Happy Hour

 

TugMug grinned as a Lunar Royal Guardsman escorted him through the opulent main corridor of the MoonTower.  It had been at least three years since he had last stopped in to visit his ex-shipmates from Skytomb on Third Earth.  More than half of them now lived in this place, mostly due to their ties to the royal family, but he and RedEye hadn’t chosen to stick around long.  RedEye had eventually gone back to the Dark Moon with a girlfriend he’d met in the rebuilt capitol area, and TugMug himself had returned to the First Moon.  He lived there now, glad to be home among what he considered sensible gravitons as opposed to uptight short royals, dumb brutes, snooty psis, short-tempered icewalkers, or aloof darklings.  And the beer was better.  That was the primary motivation.  Nothing said “home” like a thick mug of foamy Eclipse Stout, so named because it was as dark as the phenomenon it bore the name of. 

 

However TugMug currently had business on the Third Moon, so he had placed a call in over to Alluro and Chilla to see if they wanted to reminisce over old times.  Luna too was invited, mostly because there was no way for her not to find out he was coming since they were all under the same roof, but he supposed he could take her for a little while, especially now that he could make fun of her and not have to worry about Amok beating the crap out of him.

 

He rounded the corner and saw the tall form of Alluro standing near the top of the staircase.  “TugMug, I had heard you arrived,” the psi greeted him.  “It’s been some time.”

 

“I don’t come to the Third Moon much,” he replied in his thick First Moon accent.  “So where’s Chilla?”

 

“In our quarters still, I think.  She’ll be by later.”  Alluro motioned for the graviton to follow him down the stairs.  There was a loud rumble as he wheeled down the carpeted spiral staircase beside him.

 

“I still can’t picture you and Chilla living together as mates,” he said, his voice broken up by the jarring motion of wheeling down the staircase.  “She used to ice your ass almost daily for getting on her nerves.”

 

“Not nearly as often as she iced you, or wanted to ice Luna,” he said with a dismissive wave.  “And how about you?  How do you spend your long nights on the First Moon?  I heard of a woman named Gravitina?”

 

“Bah,” TugMug said, wincing at the name.  “She’s nothing but trouble.  She drinks all my beer and when I ask her for pizza she just hands me the comm unit and tells me to start dialing.  She never cleans, complains a lot, and spends all my money on more beer that she bitches about when I drink it.  If she wasn’t so beautiful with that pink mohawk of hers, I would be single for sure!”

 

Alluro laughed despite himself.  “I don’t know, TugMug, it sounds like you have plenty in common.  Perhaps you should have brought her along to meet Luna.”

 

“I don’t want to meet Luna again, much less bring her into it.  Besides, I only brought so much Eclipse Stout on my ship and it has to last me until I leave.”

 

Alluro raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sure we have that in stock.  We have all sorts of spirits and ales from each of the Moons.”

 

TugMug eyed Alluro curiously.  “Who’s the drunk?  You?  You’re a lightweight last I saw,” the graviton sneered.  “Drinking Plundarrian whiskey, that stuff isn’t even strong enough for my little sister!  Well, if I had a sister who was littler than me, but still.” 

 

The hypnotist shook his head.  He’d forgotten how amusing someone as unique as TugMug could be, in small doses anyhow.  “I wouldn’t classify anyone here as a ‘drunk’ although each of us has our drink of choice at times.  And as a matter of fact, I do still enjoy my whiskey, although I’m not the only one.  Psiarik and Frostor both have a taste for it too, so it’s kept rather well stocked, and in good quality, too.  Not like that vile moonshine the Mutants used to brew back on Third Earth.”

 

“It sucked, but it did the job well enough,” TugMug conceded.  The pair entered an empty dining room, set up for a formal meal that was to take place later in the evening.  The graviton looked around at the shameless and pretentious opulence of the setting—very typical of Third Moon nobility’s taste—and unceremoniously picked up a champagne flute.  “You drink out of this stuff?” he scoffed.  “It can’t hold more than one big gulp!”

 

“Actually that’s one of Selene’s imported Thunderian crystal champagne flutes.  I believe they were a gift from one of the feline ambassadors shortly after the Battle of the Swords.”

 

“It sucks, unless you’re going to use it for a shotglass,” the unimpressed graviton snorted. 

 

“Just don’t break it.”

 

TugMug rolled his eyes and set the flute back on the table.  “You’ve gotten prissy,” he informed the psi matter-of-factly.

 

Alluro frowned.  “I hardly think not wanting to hear Luna bitch at me on Selene’s behalf for an hour on the virtues of not manhandling the crystal qualifies me as prissy.”

 

“What about the fifty forks at each plate?” TugMug needled.  “Why the hell does anyone need more than one fork, especially when you can just use your fingers?”

 

Alluro sighed heavily.  “Let’s just get something to drink.”

 

“Now you’re talking,” TugMug exclaimed with a wide grin.  “Where’s the bar?”

 

“This way,” the hypnotist replied, leading him through a set of double doors that went into a ballroom.  It was not set up presently for any guests, but the bar always remained well stocked, and there were comfortable stools around it.  “This has most of the basics, although if you want anything more exotic we can have one of the servants get it from the wine cellar.”

 

“Wine is for wimps,” TugMug replied, rummaging around behind the bar to check out the supply.  “You got a stein?”

 

“I see some pilsner glasses.”

 

“I told you I don’t want any of your prissy crystal.  Real gravitons drink from steins!  Remember my stein I had in Skytomb?”

 

Alluro raised an eyebrow.  “You mean that beat-up grimy mug you fashioned out of the metal of our ship hull which required two hands to lift when filled to capacity?”

 

“Don’t mock the genius of graviton beer engineering!”

 

A glint of silver caught Alluro’s eye, and he reached behind some smaller glasses to pull out an ornately designed star ruby encrusted stein, inlaid with platinum and gold.  “How about this?”

 

“It looks like something my wife would pick up,” TugMug snorted.  “Less glitter, more booze!”

 

A grumble came from the hypnotist’s direction as he rooted around beneath the bar for a larger stein.  He found a large pewter stein all the way in the back, at least eight inches across and ten or more high.  It was made of heavy metal, and decorated with old-style graviton dialect engravings.  As he lifted it, he noticed that it weighed at least several pounds even while empty.  “Will this do?” Alluro grunted, as he set it down on the bar with a loud thud.

 

“Yeah, that’s better,” he laughed as he picked it up easily in one hand.  “I’ve seen bigger but this isn’t bad, and it’s good quality.  I bet this was made on the First Moon.”  He glanced at Alluro.  “So do you have any Eclipse Stout cold or am I going to have to get some from my ship?”

 

“There should be some on tap, it’s one of the ones they keep around for you First Mooners on the staff,” Alluro replied. 

 

Before he could say anything else, TugMug was immediately trying all the taps.  “What is this sissy crap?” he whined.  “Is this light beer?”  He almost sounded horrified.

 

“Probably,” Alluro replied absentmindedly as he scanned the bottles behind the bar for the gold label Plundarrian whiskey.

 

“Who the hell drinks that?  I thought royals were supposed to have taste!”  TugMug poured the offending substance from his mug and tried a different tap, which to his relief was his favored stout.

