This is a strictly NON-CANON crossover story, inspired by the characters and settings of Spontoon Island and mixed with my own fictional settings of Schwarzland and Wyrmworld.

The Stagg Family, Willow Fawnsworthy and the Republic of New Haven are courtesy of  EOCostello,  Major Matt Mason,  Walt46 and Simon Barber.

If you wish to use either their characters/settings or mine, please do what I did and ask first.

If you view this, please don't be afraid to add critique.


~~~~~~~~~~~


January 1937AW

Willow Fawnsworthy smoothed her tunic down and shifted slightly on the spot. She had not known Major Joachim before, but she knew he worked with her father.
Her conduct during the raid had been commended by High Command, but what had come next was a surprise - an immediate promotion to 1st Lieutenant, and assignment to "Q Company". The unit had been formed by Major Joachim, with input and advice from the Minkerton Detective agency and the Special Branch of the NHSP, who had both loaned instructors to its training corps.
The white-tailed doe sat in her office, sifting through copies of propaganda, newspapers and reports. Her task was to glean information - most of it was dross, but occasionally a real gem was found. Her father Stagg, his friend Allan Minkerton and Major Joachim had all taught her to look beyond physical clues - she was also trained to extrapolate, to consider what certain phrases or pieces of news might imply, and to combine them with other information to form a bigger picture.

The company HQ was an incongrous building - an old bank in north Waterbury, disused since the financial crash.
The vaults served as excellent interrogation rooms, while the bank's offices served to channel the constant flow of information.
There were just 22 people in the whole company - Major Joachim insisted on a small organisation where everyone could watch everyone else. Vetting was exceptionally thorough - practically all of her colleagues were known to have suffered at the hands of the Red Fists in some way or another, and their movements were subjected to intense scrutiny by Major Joachim, ably assisted by several detectives on attachment from the NHSP.

"BANG!"
The doe jumped several inches into the air as a stick smacked down onto the wooden desk. Major Joachim was glowering across at her, tiny eyes glinting in his black velvet fur.
"Sir!?"
She gasped.
It was one of the stocky mole's favourite ways to keep his staff on their toes - sneaking around in utter silence and taking them by surprise.

"Well as you know, a week ago the Red Fists launched a tank attack on York Hill. They gained the hill but were repulsed by a counter-attack. We captured all five of the tanks used, as well as one of the commissars accompanying them. I want you to question her."
"Me, sir? Yes sir."
"You may want to hear me out before you agree - her name is Liberty Morgenstern. You know the name?"
Morgenstern - the very name chilled Willow's blood. Arthur Morgenstern was the ideologue of the Red Fists, a failed religious student and qualified lawyer who had drifted from group to group before rising to prominence in the Red Fists through his intellectual persuasiveness and considerable legal nouse.

It was Morgenstern who had whipped the mobs up on the night of the revolution. It was Morgenstern who had set them on the houses of the rich, the bourgeouis, and anyone who was unlucky enough to be considered an enemy. After her father had ordered his men to fire on the mob attacking the General Assembly, it was Morgenstern who had sent the mob to their house.
"S-She is-"
"His only daughter, yes. 19, would you believe - and responsible for a whole company of Revolutionary Guards. I have taught you the methods - I want to see how you will perform when faced with a real challenge. No matter how much you wish to strike her, and no matter how much she deserves it, you must remain civil and pleasant."
"...Yes sir."
"Now, Robert and Louisa have both had they turn with her, playing the 1st and 2nd roles. Yours is to be the fourth one - sympathetic and friendly, is that understood? Harold is recording the whole thing."
It was all part of the drill - as many as four different interrogation styles in succession, each one designed to break down a layer of defence.

The interrogation room was a modified vault. There was something wonderfully symbolic about that - the inmates were being held prisoners in a building that symbolised the capitalist state they so hated.
Willow breathed in, smoothing down her tunic. She had practiced this dozens of times - but this would be her first real test. In her hand she held two cups of coffee. Three of her fellow officers had tried, and they had all failed to break this one. Now it was her turn.

The door was opened, and she walked into the vault. She maintained a friendly face, but behind it she felt cold shock. The coyote/dog hybrid was just so young looking - she could have been mistaken for a girl of 15, or even for a boy.
"Hello! I'm Lieutenant Willow Fawnsworthy. I'll be keeping you company while we try to find you a car to take you to the detention camp."
