"Grievous? No. We will do great things together, she has said. I will be a king to end all things. She has told me she will choose what is best for now." The golden Plague stared down at a hand he could not see. For all his praise of her, Dr. Jannisari made him feel... sad, in a way. Worthless; useful of a moment, but ultimately unnecessary. The giddy feeling of winning at something was fading, grown dim and curling like dying ash inside his chest. He forced a smile at the blue-eyed excito. His eyes, smile, they looked very much like a sunlit sea, he thought.

"And it is very like you, I think, to do such a thing. I am above such an invitation to flatulence. Though it is the duty of the fool to cause laughter, I supposed I expected more of an instrument in your heart. But, I have not known you long, alas." Pushing himself off the wall with his uninjured hand, he walked the two steps closer to Claune, bending closely. The other plague smelled vaguely of sea salt and more of death.

He resisted the urge to jingle a bell. He had merely wanted to feel in control, so he pushed, invading the other excito's space, trying to illicit a reaction. "Hmm. Lord Windbag is never a name I will claim, fool. I wonder if at times you should hold your tongue lest someone else hold it for you." * He smiled, a tight thing, a not entirely happy smile. Leaning back, he spoke once more in a voice as dry as bones. "I wonder if history remembers the fools, though they can be important. Come into the light." He gestured expansively towards one of the mouse holes nearby.

A spot of light marred their darkness, a crack, a hole, and he moved towards it. For now, he had had enough of word games and wished to return to his reading, or at very least see his conversational partner. Perhaps he might ind a name for himself within those frail, brittle pages, if the doctor still would not give him one. The Plague spoke as he walked, answering Claune's last question. "You are alright company for monsters, I suppose. Better if you would be my jester. But I have not even seen you. And I am tired of straining my eyes." He paused, the edge of light hinting at rich robes: a king's purple garb, ancient but remembered. "Perhaps you know my Grimm. Though, I would be surprised if anyone did not." His voice was factual; the idea of someone not knowing her was strange to the Plague. Just by dint of her existence she had become the person he had known most. Shaking his head, he stepped into the beam of cold light and a thousand winking bits of gold sprung to life, dazzling in their purity. A golden set of laurels perched on his head, sparkling merrily as he snapped the dust out of his robes. He turned, looking back towards Claune.

"She is called Doctor Jannisari."

* And then they kissed ye.