 

Alluro plucked his bottle off the shelf and turned around to pour himself some in a crystal tumbler. “It’s probably Selene’s, you know how women can be about watching their figure.”

 

TugMug stared at him blankly.  “Not back home, we all drink the real stuff,” he said proudly.  “Don’t tell me Chilla drinks this too?”

 

Alluro laughed and took a drink.  “No, Chilla drinks whatever she wants to, more or less, and I don’t question it.  It’s warmer that way.”

 

It was then that TugMug noticed Alluro’s drink.  “Prissy crystal,” he taunted with a sneer.

 

“Being civilized isn’t prissy,” the psi replied haughtily.

 

“Tell you what,” TugMug said, picking up the ruby stein and bringing it to the tap, “let me fill this up with some of my stout and you can try a real beer instead of that Mutant import whiskey, and you tell me which is better.”

 

The hypnotist chuckled and put his glass aside.  “All right, fine.  At least using a stein your wife would have picked out probably means it’s in better taste.”

 

TugMug filled the beer stein to the rim, sending some of the foam cascading onto the floor behind the bar.  Neither concerned themselves with the mess of course, that was beneath both of them.  When it was respectably full, he slid it across the bar to Alluro with his full graviton strength.  It sailed across the polished wood and sloshed over the edge as it collided with the hypnotist’s hands, the foam flying and soaking into one of his pant legs.  “Thanks a lot, now I’ll have to change again before dinner or get bitched at by Luna for smelling like a bar at the table,” he snorted. 

 

“You still let that old bat push you around?”

 

“No, but have you ever found a way to lower her volume short of a gag?” Alluro leaned over and took a whiff of the stout.  It smelled very strongly of exactly what it was, beer with an insanely high alcohol percentage.  It wasn’t all that distasteful to him, although he was never much of a beer drinker himself so he was no connoisseur on the subject.  He lifted the mug and took a swig.  The taste was even stronger than the smell, but it went down easily enough for someone who was used to drinking whiskey straight on occasion.  “Not bad,” he remarked.

 

“Not bad, it’s fucking good,” TugMug retorted indignantly.  “Once you try this stuff, you’ll never go back!”

 

Almost immediately Alluro felt the warm and tingling sensation of the alcohol being absorbed into his body.  “So anyway, when would you like me to find Luna to say hello?  I’m sure you simply can’t wait to see her.”

 

“I’ll wait as long as I can,” the graviton laughed.  “What about Chilla?”

 

Alluro took another drink from the stein.  “I’ll see what’s holding her up.”  He got up and went over to the intercom to buzz over to their suite, and while his back was turned, TugMug quickly refilled what he had drunk out of his mug from the tap.  He then chugged a hearty swig out of his own, and laughed.  Getting that lightweight Alluro drunk was always entertaining.

 

* * *

 

A furious Luna directed her faithful Amok to hurry down the hall until they reached their destination, Frostor’s office.  Without knocking the pair barged in, causing the surprised ice Lunatac to look up from his desk.  Although Luna hadn’t noticed it due to her distressed state, the riding crop she had thrown at him earlier at tea time was tucked into his belt.  “Yes, Luna?”

 

“I need to report an assault,” she informed him in an outraged tone.

 

The general’s expression grew serious.  “An assault?  Are you all right?”

 

Luna nodded.  “Amok and I are fine, although it was a close shot.”

 

“Shot?  What kind of weapon was it?” Frostor asked.  He hadn’t heard any weapons discharged but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened somewhere out of his earshot.

 

“A paintball gun,” Luna shrieked indignantly.  “We barely escaped with our formal wear intact!”

 

Frostor narrowed his eyes at the lunar woman, annoyed to have allowed himself to become alarmed by her melodramatics.  “I thought you still weren’t speaking to me,” he said coolly, and sat back down in his chair.

 

“I am reporting a crime!” she retorted shrilly.  “I’m not speaking to you, but this is official business!”

 

The icewalker tapped his finger on the edge of his desk and smirked.  “Well if you’re speaking to me as the Governor General and not as a friend, then I suggest you stand at attention and salute your superior officer, Luna, and show me all due respect.”

 

Luna balled up her fist and shook it at him.  “I’ll show you respect when you take my complaint seriously and punish whoever shot at me!”

 

The general chuckled.  “Fine, Luna, I’ll humor you.  Do you have evidence of this,” a snicker interrupted his words for a moment, “assault?”

 

Luna did not find it nearly as funny and glared at him instead.  “Would a three-foot blue splotch on the west wing wall suffice?”

 

“Oh, it will suffice nicely.  I was just curious since you and Amok seem to have avoided even the ‘shrapnel’, no paint anywhere,” he laughed.

 

Amok then raised his arm after Luna tapped him and displayed his knuckles to the icewalker, which had a small smear of blue paint that had splashed onto him when the projectile had impacted the wall earlier.  “He has some of the paint there.”

 

“That’s very serious indeed,” was his deadpan response.  “We should have one of the medical staff bring some turpentine, stat!”

 

Luna let out another unintelligible screech.  “I demand that you take me seriously!”

 

“All right, all right.  Did you get a good look at your assailant?” Frostor questioned.

 

“No, I was too busy ducking out of the way,” she snapped back in annoyance.  “I didn’t see or hear anything distinctive.”

 

“Okay,” he answered, trying to keep from breaking out into laughter at the mental image her account described.  “Can you think of anyone, aside from your family, friends, and the entire tower’s staff that would have a motivation to shoot a paintball at you?”

 

The general’s latest condescending remark was enough to send her into a screaming fit.  “Augh!  I bet you did it!  It was you, wasn’t it?”

 

Frostor leaned back in his chair.  “Well Luna, if you suspect me I suppose I could bring myself in for questioning, but since I’m relatively sure that I didn’t do it, I’ll have to release myself on my own reconnaissance.”

 

Luna waved her fist at him angrily.  “Of all the nerve, the arrogance!  You’re absolutely infuriating.  No wonder I’m not speaking to you!”

 

“I know.  You’re yelling,” he grumbled.  He glanced at the timepiece on his desk and was relieved to see that it was nearly time for dinner.  “And I’m sorry to cut this short, Luna, but it is time for dinner, and you wouldn’t want to be late in meeting one of your old friends, now would you?”

 

“No, especially since dinner with TugMug will be less irritating than sitting here listening to you, and that’s saying something,” the lunar woman screeched, and prodded Amok to take her to the door.

 

* * *

 

Selene, Psiarik, and Chilla rounded the corner and entered into the formal dining room, where the staff was already preparing to serve dinner.  The room however did not contain the two individuals they were looking for.  “I thought you said TugMug and Dad were down here?” Psiarik said, turning to Chilla.

 

The ice Lunatac glanced at the ballroom door.  “Check the bar.”

 

“I hope they weren’t waiting for us too long,” Selene said as she approached the doors.

 

Chilla shook her head.  “Knowing TugMug, I’m sure he’s found plenty to keep him entertained.”

