"Of course they have," Corrival said as he shrugged on his coat. "And most of them remember serving under me. For some reason, that puts them off asking too many questions once I start talking about background-checks." His words were bland, but his soul was amused and exasperated at once. He really did not want to have to handle the Americans, Solomon noted.

The ex-Necromancer grinned at the leaf-rustling astonishment in Ravel's soul. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you never heard someone with a sense of humour before."

He found Ravel's elbow and followed the man's guidance toward the door, but unfortunately the surge of mischief was just a little too late to actually prevent him from hitting the frame. It was enough to ensure he only struck it with his shoulder. "I'm revising the magnitude of your tip, Reveller," he grumbled, wincing. "And disappointed at the service around here. Perhaps I should report you to the management."

"I am the management," Corrival pointed out, though not without amusement, as he followed them and closed the door behind them all. "And if you two children don't stop pulling each others' pigtails, I'm going to have to put you in separate corners."

Solomon laughed. He was also fairly sure that there was a faint strangled noise coming from Tipstaff's direction, and turned his head toward the man, still with amusement written across his sightless face. "Something you have to say, Administrator?"

"I, uh, forgot to remind sirs of the tailoring appointment. As soon as you've seen to the Ambassador." The man was almost babbling. Solomon would have found that amusing, if not for the words 'tailoring appointment'.

"What tailoring appointment?" Corrival asked, sounding bemused.

"For your official robes, Grand Mage."

Oh, lovely. "Just what I always wanted," Solomon murmured.