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"No!" said Simon, too loudly, too sharply, and too high in pitch. "I shouldn't want-- I'm quite fine, thank you!" And red. He was very, very red. Any darker and he would probably start bleeding through his skin. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" he asked, desperately.

This inanity was almost too much for Simon to bear. It occurred to him that Corvus would have abandoned this conversation long ago and probably smacked Marne, but then, Corvus had never seen a good reason for talking to anyone else except to hear his own accomplishments parroted back at him. Not so Simon. Simon had a very good reason for trying to engage Marne.

Quickly, Simon said, "Have you heard anything about the missing feien? I went down to the shop and there was nobody there."

Stricken, Simon stared at Marne. Surely she was not serious. He quickly realized that while she was incapable of being serious, she meant what she said. He was horrified. "But surely you can't not care about a group of missing feien, they're your kin."

"Yes, that was very unfortunate," said Simon, clearly thinking just the opposite but saying otherwise because Marne identified Cascati as family and he wanted to be polite. He could also have been referring to Casca's victim's as unfortunate, so either way he won. "And what if the same thing has happened to more feien?"

More specifically, what if the same thing had happened to Yasha? Simon paled. He was sill reddish, but he seemed less likely to explode and leak blood everywhere now.

Simon decided to give up. He was getting nowhere. "At the very least tell me where I can find these Fleet people who wanted to talk to me about this. William Gunn was the name on the letter. Tell me where I can find him."

"They're gone?" Simon said. "But where did they go?" The summons he had received was only a few days old.

Deciding this was useless, Simon sighed. "Well, thank you anyway," he said, turning away.

Simon thought to himself, Not if it's filled with more feien as inane as you. He said aloud, "I shouldn't think so. I don't like parties." He had never really participating in a party, but disliked them on principal. Unless it were some sort of literary party with classical music and fine wines and cheese where the discussion involved great writers and modern art. Those he would probably enjoy.

On second thought, how pretentious.