The roof in the Hall of the Ancients leaked quite badly in heavy rainstorms, something that the Ancients had complained about on numerous occasions, resulting in numerous efforts to repair this flaw that had, to date, invariably failed. And so the Ancients met there in the rain, and did their best to ignore the water.
While wearing masks and robes, which somehow made it all worse.
"So, the matter is ended then," spoke the Master of the Yellow.
"Indeed," said the Keeper of the Green, who then glanced up after a stray drop struck his hood, only to get another drop in his mask.
"Excellent," said the Knight of the Red, moving back and forth nervously to avoid drops. "I propose we henceforth never speak of this matter."
"Here here!" came the voices.
"The motion carries!" said the Master of the Yellow. "Now, we never speak of it."
"Speak of what?" asked the Wearer of the Violet.
"You know," hissed the Master of the Yellow.
"I was showing that it was out of my head," replied the Wearer of the Violet.
"Ahhh, yes," said the Master of Yellow. "Very good. And that will be the last we speak of the subject."
"Oh, dear," said the Judge of Last Hours. "I just realized my wife and I were supposed to dine with him tonight." He sighed. "Whatever will I tell Beatrice?"
The entire hall turned and motioned for him to be quiet.
"Oh, oh, right," he muttered embarassedly. "Just... forget I said that." A large drop of water landed on his hood and then traveled slowly down its front, then began to run down his mask, all while he stood there awkwardly.