Entering the elegant restaurant, Mistoffelees glanced around. Afternoon sunlight came in from the windows, and his eyes finally fell on the table reserved. Pouncival Smythe and Tumblebrutus Carpenter were already at the table. Pounce looked up as Mistoffelees entered, offering him a wide smile and waving him over.

Tumble turned around slightly to see the other, his smile more subdued though no less welcoming, "Afternoon, Misto. How're you doing this fine day?"

"Well," he said, offering them both a smile and sitting. "It is a fine day, and suddenly infinitely better for being out and among friends."

Pounce nodded his agreement, "How are you settling in to city life?"

Mistoffelees' smile suddenly became a great deal more strained. "I suppose I can simply say I preferred school life, or that of a traveler. Do you think it's too late to become a nomad?"

"Probably... though if you find it's not I might just join you," Pouncival offered.

Mistoffelees laughed softly. "Alright, I will see what I can find out. I assume from your answer you're doing just as well as me. What of you, Tumble?" he asked, glancing over.

"I'm doing pretty well. You know my plans have pretty well always coincided with Father's. I'm in process on finding a position in politics. My only complaint may be the endless string of dinners we're having under the pretense of welcoming me home and reacquainting me with family friends and people of influence."

"At this point I might not even mind that," Mistoffelees sighed. "But you're right, you've always been the least inclined to run off and join a gypsy caravan."

"I wouldn't mind it much myself, if not for the fact that every one of those families have at least one eligible daughter. And no, I'd much prefer the comfort of an armchair to time spent round a campfire."

"But campfires are so romantic," Mistoffelees protested with a grin. "That's your problem, Tumble, you have a very subdued sense of romance. But yes, the parade of eligible daughters. Enjoy that while you may."

"Romance can exist without a campfire, Misto," Tumble replied with a smile.

Pounce shrugged, "It can, but not so much in London parlors."

"I am highly skeptical of romance without a campfire," Mistoffelees informed him. "Where else would you look to find it?"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with it being born in the parlors of London. There are several happily married couples in society," Tumble declared.

"Several?" Mistoffelees gave him a long look. "That implies a very low number out of hundreds of them."

"Several that come immediately to mind, then," Tumble replied.

"You're not convincing me," Mistoffelees told him. "Like who then?"

"The Jacobsens. My parents. The Carlisles. Oh, and do you remember John Green, from school? He got married two years back and the two of them are quite happy."

"Happy or content?" Mistoffelees asked. "There is a difference."

"Alright, we'll call my parents content. The others I would genuinely call happy. I know John's still head over heels for the young woman he married," Tumble said.

The smaller tom still didn't look impressed. "He may certainly appear to be so, but do you really expect that to last?"

"I think it certainly could. Perhaps I'm overly optimistic in that regard, but I disagree that every marriage in our class is an unhappy loveless one."

"Well, the proportions are skewed against us, even if not every one isn't unhappy," Mistoffelees replied, tilting his glass of water to the other slightly, conceding at least part of the point.

"So I can still hope," Tumble replied quietly.

Mistoffelees' ears flickered back. He felt suddenly bad for being so brazen. "Is your father really pushing it?" he asked softly.

"No. My mother is. Which means father will be soon enough."

The black tom darted a glance over to Pounce and back to Tumble. "Oh. Well, I suppose I can hope for your sake too then?"

Pounce shrugged, "We give you our best wishes, Tumble."

"Thank you. We'll see where it ends up I suppose."

"And you, Pounce?" Mistoffelees asked. "Have your parents started on that yet?"

"No. Father's still focused on convincing me to try politics. We haven't gotten much past arguments that usually end with me telling him rather unkindly to sod off. We go about a week without speaking and then it comes up again. I think I've horrified my mother for the rest of her living days through those arguments though," the other tom replied

Mistoffelees bit back a smile. "Well, so long as it works out?" he offered.

Pouncival shrugged, "Yeah, as long as I can divert politics I should be able to divert marriage as well."

Tumble shook his head at them, "There are easier ways to deal with your parents, Pounce."