 

The three of them then walked in, and were greeted by the sight of TugMug and Alluro at the bar.  The graviton was standing behind it, by the taps, drinking out of a huge stein, while Alluro sat in one of the stools, leaning heavily against the edge of the bar, with a smaller but still sizable gem and metal encrusted stein in front of him.  Alluro was about three quarters of the way into his second stein of Eclipse Stout and had more than a light buzz to show for his efforts.  “Oh, you made it,” he greeted them with a slight slur that was far more noticeable to them than it was to him or TugMug.

 

“Chilla!” TugMug exclaimed, bouncing clear over the bar toward them.  His wheels skidded slightly on the polished floor, his coordination already off somewhat from the four steinfuls of beer that he had consumed.  “You missed the first round!”

 

Psiarik noted Alluro’s noticeably worse posture as the elder psi stood up and walked over toward them.  “From the way you look, it looks like we missed several,” he remarked.

 

“I just had a couple of beers,” Alluro answered with an exaggerated shrug.  “TugMug’s stout isn’t all that bad, it gets milder the more you drink, you know.”

 

“You must’ve had plenty,” Chilla snorted, noting that her partner smelled like a distillery.

 

“Is that the Eclipse Stout that Riala orders?” Selene questioned.  “She’s quite fond of it, although I’ve never tried it myself.”

 

“You should, your highness,” TugMug addressed the Queen with a grin.  “I bet you’d like it, much better than that light beer crap at the bar.  You haven’t lived until you’ve tried real First Moon graviton brews!”

 

“You haven’t died until you’ve been hung over by them, either,” Psiarik remarked, wincing as he recalled one time many years back in his youth when one of the gravitons in the settlement that Frostor had built after the disasters had convinced him to drink the stuff with him.

 

“They’re not that bad unless you’re a lightweight like him who drinks from prissy crystal,” he said gesturing to Alluro.

 

Alluro frowned indignantly.  “I’m not a lightweight and we’ve already discussed the crystal,” he snorted.

 

“That must be why you have that stein then?” Psiarik questioned, amused at the sight of Alluro carrying around a giant beer mug.  He reached over and took it from Alluro for a moment and sniffed the nearly black foamy liquid inside it.  “How much of this did you drink?”

 

“S’only my second,” Alluro answered, and then shook his head when he realized he was slurring his speech.  He forced himself to stand up straight and speak more clearly.  “Want to try some?”

 

“I will,” Selene said enthusiastically.

 

Chilla noticed how Alluro was faring on a stein and half full of the stuff and blinked dubiously at the petite Queen.  “Maybe you should start off dinner with something lighter.”

 

“Aren’t you having some too?” TugMug asked Chilla.  “You used to be able to out drink the lightweight there,” he said, pointing to Alluro.

 

“For the last time, I am not a lightweight,” Alluro informed the graviton with a frown.  “Just because psis don’t consider alcohol tolerance to be a defining measure of one’s stamina it doesn’t mean that we can’t handle it.” 

 

“That’s right,” Psiarik interjected on behalf of his psi background.  “We can drink just as well as any other Lunatacs, except for maybe you gravitons.”

 

TugMug wheeled behind the bar and pulled out three more steins.  None of them were as outlandish as Alluro’s or as sturdy as TugMug’s, but they would do the job well enough.  He filled the smallest to the brim, foam spilling over the top, and slid it down the bar toward Selene, who had made herself comfortable on one of the stools.  She caught it in her small hands, a small bit of the drink sloshing over the edge which she dried up quickly with one of the bar napkins.  She took hold of the handle, but the mug was heavy enough that it was more comfortable to hold with two hands.  She lifted it up and took a sip.  “This is strong,” she noted, blinking at the sensation of the taste.

 

A wide grin spread across TugMug’s features as he then filled the second stein.  This one was roughly the same size as the other, and significantly larger than the one he’d given Selene.  He held it under the tap until it was full and then slid it to Chilla, who neatly avoided getting any of the dark liquid onto her white gloves.  She had dealt with TugMug’s bartending skills before.  “This better be worth giving up my Frosted Mutant for,” she murmured as she took a swig, referring to her normal choice of drink.

 

The last stein that TugMug filled was handed to Psiarik.  “This one’s for you, Lightweight Jr.,” he said with a toothy grin.

 

“Hah, you’ll eat those words,” Psiarik’s ego answered for him as he took a hearty swig, pushing his common sense aside in the name of both his and Alluro’s wounded psi pride.

 

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?” a rough icewalker voice called from the doorway.  The Lunatacs turned to see Frostor with Luna and Amok beside him.

 

“There’s plenty of booze for all,” TugMug announced with a grin.

 

“Hah, I see you wasted no time helping yourself to the beer.  Some things never change,” Luna said in greeting.

 

Selene giggled, already feeling warm and lightheaded from the third of a steinful of Eclipse Stout she’d consumed.  “Aunt Luna, TugMug is our guest.  It goes without saying that he’s welcome to help himself to any food or drink he wishes.”

 

“Unlike you Luna, your niece knows how to treat a graviton with hospitality,” TugMug laughed.

 

“Bah!” Luna exclaimed.  “She’s my second cousin twice removed, for starters, and she also doesn’t have the misfortune of knowing you the way I do.”  Amok brought his mistress to the bar and put her on one of the stools.  Luna eyed TugMug up close.  “Say, TugMug, have you lost weight?”

 

“Yeah,” the graviton replied.  “My wife put me on a damned diet.  She thinks just because her ass is too big that my iron buns of steel need to suffer too,” he lamented.

 

“We should order you an extra dessert then,” Selene said.  Although she had heard horror stories about TugMug, mostly from dear Aunt Luna, she didn’t think he was all that bad.  He was actually kind of fun, a nice break from the usual breed of pretentious nobles they had for guests.

 

Frostor walked over to the bar.  “So who’s serving the drinks?  You?” he asked TugMug.

 

“Yes!  Let me find you a stein.”  He leaned over and began rummaging underneath the bar, carelessly knocking the glassware around.

 

“Don’t break anything, you idiot,” Luna warned him.

 

TugMug stood up, holding the last of the beer steins and a crystal beer mug.  He filled the stein for Frostor, and then the crystal mug for Luna.  He figured Luna was uptight and prissy enough already that drinking out of the crystal was just fine for her.  Lastly he found an empty ice bucket and filled it for Amok.  Amok took the bucket full of the strange substance and sniffed it cautiously, then dipped his finger into the foam.  “Beer,” Amok said, then laughed and took a drink.  Although Amok’s tastes were simple, TugMug used to occasionally feed him beer back in Skytomb, mostly because when the steed got drunk he inadvertently bumped Luna around a lot, which was endlessly entertaining to the graviton.

 

“You know Luna, I missed you,” TugMug sneered.

 

Luna blinked.  She hardly expected her former shipmate to say such a thing.  “Really?” she asked with surprise.

 

“Yes,” TugMug continued.  “I shot at you three times with my mini paintball carbine earlier but I kept missing!  You’re hard to hit!”

 

The revelation that the visiting TugMug was her mystery assailant sent Luna into an instant screaming hissy fit.  “What?  That was you?”

 

TugMug’s confession had a different effect on Frostor, who immediately doubled over into peals of laughter at Luna’s righteous indignation.  The other Lunatacs in the room could also not hold back their merriment, which only made Luna madder.

 

Luna glared at the Governor General.  “Stop laughing and arrest him!”

