Augustus’ heels clicked the coal-black stone that paved the streets of Vienda as he made his was forward. His recently combed hair had already been drenched by the downpour that only had started the hour before. When he left his apartment, the deluge seemed as though it was going to subside for the day; well things usually aren’t as they seem. Because of Augustus’ miscalculation, he decided not to bring an umbrella or a hat; he only wore his frock-coat and normal attire.

He traced the steps he had taken down this boulevard; this was his sixth time walking the very same path. He didn’t like to wear or do the exact same thing more than once, but his affiliates had, on more than one occasion, forgot their lunch dates. He hoped this was the last time he would have to eat alone at the bistro. Being a noticeable persona on the streets was never good especially if you were alone, people would become suspicious of something.

There was only one thing the young thespian dreaded when he paced down the well worn lane. The old and prestigious law firm of Snodgrass, Hamilton, and Penrose stood right at the mouth of Crosstown Court, where Augustus’ lunch dates awaited his arrival, hopefully. Eugene Snodgrass probably sat in his large second story office, going over paperwork, scolding some new associate that forgot to cross the ts. Augustus’ brothers probably sat in their smaller, yet equally grand offices. Augustus’ first four brothers had already made partner, a noteworthy promotion since all the brothers were under thirty. Their father had most likely had been the reason for their most illustrious promotions.

Augustus had not seen his father or first three brothers in over three years, his mother and other siblings were the only family members to keep in touch with him after the disinheritance. He would have given anything to reconcile with his father, and for his father to appreciate the career he had chosen for himself.

He exhaled quickly slipped passed the law firm, gladly none of the cloaked counselors retreating to their favorite lunch spots recognized him as their employer’s son. Ironically, he and his father look uncannily similar; if one would age Augustus about twenty years, they wouldn’t who was the lawyer and who was the thespian.

As the quaint, but beautiful bistro came into view, all of Augustus’ fears for the day had subsided. He could see his two society colleagues sitting at the same table, out on the terrace waiting for their host. The two galdori seemed to contrast each other considerably. One was a tall, gangly, blonde male while the other was a short, curvy, redheaded female; they didn’t seem to fit together.

Augustus approached the table without the help of the hostess; she always seemed to give him an attitude of some sort or another. The table was round and green, with leaf like accents on the legs; there were three seats, two of which were already occupied by the odd couple. As he sat down, picking up the wine menu before his hindquarter even touched the seat.

“Sorry, I am late,” He said, glancing up at the two for a brief second. “I wonder if they have any wines from the turn of the century, it was quite a good year.”

It wasn’t often that Lilliana Steerpike looked erudite. Pretty, yes. Polished, yes. Intellectual? Not quite. But here in this moment she was. Not chatting up the young man next to her, not pursing her lips over the selection of teas – Ana was huddled quite unbecomingly (which, as far as Anas went, wasn’t really that unbecoming at all) over a brick of book. The parti-colored light spells illuminating the cafe were far more pleasing to read by than that steeped tea brown of the Viendan Library, where she had effectively ostracized herself and Mister Luccullis for the past week.

She did not look her usual sugared confection self. The taxing times and sleepless evenings had stripped her of vast bustle and veils; even her corset was ‘charmingly understated’ at the very best. No massive gown, but a white silk blouse with sweet pearl clasps, buttoned all the way up to her pale throat. Flowing skirts of frothy green, spangled with a lovely filigree of golden laurels around the hip and hem. A pair of round-framed glasses perched on her nose – she hated the old iron things deeply, because they must make her look so matronly, but the script in some of these books was impossibly small and crabbed. There was no way to avoid it, no matter how dreadful she might look. She felt like a silly schoolgirl again, cramming herself with study the eve before a rigorous exam.

Mister Luccullis had proven to be quite tolerable. There had not been an overflow of words exchanged that weren’t regarding the subject of old Anaxi law. Perhaps, she had surmised, that whole ‘living in the grotesque Dives and drinking vast quantities of liquor and conducting oneself in an unseemly social fashion’ bit was simply a phase, a fit of...artistic expression? Campion Luccullis came from Good People after all. That painfully well-bred sensibility in her struggled to think one from such a prosperous (if slightly blighted) family could do much terribly wrong. Good Lady, she would never understand the whims of artists.

Ana had been a moment away from querying him again about the nature of Brunnhold’s legal hierarchy and all that frilly bureaucracy one had to slog through in order to gain special dispensation to move among the gated passives, but –

Her mildly haggard look was quick to rearrange itself into the cold mask of propriety when she heard an all too familiar voice.

