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"Mr. Locke, this is completely unnecessary!" Whitaker barked, yanking his arm back from Theodore. He rubbed the bruised flesh just above his elbow and scowled along with several other Abbeygoers.

Theodore's jaw was set as he glared up at the beast, ignoring the folk around them as they were guided to the side. He didn't give a damn about their dirty looks, or the murmuring disapproval of his actions in front of the offended elder beast. "You come in here," his voice simmered just over a whisper. "Giving me enough mixed messages to kill someone twice as intelligent. You stack up your bullshit so fucking high in front of an Arbiter, a Priestess and then you tell me in private that, somehow you have proof?" his temper wouldn't allow him to stay quiet. He was eye to eye with the Otter, who refused to look back at him. "You're all over the place, and if I had it my way I wouldn't be entertaining this bullshit anymore."

"You certainly are a sailor at heart, aren't you?" Whitaker spat. "This would all make sense if you did more to understand it!"

Theodore's fingers drove into the bridge of his own muzzle, trying to stave off the headache that was already chewing on the corners of his mind. This idiot... "Look," he growled into his palm, still fighting off the urge to throw Whitaker the rest of the way down the stairs. "I'm not entertaining anything else with proof. If what you have is so important that somebeast is willing to kill you over it, then fine. I'm beyond my wits with you."

The professor inhaled slowly around Theodore's words, waiting for the sounds of retreating beasts to die away completely. He checked over his shoulder as if to make certain they were alone before he lowered his voice. "If Guthery is here, he knows precisely what brews to make in order for us to study this creature. However, you may find the practice unsavory."

"Guthery ought to be; he does live in this Abbey as well, for now." Theodore turned back down the stairs.

The healthy trot all but dragged Whitaker to the cellars. The staircase's spiral wound downward into the earth below. Theodore ignored the howls of laughter from some of the overnight suites, then down past the main floor to the cellars below. The final landing stopped at a door that was as thick as Theodore's chest, and groaned on its hinges as if it had sampled every substance it kept.

Once upon a time, the catacombs sprawled outward in all directions; a labyrinth of identical looking archways and pillars. Owners of the estates had added walls over time to help create a semblance of order, and guidance away from the patterns. These days

"These catacombs used to house three times this much alcohol," Theodore explained over his shoulder in an effort to give himself_anything_ else to think about. He raised a thumb toward his right side, nodding toward an iron wrought set of bars, guarding walls of casks. "We still make some of our mead in-house. Our wines come from elsewhere."

"Fascinating, but where is Guthery's laboratory?" Whitaker's monotone was almost enough to convince Theodore to punch him in the jaw. Instead, the tremor of his balled fist rested against his waist to give it something to hang onto. "I imagine that--"

"It's to the right, here," Theodore strode forward, yanking open a fogged-glass door. Whitaker paused, dipping his head before he slid into the next hallway.

The uniform spacing between the pillars was put to careful work on this side of the cellars: curtains or wooden walls created separate spaces for beasts to indulge in the low-profile satisfaction of Sacred Intoxication. Beasts in various shades of undress snuggled together, surrounded by pillows and carefully guarded by their guides beneath the warm colors which danced through mosaic lantern covers, crossing dark stained oak in playful patterns. The heady scent of smoldering herbs dragged a sneeze out of Theodore's nose while he guided Whitaker further into the rooms. Low lights and mild cooing surrounded them--Theodore watched as the professor tried squinting through the darkness to find the beast they were after.

"Guthery manages the more private rooms in the back," Theodore murmured into his ear, causing the beast to jump. "Head straight back through the walls--if the red lanterns are on your right, you're headed deeper into the den."

He didn't even offer a word of thanks, instead just nodding forward to the wall. Theodore tilted his head, eyeing the beast as his jaw set, and his muscles tensed. He could nearly hear the gears shrieking out of control behind the stern gaze. The expression aged him, but Theodore couldn't help but to admire the sudden determination that the beast had. It was like he actually knew what he was doing now.

"Guthery!" Whitaker's hush exclaim got the Feline's attention just as he came into view. He was a delicate sort; handsome even among the ageless beauty that came so effortlessly to Feline kind. The beast adjusted his green sash, bowing his head politely toward Whitaker as they approached.