Liberty kept her head down, ignoring the hand. Lt Robert the bull would have been cold and unfeeling with her. Lt Louisa the wolfess would have been merciless - picking apart her every ideal and conviction with well targeted sarcasm while endlessly bombarding her with agrressive questions. Willow had trained alongside them - she knew their preferred styles very well indeed.
"...I do not shake the hands of fascist lackeys - if you're going to kill me, just get it over with."
"Kill you? What an idea! We're not savages, you know. You'll be given your own room, and your parents will be informed that you are alive by the International Medical Corps."

For her own part, Liberty was feeling deeply uneasy. She was, indeed, both shocked and relieved at just how moderate her treatment had been. She had heard horror stories from the URS advisors about the Schwarzlanders in particular. When her leg had been wounded and the two Jagers had grabbed her by the arms she had begged them to kill her - she had half expected them to brutalise her then and there, and word that she was to be taken to the rear had only worsened those fears.
The bull called Robert had tedious and petty. Louisa however - Liberty swore that when the Revolution succeeded, she would see to it that bitch got what she deserved after what she had said about her father.
She felt some smug triumph when the wolfess had finally stomped off in disgust, but it was small comfort.

She had failed her father - that much she knew. Once word got out, he would be forced to answer for her before the Committee of the Nine.
A flicker of fear ran through her - she had shot two of her own troops as "cowards" when the enemy had come roaring onto York Hill.
The first one had been a boy of 18 who had refused to fire his weapon, the second had been an old veteran who had been fighting for years. He had just decided he had enough.
What did that make her now that she was a prisoner? She brushed all thoughts of it aside. Her father loved her - she would be punished, but he wouldn't let her stand before the firing squad when the Revolution came. Would he?

"Of course...."
Willow murmured.
"....You are also badly wounded. They will be informed of that, too."
The girl's shoulders slumped back down. Liberty tried to hide it, but a small part of her was thanking the doe fervently - that would make her position a bit safer.
She chastised herself - what was she so frightened of? She had nothing to fear from the Committee. She would accept her punishment and then continue to serve the Revolution that would happen soon. That MUST happen soon.

Willow handed her the coffee. "So....What part of New Haven are you from?"
"Revolution Square."
"Oh yes, I remember - I used to play under the big trees there. Do they still hold Winter Festivals on the Green? Oh, I remember those festivals....Warm cider and gingerbread with your friends and family."
Liberty shifted awkwardly.
"......Yes, we still hold it. Of course, the people have been freed from their theistic delusions, but people need to relax."
And so the conversation continued - Liberty was proving to be a tough nut to crack, uninterested in polite chit-chat and clearly determined to say as little as possible, her answers vague and aloof.

Still, Willow did manage to extract some nuggets of information - if the Winter Festival was still being held, then clearly the Red Fists were feeling the need to distract the people from something - food shortages, perhaps?
Willow maintained her gregarious facade, teasing out small facts bit by bit as the conversation went on. Liberty made a particularly bitter remark about "foreign interference" - she likely meant the Schwarzlanders, but something in her tone made Willow wonder. Was there friction between the Red Fists and their advisors?
Perhaps that was one of the reasons why co-ordination between the tanks and infantry had been so bad. The crews were almost certainly URS, from what little could be told from their remains.

Other remarks hinted at various goings on - Liberty was proud to note that some saboteurs had been shot for "machine-breaking" last week. That was a naive error - It told Willow that either dissent was present and strong, or that the Committee were becoming increasingly paranoid. She fought to control her disgust - she had learned that when terror was used to control, it was usually a sign of insecurity.

When Willow had felt that was the best she could get, she made an excuse. "I'm just going to see where your damn car has got to. I shall only be a minute."
In the corridor outside, she nodded to Major Joachim, who nodded back grimly. "Well done. She'll be taken to the detention facility in the old school."

He looked at his watch, and raised an eyebrow. "One and a half hours - good time for your first go. You handled that very well indeed, I think."
Willow blushed. "Thank you, sir."

~

"General Biermann....How exactly did you procure these?"
Stagg looked at the mountain goat in wonderment.

The four guns were each of them big enough to need a crew of ten. Each one was painted in steel grey.
