--[i][b]villain[/b][/I]

His first thought, upon entering the tent, was that this entire situation was utter insanity. His second thought was that he was well used to that by now, having dealt with his mother and his neurotic aunt. This brand, though, was fairly new. Neither of his matrons had a [i]superiority[/I] complex. Inferiority, in his aunt’s case, yes. And he thought he was arrogant.

He stood, awkwardly, at the mouth of the tent, unsure of what he was waiting for exactly. He held his staff at the horizontal, it being too tall to be stood up in the small tent. The girl sat, and he eyed the sparse opulence of the… abode, as it were. Mostly empty, but what it did have must have cost a fortune. He eyed the wardrobe in particular, his mother used to have one like it, and he’d taken ownership of it after a while. And then she visited one day and tipped it out a window and into the small stream directly next to the house. [I]That[/I] was a busy day.

She spoke, and he listened and made a face when she mentioned what the goblet did. He couldn't understand why anyone would drink from it if it turned all the liquid to blood in the first place, so he passed it off as mostly harmless.

'Mood lighting,' she'd said. He would have said 'I don't appreciate being told what to do,' in a similarly haughty way, if he thought she would listen or care. Had he a better head on his shoulders, he'd have said it anyway.

As it was, he set his staff on the ground and knelt down. He opened the indicated chest and rifled through it, grimacing every time he accidentally touched something with a strange label. He would need to wash his hands later. A lot. The candles were gotten with no ill effect, probably, and he stood once more to set them around and light them. Of all things, he could at least consider himself an excellent candle lighter.

At the end of it, he couldn't really say the mood changed or was enhanced in any form by the candles, but, well, he tried.

As per her second set of instructions, he crouches and briefly wonders what in the hell he's doing. He feels ridiculous with his arms up, and is fairly certain he's going to end up falling over.

"I can sing," he says. Sort of, is what he doesn't say. He'd only ever done hymns, and his voice had changed since then.