[right][h3][b][i][color=7d6c00]Dr. Swamp[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Shadowell Manor: Gaming Room
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] Intelligence
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color] 4
[color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

	A streak of cruelty from the one musician. Though it was not aimed in his general direction, Swamp assumed that it was only a matter of time before details of his own situation become fuel for the quartet's amusement. Curiously, a flash of objectivity took him, and he contemplated how he might react to the situation when (and not if) it was to occur. He might have sighed, had he the motivation to put any effort into it. Cruelty was rampant in this place. Contagious even, if such a thing were possible. Perhaps his best defense against it was his sense of glaring indifference, coupled with an almost constant self-reminder that he was there for a specific purpose. That purpose did not include playing about with yet more people intent upon blackmail. The newest factor into that, the "monkey wrench", if you will, was the introduction of the Chanteuse into this equation. It seemed that the plan would have to broaden. 

	From somewhere outside, a voice that he assumed must belong to another of the guests issued forth a summons for an enigmatic figure known as "Chair Man". Ordinarily, there was a distinct lack of Rodenta Hindpartum to be issued as gift for the occasion, but the rabid unpredictability of the night was such that any touch of interesting might be assessed for merit. Even in hindsight. The easiest translation for this ...additional pseudonym... probably had something to do with the incident outside, involving seating. Was it really that much of a draw that people associated him for that? An unwillingness to give up a seat? It seemed so trivial. Pointless. Without context, the fellow could just as easily be speaking about Cobalt as himself, thinking about it. Same incident, both involved. But no, [i]of course[/i] Swamp was the object of the summons. One [i]asks[/i] for a physician. A Justice, if indeed the other man actually lived up to the title, was less likely to be in the demand of strangers. Judging by the decision of Cobalt to exit the room, it appeared that his assumption was about to be tested without his need to move at all. But his near certainty was that whomever this was, they were addressing him. 

	The Justice went so far as to spill a pleasantry before taking his leave. Be it honest intent or merely the window dressing of civility, it mattered little. They each had their reasons for being there. Snapping insult or attempting to outdo one another was counterproductive. The Doctor bowed his head and returned an intonation of, [color=7d6c00]"Indeed, Justice. Best of luck in your endeavors."[/color] A bit stiffly perhaps, but Swamp had his own concerns weighing upon him. One of those concerns was Amaranthine, as it turned out. He looked toward her to attempt a guess as to her course of action, to see her looking at the slightly opened passage behind them. [color=7d6c00]"Chanteuse, madame? Where would you like to go from here?"[/color]