“I do not drink wine, Mister Snodgrass,” she murmured, gaze downcast, the epitome of demure maidens. Frostily polite, not even dredging up her usual candyfloss smile. All this legal jargon and sleeplessness devoted to horrid books had left her a touch too weary to place much stock in her characteristic sweetness. A sigh stirred somewhere in her chest, but she held it back. As much as Lilliana was, frankly, discomfited by Mister Snodgrass’s presence, there was no denying he would be quite expert on the subject at hand. An executive decision: He could linger.

“Do seat yourself, my good boy,” she added with the faint workings of a smile. “Mister Luccullis and I are simply taking a respite from our research for my upcoming trip to, ah, Brunnhold.”

If Ms Steerpike had been worried about her usual high standards slipping in relation to her attire and demeanour she could have done much worse than Campion for a companion. As it was, at present, Ana at her most poorly dressed could have been a queen in comparison. Yet again, he sat swamped by a suit that had never been large but now looked ridiculously so, expensive- you could tell from the material, but in woefully bad condition. A bony hand was held lightly over another book on the table, his skin mottled in places and translucent pale in others. Lethargy had set in and he made no attempts to scan the page- it was clear that Campion had not the fervor for the subject of the books that Ana did.

In fact, all this talk of liberating Aurelie and this research made Campion feel nervous- made the memory of Triston nigh on impossible to bury. And with the arival of Percy Snodgrass, who’s history Campion knew rather well, this unpleasant line of thought was far from dispeled. Percy had done right by his passive and even if he would live five hundred years to regret it, it was still a far kinder act than what Campion had done. How strange then, that Ana Steerpike should act so frostily to dear Percy and so amicably towards himself!

Campion had, of course done his best to aid Ana over the last week and her zealous scouring of the library, he shocked himself by remembering some of his training at the law firm and a few spots of legal terminolgy here and there- Campion hadn’t even been aware he was paying attention when it had all been explained to him the first time. Aside from rare moments of helpfullness, Campion had contented himself to doodling at a chair in the library in much the same way he had done as a boy in Brunnhold. His heart and soul were not in the persuit of this knowledge however, though both he and Ana looked equally drawn- Ana through grim determination, Campion through fears of this months rent and where on earth he was going to replinish the empty larder and his empty stomach and the slow exhaustion that his body had begun to feel.

“Apologizing for your tardiness? Nonsense, Perce,” grinned Campion, using his old school friends real name as he had always been custom to. “You theatrical types have to keep up appearances. I think I would have keeled over in shock if you weren’t fashionably late!”

Campion had to admit that the wine sounded a delightful idea, but vintage wine from a place like this was hardly cheap and the young galdor expected to shell out his own share of the bill whether or not Percy in his magnanimous way offered to pay for him.

He did hope that Ana did not quiz poor Snoddy at length over how he was able to free the passive that had run out on him. Campion was a fool and knew very little, but he felt almost sure that it could not have been Percy’s favorite topic of conversation. But what else would Ms. Steerpike ask him about? Campion had been so out of touch with polite society he almost forgot what galdori talked about when together other than passives with Ana and whiskey and women with Dom.

“How are you then, Snoddy? How’s the theatre and the glamour and the whatnot?”

The people one had to deal with to keep up appearances were an entirely different breed from Mr Luccullis and Miss Steerpike. Augustus did not fraternize with these two people for no reason. He needed these people, and vice versa. With one piece of the puzzle missing, then the whole thing would crumble.

The Society for Passive Equality was a fickle society full of passive sympathizing men and women that love to argue with each other about the outcome of having passives exist outside of Brunnhold. Like any group of like minded individual, there was always a tift going on about if they did free a majority of the passives from the how would society see them. A few of the members (including Augustus) have bought some passives out of slave-hood and given them good jobs working for them. Others only theoretically sympathize with passives. Never having been close enough to a passive to understand it.

"Oh, Miss Steerpike! I can't wait for your visit to Brunnhold. It's quite a beautiful campus. It's been, what, sixteen years since you left? The university is still as beautiful as always . . . " Augustus went silent. His last visit to the famed university was his worst day. He freed his lover and his lover left him. Augustus immediately dismissed her trip. "I hope your trip goes . . . well." That's all he could utter on the subject.

Augustus turned to the lanky galdor next to him. He had always had good feelings for Mr Luccullis. After finding out about the secret relationship Jameson and Augustus partook in, he didn't report him or even stop talking to him. He just shook it off. A true friend.

