Between a Bard and a Philosopher

-Dalen Capital, Truffle Pig, Later Evening 2 DSTR-

Celestia grinned at his last statement and sighed. “Mr. Cartwright, I do believe that you are of the mindset, ‘the end justifies the means’?” Taking in another spoonful of soup as she chose her next words carefully, she paused once more. “Obviously that line of thinking is flawed, which of someone with your intelligence should know, so I am lead to believe you are lying to yourself, or feeding your ego; or you are so devoted to this cause you don’t care to see the difference.”

Celestia finished her soup with ease, and topped off her wine glass herself. Her lips were stained red from the bounteous amounts of alcohol she had consumed, and there was a healthy flush rising in her cheeks. “I will help you because, for now, there is something I can gain.” Drinking 1/4th of her wine down with two long sips, she placed the glass back on the table and folded her hands over her revealed thigh. “What are you to do when the pretty slave girls, uneducated swines, begin demanding higher pay and the nobles, farmers, blacksmiths aren’t willing to pay it? When famine strikes because there is no one to pay them, which means no food? Who will there be to blame? Will Randel Cartwright take the fall for the fallen? Will you be the martyr for your cause?” Giggling, she brought her hand up around her neck and thumbed her collar bone.

"I imagine not! But you will figure all that out, won't you? Is your plan to create a parliament beneath the monarch?"

He smiled and took another bite of soup. His sharp eyes looked into hers, focused and firm, a true believer. It might seem. “Did I say change would come without pain?” He returned her challenge. “What will I do when the mobs demand more then they have, why I will profit from it. They will need swords and tools of war, and they will need money to finance operations to harm the nobles, and the nobles will need money to raise security to protect themselves and to quell the masses. All of them will need money and those of us who have it will become the powerful.” He told her very clearly, bringing to focus the true plan, the true path to power.

“Perhaps you are right, perhaps my ego is hungry, the thing about blind spots is we all have them, but we do not know we do. We are all weak in some measure, and perhaps I am doomed to fail, but this should not keep me from trying. If I feared failure, I would not be here, with you, playing at a chance to take you home and to bed with me.” Those eyes met with her golden eyes, challenging, almost commanding, seeing if she would be willing to submit to him.

He filled his wine glass, then hers as they sat at the table, soup finished, and the next course brought in. It was ignored though as he looked at her, lounging on the pillows, the length of her leg exposed. His mortal flesh hungered and drank in the sight of her. As much as he wished to think himself above such things, the primal side of him reminded him of his flesh.

He pulled his lustful lingering off her exposed flesh to smile and look up at her. “I had not considered what form of government they would establish, a parliament, a republic, so long as the Queen is displaced, I do not wish her dead, however. I want her to live, weakened and useless. To be nothing more then a puppet for my amusement.” He picked up his glass. “Perhaps give her to you?”

He stood and walked around, sitting next to her. He knew this was a risk, he was playing with fire in a very literal sense. He was drawn to it, the power of it, this thrill, the poet in him was screaming for it. It was an intellectual, a man of logic and reason, but he was also a bard. The bard lusted, hungered, and was craven in every way.

The bard reached out to take hold of her and pull her in for a kiss, if she did not resist.