 

“For what?  Assault With Intent to Stain?” Frostor retorted through snorts of laughter.

 

The drunken Alluro laughed so hard at the image of Luna being splattered by paintballs that he fell off his stool.  TugMug quickly grabbed his mostly empty stein and refilled it.  “Uh oh Luna, you’re killing the lightweight!”  Had Alluro not doubled over himself with laughs at Luna’s expense he would have been annoyed at the barb, instead he just allowed Chilla and Psiarik to haul him to his feet and shove him back in the direction of his chair.

 

“This is not funny,” Luna screeched.  “Selene, make it a law and have him hauled off to the brig!”

 

The Queen giggled in a most undignified manner, mostly due to the effects of what she’d already drank, and shook her head at Luna.  “If I make it a law now his act would be grandfathered in anyway.  I can’t make a retroactive ruling against paint-splattering arms.”

 

“Would you feel that way if I told you he hit the west wing tapestry you ordered from the Dark Moon?” Luna countered, and then took a drink from her crystal mug.

 

Selene gasped in horror and turned to TugMug.  “How dare you!”  With that she splashed the remaining contents of her stein on the graviton’s head, drenching his mohawk.  “Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

 

TugMug too gasped in shock and horror, but not because the Queen was angry with him nor because his mohawk now looked like a bad comb-over on a bald head.  It was because she had just wasted at least 40 ounces of the best beer in the galaxy.  “I’m sorry, your highness,” TugMug said, his eyes wide with guilt.  “I won’t shoot any more paintballs in the palace.  Just please, I beg you, don’t waste any more of the beer!  It hurts,” he said with a sad pout.

 

Selene smiled agreeably.  “See Aunt Luna?  He’s sorry.  It’s all right, TugMug, give me a refill and we’ll call it even.”  She giggled again, now in almost as sorry a state as her father-in-law from the alcohol.

 

Psiarik noted his wife’s behavior with a raised eyebrow.  “Maybe you should take it easy on that stuff, Selene,” he suggested softly.

 

“Don’t tell me how to drink, lightweight!” she shot back, and stuck her tongue out at him.  “I’m the Queen, and I’ll drink if I want to!”

 

“Are you going to stand there and take that?” Alluro snickered to his son.  He was now resting his chin heavily on one elbow.

 

The younger psi shook his head, laughed, and took a hearty swig of his own.

 

“Who needs a refill?” TugMug asked.  His stein was once again empty, but his seemed to drain faster than the others.  He also noted that he seemed far more sober than they did, too.

 

“I do,” Alluro volunteered.  He gave the ruby stein in his hands a careless shove across the wooden bar toward the graviton.  The sudden motion caused him to slump against the wood.  It seemed to the tall Lunatac that the room had begun spinning.

 

TugMug quickly took the stein and replaced it under the tap, while Chilla cocked her head so that her eyes were parallel to Alluro’s. “I think you’ve had enough.”

 

Alluro pouted.  “You think I’m a lightweight too,” he lamented.  He straightened as best he could and faced TugMug, who handed him his stein back, filled once again to the brim with the foamy stout.  “I’ll show you.  No beer can resist Alluro.”  He lifted the mug and swallowed heartily.

 

“It’s your hangover,” Chilla hissed disgustedly.

 

“Who else?” TugMug asked.  He turned to Frostor, who was somewhat quiet as he finished off the first mugful he’d been given.  “You need a refill.”  Before the general had a chance to argue, TugMug ripped the stein from his hands and had it back under the tap.

 

“What about me?” Luna demanded.  “Don’t fill his, he’s obnoxious enough without drinking first!”

 

Frostor frowned Luna, and exhaled a thick mist of frost onto her crystal mug.  “Pour her a cold one, TugMug.  She needs it.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she screeched.

 

“He means you’re fired up and bitchy like usual,” TugMug supplied helpfully as he slammed her mug down in front of her.  He then attached one of the hoses to the bar tap to refill Amok’s bucket, noticing that it was empty.

 

“Bitchy?” Luna howled.  “I’ll show you bitchy!”

 

“You’ve shown us ‘bitchy’ ever since we’ve known you,” Frostor sneered as he drank from his stein.

 

“Aunt Luna’s not bitchy,” Selene piped up in defense of her elder relative.  “That’s just how she is.”

 

“Yes, that’s how she is, bitchy,” Alluro agreed drunkenly.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Selene said, shooting a withering glance at both Alluro and Frostor.  “I mean Luna takes some understanding.”

 

“Well it’s nice to see someone appreciates me,” Luna said haughtily.

 

Frostor laughed.  “That’s not fair, Luna, we appreciate you.”

 

“We really appreciate it when you’re quiet,” Chilla muttered.

 

“This subject is to be dropped now, and that is a royal order,” Selene snapped, slamming her empty beer stein on the bar for emphasis.  “And the second royal order is that this will be refilled now.”

 

TugMug grinned.  “You’ve got it, your highness.”  He slid a freshly refilled mug to the small Queen, and then glanced at her husband, seated beside her.  “What about you?  You finished with that yet and ready for more?  Don’t let lightweight over there outdrink you!” he taunted, pointing to Alluro, who was practically hugging his stein to stay upright.

 

Psiarik nodded and drank the last swish of beer in the bottom of his stein.  “Sure,” he said, handing it to TugMug.  He glanced over at Alluro and poked him in the side to see if he would respond.  The other psi blinked and looked over, and then took another drink out of his stein. 

 

“And how much have you had anyway, TugMug?” Alluro challenged with a heavy slur.  “I see you doing a lot of talking but not much drinking.”

 

“I lost count,” the graviton admitted. 

 

“As if you could count past five,” Luna sneered from behind her crystal mug.

 

Selene raised an eyebrow.  “Aunt Luna…”

 

“What?”

 

The Queen started to say something, but changed her mind at the last moment and decided a simple derailing of the subject would be more effective.  “I wish we had some music in here.”

 

“I don’t think we have the music system set up and working in here right now,” Psiarik told her with a shrug.  “Want me to go order someone to do it?”

 

An evil grin broke across TugMug’s face.  “We used to sing when we drank back on Skytomb.”

 

“Oh really?”  Psiarik glanced around at the assembled ex-Skytomb Lunatacs with amusement.

 

Frostor cast a sidelong look at Luna.  “That must have been loud,” he commented.

 

“I didn’t sing, for your information,” she snapped irately.

 

“Yes you did,” TugMug contradicted her.  “Remember when Cracker sprang us from Way Out Back the first time?”  He raised his mug high.  “Yo-ho-ho and away we go!”

 

“To pillage and plunder our dangerous foe!” Chilla chimed in, raising her mug.  The icewalker was feeling the effects of her beer quite well now.

 

That was all the inspiration TugMug needed.  He wheeled over to Chilla and Alluro, and put one arm around each of their shoulders. 

 

“Yo-ho-ho and away we go!  To pillage and plunder our dangerous foe!” the three of them sang in unison, swinging wildly back and forth.  “Come join us, Luna!”

 

“Bah, I’m not that drunk,” Luna protested.

 

“And Amok is,” Frostor noted.  “He passed out.  How much did you give him, TugMug?”

