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"I know it's a quick turn-around, but I'm serious about starting early!" Theodore said through a grin, drying his palms against the chest of his shirt. He propped the mop against his own shoulder, looping an arm over it like it was a good friend as he gave Guthery the toothiest grin he could manage. Suds slopped out of the bucket and dashed against the marble floor, and Theodore's toes in turn, and he did his best to enjoy the warming water against his cold feet, even if it was going to make them stink like pine here in a few minutes. "Had to keep myself busy!"

"Theodore," Guthery tutted his tongue as diplomatically as he could. "Two hours ahead of time isn't early; it's desperate."

"And?" Challenged the wolf. His tail wagged beneath his waist sash, as the feline fought off a smile with every bit of effort that his delicate, orange-striped frame could muster.

The effeminate gent slid out from behind the oaken door and into the hallway with a liquid grace, and easy smile. Guthery’s pelt was built out of different shades of orange stripes; lending a fiery complexion to a warm smile. He wore similar clothes to Theodore today, though the feline’s made-to-measure clothes were far more flattering, and the sash about his waist was green to denote him as a shaman, rather than the red the wolf wore. The contrast of between the feline's sash and fur brought out the ever-present, friendly spark in his emerald eyes, and drew attention to them in an unignorable way. He was the easiest beast on the docks to be around, as far as Theodore was concerned. It made him an exceptional meditation guide, even if he was only in training. He'd already mastered the art of a maternal, 'you should have known better' tone in his voice as he spoke: "The pool isn't going to be ready until your scheduled appointment. And even then; if you're so ready, why are you here?"

Theodore's grin faltered in the face of the cat's logic, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to try and buy him a few extra moments of time to think. His mind betrayed him immediately by laying a thick silence over the top of any of the thoughts he may have had.

He had to play for time.

"So, humor me—" Theodore's voice slowed to a drone as his eyes darted for anything out of place he could pretend to have noticed. Granite walls didn't need repairing, the gas lights didn't need fixing, paintings were squared, the stairs on the far end of the hallway were immaculate as ever, Theodore didn't know how to fix the elevator behind him so it would stop squealing like that… The only possible complaint would have been that the mirror polish of the marble floor was disrupted by suds and water; and that was Theodore's fault entirely. "I'm… just…" His shoulders slumped, and he felt his confidence deflate in his chest. "I'm trying to work off some of the jitters."

Guthery's smile centered on Theodore. The only sound he made was the sigh at Theodore's expense. Guthery's voice was tight with the sense of diplomacy that—as Theodore had learned recently—was only reserved for folk whom he thought were being unreasonable in some way. "Theodore, you are moving a bit too quickly. I understand that you want it all behind you, but take stock for even just a minute; it's only been a month. They still haven't found Darrow yet, that I know of."

Theodore watched carefully as the cat avoided the water, finding a place to recline against the wall where the floor remained untouched by the mop. The wolf inhaled slowly, and even rolled his shoulders beneath the weight of the question. His ears flicked, and his muzzle scrunched as he fished for something to say. "So I'm supposed to just wait until I get news he's dead before I can move on?" Was all he could manage. By the look of mild shock on the smaller gent's face, Theodore could only guess that the question had surprised them both.

The silence that invaded grew tense, and the feline's arms crossed over his chest. "Far be it from me to tell you how to recover," Guthery murmured. "But he did try to kill you."

Theodore ran his tongue over his teeth, using it to try and prop his face up into a lopsided grin. "He did—but irony's always the best way to deal with folk like that. Feels like there's some quip you'd have memorized about apathy in the face of adversity…?"

Guthery's deadpan was betrayed by the slight tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His arms stayed crossed, and the feline dragged a deep breath through his twitching whiskers. "I don't have the authority to dispense wisdom; we're the same age. When you're done mopping, you should come in out of the cold. Underground is always a season behind."

"Different faces from different places! Never know what somebeast does, or doesn't know," Theodore's grin felt less forced, and he even felt his tail idly begin to wag at the small break in the threat of a bad mood. "Cold doesn't bother me after all; but then again, I am from Nurhald."

"More snow, cold, wind, ice, rain, mountains and fog for you then," responded the feline, matching Theodore's expression with his own impish grin. "Maybe we can use some of that bastard charm of yours to get the Sacred Intoxication lounges out of the underground."

"This is where the mushrooms grow, you know that," Theodore raised an eyebrow as Guthery slid back through the door to his own lounge. "They're best when they're freshly harvested!"

The feline's voice came back in a chipper, sing-song tune: "I'm not going to fight you on this!"