They were the very latest the Hargenstadt Cannon Foundries could provide, each one a masterpiece of the gunner's art. Quick firing breech mechanisms, the latest rangefinding equipment, pneumatic tyres to make rough ground easier to traverse.

They were massive weapons, at least 180mm in calibre with very long, thin barrels. These were heavy field guns, built for long range firing in the mountains of Schwarzland's borders.
"How do you think, mein fruend? We smuggled them in disguised as agricultural machinery. Bribes helped of course, and we've got plenty of ammunition for each gun. They can hurl a shell 12 miles, on a good day. If we can take and hold Mount Totoket, we'll be able to shell that verdammten airfield of theirs. Let's see how they protect their shipping then!"

The warehouse was home to some of the latest weapons purchased by the New Haven defence department. Stagg didn't like to think about how they would repay the debts when the war ended.
Stagg smiled as he recognised a figure standing at the end of the warehouse. Biermann grunted. "Here we go."

The figure was clad in dark green britches and a maroon tunic. An officer of the Rain Island Syndicate. He chuckled as the figure advanced - Captain Louisa Bruining, one of the more senior officers in the Air Arm of the Rain Island Naval Syndicate. The anarchist bear was a huge figure, as big as Biermann and just as boisterous with a laugh like a stream of bullets thudding into a tree.
Her meaty hand was resting triumphantly on a huge object covered with tarpaulin.
"Looks like I've out done you yet again, Reinhardt."
Biermann grunted, the mountain goat muttering. "We shall see about that, Louisa."

The friendly rivalry between the two advisors was matched by that of their troops. The Rain Island Volunteer Battalion and the Kellerman Regiment had acid nicknames for each other - "The Rainy Day battalion" and the "Sausage Suckers" amongst others. But despite the mockery there was real respect too, a certain affection brewed by years of service alongside each other.
Biermann and Bruining embodied this friendly emnity perfectly - rumours even abounded that it extended to a (tempestous) romantic relationship, but no one would be so disrespectful of either officer to give air to such rumours.
The two giants were even now glowering at each other, Bruining bearing a slight smirk as she whipped the tarpaulin away.
It was a magnificent creation - a sweeping monoplane wingspan of about 40 feet, fuselage 30 feet long. It was painted sky blue, resting on great rubber wheels with four 30. calibre machineguns in the wings and a bay beneath for either four bombs or a single torpedo. A bubble canopy provided all-round vision for the single pilot.
Stagg knew good planes when he saw them - he had commanded a whole squadron of fighters in the Great War (the famous/infamous New Haven Flying Corps, a/k/a "The Three Ring Circus").
It was as though it had been moulded from one single piece in a great forge, it looked so perfect.

"Designed by Kypriakos and Volstead, I presume?"
"You bet - They call it the "New Haven special", modified specially to YOUR order. It'll swat those Red Fist biplanes from the sky, and it'll blow their supply ships out of the water."
"Not if I get to blow up their planes on that airfield, first." Biermann growled.
"Well then, let's see who can manage it first - my pilots or your gunners!"
"I don't bet on my troopers lives, Louisa."
"I thought that was what generals did all the time." The two giants came to within inches of each other.

Stagg decided he had better intervene before the two came to blows - or started kissing, for that matter.
"How many have you brought?" He enquired.
"12, with three spares on the way, and four instructors to help your pilots and mechanics get used to flying them. Will you er...try it out, sir?"
Stagg looked at the plane, the sight of it bringing back fond memories of old friends. "Alas no, I'm afraid. I would enjoy a look at the engine though - I have heard good things about K&V's latest model."
The New Haven Republic had only one significant military advantage - air power. Flying had been a hobby very much restricted to the pre-war upper classes, so it was no surprise that the Republic got the lion's share of skilled flyers when the civil war broke out.
Both sides had to rely on biplanes, cheap second hand fighters from the 20s or even the Great War with canvas stretched over wooden frames. Most of the Red Fist pilots seemed to be a jumble of foreign volunteers and "advisors" from the URS. None yet had been captured - it appeared that in order to aid deniability, the URS refused its pilots permission to wear parachutes.

These new planes would blow the old biplanes out of the sky, but unless they could knock out the airfield at Tweed south of New Haven, there would always be the chance the Red Fists would simply bring in its own, modern aircraft.
With the Schwarzlanders' aid, the Republic was turning out its own series of tanks, built on the chassis of tractors brought from Arcadia.
They were slow, but they were better than nothing.

