"Oh! Oh. Snickers." She pats her shoulder. "Doing great! He says hi to 'Wingnut.' Still don't know who that is, but boy, he gets talk. Anyhow, would you mind if I kept going? We got all these people here, and I don't want to waste their..."

Damnit! Has Headspace still not happened? Or did the Director bungle it? You have no choice but to wait and see. "Let the woman speak, Ms. Fawkins," Lucky is saying, even though you already stopped. Damn him too, and imagine heads lopped off shoulders while Ramsey keeps rambling. "Great. Well..."

She blah-blah-blahs through stuff you mostly know and just talked about— Eloise's and Lucky's collective information seems to have been accurate, at least, which is a consolation. Your heroic intuition, and a nudge of Eloise's foot, snaps you out in time for the important part. "So," Ramsey is saying, "I'm going to need some volunteers, 'kay?"

"Nobody is interested in your charade, Jean." Monty is cold. "Charlotte, possibly. You would have to ask her. But only if she consents, and nobody else."

"Aw! Gewecke! I'm real sorry, but we have a whole bunch of open spots! Last time was a little rougher than expected, you know. Lemme see. I think..." She counts on her fingers, then holds her hand out. "Eight!"

The hand has eight fingers. "Out of the QUESTION," Monty says, and is standing again— bolted right out of his seat. "You THINK I'll send eight people off to die—"

"You don't know they'll die!" Ramsey says cheerily. "Maybe they'll win! But it's about the journey, not the destination, huh?"

"Shut the FUCK up, Jean. This is not— no. This is non-negotiable. Send 60 people to bleed on our doorstep, that's— but we are not sending— no. You lived here. I LET you live here, out of fucking OBLIGATION, and you REPAY me— you fucking repay us with—"

He's going purple. Eloise, sitting still, reaches up and tugs his sleeve hard. "Monty! How about we—"

He shoves her hand off, but the air goes out of him, and he collapses back into his seat. His spooky arm is churning. "Geez," Ramsey says.

"Ms. Ramsey, there's no issue. I and 7 of my men—" Lucky pauses. "—or women— will volunteer for your 'Game.' I assure you, we are fighting fit and will provide as much spectacle as desired. I assume this is acceptable?"

"Don't offer that. Don't throw your people into the grinder, Lucky. There is no reason to—"

"The Court brings peace and order to the ocean, Mr. Gewecke. With blood if necessary. Ours or theirs. Is this acceptable, Ms. Ramsey?"

"Just 'Ramsey's fine, honest! And... eh... I don't know. Eight Courtiers is a whole lot. And we already had a lot of Courtiers in, right at the start, and there's still a few around. I'm not sure it'd be..."

"Ms. Ramsey," Lucky says stolidly, "are you an honorable woman? You suggested there were eight open slots. I am providing eight willing, capable volunteers."

(2/5?)