Theodore snorted after him with a lopsided smile. The mop and bucket were easy enough to get rid of: a curtained closet hid the drain so they could both dry near the staircase. Theodore did take a moment to look up, then down the spiraling infinities of space that the stairs cut through. The base of the spire would take him all the way out to the docks, if he didn't get motion sickness first.

The difference in temperature between the granite-entombed, underground hallway and the brazier warmed lounge was almost enough to rip the breath out of Theodore’s lungs. He’d stepped from the pleasant chill of wintery temperatures to the unforgiving heat of a main deck beneath a cloudless sky.

He felt himself wheeze involuntarily, but played it off with an exaggerated fanning gesture with a single paw. Guthery giggled, and Theodore flashed him a half grin back. “My bones are melting. No wonder you felines are so damned graceful!"

“Heat is good for your circulation,” Guthery riposted, leaving Theodore to his own devices as the feline scurried to the far corner of the room, where a small telephone had been wired.

The wolf ignored the conversation that took place, letting the tense conversation between the gothi-in-training and the High Priestess fade to background noise as he examined the lounge around him.

It was fitting, Theodore thought, that the brazier reminded him so much of a lighthouse in this square room. Directly in the center, the lamp was covered with a stained glass dome which allowed all manner of colors dance in fickle patterns on the walls. It gave an air of mystique to the space, and made the moat of pillows which surrounded the little pillar seem even more inviting. He resisted the urge to slide back into the bulk of cotton and silk, and silently wished that it wouldn’t be alright if they moved his ceremony up…

All to nestle back down into the depths of body-warmed blankets, and to drown in that deep sleep of meaningful dreams all over again. Had it really been four weeks since he’d laid in that ocean of pillows, battling through the worst of his memories?

Theodore shook his head clear of the situation and scowled at himself. He was wallowing in his head again—Madame Isolde had warned him about that. He forced his gaze in a circle around the square room, glancing from the door—which his manners ordered him to close—to his right, where a series of wall hooks just at eye level. Further along the wall was the mixer table which housed Guthery’s mortar and pestle. The next wall was overcrowded with shelves of books of references and recipes, before being suddenly bare to house an out-of-place looking phone booth.

The sudden patch of technology in the middle of the shamanic healing lounge always made Theodore blink, even though he’d seen it a dozen times now. Opposite of the door was a series of benches for anybeast to recline on, should they (for whatever reason) not want to spread themselves out in the delightfully firm pillows around the brazier. The final wall, just on Theodore’s left, held more shelves reserved for larger belongings, as well as a vanity mirror for folk to put themselves back together after their time in their therapies.

Theodore glanced toward the phone corner, where Guthery stood, anxious and fidgeting as he presumably waited in silence for somebeast to retrieve the Priestess. In the spare moments he had, Theodore began to look himself over once again.

Meeting the High Priestess wasn’t as large of an event as most beasts would have assumed. The lady's title sounded more impressive to folk who didn’t live with the hyena’s horizon-wide grin, but all the same she was going to be joining in a ceremony to both train Guthery, and commend Theodore for moving on with his life. He wanted to look his best.

Maybe it had been his time as an aesthete, but Theodore couldn’t help but to pick at his own appearance with an heavy dose of criticism. His pelt was looking disheveled—he needed a good brush out; he was shedding his winter coat still, even into the first month of summer. While his new position as a host hadn’t done him any favors either; his former had kept him more physically active. Hell, being an aesthete had him in a pool for so much of the day, he could have nearly doubled as an otter. Ever since he’d stopped the strictly regimented, specific diet of being ‘artwork in motion’ he’d put an extra inch around his belly. He’d never known how good food actually was until he’d been allowed to actually eat it.

Oh, the differences in lifestyles that a simple change in jobs could make. Theodore was longer a purveyor of physical connection and self improvement—he was now a party planner, destined to help beasts turn proud moments into profound memories.

That didn’t stop him from picking at some of the filth in his teeth, his tan muzzle baring all of his pearly whites so he could scrape at them with a fingernail. His golden eyes studied himself once more, and he shook his fingers through the deep brown portions of his head and ears, shaking plenty of fur loose in the process. A meaningful grunt next to him made his ears perk.

“You done?” Guthery and Theodore asked in unison, making eye contact through the mirror in front of the wolf. Theodore grinned into the unamused deadpan of the feline until the littler gent’s demeanor cracked into a smile.

“I mean, I am—” Theodore offered, only to be cut off by a raised palm from the feline.

