not then, as much as I might wish it to be so. Sometimes, I would swear nothing had changed, even when I know everything is different.?

Haven?t changed that much. . . I?m still a jealous bitch, he?s still the gentleman who never complains, she thought. I can?t keep hoping for things to be the way they were. A casual shrug displayed her forced indifference.

A warm smile remained on Lucien?s face as the Priestess struggled with her unruly thoughts. "?I know," he said, then nodded, rather resigned. "I guess I've known for a while, but...? He chuckled. ?I suppose it's the hopeless romantic in me.?

The Priestess smiled sheepishly. ?You really think you know? There's so much I want to say, and none of it is appropriate at all. Dangerous words, I guess.? If only I dared. . . but that's weakness, and I cannot afford to be weak.. We?re both hopeless, she thought.

So much was unspoken.

He smiled and leaned closer, dropping his voice. ?For another night then.? He added, with a jesting tone, ?You can always forgo the formality and tell me to shut the hell up.?

?If I were to forego the formality, Ser Mallorek, I'd tell you that my heart was broken without you,? said Alysia with delicate care. Her lips curved in a sardonic grin. ?Then I'd tell you to shut the hell up, my friend. ? She cleared her throat and stepped back a bit, dropping the banter-tone and levity in exchange for the now familiar formality. ?We're both fortunate that I have good manners these days.?

Lucky found a quiet smile and also stepped back. He bowed deeply to the Priestess, more than just formality in that gesture.

?Good night, Lucien.? Alysia pressed her fingertips together and offered him a little bow and a melancholy smile.

?Good night, M'Dear Lady Skye.?

She headed for the exit, paused, but didn?t turn around, not trusting her face to not betray her. The Priestess voiced a reluctant comment, scarcely above a whisper, ?Find someone to dance with.?