Stagg nodded. These weapons might give the Republic the edge it finally needed to launch the offensive everyone had been waiting for. If Mount Totoket could be taken and the airfield at Tweed destroyed, Bruining's fighter-bombers could form a ring of steel around the coastline and sink any ships bringing in supplies.
The URS was dependent on food imports from its allies, now that Arcadia had finally decided to block off consumer goods as well. With the sea blocked off, the Red Fists would be starved of food and ammunition until they surrendered.

It was ruthless, Stagg knew that - but he had learned in 1931 just how horrific the alternative was. The nightmare of the confusing street-fighting during the revolution still haunted his dreams. More than that, he feared for the control of his troops. The Schwarzlanders could be trusted, he knew that - but many of the militia held bitter grievances, and for them to sack their own city would not be a good start to the new regime. If the Red Fists could be starved into surrender or at least weakened, it could save many lives on both sides.

Assuming they do surrender.
He thought bitterly. He had grown to know their mind-set well, and part of him suspected that they would simply hoard the food for their soldiers and let the people starve.
But if there was even just a slim chance of avoiding the horror of an assault on the city, he would take it.

~

"What about that brother of yours Preston? He going to be any trouble?"
Preston Stagg hissed through his teeth - partly at the whiskey searing down his throat, and partly at the mention of his despised half-brother, Commissioner Franklin J. Stagg. The corpulent whitetail buck glared across at his cronies. For a moment, the crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound. Since the revolution, the old regime had been left discredited and sidelined. The Old Guard of the past were now reduced to meetings in the clubs of Arcadian cities.
Early in the conflict, when it had looked liek the Revolution might succeed, many politicians had fled into Arcadia, disgracing themselves even further. Preston, to his credit, had not been among them. But his failure to offer a viable, peaceful alternative to the Red Fists' radicalism had not been forgotten, nor forgiven.
"Let me handle the sprog."
"He has the loyalty of the militia-"
"Don't mean a damn. My brother's a softie."
"I heard he's letting his youngest doe marry one of the savages." A boar smirked tauntingly. Talk had spread about the match between Gerfried and Margaret - publicity came with Stagg's rank. Most of the wagging tones were in approval - but not all.
Presston snorted. "Interbreeding - the morals in this country have gone to the dogs."
"Doesn't surprise me - from what I hear of what happened in the Revolution, your two youngest nieces are right little sluts."
The boar yelled in shock as Preston's fist collided with his snout, fsending their boar flying back. The armchair flipped under his weight, and the boar found himself sprawlwed on the floor with Presston standing above him. The politician brushed himself off and grunted.
"Never, ever again say that, MISTER Richards. They are bastards, but they are still MY family. They are MINE to insult, not yours. Do you understand me?"
The boar groaned.
One of the club's other patrons queried nervously.
"...When is the wedding?"
"In a week's time. And no - I am not going."

~

The chapel was silent.
It had been a short but intense courtship - every moment of spare time they got, Gerfried and Margaret had spent in each other's company. Stagg had seen to it they got leave at the same time as much as possible.
On these seven day furloughs, the two would often cross the border into Arcadia for a trip to the mountains, or the streets of New Amsted for shopping and cinemas. Woodburys' facilities were limited, so anyone who had money to spare would cross the border for a few days recreation out of the war-zone.
This had gone on since the day they had first met, and in that time they had got to know each other's deepest held secrets. They had told each other things they wouldn't even tell their families, nor even Miss Arnsson, the counsellor they shared.
It hadn't shaken their love, knowing each other's flaws and quirks - it had only strengthened it.

In accordance with Trinitarian tradition, Gerfried stood by the altar - but in respect to his own heritage he stood facing the chapel door, head bowed in a a sign of fealty. He was dressed in magnificent austerity, dark green tunic and trousers cinched in at the waist by a black belt, with black jackboots polished to a shine.
The only concession to decoration was his silvered buckle and shoulder braid. The ribbons of his medals were on his left breast. His sword was left in the doorway, an ancient custom dating back to the old tribal ways, when treachery had been a real danger even at weddings.
Standing nearby as his best man was Major Joachim, the stout mole standing to the side.
It it was getting near to sunset outside, and the guest list was small - close friends and family only. It may have seemed excessive to some, but Major Joachim and Stagg insisted on no risks - the raid on the Elton hotel had shown just how effective the Red Fists could be at infiltration. The attack on the Stagg family had shown just how vindictive they could be, too.