“And so am I. Madame Isolde and Silas are already on their way to the pools as we speak, as confirmed by Arbiter Sybil,” the feline didn’t make eye contact with the wolf, choosing instead to lock his eyes onto a satchel just behind the door. Theodore hadn’t noticed it, but the sudden disquiet distracted him from Guthery’s odd, suddenly saddened expression.

“Arbiter Sybil…? Why is she answering the line for Madame Isolde?" The question went unanswered, and Theodore noticed the curling of Guthery's tail, this way and that. He recognized the stress immediately, and the wolf raised an eyebrow. "I mean, that’s good, right? We can be done and over with this whole thing that much sooner?

Guthery’s stature straightened with an inhale, and his eyes seemed to search Theodore’s face as if there was an answer written on the wolf’s forehead. “We’re going to do this quickly, and quietly. There won’t be anyone else at the pools except for you, Silas, Madame Isolde and myself.”

Theodore’s ears flicked, and his eyes narrowed. “I hadn't expected anyone more; so why is that supposed to be news?”

“Madame Isolde will explain when we get there,” curtness wasn’t like Guthery; the wee beast was a coy, perpetual flirt: a brilliant mind, wrapped in a charismatic, picture-perfect frame. His second weakness, behind his narrow stature was his habit of wearing his emotions as blatantly as his face could provide. He’d already begun moving toward the door when Theodore lurched forward, and caught him around the elbow.

Neither made a sound after the movement. Not for several moments, at least. Theodore broke the tense silence between them with a heavy exhale. “Can I at least get a warning, so I know what to be prepared for?”

Guthery let Theodore’s question hang in the open air. The entire beast’s face seemed to tighten, as if he knew he’d somehow give something away with the slightest of gestures. “Arbiter Sybil only said that Madame Isolde would explain. But, you know how she gets with her tones.”

“Then, help me to figure out what it could be?” Theodore stepped forward with a slight scowl. Theodore fought the urge to grab Guthery and force the cat to face him, instead choosing instead to redirect his force. “Guthery, what could be so bad that Arbiter Sybil wouldn't even pass her judgment along publicly? Isn't that the whole point—make justice a public affair so folks don't make the same mistakes?”

“Theodore, I only know what I was told.” Guthery enunciated quietly. “And Arbiter Sybil was perfectly clear. Madame Isolde will pass the judgment along to the three of us, and that will be at the poolside.”

“You're not even willing to take a stab at a guess?” Theodore pleaded. “Look—here's what we know, at least: Silas is in a penance collar, Darrow's marked for death and I'm not dead. There has to be at least something worth chatting about between all of that, right?

Guthery scowled, reiterating through a locked jaw. “Arbiter Sybil said that Madame Isolde would relay the judgement,”Theodore was halfway through a breath to further argue before the cat cut him off. “Theodore, if you can believe it, there are severe consequences to trying to drown an aesthete in his own pool.”

Theodore hadn’t ever heard Guthery shout. It made the room echo in strange ways, and forced Theodore to not only release the feline, but to take a step back. His head tilted down in shame, and he could feel his ears splay. Half started sentences tumbled out of his muzzle, but he couldn’t find the words he was looking for.

“Theodore,” the shaman’s tone was apologetic. “I don’t… I don’t mean to be such a hardass with you. I just…” the cat stammered through a knot in his throat that Theodore could hear. The wolf only nodded meekly.

“It’s better that Madame Isolde explain the judgment. Someone with authority, and all that,” Theodore mumbled his understanding.

They shared a nod, and Theodore felt his back straighten after a few moments. “So, they are, or they will be waiting for us?”

“I think we have about fifteen minutes, if you want to kill some time,” Guthery responded with a half a shrug. “I think I still have one of your books on my shelf over there. That short story anthology you liked so much—The Briarguard Chronicles?”

Theodore sighed, but there was a part of him that was grateful for the sudden reprieve of conversation; this was a happier day. They didn't need to be fighting among themselves. “Yeah. Did you get a chance to read it?”

“I’ve been busy,” Guthery admitted, casting his gaze low once again with a wordless apology. Theodore carefully stepped around the room as the feline continued to explain, grateful to hear a flicker of joy back in the gent’s voice. “Victor and I have been working on a number of things, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s coming in on your Fa’s ship in a couple of weeks.”

“Loneliness makes the heart grow fonder,” Theodore said over his shoulder as he began to rummage through the stacks of books. He made a silent note to never listen to any of Guthery’s advice on ‘putting it away, rather than putting it down’ when Theodore complained about losing something important. Somewhere, entombed in these disorganized stacks of books, there was a desk; otherwise the heap was a monument to the cat's hypocrisy. “What are you two working on?”