"My career is brilliant Mr Luccullis. I have been passed a run-down theatre recently. I think I might purchase it and renovate it. Start my own theatre company." Augustus grinned stupidly.

“Oh, I do hope it’s fruits are riper than most, good sir,” Ana piped, cocking her head delicately. Her smile was so soft, so peaceful, but her eyes were those of a cat about to crush a canary in its teeth. “It is a very important venture. I am going to retrieve something very, very cherished of mine from behind the red walls, Mister Snodgrass." She left the details blessedly vague.

"It’s a pity and a sin the recent crop of graduates seem to be grinding all sense of propriety into the dirt. It really is painful to observe. No real law and order in the hearts of bombastic young things anymore.” Her smile compressed itself to a slim red horizon, features pinched the faintest dust of annoyance. “Not speaking in relation to any of the fine, modern gentlemen assembled here, of course,” she murmured demurely, bobbing her head in a bow.

All of this propriety was exhausting when you truly wished part of your company would fall on a broken wine bottle—oh, how horrid to be thinking such horrid thoughts. She rubbed at her temples, brows pinching. All these books, all these memories of tiny Aura, all this unnatural company. It was nibbling on her manners. Mercy knows a lady should never be honest.

“But oh, it is so fortunate of you to cross our path. All these books of old law, regarding Brunnhold. Regarding precious gated children and their retrieval.” Ana paused there, her smiling widening just a tad. Method actors were so good at hiding things, but she so hoped to see the slightest twitch of muscle in him. She steam-rolled in the most dulcet of tones. “Now, if what I remember is correct, the dear thing you procured from slavery was not your blood relation at all. It of most importance to me to know all the tangled red tape of the affair. However did you manage to purchase, ah...oh, Lady forbid, his name eludes me. Do forgive me, Mister Snodgrass.”

She turned her smile onto Campion, the brightness there as full force as a harpoon. “Such information would be most beneficial to the cause, would it not? So much more can be learned from a living, breathing case than some archaic account in some dusty tome, would you agree?”

It was harsh and she knew it, but broaching the subject was not out of ill-will, though she never much preferred Percival’s company. Fine enough in manner, the sordidness of his past was difficult to ignore. Aurelies were far more important the immediate comfort of some young thespian.

“I think I shall reconsider the offer of wine, Mister Snodgrass.” They were going to need it.

Well, there was all Campion's hopes of that particular kenser in the room not being called into attention dashed against a large rock. Perhaps, if he smiled and played dumb- his finest and most realistic role to date!- nobody would make him choose a side and he could enjoy a nice, cheap mint tea without much cause for distress.



Or perhaps not.

Campion did his best to smile in a non-committal fashion, "It does have its benefits, of course Ms. Steerpike. But only if Percy feels comfortable relaying the events in detail. You don't mind do you Snoddy, old boy? We do need all the help we can get."

Campion Luccullis? Showing a modicum of tact? What an odd meeting this was turning out to be.

And stranger still that he had used 'we' in describing the situation. As a member of the SPE, of course Campion had every desire to see each and every passive in Brunnhold freed. But there was no doubt that this particular passive was highly relevant, in fact there were parts of Campion- dark parts that he was almost immediately ashamed of- reminding him that it was probably in his best interest that Aurelie remained at Brunnhold, his secrets and precarious misdeeds nicely contained inside a passive uniform.

Campion picked up the menu nervously, hoping to distract his two companions enough. "Well with all this wine both of you seem intent on consuming, I rather think we need some food to soak it up. Let's see...I'm in the mood for something light," which translated as something cheap, "I think an entrée be more than enough for me...the hingle pate does sound rather appetising. Can you recommend anything Snoddy?"

Augustus' hear was beating faster and faster. His eyes were narrowing, he began to look like a blonde Hoxian. How could someone, such as Miss Steerpike, speak to Augustus in such a way? She knew his past. Had this been the only reason that he was invited to this small lunch? Augustus did not know nor care.

"Well, Miss Steerpike," said Augustus, dismissing everything that Campion said. "I do believe his name is of no relevance to your current predicament. Though I will enlighten you on how I had the aforementioned passive released."

"Why, yes," Lilliana muttered, one sculpted brow arching elegantly. "I was far more interested in the legal predilictions of it than the more personal implications of it. Seeing as the whole business was so painful and sordid for everyone, of course." She nodded, the picture of sympathy. "No need to open up any old wounds, you know..."