"So good of you to stop by!" Guthery cooed. Theodore's ears perked at the quake in his voice; clearly they'd taken the gent by surprise. The manic tail flicking, the constant brushing of his clothes over the sandy tones of his striped fur. His glances between Theodore and Whitaker didn't go unnoticed, but he played them off as best as he could with a slanted grin to his coworker. "Normally, folks imbibe, and then they eat--"

"Which room is yours, and is it occupied currently?" the professor's somber tone was enough to drag Guthery's feigned joy off of his face. The gent thumbed over his shoulder toward the door he'd only just closed, guiding the pair inside.

As soon as the door latched behind them, the warm glow of amber gaslights flooded the room. Theodore had to blink against the sudden change from the muted darkness, blinking around Guthery's makeshift hovel. It was a box like any of the others down here; a wall opposite of the door was filled with glassware, organized neatly next to singing bowls and stained glass lantern hoods. In the center of the room stood an artful brass brazier, surrounded by enough lounge pillows to drown in. His nose scrunched at the light scent of vinegar cleaner,

"What is going on, did something happen?" panic invaded Guthery's voice, and he made doubly sure the door behind them was locked. "I haven't heard from Victor since last week. He'd sent a telegram that you and he were coming back from Fielora--" he rushed.

Theodore wasn't sure if Guthery had forgotten he was in the room, or if perhaps the gent didn't care. Either way, he took a half-step back to let them continue.

Guthery closed the distance between himself and Whitaker. His mouth stood half-open as he studied the hardened expression of the Otter. They stood nearly nose to nose before the Feline could finally force out the words--"Victor said there was trouble. Then you've come about, saying that you're in danger. What is going on?"

"How--?" Whitaker began, only for Guthery to cut him off with a finger to his chest.

"Mabel loves the sound of her own voice and the expression of shock when she knows something no one else does; she knows Victor and she came down this way as soon as you she was dismissed from Sybil's office," his ears splayed. "I was just finishing cleaning here and going to come and see you. At least you've saved me the trip. What is going on?" Guthery's voice cracked in his command.

Whitaker's back straightened, and he tilted his head skyward. He breathed deep in the face of the Feline's fervor, squaring with the gent as soon as he was ready to do so. "Victor is safe. But another scientist we worked with was shot and killed."

"Gods..." the Feline exhaled. "Who was it?"

"Cyril Lestrad," Whitaker shook his head over the top of Guthery's sharp inhale of surprise. "His death spurred both Victor and I to return home immediately. I have no idea where Victor has ended up, but I am confident he is safe--" the Otter raised a paw to clamp over the Feline's mouth with a speed that Theodore didn't think the gent had in him. "--And before you start in with your hyperventilating, I need you to listen to me very, _very_carefully. Nod if you understand me? Good. Mr. Locke requires I prove myself against his definitions of madness," Guthery's eyes widened in anticipation.

It made Theodore's heart leap to his throat.

Guthery yanked backward from Whitaker, his teeth bared in a rare, aggressive snarl. "No. I'm not going to do that to him, or let him do it to himself!" he spat. Theodore hadn't ever seen Guthery's fur standing on end, or his hackles raised before. "You and Victor are obsessed with that thing. It isn't natural!" he raised an accusing finger toward...

Theodore's head tilted. The corner of the room? He found himself studying it as they bickered. The dancing lights showed him nothing new. If anything, the barren wood slats were startlingly ordinary. No lamp. No pillow. No chemical to clean anything. Not even any dust.

No reason why Theodore's skin crawled.

"We're not having this debate here, Guthery," Whitaker deflected. "Mr. Locke thinks I'm mad, and if he reports as such back to Madame Sybil, she would have me left to hang." The words settled over the trio, causing Guthery to take another step backward. He shook his head once more at the offer, and Theodore took a step between Whitaker's advance and the Feline.

"If he won't do it, then you have no proof. Nothing real." Theodore advised with the barest hint of a growl in his voice. Whitaker's whiskers drooped along with his shoulders.

"I suppose the scars around my eyes mean nothing? The breadth of this study--" Whitaker retrieved the journal from his vest to show it off once more. "--is only kindling in front of a fire?"