“Can’t really say. He doesn’t give me much in the way of questions, only samples and requests for chemical testing with the Abbey’s sacred intoxication blends,” Responded the shaman.

Theodore snorted, pretending that he understood before finding his well loved novel, sandwiched between the dangerous sounding tomes of “The Poisoned Path” and… Oh gods, what was that language? It looked like Trade, but—he squinted,and tried to sound it out. For the g"I know it's a quick turn-around, but I'm serious about starting early!" Theodore said through a grin, drying his palms against the chest of his shirt. He propped the mop against his own shoulder, looping an arm over it like it was a good friend as he gave Guthery the toothiest grin he could manage. Suds slopped out of the bucket and dashed against the marble floor, and Theodore's toes in turn, and he did his best to enjoy the warming water against his cold feet, even if it was going to make them stink like pine here in a few minutes. "Had to keep myself busy!"

"Theodore," Guthery tutted his tongue as diplomatically as he could. "Two hours ahead of time isn't early; it's desperate."

"And?" Challenged the wolf. His tail wagged beneath his waist sash, as the feline fought off a smile with every bit of effort that his delicate, orange-striped frame could muster.

The effeminate gent slid out from behind the oaken door and into the hallway with a liquid grace, and easy smile. Guthery’s pelt was built out of different shades of orange stripes; lending a fiery complexion to a warm smile. He wore similar clothes to Theodore today, though the feline’s made-to-measure clothes were far more flattering, and the sash about his waist was green to denote him as a shaman, rather than the red the wolf wore. The contrast of between the feline's sash and fur brought out the ever-present, friendly spark in his emerald eyes, and drew attention to them in an unignorable way. He was the easiest beast on the docks to be around, as far as Theodore was concerned. It made him an exceptional meditation guide, even if he was only in training. He'd already mastered the art of a maternal, 'you should have known better' tone in his voice as he spoke: "The pool isn't going to be ready until your scheduled appointment. And even then; if you're so ready, why are you here?"

Theodore's grin faltered in the face of the cat's logic, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to try and buy him a few extra moments of time to think. His mind betrayed him immediately by laying a thick silence over the top of any of the thoughts he may have had.

He had to play for time.

"So, humor me—" Theodore's voice slowed to a drone as his eyes darted for anything out of place he could pretend to have noticed. Granite walls didn't need repairing, the gas lights didn't need fixing, paintings were squared, the stairs on the far end of the hallway were immaculate as ever, Theodore didn't know how to fix the elevator behind him so it would stop squealing like that… The only possible complaint would have been that the mirror polish of the marble floor was disrupted by suds and water; and that was Theodore's fault entirely. "I'm… just…" His shoulders slumped, and he felt his confidence deflate in his chest. "I'm trying to work off some of the jitters."

Guthery's smile centered on Theodore. The only sound he made was the sigh at Theodore's expense. Guthery's voice was tight with the sense of diplomacy that—as Theodore had learned recently—was only reserved for folk whom he thought were being unreasonable in some way. "Theodore, you are moving a bit too quickly. I understand that you want it all behind you, but take stock for even just a minute; it's only been a month. They still haven't found Darrow yet, that I know of."

Theodore watched carefully as the cat avoided the water, finding a place to recline against the wall where the floor remained untouched by the mop. The wolf inhaled slowly, and even rolled his shoulders beneath the weight of the question. His ears flicked, and his muzzle scrunched as he fished for something to say. "So I'm supposed to just wait until I get news he's dead before I can move on?" Was all he could manage. By the look of mild shock on the smaller gent's face, Theodore could only guess that the question had surprised them both.

The silence that invaded grew tense, and the feline's arms crossed over his chest. "Far be it from me to tell you how to recover," Guthery murmured. "But he did try to kill you."

Theodore ran his tongue over his teeth, using it to try and prop his face up into a lopsided grin. "He did—but irony's always the best way to deal with folk like that. Feels like there's some quip you'd have memorized about apathy in the face of adversity…?"

Guthery's deadpan was betrayed by the slight tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His arms stayed crossed, and the feline dragged a deep breath through his twitching whiskers. "I don't have the authority to dispense wisdom; we're the same age. When you're done mopping, you should come in out of the cold. Underground is always a season behind."

"Different faces from different places! Never know what somebeast does, or doesn't know," Theodore's grin felt less forced, and he even felt his tail idly begin to wag at the small break in the threat of a bad mood. "Cold doesn't bother me after all; but then again, I am from Nurhald."

