He pricked up his jet-tipped ears at the clitter-clatter of bamboo flooring. Tatami, he reminded himself was what it was called, intricately and tightly woven material that was a hell to clean because of all the tiny crevices. Glad we he that he was not the one who needed to get down on knee and elbow to scrub it until the dried vegetation shone.

Their attendant took small and gentle steps over the flooring in their geta, tapping out a rhythm that made a stark contrast to Philomel's own stomping beats. The faun - despite being in a place of honour and pleasure, and being all-round respectful of cultures - did not dull her hoofbeats to calm them to a limited volume. Keratin and bamboo naturally did not work together well, for it produced the most ungainly of sounds. But the Matriarch would not abstain on making at least some form of announcement in this small paradise that was the entertainment house they had wandered into.

Veridian nosed the air, punctuating her strides. He wondered at the bright and fantastical colours that dressed the attendants and imagined Philomel in something similar. The very idea made him begin to chortle, and as the guttral sound started to emerge from his vulpine throat he found himself beginning to not adhere to the conditions of social interaction here. Perhaps his laugh would be the accent that her hoofbeats were becoming.

But his laughter and amusement quickly feel to naught. Their finely dressed attendant halted suddenly, all to purse rose red painted lips and then smile. She leant over to a wall, at a hand against the surrealist cherry blossom and gently pulled back the sliding partition. In there was a small eating place, with a low table, chairs, an exquisite room heater.

"I guess this is us," Philomel grunted, stepping into the small alcove of a room.

The geisha smiled and inclined her head.

"I will be back with tea," she said in the gentlest of voices. "Madam and fox."

Veridian flicked his tail as he headed right for the cushion cloest to the heater. He let out a soft nicker, stretching out before making an effort to splendidly lounge.

The attendant smiled at them briefly before turning to leave. The partition wall was slid back, revealing a painted scene of a picnic on the other side. Philomel rubbed her cheek, wondering if coming into the Golden Dawn was the right decision or not; it was too late now.

"Hmm," she said, gazing at the plush but plain decor and preparing to take a seat. "This is different from when we were here last with Sakura."

"Sakura is a midwife," Veridian said in a grumble of a voice, still not quite used to the fact he could use it. "Not an entertainer."

"That makes no difference," the faun said, "she's my friend." Slowly, she began to sit, with her fox watching with golden eyes.

Her soft rump met material, her hooves scraped on the ground. She had to bend her swords back to avoid stabbing the tatami outright.

Of course it was only when she was comfortable that the crash happened.