"You're a panic monger like any other beast. Sell your shit to those penny dreadfuls, or to somebeast that's willing to indulge in this insanity," the iron in Theodore's voice was cracked by the feeling of Guthery's paw against his elbow. He turned, blinking at the ashamed looking gent next to him.

"It's... It's not a lie, Theodore," the Feline exhaled slowly. "But I can't prove it to you directly without performing it's rituals. And I don't want to do that to you, or any other beast, ever again," he shook his head as Theodore made ready to speak. "Theodore... it makes a form of madness that I don't know how to cure. It isn't a trick."

He fell silent. Forcing his breath to stay even, Theodore stepped back from between the beasts, looking between the pair of them. Between Guthery's nervousness, and Whitaker's tension... He shook his head in disbelief. "You're cracked, both of you," his voice was barely above a whisper. They didn't move, or even react to him. He continued to look between the pair, scoffing after a few more moments. "That's it? Just saying that it's not a lie, and--"

"And watching proof be denied to you," Whitaker's teeth bared. "Because somebeast demands that it stay private." His arms crossed, and both of their gazes met at the forehead of Guthery. Feeling the weight of their glares, the Feline's head bowed.

"Theodore, this isn't giving you knowledge or context," he mumbled toward the pillow. "If I do this to you, it's giving you an addiction," his back straightened. His eyes stared into Theodore's, and Guthery seemed to force their breathing to match by sheer force of will. "If I do this to you, everything changes."

"I gathered that much," Theodore grunted, crossing his arms at the Feline. "But I need to know that this one--" his thumb jabbed toward Whitaker. "Isn't just insane. I need to know what folks are willing to kill him over."

Guthery fell silent once more, his eyes closing. His inner demons danced across his eyebrows, and his conscience found itself in a losing battle. He turned toward the back wall, eyeing Theodore at first, then up and over the glass and brass selection of instruments. "I am going to ask you a question. If you answer it too quickly, I won't help you with this," he instructed. Theodore's ears perked. "Listen to my full question. Count backwards from ten. Then answer truthfully," he stepped toward Theodore, cupping the Wolf's cheeks with each of his delicate paws. "Does this one seek Communion?"

Theodore inhaled slowly. The scent of vinegar seeped deeply into Guthery's palms--the vanilla did little to cover it up.

Ten.

Whitaker was still insane. This was crazy like crazy rarely came about. The beast was unstable and couldn't be trusted as far as he could be thrown--Theodore wasn't about to put his hands on the slimy little water weasel though.

Nine.

Sybil was trusting him with this... this animal's safety. How could he keep the beast safe if he was out of his head on mushrooms and whatever the hell else Guthery had in store for him? No. This wouldn't go well.

Eight.

What would this do to him? What would Silas think? If Silas were still alive, what would he say? No--_no!--_now wasn't the time to be thinking about him.

Seven.

He had duties. He couldn't just... no. He'd... He'd already reasoned that with himself. Was that the only reason he could come up with? A sense of duty? Was that the only thing that was keeping him from finding out? From answering the questions that Whitaker posed? Why couldn't he ask questions?

Six.

Superstitions aside, what was the harm in trying something new? The world was filled with experiences and all that. What was it that Silas had said...? No point in not learning something new, or doing something different every day?

Five.

Beasts were dying over this. It was important--it had to be. Scientists are a better sort; they don't just get killed in a laboratory by one of their peers for nothing. His ears perked.

Four.

How did he know the beast was killed in a laboratory? Whitaker... he hadn't said anything, had he? Intuition. It had to be intuition. Theodore had just guessed that was all.

Three.

Wasn't it?

Two.

Does this one seek Communion? Why was that playing in Theodore's head on loop? Why did that stand out so desperately? Why... What was that terrible sensation down his spine? Awake. Impure... Divine?

One.

Theodore tugged his face free of Guthery's paws, wincing at the sensation of cold on his cheeks now. He shivered visibly to shake off whatever was lurching around his shoulder. He swallowed once more; the pain on Guthery's face told Theodore his own answer before the word even left his mouth.

"Yes."