"More snow, cold, wind, ice, rain, mountains and fog for you then," responded the feline, matching Theodore's expression with his own impish grin. "Maybe we can use some of that bastard charm of yours to get the Sacred Intoxication lounges out of the underground."

"This is where the mushrooms grow, you know that," Theodore raised an eyebrow as Guthery slid back through the door to his own lounge. "They're best when they're freshly harvested!"

The feline's voice came back in a chipper, sing-song tune: "I'm not going to fight you on this!"

Theodore snorted after him with a lopsided smile. The mop and bucket were easy enough to get rid of: a curtained closet hid the drain so they could both dry near the staircase. Theodore did take a moment to look up, then down the spiraling infinities of space that the stairs cut through. The base of the spire would take him all the way out to the docks, if he didn't get motion sickness first.

The difference in temperature between the granite-entombed, underground hallway and the brazier warmed lounge was almost enough to rip the breath out of Theodore’s lungs. He’d stepped from the pleasant chill of wintery temperatures to the unforgiving heat of a main deck beneath a cloudless sky.

He felt himself wheeze involuntarily, but played it off with an exaggerated fanning gesture with a single paw. Guthery giggled, and Theodore flashed him a half grin back. “My bones are melting. No wonder you felines are so damned graceful!"

“Heat is good for your circulation,” Guthery riposted, leaving Theodore to his own devices as the feline scurried to the far corner of the room, where a small telephone had been wired.

The wolf ignored the conversation that took place, letting the tense conversation between the gothi-in-training and the High Priestess fade to background noise as he examined the lounge around him.

It was fitting, Theodore thought, that the brazier reminded him so much of a lighthouse in this square room. Directly in the center, the lamp was covered with a stained glass dome which allowed all manner of colors dance in fickle patterns on the walls. It gave an air of mystique to the space, and made the moat of pillows which surrounded the little pillar seem even more inviting. He resisted the urge to slide back into the bulk of cotton and silk, and silently wished that it wouldn’t be alright if they moved his ceremony up…

All to nestle back down into the depths of body-warmed blankets, and to drown in that deep sleep of meaningful dreams all over again. Had it really been four weeks since he’d laid in that ocean of pillows, battling through the worst of his memories?

Theodore shook his head clear of the situation and scowled at himself. He was wallowing in his head again—Madame Isolde had warned him about that. He forced his gaze in a circle around the square room, glancing from the door—which his manners ordered him to close—to his right, where a series of wall hooks just at eye level. Further along the wall was the mixer table which housed Guthery’s mortar and pestle. The next wall was overcrowded with shelves of books of references and recipes, before being suddenly bare to house an out-of-place looking phone booth.

The sudden patch of technology in the middle of the shamanic healing lounge always made Theodore blink, even though he’d seen it a dozen times now. Opposite of the door was a series of benches for anybeast to recline on, should they (for whatever reason) not want to spread themselves out in the delightfully firm pillows around the brazier. The final wall, just on Theodore’s left, held more shelves reserved for larger belongings, as well as a vanity mirror for folk to put themselves back together after their time in their therapies.

Theodore glanced toward the phone corner, where Guthery stood, anxious and fidgeting as he presumably waited in silence for somebeast to retrieve the Priestess. In the spare moments he had, Theodore began to look himself over once again.

Meeting the High Priestess wasn’t as large of an event as most beasts would have assumed. The lady's title sounded more impressive to folk who didn’t live with the hyena’s horizon-wide grin, but all the same she was going to be joining in a ceremony to both train Guthery, and commend Theodore for moving on with his life. He wanted to look his best.

Maybe it had been his time as an aesthete, but Theodore couldn’t help but to pick at his own appearance with an heavy dose of criticism. His pelt was looking disheveled—he needed a good brush out; he was shedding his winter coat still, even into the first month of summer. While his new position as a host hadn’t done him any favors either; his former had kept him more physically active. Hell, being an aesthete had him in a pool for so much of the day, he could have nearly doubled as an otter. Ever since he’d stopped the strictly regimented, specific diet of being ‘artwork in motion’ he’d put an extra inch around his belly. He’d never known how good food actually was until he’d been allowed to actually eat it.

Oh, the differences in lifestyles that a simple change in jobs could make. Theodore was longer a purveyor of physical connection and self improvement—he was now a party planner, destined to help beasts turn proud moments into profound memories.

