The Harlequin gave a brief flourish before giving the Prince a bow so low almost to be mocking, the bells of his cap clattering against the floor as he bent over in faux supplication.
"My dearest Prince, I have words for you! The people have spoken with one voice, a mighty blood-shaking roar to move the spirit and drive the heart! Shall I tell you?"
The Harlequin leaned in, propped up on one emaciated leg, his head tilted to the side and his palm pressed up against his ear. The Prince gave an annoyed, impatient sigh, before waving the Harlequin on to continue with his announcement.
"The people!" Shouted the Harlequin, "Say this: Bugger the Ancients! Detroit will not bow down to them, we like our own tyrant, thank you very much! Let them huff and puff until all of the hot air makes them pop like balloons! Detroit belongs to us! Let the Ancients choke on the sticks rammed up their asses! The people also say this:"
The Harlequin paused for dramatic flair before continuing on. "We will not make war on the Ancients. Yet. If they think they can take Detroit by force, let them try! Let us make friends with the cities they have enslaved, let us make them the mockery of the world! Humiliate them, degrade them, rip out their teeth and watch as their slaves turn against them! Stab them at the roots, destroy any support they have elsewhere!"
Once more bowing comically low, the Harlequin held out his hand, palm skywards. "The people have spoken! My Prince, you have the floor!"
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