 

If the graviton heard the ice general he didn’t acknowledge him.  He was too busy trying to get Alluro to his feet to join him and Chilla singing pirate songs.  Alluro stumbled onto his feet, still holding his stein.  TugMug led them in another chorus of the pirate song.  “Yo-ho-ho and away we go!  To pillage and plunder our dangerous foe!”  Only this time when they made the exaggerated swing on the word “foe”, Alluro swung his stein too high and doused Psiarik, who had the misfortune of being seated beside him, in the remains of his Eclipse Stout.

 

“Gah!” Psiarik exclaimed.

 

“Sorry,” Alluro offered to his son with a sheepish smile.

 

“It’s all right,” the younger psi replied grouchily, vainly trying to brush off the beer before it soaked in.  “But I think you’ve had enough.  I’m cutting you off for the night.”

 

“Good call,” Chilla agreed.

 

“Yeah, lightweight has had it,” TugMug laughed after finishing the last line of the most recent repeat of the pirate song.

 

Chilla eased Alluro’s arm around her shoulders.  “Come on, I’m taking you to one of the tables.  I told you earlier you should have stopped.”  She glanced at TugMug, who helped to drag Alluro into a chair.  He fell into it heavily and flopped his upper body onto the table beside it.  Chilla then took his stein and brought it over to the bar to rinse it and fill it with some water.

 

Alluro looked up at TugMug.  “My Snow-Bunny thinks I’m a lightweight too,” he said sadly.

 

TugMug frowned.  “Snow-Bunny?”

 

The psi nodded drunkenly.  “Y’know, Chilla.  My Snow-Bunny.”  Thanks to the volumes of beer he had partaken in, Alluro was not aware enough of what he was babbling to realize that he had just told TugMug of all people his pet name for Chilla, a name that was only used when they were alone and when Chilla was in a very good mood.

 

The graviton let out a guffaw of laughter and turned toward the bar.  “Hey, Snow-Bunny!”  To his shock, Chilla turned around out of habit and glanced at the pair.  “Oh moon gods, it’s true, he does call her that!” he exclaimed with an even louder burst of raucous laughter.

 

“And here he said ‘huggies’ weren’t genetic,” Luna quipped, much to the merriment of Frostor and Selene beside her.  Psiarik too snickered despite himself.

 

Chilla on the other hand was not nearly as amused.  “I’m going to kill him,” she hissed. 

 

“Go easy on him, Chilla,” Selene said softly.  “He probably won’t even remember saying it tomorrow.”

 

“If he tests my patience any further he won’t live until tomorrow,” Chilla grumbled.  She slammed the stein of water down on the table next to the drunken psi, splashing him in the face, and stomped back to the bar.

 

“Let him sleep it off over there,” Luna said with a wave of her empty mug.  “And TugMug, you’re slacking again.  I thought you were going to bartend for us.”

 

“You’re lucky I enjoy my work, Luna, I’m still a guest, remember?” TugMug replied as he wheeled back behind the counter.  He filled up her mug and then turned his head to the side and opened the tap directly into his mouth.  “Mmm, it’s not bad this way either,” he mumbled through the foam.

 

Selene watched him in horrified curiosity.  As someone who had been raised by a stern and snooty governess to observe proper manners during her formative years, the graviton’s shameless uncouth and base behavior in her presence was fascinating.  “Is that even comfortable?” she asked, unable to form any other words that seemed even halfway appropriate.

 

Luna on the other hand was not impressed or surprised by his drunken theatrics.  “His senses have long been dulled, Selene, especially his common ones.”

 

TugMug however was enjoying the Queen’s attention.  “Oh yes, it’s fresher and foamier this way.  You can really taste it as cold as it’s meant to be drunk.  The only way it would get colder would be if Frostor over there iced all our mugs personally the way he ices Luna’s for her.”

 

“It was hardly a favor,” Frostor muttered, shaking his head at both TugMug and Luna.

 

“No, you wouldn’t want to do me any of those, would you?” Luna retorted to the general.  “You’re not happy unless you’re giving me a hard time.”

 

Selene ignored the bickering pair and leaned forward on the bar, kneeling in her chair so her head was next to TugMug’s.  It was hardly a proper position, but she’d had enough of the stout that she wasn’t too concerned with propriety and it seemed like he was having fun.  Not sure what to make of his wife’s behavior, Psiarik took the liberty of smoothing out the back of her long dress as she climbed onto the counter so she didn’t embarrass herself more than she intended to.  Selene didn’t notice, however.  “It’s really that good?”

 

“Oh yes!” TugMug exclaimed, not only because it was true, but also because he thought it would be funny to convince the Lunar Queen to stick her head under a tap, especially in front of Luna.

 

“Let me try,” she ordered, and wriggled across the bar until her head was beneath the tap.

 

“Honey, are you sure you should—”

 

Psiarik’s warning was promptly cut off and ignored when TugMug switched on the tap.  Several foamy mouthfuls poured into the Queen’s awaiting mouth, but unlike TugMug, she had hardly the practice or ability to swallow it at such a pace and soon it covered her face and bubbled up her nose.  She squealed and sat up, her face and hair utterly soaked in beer.  “That was…” she coughed.

 

“Messy,” Frostor offered.  “Your highness, if I may respectfully suggest such, you might want to join Alluro at the other table.”

 

Selene patted the sticky foam off of her face and glared at Frostor.  “Are you telling me that I should stop?”

 

“Who are you to give her orders?” Luna snapped at the icewalker.

 

“Oh come on, Luna, even you can’t say you think she hasn’t had too much,” he retorted.

 

Luna eyed Selene closely, and she had to admit the Queen looked too inebriated for her own good, especially if she was willing to try a stunt like that, but she was loath to admit Frostor was right about anything when she was not speaking to him and when she felt he still owed her an apology.  The fact that she’d been trading insults with him all night didn’t count in that though, naturally.  “I’ll grant that she’s a bit tipsy, but…”

 

“Aunt Luna,” Selene pouted.  “I can take care of myself.  I know my limits.”

 

“I know you do dear, however—”

 

“Your limit is now,” Psiarik told her pointedly.  He pulled her off the bar and back onto her stool.  “We’re cutting you off too.”

 

“That’s not fair,” the lunar woman whined in a voice that rivaled Luna’s in shrillness.  “I’m a Queen!  You can’t cut me off from the bar.  I own the bar!  Fill it up, TugMug!”  She pointed to her stein.

 

Frostor quickly snatched Selene’s stein from in front of her before TugMug could get it.  “I’m declaring you too drunk to rule, then.  Don’t give her any more, TugMug.”

 

“What a bummer,” the graviton said, shrugging helplessly at the Queen.  “She’s fun.”

 

“You can’t declare me too drunk to rule!” Selene screeched.  Even Luna winced at the volume she hit on that one.  “It’s my bar and I’m giving you a royal order to give me a beer!  If you stand in my way I’ll… I’ll send you to the Hunters!”

 

“You’re not sending Frostor to the Hunters, dear,” Psiarik said with a shake of his head.  “And you have had enough, I’m countermanding your royal order to be served with one to go to bed and sleep it off.”

 

“You can’t!” she said haughtily.  “You’re just royalty by marriage.  My title is higher.  And I say that I demand another beer!”