That didn’t stop him from picking at some of the filth in his teeth, his tan muzzle baring all of his pearly whites so he could scrape at them with a fingernail. His golden eyes studied himself once more, and he shook his fingers through the deep brown portions of his head and ears, shaking plenty of fur loose in the process. A meaningful grunt next to him made his ears perk.

“You done?” Guthery and Theodore asked in unison, making eye contact through the mirror in front of the wolf. Theodore grinned into the unamused deadpan of the feline until the littler gent’s demeanor cracked into a smile.

“I mean, I am—” Theodore offered, only to be cut off by a raised palm from the feline.

“And so am I. Madame Isolde and Silas are already on their way to the pools as we speak, as confirmed by Arbiter Sybil,” the feline didn’t make eye contact with the wolf, choosing instead to lock his eyes onto a satchel just behind the door. Theodore hadn’t noticed it, but the sudden disquiet distracted him from Guthery’s odd, suddenly saddened expression.

“Arbiter Sybil…? Why is she answering the line for Madame Isolde?" The question went unanswered, and Theodore noticed the curling of Guthery's tail, this way and that. He recognized the stress immediately, and the wolf raised an eyebrow. "I mean, that’s good, right? We can be done and over with this whole thing that much sooner?

Guthery’s stature straightened with an inhale, and his eyes seemed to search Theodore’s face as if there was an answer written on the wolf’s forehead. “We’re going to do this quickly, and quietly. There won’t be anyone else at the pools except for you, Silas, Madame Isolde and myself.”

Theodore’s ears flicked, and his eyes narrowed. “I hadn't expected anyone more; so why is that supposed to be news?”

“Madame Isolde will explain when we get there,” curtness wasn’t like Guthery; the wee beast was a coy, perpetual flirt: a brilliant mind, wrapped in a charismatic, picture-perfect frame. His second weakness, behind his narrow stature was his habit of wearing his emotions as blatantly as his face could provide. He’d already begun moving toward the door when Theodore lurched forward, and caught him around the elbow.

Neither made a sound after the movement. Not for several moments, at least. Theodore broke the tense silence between them with a heavy exhale. “Can I at least get a warning, so I know what to be prepared for?”

Guthery let Theodore’s question hang in the open air. The entire beast’s face seemed to tighten, as if he knew he’d somehow give something away with the slightest of gestures. “Arbiter Sybil only said that Madame Isolde would explain. But, you know how she gets with her tones.”

“Then, help me to figure out what it could be?” Theodore stepped forward with a slight scowl. Theodore fought the urge to grab Guthery and force the cat to face him, instead choosing instead to redirect his force. “Guthery, what could be so bad that Arbiter Sybil wouldn't even pass her judgment along publicly? Isn't that the whole point—make justice a public affair so folks don't make the same mistakes?”

“Theodore, I only know what I was told.” Guthery enunciated quietly. “And Arbiter Sybil was perfectly clear. Madame Isolde will pass the judgment along to the three of us, and that will be at the poolside.”

“You're not even willing to take a stab at a guess?” Theodore pleaded. “Look—here's what we know, at least: Silas is in a penance collar, Darrow's marked for death and I'm not dead. There has to be at least something worth chatting about between all of that, right?

Guthery scowled, reiterating through a locked jaw. “Arbiter Sybil said that Madame Isolde would relay the judgement,”Theodore was halfway through a breath to further argue before the cat cut him off. “Theodore, if you can believe it, there are severe consequences to trying to drown an aesthete in his own pool.”

Theodore hadn’t ever heard Guthery shout. It made the room echo in strange ways, and forced Theodore to not only release the feline, but to take a step back. His head tilted down in shame, and he could feel his ears splay. Half started sentences tumbled out of his muzzle, but he couldn’t find the words he was looking for.

“Theodore,” the shaman’s tone was apologetic. “I don’t… I don’t mean to be such a hardass with you. I just…” the cat stammered through a knot in his throat that Theodore could hear. The wolf only nodded meekly.

“It’s better that Madame Isolde explain the judgment. Someone with authority, and all that,” Theodore mumbled his understanding.

They shared a nod, and Theodore felt his back straighten after a few moments. “So, they are, or they will be waiting for us?”

“I think we have about fifteen minutes, if you want to kill some time,” Guthery responded with a half a shrug. “I think I still have one of your books on my shelf over there. That short story anthology you liked so much—The Briarguard Chronicles?”

Theodore sighed, but there was a part of him that was grateful for the sudden reprieve of conversation; this was a happier day. They didn't need to be fighting among themselves. “Yeah. Did you get a chance to read it?”