The wolverine was utterly stoic, but inside it, his heart was higher than it had been for many, many years. He had long given up hope of ever feeling such happiness again, yet now it seemed to fill every inch of his body.

Diana Stagg sat in the front bench, dressed in an elegant blue dress and rimmed spectacles. With her were Whitney St James, Allan Minkerton, Emmanuel Lupino ("Uncle Manny"), Henri Charles Grandcerf, Miss Lopp and one or two of Diana's old school friends and an aunt.
On the other side of the chapel were Sergeant Szanto, General Biermann, a couple of officers and a formidable looking wolverine female who could only be Gerfried's mother. She had flown all the way across the sea in a zeppelin to Arcadia and then crossed the border just to attend the wedding.
All the Schwarzlanders wore different uniforms - Joachim's was similar to that of Gerfried, but Sergeant Szanto wore the black pelisse and cavalry boots of the Huszar divisions.
The wolverine female wore a resplendant sky blue tunic, along with white britches and polished black jackboots.
Whitney St James wore his old red dress uniform, straining only slightly around the chest. Everyone else wore their best - smart suits and dresses with fine hats.

The organ struck up a slow, gentle tune as the bride entered. Margaret was clad in her mother's dress - a flowing white gown with a veil in the old pre-war fashion. Behind her followed Willow and Helen, both in their own white dresses as their sister's bridesmaids.
Beside Margaret strode Stagg, his arm linked with hers. The white-tail buck had his head held high and was in his best police dress uniform, even if he felt a little awkward in it.

Margaret was happy - beneath the veil she wore a big smile and was looking only at Gerfried, and he at her.
Mounting the stairs to the altar, Margaret stood in front of Gerfried and, reaching out, took his hands in hers. They were practically hugging into each other, her chest against his abdomen.
The ceremony by the priest went by in a blur - neither the bride nor the groom seemed to notice, his head resting on hers through the veil, hands clasped around hers.
"Gerfried Kunkel?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you take Margaret Stagg to be your wedded wife."
Gerfried didn't even look at the priest. His eyes were fixed on Margaret.
"Yes. Forevermore."
"And do you, Margaret Stagg, take Gerfried Kunkel to be your wedded husband?"
Margaret looked up at Gerfried, her violet eyes sparkling in the evening sun. She whispered, if only because she feared her voice was break if she spoke any louder. "Yes. Forevermore."
"I pronounce this couple husband and wife. You may now-"
Margaret and Gerfried had pre-empted him, the doe standing on her tiptoes until Gerfried picked her up, hands on the small of her back.
A tear rolled down the white-tail doe's cheek, and her voice quivered as the chapel was filled with applause.
"I-I'm so happy, darling...."
Gerfried whispered back into her ear. He too was fighting to keep his voice from cracking. "This...."
He whispered.
"This the greatest day of my life, mein schatz. You've made me the happiest man here."
She took his, and put it to her abdomen. He rubbed her flesh through the fabric. "Darling, tonight c-could we...." She stammered.
His voice became a low, lustful growl. "If I haven't already, then I certainly shall. I shall give you hordes of children."
Margaret stifled a giggle as Gerfried carried her in his arms down the aisle.

Diana and Stagg held each other's hand as they watched the happy couple depart. The carriage waited outside to take them to the guesthouse, where it was agreed they would have a full week of leave to enjoy.
The guests followed in their own cars to the reception, which was being held in the guesthouse parlour.

The building itself was very old - early 18th century, built in the style of old country houses with whitewashed timber walls and a thatched roof. They had the building to their selves - all the staff had been rigorously vetted before-paw by Minkerton's men who even now kept watch outside.

The parlour was lit only by a roaring fire in the hearth and like the house it too had the feel of an old country home. Large eastern rugs lined the floor, and arcane weapons hung on the panelled walls.
When Gerfried and Margaret appeared from upstairs they seemed radiant, both wearing the same soft smile and hands almost permanently held in each other's.
"I have news," The violet eyed doe whispered. "The Doctors have accepted my application. I'm going to be trained in surgery, Gerfried."
Gerfried hugged her closer, chuckling. "You'll be good at it, too. You have dainty hands, and a strong heart. But...what if we have a child?"