"Your parents are just easier to deal with," Mistoffelees replied. Tumble's brow rose at that, but he didn't disagree. "Parental figures," Mistoffelees amended, more to himself then them. After all, only his mother was alive and she had never asked anything of him. The demands of his uncle, however, were another story entirely.

Pounce glanced at Misto, but nodded his agreement.

Mistoffelees shifted, glancing around. "This is a nice place," he managed. "A bit different from where we went while at school, but nice." Which was putting it lightly, since this was far fancier than the old pub they'd found their first term at college.

Tumble nodded slightly, "It is rather nice."

"A bit too stuffy in some ways. I vote finding a decent pub for our next outing," Pounce responded looking around at the elegant furnishings.

The black tom laughed at that. "Alright, shall we look around for one? And do you think our final member would lower himself to that level, if he ever shows up?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I think we should." Pouncival grinned, "I'm kind of hoping not. For both points."

"He'd probably come just to make sure no one else enjoyed themselves," Tumble responded.

Mistoffelees' brow quirked up and he hid another laugh behind his glass. "No one's feeling bitter today then?"

Tumble looked up in surprise at that, "Bitter?"

The smallest of the three shrugged. "No? No one seems sad he's... really late," he said, frowning at his watch. "Alright, this is late even for him."

"Maybe he fell into the Thames," Pounce responded, almost cheerfully, earning him a kick under the table from Tumble.

"We could be so hopeful," Mistoffelees replied, carefully moving his leg away under the table to where he thought Tumble couldn't reach.

Tumble just offered him a long look, "I don't like him either, but he is still my cousin, the two of you could be a little less hopeful that he drowned."

Pouncival grinned slyly, "I never said he drowned, just that he fell in. You sure you're not with us on this point, Tumble?"

"I-I am quite sure."

"No you're not," Mistoffelees informed him. "But I can suppose I can suspend hopes of him drowning for your sake. I will, however, hold out that he got run over by a carriage."

Tumble rolled his eyes, sipping at his drink. Mistoffelees managed not to say anything, biting his lip. He tensed slightly though as a voice spoke behind him.

"I'm glad to see no one's actually ordered any food without me," Plato said, breezing in.

Titling his head back, Mistoffelees attempted to convince his tail to unwind from the leg of the chair. "You're unfashionably late. You would have deserved it if we had."

Pounce shrugged, "Besides, I was rather hoping you'd had your head bashed in or drowned. It rather spoils my appetite."

Plato froze for a moment and Mistoffelees glanced at Pounce quickly, trying not to smile more for Tumble's sake, but still a little surprised by the other's honesty. Glaring, Plato took a seat. "You're welcome to eat wherever you like, Pouncival."

"Wherever I like? Well then I think here and now sounds good."

"I wouldn't want to put you off your appetite," Plato said sweetly.

"Oh no, that was just the gruesome pictures of your death in my mind that was doing that. Now that I see you alive and well I should be able to eat fine."

Mistoffelees bowed his head not to laugh at that. Plato glared at the pair of them, as if suspecting Mistoffelees had been in on it. "Well, I'm sorry for my unfashionably late appearance, but I was in a meeting and felt it rude to leave before my business was finished."

Tumble sighed, "You're all rising to the bait, for the love of God.."

"I like bait," Mistoffelees mumbled into his glass and fell silent.

Plato sniffed. "Well, some people just cannot appreciate others," he said with a look in Pounce's direction.

"What was the business?" Mistoffelees asked quickly in an attempt to change the topic.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that yet," Plato said, voice oozing arrogance.

Pounce rolled his eyes, "Then bringing it up was pointless. What was it, Plato?"

"A question about a queen," he replied and Mistoffelees' face became slightly pinched. "And I brought it up to explain my lateness, not to gossip about someone's honor."

Pouncival's brow rose, "Someone's honor? When has that entered the conversation? Did you hear it come up Tumble?"

The other brown and white patched tom shook his head slightly, but didn't say anything.

"Well, it concerns a queen," Plato said as if that explained everything.

