Eleven and a half minutes into his sister's speech, Ithacles turned his mouth to Vedette's ear. Instead of saying something, all he did was laugh quietly. He smelled clean but like wine. The glass resting in his hand was his fifth, unless you count the three or four sips of red he'd found sitting abandoned on the railing outside earlier.
She was talking about duty and pride. Not the worst speech she'd ever given. She was after all just as selective of her words as she was of her guests and decorations and place settings and colors. She had just selected too damn many of them this time.
They'd greeted everyone. With Vedette standing slightly behidn him he'd gripped almost every hand in the place and bowed politely to every woman that had stilted on by. The tall ones, the thin ones, the ones he actually didn't mind and the ones he was considering flinging from a tower. One of them had been wearing a dress so shimmering in sequins that it must have weighed thirty pounds. At least that one had strong legs, he thought.
"But that's not why we're here," Lethe finally said. "Let us eat, before the food gets as cold as the weather outside!"
Everyone gave a small laugh and raised their glass.
"See?" Ithacles said to Vedette. Loudly. "That wasn't funny at all."