Forced Visitation

Ambrose frowned a little, not seeing as how the middle finger could prompt laughter-- okay, he could see it somewhat, but that didn't mean he approved of it. He managed a smirk despite himself, though. Damn it, since when did he smile so much?

"Much appreciated." Ambrose was never one to say 'thank you,' but he managed to convey the feeling in his own way.

With a wave of the hand, Ambrose left the councelor's room, satisfied with the events despite Their interruption. He had an ally on this forsaken island. After all this time . . . he could actually talk to someone. And that made all the difference.

He nodded and waved his hand in return. Well, that was rather rough, but a success nonetheless. After the door closed behind the boy, Richard huffed in annoyance, putting his hands on his hips and looking first to the broken chair, then to the shards of glass scattered by the window. Okay, very rough.
He stepped forward and picked up both his chair and the one Ambrose broke. As he lifted the latter off the ground, the leg fell off, forming quite the perfect wooden stake that dropped to the floor with a thud. Richard stared at it for a second, then gave the chandelier a daring smile and sent the stake spinning across the floor with a kick.