Mister Snodgrass's sour mood was not lost on her. Naturally, dredging up the sick memories of lewdness with poor disadvantaged passives -- who break and drag away all they can, poor dear. Poor Jameson. No, no...no pity for Mister Snodgrass. Robbed, humiliated, and -- she had supress an eyeroll -- heartbroken. It wasn't punishment enough, by Ana's estimation. It goes to show that's what you get for taking puerile advantage of a disadvantaged soul. Romantic young things never seemed to understand important things like that.

"If you would be sweet enough to enlighten us? I do say I am surprised the university granted you custody of him. And...hm." Ana paused, thoughtful, and cast a sidelong glance to Campion. "And of you, Mister Luccullis? However did you get special dispensation to walk among them, again? Do enlighten me again, good boy, I seem to have forgotten it among all this legal morass."

Had the air grown decidedly more chilly? Or was Campion imagining things? Really, he ought to have brought a heavier jacket what with all the frosty conversation. Really, no one did cool disdain and frozen anger like the galdori.

Campion flicked through the menu, lists of food he could not afford; he did not like where the conversation had turned. And not just for Snoddy's sake of course. Ana was opening up old wounds in Snoddy, and Campion felt his own fresher wounds-tried to hide them, but his clothes stuck to pus and blood, crimson seeping through layers of clothes.

"Pardon?" Campion's head snapped up when he realised he was being addressed, "Oh yes. Well, it was really rather easy...No special dispensation as you called it, necessary. I just avoided teachers and the matrons are more than accommodating. Alarmingly easy, the whole process really."

They always assumed, of course, that other galdori were doing the right thing. How different things may have turned out if Campion had been removed from Brunnhold that very first day!!

"Finding Aura won't be an issue for you, Ms. Steerpike. Of that you can trust."

One could not look as bemused as Augustus did at that very moment. He would have left right there and then if there weren't other people watching. He was well known among the upper levels of Viendand society, he could not jeopardize something so pleasant as social standing.

His eyes narrowed at the woman. "It was easy." He said, referring to the releasing of Jameson. "I simply stated that I insisted on purchasing the passive and that he would be safe with me. I said I would use him as personal help. A butler of sorts. Of course I would never treat a passive like that, so my skills as a thespian were called in." He smirked, laughing inwardly at how gullible the university is about the intentions of other galdori.

"The purchasing of your sister is going to take a lot of work. Have you ever acted before?"

"Ah, ha..." Ana propped her chin in her hand, ruby lips twitching into a smile that carried unwelcome implications. "Oh sir, I do not believe method acting will be needed in my case. My intentions are not as easily...ah ha..." that smile again, that not really smile, a little tic at the corner of her mouth. Lilliana was simmering beneath the surface, only a few degrees from a rolling boil. In a moment or two, Percival might be inflicted with a flash burn the likes of which had never been seen. "...hem, misconstrued as yours may have been. Poor souls, you must be a splendid actor to convince them that a single young man would have any legitimate need what so ever for a youthful passive butler."

Her voice was feather soft, gaze demurely averted as she examined the way her rings caught the sunlight.

"I do think we all know how you fondly you treat passives, Mister Snodgrass. There is no need to clarify. Absolutely none."

Cough. Cough…Campion gripped the menu tighter. It was a kick below the belt aimed squarely at Snoddy but Campion felt it all the same. How fondly you treat passives. Even though the words themselves were far from vulgar- no, Liliana Steerpike was far too gentile for vulagrity the way she said it made the whole thing sound so unseemly and seedy. Like precarious misdeeds under cover of darkness in dirty inn rooms. Campion felt sick to his stomach. He longed to scream ‘it isn’t like that! You don’t know!’ over and over until he stopped biting down on self hatred in the corner of his cheeks.

Campion cast a miserable glance towards his school friend, a look in his eye that he hoped sincerely said ‘I’m sorry’. “What Snoddy did is an embarrassment to the SPE as a whole. I mean no one is condoning Snoddy’s actions Ms Steerpike…of course not…they were…were very very wrong indeed. Wicked. But what’s done is done.”

Jameson belonged firmly in the past, as did Triston though her memory was as vivid as the table cloth in front of him and the menu beneath his fingers. What an awful place this world became having been with a passive in it.

“It don’t think it does to go bringing all of this up again,” he said weakly. “and the more time we dwell on past…deviations…from good sense and manners the more we negate from the good we can do now.” It would sting Percy, his quiet words spoken into the table unable to meet Percy’s eyes any longer, but it stung Campion more. He was far more guilty of any crimes that he described than Percy who’d been duped himself at the end of everything, and whatever malice to be found in his words was aimed wholly at the painfully thin, blonde young man who spoke them.