"So it wasn't a duel, meaning no damage to her honor...so my guess is an engagement," Pounce said. Plato primly shut up and Mistoffelees looked around for the nearest waiter.

The waiter came over and took their orders before slipping away again, barely interrupting their flow of conversation. It was not like they did not know what they were going to order anyway, having eaten in many such places numerous times together.

Tumble glanced around the table, before speaking quietly, "How is politics looking for you, Plato?"

"I believe I should be able to take my seat soon," he replied, voice still prim and giving Pounce a dirty look over the table. His cousin nodded, glancing at Pounce who was returning Plato's look with his best unimpressed expression.

"Well that should be nice," Mistoffelees said, voice somewhat strained. Why did he come to these lunches again? As soon as Plato showed up, even if it was very late, it went to hell.

"Well, at least you'll fit right in with the rest of the egotistical hypocrites," Pounce remarked idly. "You'll be lost in the mix, Plato, because once you're in politics your natural pride and tendency toward being an ass will be eclipsed by those with more practice."

Mistoffelees considered not waiting for the food and just leaving. It seemed better on his sanity.

"And where will you be Pounce?" Plato asked, voice smooth and sweet. "On a farm somewhere, playing with the pigs? Or perhaps in your more natural habit as a drunkard. Maybe you could do both?"

Pouncival smiled thinly, "Actually I was thinking of diplomacy. Perhaps get a position on the continent, or even in America. Would save me seeing you at every meeting of the Houses."

"Please go through with that plan," Plato told him earnestly and Mistoffelees shot Pounce a half panicked look.

"On the other hand it means I would be the last to know of any scandal you caused which brought your family name to ruin and that would be a tragedy."

Thankfully the food arrived and Mistoffelees shifted a bit closer to Tumble. "You're planning to go into politics too, aren't you?" he asked the other tom. There had been a time when he'd been better at deflecting Pounce and Plato but he just didn't have the energy or the talent anymore.

Tumble nodded, "I'm in the process of finding a position currently."

"That's nice," the black tom managed lamely. At least Plato was eating and thus quiet for the moment. Tumble offered him a sympathetic glance.

"How are you settling back in?" Plato asked Mistoffelees between bites, offering him an almost feral smile. "We've heard from our future diplomat and politicians after all."

"As well as could be expected," Mistoffelees hedged. Tumble glanced from one to the other, but turned his attention to his meal.

Pounce glanced at Misto and then over at Tumble, "Life runs on a pretty even keel for us all then?"

"Something like," Mistoffelees replied. He might have complained to Pounce and Tumble about his uncle making him do his business but not to Plato.

Tumble finished relatively quickly. "I have to be going," he murmured.

"Good day," Mistoffelees said with a broad smile, and turned to attempt to catch Pounce's eye, ready to call the retreat as well.

Pounce nodded very slightly, "Take care, Tumble. I really should be heading out as well. I'm headed in your direction, Misto, what do you say to sharing a cab?"

"Sounds perfect," he said, glancing at Plato and rising before the other could protest.

Pounce offered Plato a smile, "Beware of runaway carriages. Good day, Plato."

"Good day to you as well," he replied, smile thin and sharp. "Misto, take care of yourself."

"Always do," the smaller replied, paying the bill and leaving quickly. Pouncival paid as well, before following Misto.

Once outside, Mistoffelees glanced around, pulling on his gloves and trying to find a cab. "You two are terrible," he murmured.

Pounce sighed, "Sorry. I know I shouldn't..."

"But you do anyway? He makes it hard to resist, but on the other hand I like eating lunch in a semblance of peace."

"I'll try to avoid it in the future. You know I can't seem to carry on a conversation with him that doesn't involve that, and since you and Tumble never seem inclined to contribute..."

Mistoffelees sighed. "We are awed to silence. I'll talk to him and we'll both try, alright? Or we really will hunt down a disreputable pub and see if that helps."

"I'm good with the pub idea. I also vote telling Plato the wrong one."

"You're insufferable," Mistoffelees told him, but smiled anyway.

Pounce had the good sense to look sheepish, "Probably, but at least I have friends who'll put up with me right?"

"Usually," Mistoffelees replied flippantly.