 

Chilla leaned over to Psiarik.  “You’d better get her out of here before her screaming starts shattering windows,” she rasped in a low tone. 

 

Psiarik nodded in agreement and sighed.  “So much for a nice, quiet dinner.”  He turned to his irate wife and grasped her hand.  “Come on Selene, we’re going to bed.”  When she didn’t come off the chair willingly, he picked her up instead. 

 

This served to make the Lunar Queen quite angry.  She kicked and fussed, her voice getting higher with each protest as he carried her out the door.  As the headed down the hallway, those still in the ballroom could hear her shriek, “Let go of me right now, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch, and that is not only a royal order but an order from your wife as well!”

 

Luna turned toward Frostor.  “It’s your fault she’s angry, you know,” she informed him self-importantly.  “You didn’t need to be so pushy about cutting her off.  You could have been tactful.”

 

Frostor swirled the remaining beer in his mug and finished it.  “And you, of course, would be the expert on tact, right Luna?”

 

Chilla snorted derisively.  “Right.”

 

“I didn’t ask you,” she snapped at Chilla, and then she preemptively glared at TugMug, whose mouth was too full to comment but whose expression indicated that he was about to.  “And don’t you say a word.”  She turned back to Frostor.  “As for you, I am tired of hearing your snide little remarks and your big mouth!  You still owe me an apology for this morning in the library, and for stealing my crop this afternoon.”

 

Frostor met the short lunar woman’s gaze evenly.  “Firstly, Luna, I do not owe you an apology for anything said this morning, it was you who lost your temper at me if I recall correctly.  Secondly, I did not steal your crop, you threw it at me,” he snarled.

 

“I threw it at you because you were being rude,” Luna argued shrilly.  Like the others, Luna had also had too much.  Unfortunately, it affected her in the most unpleasant side effect of partaking too much alcohol, and her stomach rumbled dangerously.  Luna ignored it however and continued her rant at Frostor.  “And one more thing,” the rest of her sentence was cut off by a thick stream of projectile vomit that landed squarely on the general’s boots.  She coughed involuntarily and shook her head, then scowled at the floor, as if not realizing that it was she who had just puked all over him.  “One more thing,” she continued, “your boots are a disgraceful mess!  How dare you walk around the tower like that?  Do you care nothing for the rugs or the wood or even your appearance?  You’re supposed to be setting an example!”

 

It took every remaining bit of Frostor’s self control to not ice Luna on the spot, but somehow he managed to channel it into a destructive heat burst that melted the handle of his stein instead.  “All right, this party is over,” he announced to the few Lunatacs remaining in the room.  “I think we’ve all had quite enough.”

 

Chilla made a disgusted face at the mess on his boots and set her stein down in agreement.  “You’re right Frostor, it’s late anyway.”

 

“What about dinner?” Alluro mumbled from the corner.

 

“It’s likely cold by now anyway, although I’m sure the staff will heat something for you if you can eat it without covering someone else’s shoes in it,” Frostor answered.  “TugMug, help Chilla get Alluro to their room, and I’ll take Luna to bed.”  Chilla nodded and dragged TugMug from behind the bar, and the two of them scooped up the half-asleep Alluro and departed the room, leaving only Frostor, Luna, and the sleeping Amok behind.

 

Luna scowled at him.  “I will be going with Amok to my room, thank you very much.”  She reached down and tapped her steed, who had long since passed out on the ballroom floor.  “Come on boy, time to go to bed.”

 

Amok did not even do so much as stir when his mistress prodded him.

 

“He’s out cold, Luna.  Unless you’d prefer to spend the night on the ballroom floor, you’ll have to go back with me.  I can’t rouse Amok and I certainly can’t carry him.”

 

“What makes you think I want to ride you?”

 

“It’s me or the bar stool, make your choice now.”

 

Luna sighed irritably.  “Fine.  But I’m still not speaking to you.”

 

Frostor plucked the tiny lunar woman off the chair and set her on his shoulder.  “Whatever, Luna.”

 

* * *

 

Chilla and TugMug hauled the drunken Alluro out of the elevator and helped him stumble through the door that led to his and Chilla’s private quarters.  Their suite had several rooms, the entrance one being a spacious sitting room that held a couch and several chairs.  On one side was a door that led to their bedroom and beyond that their private bath, and on the other was a smaller bedroom and bath that belonged to their small daughter Erissa.  Though they did their best to be quiet, the noise of TugMug wheeling in and Alluro clumsily bumping into everything he could possibly hit was enough to wake the child, and she peered out from her bedroom door curiously.  “Mommy, what’s the matter with Daddy?” she asked Chilla.

 

“Daddy’s sick,” she snapped irritably.  “Go back to bed.”

 

“Will he be okay?”

 

“Once he prays to the porcelain god, kid,” TugMug sneered.

 

“Who’s the porcelain god?” she asked, wide-eyed, looking at TugMug strangely.

 

“Go to bed,” Chilla hissed.  “Now.”

 

“But who’s—”

 

“Now!”

 

Erissa knew better than to question her mother when she heard that tone, and without another word she slunk behind the door and nearly closed it.  She didn’t actually get into bed, but watched the scene through a crack curiously.  She heard some interesting words come from both her mother and the round graviton on wheels that came in with her and her father, and she was pretty sure that at least some of them were the naughty words she wasn’t allowed to say.

 

“Good night, lightweight,” the graviton laughed as he exited the room.  “Better stick a bucket next to him, Chilla.”

 

“Good night, TugMug,” Chilla hissed.  “I’m sure you know where your quarters are.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” he said with a wave.  “Later, Chilla.”  The bedroom door then slammed shut and TugMug headed for the door. 

 

Erissa stuck her head out curiously before TugMug left.  “Who’re you?  Are you Daddy’s friend?”

 

TugMug looked the kid over and assumed she had to be the one Alluro had mentioned earlier.  A wicked thought suddenly occurred to him.  “Yes,” he said, wheeling over with a smile.   “I’ve known your dad for many years.  In fact he told me about you so I brought you a present.”

 

The little girl’s eyes sparkled excitedly.  “A present?”

 

He withdrew the paintball carbine from his belt and handed it to her.  “This is a paintball carbine.  It’s like a toy gun.  Just point it at your Auntie Luna and pull the trigger the next time you see her.” 

 

She grinned brightly.  “Okay!  Thank you!”

 

“Now go to bed before your mommy comes out and ices one of us,” he said, patting her on the head and grinning evilly.  “‘Night kid.”

 

With that he wheeled out, and Erissa toddled back off to bed, clutching her shiny new present happily.

 

* * *

 

On the other side of the tower, Frostor had finally reached Luna’s quarters.  Once inside he carried her to her bedroom and placed her squarely in the center of the bed, which held two fluffy pillows that were bigger than she was.  “Good night, Luna,” he said tiredly, and started for the door.

 

“You can’t leave yet,” she informed him.  “Amok always gets me a glass of water after I lay down.  I can’t sleep without it.”

 

The ice Lunatac sighed.  “All right, Luna, I’ll be right back.” 

 

He went into her bathroom and found a cup by the sink which he filled from the tap.  He was about to bring it to her when her shrill voice stopped him in his tracks.  “I’m changing right now, don’t you dare come in here yet!”