Oh, deceitful, loathsome creature that he was- hurting a friend to cover his own tracks! Playing the high and mighty philanthropist, with his motives for helping the passives far above Snoddy’s carnal desires.

“Ms. Steerpike, you’re quite right. There isn’t any reason why any one person would question your obtaining your sister. The government are under the impression that passives are imprisoned to be kept safe,” from men like Campion who swept in and then out again with nothing but a sorry note of less than ten words. “If Snoddy was able to deceive the university into believing that Jameson would be safe I don’t doubt that you will be able convince them you can look after your sister. And I know that is nothing but the honest truth.”

He glanced at Ana, hoping that he had appeased her- the same way he would do to his mother as a small child when she was in one of her moods. He felt the bile rise in his throat and the pain build behind his temples. Each day he surprised himself with how much self loathing he could support inside such a bony frame.

That was it. His psyche had begun to snap. One of his closer friends had thrown him under the chrove. What was this world coming to? He had told the Viendan SPE chapter of his escapades in confidence, then they go and turn it right around on him. There were several reasons to join the SPE, was it that wrong to have a relationship with one of the people they wanted to help?

Without thinking, Augustus shot up from his chair. His fist clenched, his eyes narrowed. The breaking point had finally come. He begun to yell. "Yes! Happy? Yes, I did something horrible! Something more dispicable than angering the god themselves. Is that want you wanted to hear, is it!?" He glared at the two accusers. "You!" He extended a finger at Campion. "You're perfect as well? The only reason you ever took to passive sympathy was because you were treated like a passive yourself!" He leaned in, shoving the books off the table. "How dare you speak of me in such a way! You are no better than I! In fact, you're worse." Then, without warning, a Snodgrass sized fist was sent flying. The fist slammed straight into the eye socket of Campion, sending the blonde haired galdor onto the floor.

Then he turned to Lilliana. "Now you! What do you know about anything, let alone love? You can't help who you develop feelings for, you cant!" At that moment, he slammed his fist on the table. "I've heard rumours about you, Miss Steerpike! You've never felt the touch of a man, how is it that you could understand why I fell for . . . for . . . Jameson? You are worse than Campion, at least he tried to befriend me before turning on me."

A squeak of fright squeezed itself from Ana when Mister Snodgrass swung on Mister Luccullis. Wretched plowfoot actions! All this shouting, all this disgusting behavior -- it coaxed tears into her eyes in a heartbeat. Yet when he turned his diatribe on her, something in her steeled. She teetered to her feet, quiet for but the ruffle of skirts.

The full of extent Lilliana Steerpike's field was often kept tucked away, like a compact in a reticule, like a lady's chest inside a corset. But incensed so, the buzz of mona clouding her hissed with her displeasure. It might put one in the mind of roses tearing up the side of a trellis, tendrils and thorns coiling around everything -- slowly, prettily.

"Mister Snodgrass," she hissed; her words were shaky and low, yet deathly serious. "You fell for nothing. You fell for ease, you fell for youthful rebellion. I am certain that all the stolen kisses and sneaking about in the shadows was quite picaresque and exhilarating. But it was not love."

"Did you feel...did you feel unique and powerful? Subverting all of society's morals? Taking advantage of a slave, Mister Snodgrass, dazing their eyes with wealth and promise--" her sugarfloss voice broke, perfectly manicured brows pinching. Her eyes were wet, but she stubbornly blinked the tears away. Little gloved hands, all white silk and lace, were clenched into fists. Some little bastard with nothing but a blue blooded name and starry ideals falling in love with Aura. Her heart churned.

"--it is not impressive, it is merely wicked. Love cannot blossom such horrifically uneven ground, only coy deception." Ana was not afraid. As the moments wore on, she hardened like clay. Her eyes drove into Percival like twin spikes.

"Jameson, yes. That was it," she repeated coolly. "If the world were good, if he was not in captivity when you saw fit to daze him, then perhaps this could have been something beyond a carnival of secrets and lust. Yet he deceived you, too. They do what they must, poor lost children. Bless him."

The last two words hung in the air somber as a prayer.

The whole cafe was a flurry of motion and hissing voices, but none were moving forward. All the good gentlemen and fine ladies lingered on the edges of this hot bubble of confrontation. Ana so hated making a scene. They were staring, and for all the wrong reasons. Their eyes skated over her and all of a sudden her blouse didn't feel so expertly tailored, her hair not quite so luxurious, her skirt not so elegantly kept.

