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On the castle’s battlements two watchers well-fed after their evening meal stand as the sun sets. They talk.

Apollonius: “A fiery sky. Red streaked as anger yet not. Blushed but not for the day’s events. Has been a day of quiet. No alarums. A day of reflection not action.”

Mercutris: “Aye, a day written with a soft quill.”

Apollonius: “Yet, friend, who to wear Feste’s motley garb? Once a matter of talk often heated but, as the now sun, cooling.”

Mercutris: “Word has it few this season have applied and those that have are of the actuarial persuasion. None as were in past years. Good people but bound by their specialties of financial discernment.”

Apollonius: “I remember on whom took the Feste robe in past years. A curmudgeon grizzled of cheek and stinking of fish guts. A scoundrel if there ever was one. An onion in a petunia patch agreed upon by many.”

Mercutris: “He is deposed by many a year replaced by competence and ability so they say. And yet to be missed is his railings against his competitors in shameless self promotion.”

Apollonius: “I have noticed that this moment few do as such. Acceptance of nomination has not resulted in a trumpeting but nothing. Is there competition set by nomination alone?”

Mercutris: “The one you speak of, the fisher, would fart and advise of standing upwind but these now slated would not belch even if commanded to do so. It is not akin to their status.”

Apollonius: “The sun is almost down and so the day ends. The castle quiets. Sleep pervades and our watch is in moonlight. So it rules.”

Mercutris: “And by rules, Apollonius, the fisher is not an eligibility to Motley’s garb and is an appendix nothing more. A page writ and a page ripped from history. A stain wiped.”

Apollonius: “So it must be.”

In the shadows of the battlements a lone figure stands, lifts one leg and lets one rip.

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No. of Recommendations: 4
Nay stain brother, but a smile to warm the bosom. Exhaust thy fumes many an evening hence.

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