[ From all haggard appearance, he's quite hungover. Then again, so's half the city. Jaime slouches, unamused, against the back wall of the stables. Petals tangle in his rumpled hair, and one particularly loud orchid looks to have been actually knotted into place. ]

When we've all recovered, I've two questions. Three, if you feel generous.

Well, aren't you a perfect busybody! [ The orchid snaps, as Jaime casts his eyes skyward, imploring. ] Back in my day, rude little weeds like you didn't just trample all over, making everything their business! Back in my day --

[ Without warning, his hand leaps up to snatch the flower, crumpling around it tight. It wiggles and thrashes in his palm, but Jaime only grips tighter, until at last the struggling quiets. With a wary motion, he slowly lets go. The orchid hangs limp. ]

-- First. Many of us seem to have received a gift. If you will speak of it, I would ask what you received.

My second question is the graver. In your homes, what laws and systems govern men? What actions are crimes, and what measures taken against the criminal?

They ought to call you a criminal! [ Squeaks the orchid, faint and indignant. ] Ruffian! Knave!

Last, will someone help me cut this bloody thing out?