"Be it the hour?" asked the man in the red cloak who stood in the center of the hall.
"Oh, Uriel's beard, Stefan," muttered another man in a yellow cloak. "Of course it is! Would we be here if it wasn't? No! It's the hour! The bloody, blasted hour!"
Stefan glared at his fellow. "Firstly, I am the Master of the Red during this meeting, Master of the Yellow. And secondly, we are here to follow the traditions of the Inner Circle of the Ancients!"
"During an emergency meeting?" snapped the Master of the Yellow. "And by the Gods, just call me 'Willard'! I do not care!"
"And that is your problem!" declared Stefan. "Respect for the ancient traditions is the sign of a member of the... Ancients." He fidgeted. "Especially the Inner Circle."
"Well, we've got the damned Nightfolk who are our allies now, remember, coming here en masse to figure out why one of the men they sent here is dead," said Willard quietly. "I would say the traditions of our forefathers may, politely, go pitch themselves out the window."
"There are no windows in this chamber!" stated the Master of the Blue.
"It was a metaphor, Alexis," noted Willard, rolling his eyes. "I mean, if you wish to take it so far, the traditions of our forefathers don't have legs and can't pitch themselves anywhere."
The Master of the White leaned forward. "Perhaps we can give them legs, so that they can." He looked around the chamber. "I move for an immediate committee of the Inner Circle be formed to look into this."
The Master of the Grey nodded. "I second this motion!"
Willard groaned quietly. Stefan chuckled. "And this is what comes of ignoring our ancient and venerable traditions."
The Master of the Purple turned, and hushed them. "Be quiet you two! We've a floor vote coming up!"