The door slammed. The Cynn waited a moment, regaining his composure. Then he stepped briskly forward to the podium, muttering, < All right... >

He glanced up at the three scribes that were seated in the front row of the tiered amphitheater seating. < And you lot, are you staying? >

< Yes, Cynn, > one of them replied, and another added, < We'll transcribe, quorum or no. >

< Very well, then, > the Cynn agreed. < I'll begin now. >

He raised two of his fingers, and a thin bright arc of greenish light shot from them, connecting in a lightning thread to the angled glass bowl on the table behind him. On contact the light resolved into concentric circles, contained by the glass bowl's shape, humming. The base of the bowl was connected to the metal perch on which Sraddi sat by seemingly just a coppery wire; the lightning danced around it, and up the perch, and around Sraddi's claws.

A soft whirring noise began, and Sraddi said, < Connection established. Transmitting. >

The Cynn took a deep breath.

From the radio sat on the lip of the fountain, his voice issued: < Good day, Escalus. >