When Pat visits

**There's a** skype call first. "Where are you, my boy, and what are you doing?" She's a bronze-and-gold goddess sitting in leaf-dappled shade, flowers in bloom behind her beach chair, little colorful birds flitting around in the background. "The Season's so *boring* this year - "

Simon accepted this call so fast he didn't even go to the office first; he had Sebastian forward it to the nearest available tablet, and Sebastian is now carrying that tablet in reverse down the hallway ahead of the Saint, adding *steadicam operator* to his resume. "The seasons are all so consistently boring, my very own girl, that I really think you should spend more time here. For one thing we haven't even *got* seasons to bother with - shall I have my people send your people the coörds?" Sebastian is immediately readying the message to send to Navigations. "We're doing the investigatey bits right now, which are one admits in private confidence just a little bit boring ourselves, but if there's anything up my sleeve I'm sure it'll shake its way loose once I get my arms around you, dearest ~ "

**She arrives** in her own swift and fiercely-luxurious personal conveyance, named the *Holmgang Victor*, and heads straight in for coffee. She's in a fashionably-cut little flight jumpsuit which lets her sit backwards on the stool at the diner and chat with people - she greets everyone, and uses names when she remembers them, and is the most charming thing in existence. She's from a world - both literally and socially - which trends far more formal than most of the Praxis acolytes' daily speech, but she's being quite comfortable and *casual* whilst always A Lady. Nils is terribly jealous of Pat for many reasons, and one of them is for being the inverse of what Nils is doing with the combination of decorum lessons and cuss words.

Pat has coffee and she waits, chatting, for she knows damn well that Simon's been watching and waiting for the *HV*'s arrival and *will* seek her out swiftly enough. Once he does, he sweeps her away with him, they both wave cheerful "Toodle-oo!"s to those Pat had been charming, and they disappear for a few hours.

**They reappear** in fresh new outfits - anyway Simon's got different jewels in his hair and his eyeshadow's washed off, though for all you know he could be naked-save-his-boots beneath his big dramatic cloak. Pat has a long low-backed body-skimming draped-bodice sort of dress happening, and a pair of the cutest little antistatic shipboard flats Chad has ever seen - they have little ties and a tassel at the ankle, and now *he's* jealous of her too.

The Saint and his Lady wander the ship for a while, stopping in on people to chat; Pat is catching up with these acquaintances, reacclimating herself to this specific social scene, and Simon is loving this feeling of holding a mobile court in the kingly sense. They start to pick up followers, and Roger exiles himself to the fringes to talk to other people while Pat kindly ignores that he's doing so.

It's dog-watch by now, and so the mobile court begins to move toward the food court. Here everyone must needs disperse to gain their own portions, but the Saint and his Lady - and Roger, once they've started and he is constitutionally unable to stand idly by - move some tables around into a configuration which Simon initially conceives as a hollow square but which only reaches the stage of [ before they run out of nearby, not-bolted-down tables. Still, that's space enough for plenty to dine together; the Saint and his Lady - and Roger, once he's returned with food for the three of them - take their natural position at the center of the bracket, and it is all very perfect and convivial, and Roger is very cheerfully talkative with the people seated to his left and across the table, and Pat continues to maintain her charming aura, and Simon sits back and basks in the loveliness of it all.

**At length**, as plates are being cleared and handed off to the mess hall's cleanup servoskull crew, as desserts are being procured, as Pat is eating intrigued spoonfuls of a strange fruit like a gigantic blue mango, dusted with brown sugar and large-grained salt - Simon sits up and stretches his spine a little, and Roger instantly stiffens and says "Uglywugs *don't* - "

Pat sets her spoon down carefully with one hand even as her other is grabbing at Simon's shoulder; once the spoon is safe that freed hand is wrapped about his upper arm beseechingly. "My darling you *mustn't* do a speech, we've been having *such* a good time - "

"I was only," Simon says, sounding wounded to the quick, "going to suggest we head downstairs for drinks - "

"And I'd love to try Roger's vape, it's so clever - do tell Jones I think it's so clever, I haven't run into her yet," Pat interjects hopefully. Shall he let himself be steered this time? It takes such a gentle hand to keep his heels from digging in -

("Oh, sure, of course eh," Roger sort of mumbles.)

" - however much I hate to break up our current company - it's nice to have this many rapscallions in one room; I dare say it makes the ship run faster, to try and get away from us or something - "

"Let's head downstairs," Roger says loudly, rising.