"Clinging to that justification for your actions even still is nothing short of pathetic," she squeaked. Her voice was quiet and flimsy with emotion, but there was a steel barb of conviction lurking.

"Please, remove yourself from this place," Ana whispered. "And never blight my eyes again."

She huddled into herself, suddenly wanting to be very small and not garner any notice at all. Her gaze slid down to Campion sprawled on the floor. Mister Snodgrass did not deserve her attention -- precious and goodly Saint Ana, she eased herself down towards the floor, little gloved hand brushing his shoulder gently before unfurling full flower, an offer to drag him up.

"Please...please do get up, Mister Luccullis. I am so --" whatever she was withered in her throat, drowned out by faint trails of dampness down her cheeks.

And before Campion knew what had happened, there was rage from all corners. He found himself on the floor, in the gutter effectively, head spinning from the force of a punch and from a general lack of nourishment. Percy raged about his rights, clearly the offense taken to Campion’s words overwhelmed him. And also- rather below the belt a bit old chap, Campion privately thought- about Ana’s well, romantic history. He’d spent enough time in golly society to know that simply was not something to be spoken about. She was right to rebuff him, it was a matter of honour. But oh,
He rebuttal…Campion had not expected it.

It was Snoddy who had struck him, a stinging blow to the cheek. But it was nothing that Campion couldn’t handle, after Eran and that human man and Triston and his school days. Treated like a passive yourself, Percy had said. Campion knew how galdori boys could punch from his school days, and the scar on his arm…that awful scar that had started everything. But it wasn’t the same. Campion knew that.

It was Snoddy who’d struck him. Yes. But Ana kept him pinned to the ground. Her words made his chest sting unbearably and he would have preferred a thousand punches to this any day. Campion clenched his fists and tried to block out her words, but her voice rang out clear and true as a bell. A giant, soul crushing, condemning bell.

Did you feel unique and powerful? Subverting all of society's morals? Taking advantage of a slave? Did you, Campion?

She was right, so right about everything. About the lust and the secrets and the uneven ground, the cavernous, mountainous lie of the terrain between a galdor and a passive. How could he have ever ever entertained the thought that Triston had given her love freely that night? He’d taken it, because he was galdor and she was the slave. Gentle, beautiful little Triston. He’d manipulated and abused not out of love but because he could and he was now slivering out of just retribution because he could.

Campion’s face felt hot, but deathly cold at the same time as he tried to claw his senses together as they spilled onto the stones, to gather what was left of himself dashed against the pavement in a bloody mess as it was. He deserved to be struck again, and again. But this, the vocalization of every private thought and fears he had experienced since Brunnhold by another source, it was too much.

Her hand on his shoulder stung like poison coarsing through his veins and he winced slightly at the reproaching touch.

“Please, Ana,” he said hoarsely, pressing his head into his hands against smooth stones. “Stop now. You’re…you’re causing a scene,” he finally choked out. As though some grown man would have such a strongly adverse reaction to a few golly diners, as though he had more than a reputation in tatters to protect.

He coughed and told himself firmly to pull himself together. But as he stood up, his jaw felt heavy and his hands shook, Campion leaned against the table and gripped hard, pulling his shame inwards tight inside him like that little box of his mother’s that kept every emotion, and her past mistakes locked tight where no one could see them.

He could feel a bruise forming around his eye, another one. At this point people were going to assume he’d taken to sneaking into the basin to fight. But he stood straight all the same. “Snoddy, I think it is best you leave,” he said, kindly as he could. “You aren’t yourself.”

Anger boiled to Augustus' top. If Ana was a man she would have been on the ground like Campion. If only he could cast a spell on her and shut her up for good. But alas, the social stigma of casting upon ones fellow galdori for no obvious reason was worse than punching one. It was bringing in a force that didn't need to be incurred, the mona.

Tears started rolling down his cheeks. Why was this happening? When was it okay to turn on a friend when all they wanted was to be seen in a better light? Augustus unclenched his fist, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Fine," He said. "I shall leave. I have said all I can say to you two. You people disgust me. You hide behind a cause that doesn't mean anything to you. Ms Steerpike, you only joined because of your sister. You have your own selfish reasons as well, Campion. That's all I have to say."

Before he turned, he took something out his pocket. "Dispose of this if you will. I'm sure it will please you to do so."

It was a pocket-watch with a spectragram of Augustus and another man with an blue tinted outfit. The were both smiling as if it was the best day of their lives.