 

“Can’t you do that after I leave?  You’re not the only one who’s tired.”

 

“I mean it, don’t come in here!” she shrieked.  The volume made his head throb.  Although he hadn’t drunk nearly as much as Alluro, Selene, or even the shrill-voiced Lunatac in the other room, he was still feeling the last of the beer’s effects.

 

“You’ve no need to worry about me ogling you, Luna, I assure you.”

 

What seemed to Frostor like several minutes passed before Luna finally informed him that he was allowed to re-enter the room.  He strode over to her bed, where she was already tucked beneath the covers, and handed her the glass of water.  “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be on my way now.”

 

Luna sipped at the water.  “It’s not cold enough.”

 

The irritated icewalker drew breath and iced the cup in her hands.  “There, will that satisfy you?”

 

She shook her tiny hand to get the sting of the ice out of it and glared at him.  “There’s no need for you to be so grouchy with me, Frostor.  Remember it is you that owes me the apology.”

 

He sat in the chair beside her bed and sighed, resting his eyes for a moment against the palm of his hands as he bent over.  “I’m not getting into this again with you, Luna, not at this hour.”

 

“I don’t see why you’re being so unreasonable,” Luna argued, nestling against the pillows.  “Just apologize and I’ll gladly forgive you and start speaking to you again.”

 

Frostor groaned.  “You never stopped, Luna, by all the gods you never stop.”  He leaned his head back against the seat, which was a comfortable leather recliner that expanded on contact.  “You know what’s really sad?  I don’t even remember what the hell it is that you’re mad about anymore.”  The exhaustion, both from physical tiredness and from dealing with her, was evident in his voice.

 

His answer did not please her.  “Well then, if you’re not going to remember and apologize, then you can kindly get out and let me get some sleep,” she retorted irritably, and clicked off the light next to the bed, leaving both her and the general in darkness.

 

“Gladly,” he muttered back.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the comfort of the chair for a few more seconds.  That was all it took for the tired ice Lunatac to fall fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

Disappointed that the beer fest was over, TugMug dejectedly wheeled back toward the ballroom.  “They’re all a bunch of lightweights,” he decided as he rounded the corner into the dining room, which was still set up for the dinner they never got around to eating.  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t go and drink some more!”

 

He was disappointed to find the ballroom door now securely locked, a final measure by Frostor before he and Luna retired to ensure that no one got back in without a key.  Amok could get out if he awoke, but no one was getting in.  “Damn it!” the graviton exclaimed.  “All that beer, lonely without me to drink it!”

 

Dejected, he wheeled over to the table.  He lifted a cover off of a silver serving platter and saw that the food the staff had set out for them earlier to eat at their leisure was still there.  “At least I can still get a good meal,” he decided, and picked up one of the empty plates off a place setting and began loading it up with samples from each dish that looked interesting.  Soon he needed a second plate, and then a third.  To wash it all down he managed to find an expensive bottle of wine in the middle of the table.

 

“It’s not beer, but it’ll do,” he said, and yanked the cork out with the aid of his metal gauntlet, which had a sharp end that doubled as a corkscrew attachment when necessary.

 

With an almost ideal, although slightly cold meal set out, TugMug sat down to enjoy the royal treatment of a banquet funded by the Third Moon’s nobility.  Only one thing gave him a moment for pause as he eyed his place setting—the six forks beside his plate.  He pondered this mystery deeply.  Was he supposed to use one for each different food?  One on the outer layers of food, to discard for new ones as he worked his way in?  Or was he just supposed to use one and toss the others at other dinner participants that got on his nerves?

 

“Eh, screw it, I’ll just use my hands,” he grumbled, and took a big bite of his steak.

 

* * *

 

When Frostor first woke up, the first thing he noticed was the luminous face of the timepiece Luna kept by her bed.  “What the… it’s four in the morning,” he hissed in shock.  He couldn’t believe he’d almost wound up spending the entire night in Luna’s chair.  He could only imagine the shrill greeting she would have given him had he not woken up, and with the way he currently felt thanks to the beer he had drunk, he was in no mood to find out.  Careful not to rouse the sleeping three-foot beast, he quietly got to his feet and tiptoed out of her quarters into the hall.

 

Unfortunately for Frostor, one of the night staff on security happened to be monitoring the hallway and saw him leave, and jumped to a very wrong conclusion.

 

* * *

 

Morning came bright and full of sunshine that day on the Third Moon.  Selene and Psiarik were fast asleep in their beds—as it turned out, Psiarik had escaped the dreaded sentence of couch banishment when his wife had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.  Therefore when the chambermaid assigned to their quarters came in to rouse them as she normally did, and opened their blinds wide to let the sun spill in, it came as a nasty shock.

 

Psiarik let out a loud groan as a sunbeam landed square in his face and woke him, while Selene sat up clutching her head in agony.  “Good morning, your highnesses,” the chambermaid said brightly.  “Shall I have breakfast sent up?”

 

“No,” Selene grumbled.  Her stomach felt like she had swallowed something vile and churned unpleasantly, while her head pounded a chorus of pain that oddly fit the pirate tune Chilla, Alluro, and TugMug had sang the evening before.  She turned toward Psiarik, who rolled over and faced her to get the bright light of the sun out of his eyes. 

 

She leaned back against the pillows clutching her temples desperately.  “I need a huggie,” she whined.

 

Psiarik reached over and put an arm around her.  “I warned you about that First Moon beer, it’s brutal stuff,” he muttered, holding her close.  The chambermaid then opened the rest of the blinds on the far end of the room, causing more light to shine on the ailing royal couple.

 

“I’m declaring the opening of the blinds in the morning a capitol offense,” Psiarik growled irritably.  “Send her to the Hunters.”

 

Selene sighed and rubbed her temples in the vain hopes of easing her headache.  “Don’t worry about him, Imbri, you’re not going to the Hunters,” Selene murmured before the woman could get concerned.

 

“You never let me send anyone to the Hunters,” he muttered in annoyance.  “I say send them to the Hunters, you say let them go.  I say throw them in jail, you say let them out.  I never get to have any fun, I’m the King and I still can’t do anything.  Why am I the King anyway if I don’t get to do anything?”

 

“Never mind him,” Selene said dismissively.  “He’s just hung over.”  Selene laid a hand on her husband’s side.  “Go back to sleep.”

 

“See, I can’t even get out of bed when I want.  Being the King sucks,” he complained, and rolled back over into the pillows sleepily.

 

Selene squinted and faced Imbri.  “Have some water and aspirin brought up, and in the name of the moon gods, close those blinds!”

 

“Right away, your highness.”

 

* * *

 

Another of the tower’s morning staff entered Luna’s quarters around the same time, holding the lunar woman’s breakfast that she’d ordered from the kitchen ten minutes earlier.  Like the others, Luna was sleeping in, although the maid had heard some interesting gossip from the security guards on the shift before and had promised to verify to the rest of the kitchen staff whether or not the rumors were true.  Her order was ambiguous enough that it could have been for one or shared by two, as it was a pot of tea and some pastries.

 

As it turned out, Luna alone in her bedchamber when the maid entered.  “Good morning to you, Lady Luna,” the maid, Dianai, greeted her.  “How are you this morning?”

