oye como va, mi ritmo
bueno pa gozar, mulata
Mallos waited until Nimueh had moved away from the dais before making his appearance.
Given that someone (Sperantia) had forced him into something vaguely resembling formalwear and had gotten him here on time, his inability to use the front door like everyone else was forgivable – assuming anyone had even expected him to. He stepped out of the shadows behind the royal family, whose backs were to him, and took a few quiet steps forward. In the generous gap between Arthur and Mordred he stood, leaning against the King’s throne with his left shoulder, and his right hand in his pocket. In appearance, he resembled a rebellious schoolboy in uniform: the white shirt, black trousers and jacket were all formal, but were not being worn as such. The jacket was open, the shirt was untucked and had its top few buttons undone, and his tie (red silk) was in his hand instead of around his neck. The sheer existence of the tie indicated that someone (Sperantia) had made him wear it against his will, and the minute that someone (Sperantia) had turned her back he had taken it straight off again.
As usual, the result – which would have just made anyone else look messy and underdressed – somehow managed to look elegant and becoming. Even so, from the way he occasionally plucked at the shirt with apparent distaste, Mallos gave off the impression to anyone who knew him that he would be switching his clothes back to casual as soon as everyone else was too drunk to care.
“Happy birthday,” he grinned at Tristan. “Your present is outside. It’s not a robot dragon,” he added slightly too hastily as he caught Arthur’s eye.
Without thinking, he automatically pulled a half-empty packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and flipped open the top. Quick as a flash, Sperantia solidified out of the shadows and leapt up onto the arm of Mordred’s chair, her sharp facial features enhanced by a characteristic frown.
“Children’s birthday party!” She hissed in one of those whispers that everyone was supposed to hear. “And put your tie on!”
Regretfully, Mallos slipped the cigarettes back into his pocket but didn’t put the tie back on. Sperantia rolled her eyes at Mordred but seemed to understand that this was one battle she wasn’t going to win, since she jumped back off the chair and trotted into the crowd without pressing the point. She vanished within seconds. The musicians finished the song they were on and struck up another, slightly more energetic tune, lifting the spirits of the room with the quickened beat. From the far corner of the room, a small group of adult men who were clearly courtiers were beginning to make their way over towards the dais – officially to formally congratulate the prince, but no doubt with ulterior motives in mind.
“Here comes boredom,” the Spaniard observed, and nodded once in their direction so that Arthur could note their approach. “Shall I make them forget each other’s names? Or,” he suggested innocently, “I could make their shoes two sizes too small.”
