Khymarah lifted her chin slightly, eyebrows drawing together a little. She didn't really like this man's attitude, as though he was one to talk. He didn't look like anyone she'd known at school, but then again, he did look older than she was. Crossing her arms, she looked up at him.

"Actually, to be quite frank, I have not earned a thing. The 'propriety' I have was bestowed on me when I was born into this body. It is not something I consider a risk to loose. These 'folks' are worth more to me than any galdori has ever, and I would give up everything to see them find freedom and respect." Glancing around, she lowered her voice, a flush rising to her cheeks.

"Besides, it is better than spending my days sitting glass eyed in my home pretending the world is all flowers and spring lambs."

Fion had felt Khymarah's field near her. Knowing she was close ensured that she didn't worry until she felt Corwynn's field move in as well. She glanced behind, again disliking the sight of the older man so close to her friend. It wasn't her place to interfere for Khymarah, at least not before her more maternal ire peaked. She kept her ears pricked.

Ceres turned back to look at the small space in the air between Khymarah and Corwynn; it seemed as though he was looking at both of them at once. His field did not change much, but there was a subtle indication of disapproval.

"Corwynn, we need to talk," he said abruptly, turning away from the foyer to an unassuming side hallway. His eyes added the rider: before I see the King.

It had been many years since he had entered the palace, but he remembered the way to Hawke's chambers as though it had been yesterday; somehow that slow, agonizing walk had patterned itself inside his mind. He gestured for the other galdor to follow him, his face serious.

Rinata glared at him from the foyer, standing ankle-deep in the thick, luxurious carpet. Around her, the minions of Hawke bustled, hurrying to help the injured prisoners. One brought blankets, another distributed flasks; the liquor inside was strong and sweet, and tasted like astringent coconuts.

The man who had approached Fion and Stu seemed uncertain about what was going on between Ceres and Corwynn; he turned away, shrugging, but looked a little nervous. In his experience, gollies were bad news, no matter what.

"I'll jus' show ye to the Loft, then," he said, gesturing them to follow, and Khymarah too, after a brief pause. "Beds an' whiskey an' bread. I reckon the King likes ye, whoever ye are."

He grabbed Stu a little roughly, and the bartender winced as the stranger supported him. "I'm all right, actually," he mumbled, but the man had no intentions of disobeying orders, some of which were help the gimpy ones, bugger the rest.


----


The Loft was badly named, as it was on the second floor, and there were two stories above it. The main hallway from the foyer split into a double staircase, and the guests limped and climbed in poor spirits before they realized that they were not being asked to scale the entire mansion.

It was a stately wing, or might have been; the carpet underfoot was slightly worn and discolored, and a little redder in some places than in others, and the curtains looked ancient and moth-eaten. Wall hangings depicted completely random scenes from at least eight different cultures - that one legendary Mugrobi swordsman defeating the Sea Serpent of Sha'o, that Hoxian monk who lived to be a thousand years old, that famous battle between Breth and the outlying tribes of humans. The wallpaper was stained and torn, but bits of gold peeked through amid tattery pink and white scraps; in places you could see the original pattern.

There were individual bedrooms, but they were led instead to a larger common room, where large, overstuffed sofas had been laid out in advance. Stu, despite his state of numbness, noted that there were three more than strictly needed. A few nervous-looking doctors stood to one side, as well as two witches, clutching at talismans and whispering to each other. They looked as though they had no idea who Hawke's guests were.

Being relieved of the burden of Stu's weight was not actually a welcome event in Fion's day. She suddenly felt bereft of purpose and the comfort of having him close to her, where she could feel his heart beat as proof he was alive and well. Her only relief was seeing Ceres call Corwynn away from Khymarah. She didn't like him, the way he talked and the way he looked at Khymarah.

As soon as they were close enough, Fion linked her hand into Khymarah's. It was shaking slightly, as she watched Stu moving ahead.

"I don't like that man." She whispered to the other woman.

Her lips were pursed and her mind was overflowing with memories of similar men in entirely different situations. She couldn't find a reason because there were too many flavours to her dislike to describe it properly.

"I need to talk to you, when you have a minute." She said, her mind flowing back to home and her son and suffering Ivan.

Khymarah breathed a sigh of relief as Ceres called Corwynn away from her, suppressing a small shudder. He reminded her of the leering and repulsive underlings she'd encountered months ago aiding a young woman.



Walking up the stairs, she looked at the tattered wall hangings, wondering if the state of disrepair was a genuine thing, or just for show. Eitherway, it gave her a sense of unease, as though the place were a secret phasmosia.

Feeling a familiar presence beside her, she smiled, squeezing the seamstresses hand. It was a welcome gesture, giving her strength and comfort in the strange place. Where all else was cold and uninviting, she still had Fion.

"I don't care for him either. Something about the way he talks, its...creepy."



Turning her head, she looked around, then nodded, eyebrows drawing together slightly.

"Of course. I think we're being settled in here. Unless you need to tend to Stu, I think we have a moment. Plus, if we talk together, perhaps that blonde man will find someone else to bother."

"Everyone needs a hobby—" Corwynn was laughing, preparing an inappropriate retort to Khymarah, when Ceres interrupted first by his field, then by his presence and finally with his voice. The sea-weathered lines of his face tightened into something disdainful, but the blond was only momentarily annoyed by the request. He could always play more games later; there was business at hand, after all.

With a shrug and an almost imperceptible, casual nod, he followed the older galdor, managing to shoot Rinata a cautious sort of smirk before turning the corner and down the hallway. His less-whole left hand strayed to his face, thumbing his nose in thought as the gunman ventured, expression coy but tone serious,

"I'm no good at pep talks, if that's what you're hoping for, old man." Not that Ceres was really terribly much older than himself, considered Corwynn, right hand comfortable and loose on the pistol ever-present at his hip, "I'm sure that's not what you meant, however. What would you like to discuss instead?"

---

Tanner was probably the most wide-eyed she'd been the whole adventure, taking in the whole gaudy excuse for a palace with a mixed expression of curiosity and fear. This was a strange place, an unusual capstone to a strange evening indeed. Still, she followed along slowly, fingers straying to trace the peeling wallpaper, watching the varying degrees of criminality represented in their benefactors as if she wanted to take notes. If only the one with a nice gun wasn't some scary golly. Ugh.

Knowing if she drank now, she'd definitely be asleep, the young human went straight for the bread and plopped herself down next to Casey, waiting for a few mouthfuls before trying to come up with a topic of conversation amid all of the settling and placating, hoping to eventually find the familiar boy some sort of medical attention,

"I hope we don't have to spend the whole darn time in this room. That would be boring."

"I hope Ceres keeps him away forever." Fion said, voice snide.

Fion glanced forward at Stu. She needed to talk to Khymarah but she didn't want him out of her sight. It felt too uncomfortable and as unlikely as it was that he would, she wanted to be near if he did need her. She had lost people in her life but the feeling was so distant, even compared to the fear she'd felt when she'd thought her uncle Sean was dead. This was immediate. She had seen it, with her own eyes.

"Can it wait, just a moment, maybe?" Fion asked, holding the other woman's hand tighter, without thinking.

"It's about..." She wasn't sure she should say it.

Khymarah nodded, a small smile on her face. She wanted to know what Fion had to say, in fact, her mind screamed it.

About what?!?

But she knew that look, that tone of voice. Fion was worried, distracted. They would have time, later.

"It's fine. Truly. I can wait. There are a lot of things that need attention now, talking is a luxury we can take once things have settled."