 

“Fine,” the elder lunar woman answered.  “Fetch my clothes, please.”

 

“Certainly,” Dianai replied, selecting some clean garments from the closet.  “Where is Master Amok this morning?  I didn’t see him on my way in.”

 

“Probably still asleep in the ballroom,” Luna answered as she poured herself some tea.  “By the way, why did you bring me two teacups?”

 

“I—I thought you might have a guest,” the maid answered with a slight flush to her cheeks.

 

Luna narrowed her eyes at the servant.  “And why would you think that?”

 

“Well, we knew that Sir Frostor took you to bed last night, so we assumed that he might be—”

 

Dianai was interrupted by a loud screech of outrage from the tiny Lunatac.  “Don’t dare to presume anything about my relationship with that arrogant icewalker,” she bellowed shrilly.  “He most certainly did not spend the night with me.”

 

The maid nodded, but continued to smile knowingly.  “If I may say so, Lady Luna, I’m already aware that he left you very late last night.  But if you wish I will not tell anyone that he shared your bed.”

 

“You had better not,” Luna screeched furiously.  “Because he didn’t!  He was on the chair!”

 

Dianai blinked in surprise as she glanced at the recliner, but then as she thought about the logistics of their varied heights, she supposed it made sense.  “All right, I won’t tell them that you two were in the chair then,” she confirmed.

 

That was met with an unintelligible screech from Luna with the added bonus of the extra teacup turned into a projectile hurled at the maid.  “Don’t you say a word about anything involving him!”

 

“As you wish, Lady Luna,” she replied smoothly, and collected the teacup from where it landed on the rug.  She set the clothes Luna had requested on the lunar woman’s bed and bowed.  “Shall I have Amok sent up to you now, or do you need anything else before I go?  Place a call to Sir Frostor’s room, perhaps?”

 

“Augh!  Just get out and send Amok!” Luna hollered.

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”  With that Dianai retreated hastily from the room, already preparing her report for the kitchen staff downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Alluro and Chilla didn’t have so pleasant an awakening as to be roused by one of the morning staff bringing breakfast.  Instead what Alluro felt were two cool and insistent little hands giving his shoulder a gentle nudge.  “Mommy!  Daddy!  Daddy, wake up!”

 

The groggy psi blinked and rolled over to see the irritatingly enthusiastic face of Erissa staring back at him from on the mattress between him and Chilla.  She had also apparently just woken Chilla from a deep sleep, a dangerous undertaking in and of itself for anyone other than her child, perhaps, but even that was iffy.  “Daddy will you get up?  Are you still sick?”

 

“Sick?” he grumbled.  He had no idea what the child was babbling about, except that it was early and he didn’t want to be babbled at.  He raised his hand a few inches and pointed at her.  “You don’t stand a chance.  You will go back to sleep right now,” he murmured, drawing on what hypnotic power he could in his half asleep state.

 

An irritated hiss came from the recently awoken form of his icy mate.  “Alluro, I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t hypnotize the child,” she muttered, her face half buried in the pillows.

 

“Do you want to take her to breakfast now?” he replied equally grouchily.

 

“Erissa, listen to your father,” was Chilla’s reply before she rolled over and went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

It seemed to Frostor that he had just fallen asleep when the buzzer on his comm unit went off.  He rolled over, cursing at it with some creative words from his native Ice Moon tongue, but answered the wake up call anyway.  They confirmed that they would be sending his meal up shortly, and he got up to get dressed.  A few minutes later there was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” he called, hoping that the coffee they were bringing him was strong.  He certainly needed it.

 

It was another of the morning staff, a young lunar maid called Miriel that was a recent hire.  She bowed as she set the general’s breakfast on the table.  “Good morning Sir,” she said as she went to smooth out his bedcovers.  “Did you have a good evening last night?”  He thought he heard a giggle after her question, but he couldn’t be sure.

 

“It was interesting, I’ll grant that,” he said with a shake of his white hair.  “It was certainly unforgettable.”

 

“I can imagine,” Miriel replied with a grin.  “I hope Lady Luna enjoyed herself as much as you, Sir.”

 

With that he snorted and poured himself a cup of coffee.  “She might have, though through all that complaining who could really tell?”

 

The maid eyed him quizzically.  “It surprises me to hear that she would even be critical of that.  Some women are never satisfied, I suppose.”

 

“You wouldn’t believe what it would take to satisfy that woman,” he said as he took a bite of his toast.

 

Miriel paused for a moment, as if unsure how to answer, but she figured that if the general was willing to be so open about things, obviously nothing about it was bothering him too much.  She smiled kindly at him.  “Well, I’m sure things will work out somehow between you two.  Personally I think you two make an adorable couple.”

 

Frostor stopped mid-chew as the implications of the maid’s statement sunk in, and then he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry at her wild assumption.  In the end, it came out as a laugh, just from the sheer absurdity of it.  “Wait a minute… you’re not saying you think that Luna and I…?” he couldn’t even finish the sentence with a straight face.

 

“Aren’t you?” the maid replied, genuinely puzzled.  “I mean, everyone in the palace is talking about it.  You did take her to bed last night, didn’t you, Sir?”

 

Frostor’s blue skin paled as he carefully set his coffee back down on the table.  “Hold on there a moment,” he said as he met her gaze sternly, “I took her to her room last night after Amok passed out in the ballroom, but I didn’t spend the night with her.”

 

Miriel nodded.  “I know you didn’t stay over, Sir, that’s why we know.  Someone on night security saw you leave her room early this morning, around fourish.”  She fluffed his pillows and straightened.  “It was all anyone could talk about this morning.  You and Lady Luna are the talk of the tower.”

 

Had he been a less rational man he might have iced the messenger, but it wasn’t Miriel’s fault that she’d heard faulty information from someone else.  “Who on security felt it necessary to spread this rumor?” he demanded gruffly.

 

“I—I don’t know, Sir,” she confessed.  “I heard it from the kitchen staff, and they heard it from someone in security.  I don’t know who.”  She backed up slightly, clutching the laundry she was supposed to take downstairs.  “I didn’t know your relationship with her was a secret, Sir, please don’t report me.  I promise I won’t speak of it to anyone else.”

 

“There’s nothing to speak of!” Frostor roared angrily.  “I don’t know what Luna has been telling people, but there is nothing going on between us!”  He picked up the riding crop that Luna had thrown at him the day before and frowned at it, before he realized that the maid was looking at him.  “Yes, it’s hers,” he snapped. 

 

“I see,” Miriel said quietly, loading the laundry onto the cleaning cart.  She turned to him quietly.  “You know, Sir, a one night stand is nothing to be ashamed of.  If you would like, I could return the crop to Lady Luna for you.  Unless you would like to return it yourself?”

 

At that statement the icy general lost his temper and hissed an artic blast at her laundry cart.  “I’ll give it to her, all right,” he snarled in outrage.

 

“As you wish, Sir.  My lips are sealed.”  The maid bowed hastily and scurried out of the room before he could ice her, too.

 

Once alone in the room, Frostor sighed and threw the riding crop fruitlessly against the closed door.  “I’ll never live this down,” he sighed, and chewed his morning toast in misery.

 

The End?

 

 

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