[ There are few quiet places in the city, but he's tracked Larus to one of them, a shabby rooftop overlooking the harbor for a breathtaking view of endless, inky black waters. Finding him had been no easy task, and he suspects that he only did because Larus allowed him to. This song and dance between them is only something like trust, but not quite the real thing. Not yet. He calls upon Larus for work-related endeavors. His work is the city, and so their meetings have become quite frequent. Oksana, standing guard outside of Cashmere, offers up generous complaints about Larus' tendency to forego the entrance doors altogether. And Casimir's sanctioning of this.

The moon is but a sliver in a sky dotted with a small scattering of stars, the constant lights of the city hiding most of the constellations. The temperature has dropped from the earlier warmth of the day, and he wishes he'd thought to bring a coat to layer atop the dusky-colored, laced shirt he's wearing, the strings undone at the top of his chest and hanging uselessly down his front. No matter. He doesn't bother trying to mask the gentle steps of his worn, brown boots. He's just come from the market, and in his hand is a rosy peach, tossed to him by one of the women running a fruit cart after he'd stopped to help her oil one of her squeaky wheels. ]

Are you appreciating the view or are you being sinister? [ He walks to the edge of the roof, a few feet beside where Larus is perched on the raised stone perimeter, and brushes back the tendrils of hair that've escaped the loose half-braid gathered at the back of his head. The rest of his hair falls around his shoulders and down his back. He climbs on the short barrier and sits, letting his feet dangle off the edge, and takes a large bite of the peach, sweet juices immediately flooding his mouth. He gestures with the fruit. ] What did you like to eat? Before you joined the ranks of the forsaken, of course.