Deep in the Cells. Castle Amber.

There sits a man on a worn wooden bench. He looks young; flawless skin being blended into obscurity by lank raven locks. He looks tired; soft brown eyes partially concealed by lashes that droop with fatigue. He looks moderately bitter; one corner of his mouth twisted with what should be wry amusement but isn't quite. His lean frame is set in an attitude of defiant defeat. This is not a man willing to settle for one emotion. He must have as many as he can express.

He lifts his gaze slightly to take in a rat that has paused on its journey across the floor. As it washes behind its ears, his voice rings out in the small cell. Clear. Deep. Confident.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of ... me." He straightens his posture, "To witness the second incarceration of Edward Barimen on his road of trials."

The rat has fled at the first intonation, but he stands anyway, drawing in breath to speak again and only lacking a pulpit to lean upon.

"Laetitia et calamitas, if you will - for the way was ever marked to be troublesome, though the reward great. All roads to greatness are full of obstacles to overcome. And like Jason that sought the fleece, as it is written, so shall it be."

He spreads his arms wide, head tilting back to look at the ceiling. "Now we sing psalm number 42: 'It's best to smile when being screwed'."

Though dark the night that falls anon

When hope has failed to be renewed

Remember, though the thorny path be long

It's best to smile when being screwed.

When fists smite hard against the bone

With all the plans laid out unglued

When there's just you and you alone

It's best to smile when being screwed.

Let history mark me down in bold

And wait the dawn that tilts the mood

For at the finish, this truth I hold

It's best to smile when being screwed.

He makes a 'cut' gesture with his arms, red cloth flapping around tight black. "Aaaaaameeeen!"

Laughter then; his mood evidently lifted. It rebounds from the walls and out of the cell with a freedom of movement completely unfamiliar to its owner.

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