“I’ve been busy,” Guthery admitted, casting his gaze low once again with a wordless apology. Theodore carefully stepped around the room as the feline continued to explain, grateful to hear a flicker of joy back in the gent’s voice. “Victor and I have been working on a number of things, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s coming in on your Fa’s ship in a couple of weeks.”

“Loneliness makes the heart grow fonder,” Theodore said over his shoulder as he began to rummage through the stacks of books. He made a silent note to never listen to any of Guthery’s advice on ‘putting it away, rather than putting it down’ when Theodore complained about losing something important. Somewhere, entombed in these disorganized stacks of books, there was a desk; otherwise the heap was a monument to the cat's hypocrisy. “What are you two working on?”

“Can’t really say. He doesn’t give me much in the way of questions, only samples and requests for chemical testing with the Abbey’s sacred intoxication blends,” Responded the shaman.

Theodore snorted, pretending that he understood before finding his well loved novel, sandwiched between the dangerous sounding tomes of “The Poisoned Path” and… Oh gods, what was that language? It looked like Trade, but—he squinted,and tried to sound it out. For the good of the world, Guthery stepped in before he had a chance to summon something with the strange words.

“It’s science nomenclature, for ‘The Beginning of Understanding of Occult Sciences”,” Guthery explained. “A scholar by the name of Cyril Monroe—”

“I know who that is,” Theodore cut Guthery off. “Or rather, I remember the name from some of the several times Fa bitched about him; he was all in a rage about the stink of corpses by the end of the voyage. Apparently, he’s been a regular customer because Fa doesn’t ask prying questions about stuff.”

Guthery’s voice was thick with his smirk as he spoke. “Guess he never taught you that lesson?”

"I'm a host now," Theodore deflected the question with a grin over his shoulder. He tried to soothe the jab as he dusted his novel off one more time, carefully studying the feline as he did so. "Small talk is part of my job, hosting dinners. Can't fucking stand the folk who are silent at the table—makes things uncomfortable for everyone."

"I can't imagine that Cyril's studies would be proper dinner conversation," chortled the shaman through an increasingly nervous smile. "He can be a bit ghastly."

Theodore nodded, tapping the spine of the novel in his palm before returning it to the pile on top of one of those heinous anatomy books that stared back at him. He patted it, knowing Guthery saw his gesture as the command it was: take a break from the ghoulish reading, and relax. “A sawbones like that isn’t good for anybeast. What’re you doing with one of his books?”

The shaman inhaled slowly, closing the distance enough to make Theodore take a half-step back to preserve any sort of socially acceptable distance. “I’ve been trying to improve Existentia, so that way sacred intoxication can hold more significance, and folk can better commune with the gods,” He replied simply.

Theodore's eyes narrowed at the admission. “Like. I. Said.” He fought the urge to growl. "Sawbones like Monroe aren't good for anybeast. Sacred traditions are sacred for a reason."

"And what if we did improve them?" Guthery parried. "What if the gods granted us curiosity so that, one day, we could converse with them in their own language?"

"You're changing the subject, cat," Theodore's expression darkened to a scowl. "Monroe is the sort that puts insane shit into folks' heads. Sacred things ought be left alone; the gods gave us the ways they did for their own reasons. You're a shaman now, so you of all beasts here should know that!"

Guthery regarded Theodore coldly for a moment, inhaling around the thought. His tail curled in that anxious way that cats had, and Theodore could watch him debate his next point. It was rare to see Guthery so worked up—so much so that Theodore debated what he would do to apologize, before the feline spoke again. "Theodore, you were nearly murdered. If Silas hadn’t been as quick as he was retrieving the wine that had been asked for, you would be dead,” t_he point was driven home by a gesture that mimicked Guthery nailing the words into the air with his finger. “Now, four weeks later, you’re not only better, but it was _you who decided to return to the pool that you were nearly murdered at for this ceremony. It was your idea that you go take a dip back, and prove to the world that you’re not scared of the same waters that were used to nearly end your life.”

“Yes,” Theodore confirmed. He even leaned forward to look the smaller gent in the eyes as he continued. “There's a reason that it's called sacred intoxication, Guthery. We use it to move passed things. Or are you still looking at this through the lens of the Ken?”

“There's no shame in examining the world through Science. Mathematics are the language of God and Creation, translated into a way that we can understand it with Common Trade,” Guthery said, obviously quoting some kind of text. “Are we wrong to examine the rituals more closely? Is science truly heretical, if we’re to believe that the gods put everything here for us anyways, but punished our curiosity?”

