Today, Trahearne has a rescuer. Not one particularly adept at fending off attackers of the usual variety, but absconding with Trahearne from a mob of well-intentioned but annoying locals was something he could do.

"There you are!"

The Fool's voice carries loudly enough over Trahearne's crowd of admirers that many of them turn to look back at him quizzically, thus making it quite easy for him to swan through them towards his friend with a delighted smile on his face. (He's decked out dramatically for the tourney of course, all shades of teal and turquoise; the Fool does not ascribe to the 'less is more' school of thought regarding one's wardrobe choices. Less is not more. More is more.) He slides up to his friend's side and links arms with him, meeting his eyes long enough to communicate a general sense of 'roll with me here.'

"I've been looking all over the place for you. Did you forget about our reservation?" An artless gesture with one hand, and he's already strolling along the walkway, leading Trahearne away as he does so. "No matter--I am well acquainted with the head chef now, you see, I am certain I shall be able to arrange for something."