Phoebus narrowed his gaze at Esmeralda. “Practice? ...Did you rent a baby to make me change its diaper, again?” He looked around pseudo-suspiciously.

Esmeralda shook her head.

“Not this time.”

She glanced back at the crowd.

"There [i]were[/i] three children with me - two boys and a girl. They should be easy to identify; they're all wearing masks and costumes. And while I'm trying to help them find someone, it seems their main priority is getting into trouble."

The knight looked around the room more closely, now. “They’ll probably stick out, then, even with their smaller size. I doubt I could get the crowd to point them out to us, though. They’re more preoccupied than usual...”

Meanwhile, after having been dragged off a table for the third time, Pierre had given up his attempts at singing aloud and was attempting to write out a play about a man with the strength of ten bulls who struggled to find a woman who could see past his physical prowess and love his truest self. On his strumpet’s chest. With a broth-wetted finger. Actually, she may not have even been the strumpet he initially hired; he was honestly too drunk to notice or care. But drunkenness does tend to drive back one’s self-critical nature, and the poet found himself gripped by a frenzy of muses he was certain were granting him the greatest work he would ever produce -- nay, the greatest work that would ever be produced! The propitiousness of Gaston’s arrival should not be understated, and Pierre made a note to himself on the woman’s cheek to include an assertion after the denouement giving credit to the inspiration gleaned in this wondrous moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small purple and green blur duck under a table, soon followed by another blur that was a paler grey and much hairier. He sighed wistfully.

“Ah, but to be a child again, guileless and incontemplative, running unfettered through pandemonium, without cares but of playing with one’s--” A glint of gold at one floppy ear regained his attention, and called forth recognition through his stupor.

Pierre let out a truly manly squeal, and threw himself out of his chair to catch Djahli at the last possible moment and drag the poor goat backward out from the table. Once he had him out, the philosopher held the animal to his chest and began babbling happily about “his pretty”. Djahli, for his part, kicked and squirmed in Pierre’s arms, desperately craning his neck to try and see in the direction the little girl had crawled off. 

Suddenly, two loud and distinct voices rang out against the singing, and a tankard flew at the subject of the song from off Phoebus’s side. The volume immediately dropped. The captain looked to see who threw it, and recognized the [i]I totally didn’t do that, I’m gonna go over here[/i] -posture the foreign soldier was displaying as he asked for a room. Phoebus wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed not to be that man’s -- woman’s? He couldn’t quite be sure with far easterners -- commanding officer. Luckily, neither of them were on duty, anyway. Maybe he -- she? -- would be up for some mischief, later. That might be fun…

The knight was simultaneously distracted from this line of thinking by an annoyed, frantic bleating breaking out amidst the silence, and the eponymous Gaston hollering in rage and storming over to a man standing on Esmeralda’s other side, just inside the door. He picked the stranger up by his clothing.

"And we were all having [i]such[/i] a good time."

Phoebus put a hand on his sword, but Esmeralda beat him to the punch. "He didn't do anything!"

When Gaston switched to flirting at her, Phoebus relaxed slightly and cocked a slight sideways grin. He left one hand on the pommel of his sword, but did a small bow and waved a hand, welcoming her to deal with the muscle-bound buffoon herself. Seeing the formidable Madame was already on her way over, he decided his assistance would likely not be needed, and headed in the direction the goat noises had been heard from.