When everyone present, the veche, the prince, and the rich merchants, had eaten and drunk all they desired, they began to boast and oh! the braggarts told tales that would make fodder for many fine witticisms of any a bard for long years to come!

That’s a classic line from these types of tales.  It fits with the aftermath of the announcement.  Cake was brought out, and the many friends of the bride and groom enjoyed the frosting and some of them had never had ice cream before, a story probably worth telling in itself by a storyteller better than I, and then the game began in earnest.

We will call the two teams Koshchey, the dwarf’s team, because it amuses me, and Claire, for Kievan’s friend.

“Why would they take my drink?” Claire asked.  “That doesn’t make any sense, because I could just get another.”

Sadko, her sylphic (as opposed to sylphan, because that sounds like sylvan, and is thus confusing to the ear) friend smiled.  “If it were of value, would you not fear it was stolen?”

“She said someone else would have it on the other team.”  She paused. “I did notice that the glasses are all quite different, so I should be able to find it.”

“No, we must confer with our teammates and negotiate its release.”

“Oh, I hope no one spit in it!”

Sadko knew it would not be so, and merely smiled.

Roo asked her partner, “What is it that we have lost?”

“It could be innocence, but it would be sheer impropriety to have losses so vulgar or of such notoriety,” her companion, who we name Nora laughed.  “However I overheard the words of one who made an exaggerated boast that it’s quite obvious our loss: the name of our host.”

“That is madness.  We were invited!”  Roo frowned.  “It is on the tip of my tongue.”

For yes, Vasilisa is a wise wizard.  That the invitation was remembered was to keep the trouble to a minimum, but the name, a name is less mutable, and can be hidden, but only until said.

“Is it an insult, or is it crass, that the other team asserts we took a glass?” Nora asked.

“Were it ambrosia, I would call it crass,” Roo suggested.  “But everyone knows the Gods drink `highly caffeinated carbonated colas’ these days.  Do we know what it looks like?”

“A pale indigo but not violet in hue, with cream coloured liqueur that turns it to blue.  Tall like a vase, but more like a square, a handle to lift it, but no real burden to bear.”

Have you caught your breath yet?  Good.  I have an idea of where to look next.

“Those people are…weird.”  Claire had tried for a number of synonyms that made her sound less, well, she was afraid she sounded like some kind of bigot, because she knew they were unusual, but all the ways you say that about someone end up sounding like you’re judging them.  Claire was, however, very frustrated.  She had tried to find another drink, only to be told they were out of glasses, or while she was searching for her own (she remembered it was a tall “adult milkshake” in a kind of rectangular blue mug) she’d keep almost seeing it but it would turn out to be someone else’s beverage. 

“You are not incorrect,” Sadko said, hiding his amusement as best he could.  “But do you have a specific in mind?”  He liked Claire.  She was like many mortals, oblivious to wonder but still in search of it. 

I see that this raises an argument for you.  We can speak of it later.  Let me finish this tale. 

“I don’t understand what they are looking for – do they really not know whose party they’re attending?  I would think Kievan would throw out this many crashers.”

“Crashers?  There has been no violence.”  Sadko chose his words carefully because violence was always a possibility, especially with some of those he saw represented.

“Party crashers.  What,” Claire smiled, somewhat distracted for a moment, “you never went anywhere without an invitation?”

Sadko’s eyes widened.  “That would be a serious breach of Hospitality.”   Yes, there was a capital ‘H’ in there.

Claire laughed. “You make it sound serious.  Not that I haven’t been to a few parties that could have used bouncers,” she shivered, instinct telling her that those at this gathering best suited for the idea were perhaps a little more careless with mortality than she would want to know.  “Honestly,” she changed the subject, “I didn’t know Kievan had so many weird friends.  Maybe they’re friends of the girl he married.”

“Perhaps,” Sadko agreed, with a sad smile.