"True. Alright then, usually put up with me."

Mistoffelees finally flagged down a cab, holding the door for Pounce. "Are you really heading the same way or were we just retreating?"

"A little of both. I have someone I'm meeting a bit later, that is in your general direction, but I probably could have stayed longer."

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Oh, a meeting? That sounds mysterious. Do appease my curiosity."

Pounce grinned, "Not really, just a friend I met a few years ago and haven't had the chance to see since I got back to London."

"You have friends beside us?" Mistoffelees teased, getting in the cab.

That garnered a laugh, "Believe it or not, Misto, I do in fact."

"Well, depths I never knew," Mistoffelees shook his head.

"How are you doing, while we're, well not really on the subject?"

"That is rather off the subject," Mistoffelees informed him. "You may have gone down an entirely different street off the subject. But, since the question has been asked, well, I have been doing as well as can be supposed. My uncle has decided I should be doing his business for him, but at least the subject of marriage has yet to come up."

Pouncival arched an eyebrow at that, "So, not as well as it could be then? What sort of business has he be entrusting to you?"

"He has had me dealing with his lawyer, specifically selling his land to the North. Which of course I appeared to need no preparation for."

"He had you deal with sale of lands without telling you about it? I suppose that could imply a level of confidence in your competence at least?" The brown and white tom's tone seemed caught somewhere between encouraging and uncertainty.

"Well, either he takes great faith in my education, or he's setting me up to fail miserably so he can disown me and ship me off to Australia. I have yet to determine which it is," the smaller tom replied, trying to keep his tone light and failing somewhat.

"Well, if you get shipped off to Australia, what are the chances you think I can just join you there and avoid dealing with my father do you think? And he doesn't really have any other possible heirs does he? Your uncle I mean."

"That I'm aware of? No. But I wouldn't put it past him to have bastard kits somewhere, though I hardly see him leaving them anything. My current bet is that he hopes his daughter to marry someone suitable and leave him everything. And well, I would hardly think Australia the best place, but I suppose I can send out an invitation to you," Mistoffelees said, looking out the cab window as they clattered over the London streets.

"Your uncle leave anything to anyone? That's the part of this I'm still trying to comprehend. He seems to have heirs out of necessity, rather like my father. Then again I may have misinterpreted him in relation to my father and his apparent plan to live forever just to spite those around him," Pounce muttered.

"Good god who art in heaven, may my uncle not live forever to spite those around him," he said, shaking his head. "There are few worse things I could imagine in this world honestly. My only hope is he does what he looks like he should have done years ago and die of some sort of heart failure."

"One can only hope," came the other young nobleman's response. He glanced out of the window as the cab drew to a stop. His brown eyes scoped over the facade of Baron Jones' London townhouse, "Well, it does appear we've arrived. Good luck with your uncle and his business. I shall see you later?"

"At some pub that we do not tell Plato the location of?" Mistoffelees offered, opening up the door. "I'm sure we shall meet again, it's almost impossible to avoid someone in our social circle," he tipped his hat. "Good luck meeting your other mysterious friend."

"At some pub that we do not tell Plato the location of," Pounce agreed, offering his friend a lopsided grin. "Then I shall see you at a later date and I certainly welcome the well wishes for my next meeting. Good day, Misto."

"Good day, and possibly a good evening as well," Mistoffelees replied, slipping from the cab and with another wave closing the door and sending it off. He sighed once, glancing back up at Jones' house before announcing himself to the servant and locking himself back up in the library.

This chapter is all one scene. This is fairly rare in our writing but it sets up a group of very important characters. In fact this chapter is a better introduction to Mistoffelees as well, who is completely broken in this verse. I am not used to my muses coming to me broke, I'm really not. But key traits of all four of the friend's personalities are revealed, including the fact that no one likes Plato. Victoriousscarf would like to apologize to any Plato fans, but he is not going to be coming off well in this story. Something about him creeps me out way too much and all I can write him as is just that: a total creep.

Reviews keep your authors happy and writing, and every single one of them is deeply appreciated. Hope people are enjoying the story.