Theodore let the statement die in the air. He wanted to refuse to even dignify it with a response, but the words crept out of his throat before he had a chance to bite them back. “So you're just here to learn all the secret rites of Daitune so that you can bring them back to that little science collective you belonged to?”

“I’m not going to have this debate with you, Theodore. Not again,” Guthery shook his head stubbornly. His arms crossed over his chest, and he even retreated a half-step toward the door to inform Theodore it was time to leave. “We can’t keep the Priestess, or your ‘it’s complicated’ waiting.”

Theodore scowled, but did his best to expel his irritation with a deep, purposeful exhale. “Alright.” He relented.

He followed in silence as best he could. Words best left unspoken rattled between them; Theodore could feel the dueling, silent rehearsals of both he, and Guthery’s internal monologues at one another. The idea that one would make a point that the other could parry, and effortlessly debunk—the chess match of wits between them that Theodore would inevitably lose.

The knot formed in the base of Theodore’s throat as he ascended spiraling stairs. The humming of sour, yellow gaslights felt oppressive in his ears as they ascended the five flights to the solid, oaken doors that led to the outside world.

Hinges screeched in their losing battle against sea salt corrosion,pulling him from his grousing. He squinted into the noon sunlight,and nearly raised a paw to cover his eyes as he stepped into the daylight.

The rock monolith which housed the sacred lounges jutted out of the shore like a nail that hadn’t been fully hammered in. This bridge connected the outcropping to the main bulk of building, which had been built into the cliffside behind it. Whichever mad beast had crafted this buttress had been a special kind of insane: if a beast fell from this height, Theodore figured it’d be nearly three full seconds of falling before there’d be a shattering splat on the docks beneath them. The idea of the most decorative rails, arches and canopy Theodore had ever seen being drawn through the open air made him queasy.

He hated heights, and eagerly abandoned his private grumbling to stride as quickly as he was able to over the bridge. He waited to look over his shoulder at Guthery until after he was truly safe on the other side of the sky bridge.

Guthery waited to speak until he’d closed the distance. “Something wrong?”

“I’m a land creature, built for the ice caps and the forest,” Theodore snorted toward the skyline, eager to leave the relatively-open-sided bridge behind.

“Don’t let your sea-dog of a fa hear you say that. The son of Nathaniel Locke, forsaking the tides?” Guthery giggled. Theodore scowled, but he could feel his lips trying to curl up into a smile at the accusation.

“That stays between us, then.” The wolf gave the cat’s head a playful shove, causing the smaller gent to giggle even more maniacally. “Besides. I don’t want to just look at the docks from afar. I’d rather just be there.”

“Pools first, alright?” Guthery reminded him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Theodore nodded purposefully, and turned his head away from the skybridge.

He inhaled deeply, and felt a small quake in the bottom of his heart again. He remembered these. The lines of sapphires, and other blue stones that were inset in the walls. In part, they added color to the granite that made up these spaces that had been carved into the stone so long ago. His palm reached out to instinctively touch the uneven surfaces, and he felt his ears splay again in the private shame of his misrepresenting of his own faith.

These halls would lead deep into the mountainside. From the bridge there would be a large hall—an ineffective use of space that had once been a ballroom, if he remembered right—but that wasn’t where they’d be stopping. They’d be going through that mirror-polished, marble-set hall to the junctions in the back. Twin, spiral stair cases in the left and right corner pockets of the hall would take beasts up, or down.

From where they stood, they'd be taking the left, then going up. Another long hallway, identical in motif to this ballroom, then the final doorway on the left from there. Past the potted plants. Past the thin curtains. Past the collection of armoires for the private effects of whichever beasts were visiting. All the way to Theodore’s old pool.

The lump reappeared in Theodore’s throat, and he felt himself staring nervously through the haze which crept around the final curtain between himself, Guthery, and the pool beyond the locker room. He hadn’t even noticed his feet had carried him this far.

“Theodore…” Guthery muttered quietly, the cat’s soft, gentle palm resting just at the line on Theodore’s elbow that separated his tan, and brown fur beneath his shirt. “Are you sure that this is how you want to overcome this?”

Theodore swallowed nervously. He ran his tongue over his teeth one last time, feeling the spots where he’d scratched tartar away from his gums, only to steel himself with a final, forced shiver. His gaze hardened, and he felt his shoulders roll forward, almost as if he was ready to physically fight the memories that swirled, beckoned, and mocked him through the swirling patterns beyond the heavy drapes.

He dragged a final breath through his nose, and began to blindly unsnare the sash from around his hips. Theodore dropped the cloth to one side, then flashed Guthery a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, confirming his statement half-heartedly.

“Yes.”