"They said that would be fine as long as I did the paperwork at home. They need doctors, and fast. Besides...." She smiled. "I've been working as a nurse since I was 15. I know how to look after babies."
When they thought no one was looking, Gerfried gave his new wife's rear a squeeze, one that she returned cheekily.

They both blushed as Diana raised a reproachful eyebrow at them, a smile playing on her lips. She turned to her husband.
"....I think we may have to prepare ourselves, darling. For an apocalypse of tiny feet."
"Knowing my son, we won't have much time to prepare."
They turned to see Gerfried's mother - Generalmajor Gertrude Kunkel. The fearsome wolverine was as tall as her son, with greying fur and in her 40s to 50s, faded red hair done up behind her in a short plait. Her eyes were piercing blue, and she had about her the demeanour of a born soldier - icy and distant.

She gripped Diana's hand first, and bent over to kiss her on the cheek. She then did the same to Stagg - it was an odd custom common amongst the Schwarzlanders as a sign of affection to family.
"I would like to thank you for welcoming my son into your family, and I must say that in your daughter he has made an excellent choice, as has she in him."
Her expression relaxed from its previous stoicism, and a hint of warmth came to her eyes.
"....She has done wonders for him. I know my son very well, and I have not seem him so happy in a very long time. As we are now kin, I would like to invite you to our home when it is feasible for you to come, you and as many of your family as will go."
Stagg looked at Diana, who nodded and smiled. "That would be very nice, Gertrude. And please, call us by our names - you're part of our family now, as we are of yours."

Willow watched the proceedings from the sidelines. She found herself thinking of Reggie Buckhorn again - he hadn't been able to make it to the wedding, but he hoped to attend the reception.
Still, their friendship had blossomed into something more. She couldn't stop thinking about the handsome buck, nor could she stop worrying about him. His presence at the front only drove her all the harder, however. The harder everyone worked, the sooner the war would be won.
Helen, flirtatious as ever, was already chatting up one of Gerfried's companions - a bat a head shorter than her.

Sergeant Szanto and Diana were chatting enthusiastically in a language Willow did not recognise as normal Schwarzlandsprach. She knew her mother was well read, and she also knew that some of her mother's family had come from the massive forests to the west of Schwarzland, where such a language was still spoken.
"Igazán?"
"Igen, esküszöm!"
Friendships could be found in the strangest places. She would never have imagined her mother and Szanto would have much in common, yet they were talking as though they had known each other for years.

Gerfried and Margaret cut the cake, a magnificent creation made by the cooks of the Kellerman Regiment. Rationing existed, but Arcadian companies were proving most generous. Supplying the struggling New Haven Republic with foodstuffs was excellent advertisement. Gerfried and Margaret proceeded to feed each other pieces of cake, while all around the guests clapped.
A figure came into the parlour, drenched through and traipsing mud behind it. "I say, I really must apologise I'm so late. I came off my bike a little way up the road and it took half an hour to get the dashed thing started again."
"Reggie, darling!"
The drenched buck smiled as Willow embraced him. "Careful dear, I'm wet."

He removed his coat, and set about removing his boots, revealing himself to still be in full officers uniform.
His arrival was greeted warmly by the other guests. For the rest of the evening, Buckhorn stood awkwardly in only his socks, his coat steaming by the fire.
He and Willow watched and chatted together, occasionally speaking to some of the other guests.
As the evening wore on, Willow found herself inching closer to the young buck. She smiled, cocking her head up the stairs.
"Come on dear - everyone's retiring."
Buckhorn looked at her, and went a deep red. He and Margaret had been snatching time together whenever they could - clandestine meetings at cafes and street corners. Their original admiration for each other had morphed into something far stronger and far more intimate.
"I say.....I-Is this an invitation to...?"
"It's whatever you wish it to be."
The young buck had to fight to keep his tail from twitching.
"...Lead the way, milady."

They didn't notice Diana rub her brows in exasperation as the two of them raced up the stairs.
They were followed a few seconds later by almost everyone else - Gerfried carrying Margaret in his muscular arms, Major Joachim holding Miss Lopp's hand in a stately manner. Everyone had ingested far too much wine it seemed.
"Youths."
Stagg looked down at her, and kissed her on the lips. "Come, darling. Let us to bed."
Diana stifled a smile as Stagg hefted her up from the chair. "You still have it."
"Surprised?"
"...Never."