Holden cracks a grin, and murmurs, “Forgot I don’t know how to do a spark. Gotta pick that one up one of these days.”
Moments later he tosses a bottle of aspirin to Quill. A thoughtful look crosses his face and suddenly a lighter appears in his hand. He shoves it in his pocket mumbling, “Should have thought to do that earlier.”
They amble downstairs and he can see they are in a very small Keep that he recognizes as belonging to Holden‘s uncle on his mother‘s side. Same family tree as Dalt if memory serves him right. If he remembers correctly he‘s somewhere in the backwaters of southern Eregnor. Servants are scurrying about busily - apparently trying to clean up after the previous night’s house party.
Holden saunters into the dining hall and sprawls across a chair. He sticks a cigarette behind his ear and conjures himself a stein of ale. A second later he’s spewing beer across the table and pounding on the side of his head.
“Ow! Shit! I forgot it was lit. Shit!”
The cigarette defeated and crushed into bits on the ground now, Holden slumps back again burying himself in his drink.
A servant brings plates full of eggs, bacon, ham, baguettes, waffles, crepes, honeyed fruits, jams, and jellies. Pitchers of milk and juice and silver pots of coffee and tea are placed on the table as well.
Holden slathers red currant jelly on a baguette, pours himself a cup of coffee to which he adds a hefty shot or three of whiskey and says, “So when was the last time you were in Amber? Fucking Random banned me from it for a month now. ‘snot my fault the fucking barn burned down. Well, I ‘spose it is in a way. That’s not the point though. I’m a Prince of Amber, dammit!” he pounds his fist on the table for emphasis but doesn’t really look like he cares one way or the other.
