oye como va, mi ritmo
bueno pa gozar, mulata
Well, really, the robot dragon would have been an excellent present. Mallos had tried to explain to Sperantia that Arthur would appreciate the extra protection for Tristan, but she didn’t really see it that way. The words ‘excessive’, ‘irresponsible’ and ‘unnecessary’ had been used, which were words that usually came up when Sperantia disapproved of his ideas. ‘Unnecessary’ was always a hard one to swallow, since Mallos thought a lot of the things Sperantia did were unnecessary - evicting his companions from his bed in the morning, for example, or waking him up a minimum of two hours before a meeting was due to start. Two hours. He only needed a ten minute warning, at the most.
He smiled mysteriously as Tristan to clarify that the present was indeed outside, but didn’t elaborate on what it was. He’d had to call in a few favours to get it here.
As Morgana moved out of her chair and came around to the back of Arthur’s throne, Mallos shifted slightly so that she was still in his line of sight. He noticed the look she shared with Sperantia, and made a mental note to be careful about what he did when the both of them were around. Separately he could just ignore them and carry on doing whatever he wanted, but he wasn’t sure about his chances if they joined together and ganged up on him. Cats and daughters: a fatal combination. Morgana certainly sounded a little catlike as she purred her demand, the insistent tone uncannily similar to Sperantia’s. Mallos raised his eyebrows at her.
“You mean to say that the English can dance?” He teased her in a tone which sounded sincerely surprised. “Or are you referring to those rigid, jerking motions you they call dancing?”
Before she was able to prove that the English could dance, the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a young girl about Tristan’s age. Mallos’ attention flicked between her, Tristan, Arthur, and the small gaggle of girls at a nearby buffet table who were pretending not to be watching avidly. He took the situation in by the time Megan had finished asking Tristan to dance and, torn between shooting Arthur a sly look and smiling charmingly at the young lady, opted wisely to keep a neutral expression. Mallos had long been regarded as a god of romance, but he tended to be associated with the initial, exciting spark between two persons rather than a steady, enduring long-term relationship; he doubted whether his input here would be appreciated. So, other than to nod once to his grandson’s plan, he didn’t comment.
Morgana took firm hold of his hand, evidently not put off by the teasing, and they started down the steps of the dais. Mallos glanced across the room, checking that Nimueh was far enough away, and checked out some of the other dancers to see what the general move was. Rigid. Boring. Okay. Following their example, he placed his free hand on her waist and led her into step without missing a beat.
Music, dance, theatre, whatever – the performing arts (or indeed, arts in general) always brought Mallos into his element, but today his heart wasn’t really in it. It was difficult to find the enthusiasm in a room full of people who hated, feared or distrusted him to varying degrees. If he’d had his way, he would have taken a step back and spent the majority of the party in the shadows – or, better yet, not come at all. As he spun his daughter into step, he pushed the feeling side and cast around for a topic of conversation.
“Not bad,” he commented with a little smile. “But then, you are half-Spanish.”
