Grabbing the door handle Stare hauled it open. Dully she blinked into the corridor light, blinking at what she saw, which was more or less what she had expected to see. Vitruvion was holding up a man against the wall just by the door, hand fixed around his neck and eyes blazing. On the other side was the same hazel-eyed man that Stare had seen in the small mess, as well as Zulon. They were all stunned, halting in their arguments as she came in, the focus of their contestation. Raising her brow she looked form one to the other and grunted.

“Stop ... please.”

Vitruvion narrowed his eyes slightly as he switched his gaze from the man he pinned, to her. Tiredly she stared right back at him, still having not entirely forgiven him - yet. But still, he was here, and clearly there had been something in what the pinned guard had said that had caused him anger, for the man could currently not speak, and was quite scrabbling at the hand.

“Is he worth killing?” she asked, flatly.

There was a pause. Hissing darkly Vitruvion straightened, and as he did he leant back. His vice-like grip loosened and suddenly the man was released. He slid down the wall, gasping and collapsing as the hazel-eyed one crouched by him, eager to assist.

“This,” the god threw a dirty look at the guard, “is no longer fit to work here.” He curled a hand into a condemning finger to point at him. His eyes lifted to Zulon. “Let it be known that anyone who even dares to consider Stare one of my guests is very sorely mistaken. She might be mine, but you also also work under her.”

Zulon’s hands tensed, but he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he quietly responded.

“And you,” Vitruvion twisted around to glare at her. “I need you.”

“I guessed as much,” she answered, soullessly.

She dimly was aware of herself stretching, and as she extended her arms out in front of her, of Vitruvion taking a step forwards, and grabbing her around the waist. She blinked as he hoisted her up and slung her over his shoulder. She yawned as he started off the corridor, pausing for a moment before giving up, and letting her tired form hang limp. Zulon watched after them for a while, blinking blankly as she waved a hand farewell.

Vitruvion barged his way through the door at the end of the small corridor, then into the main hallway. A surprised group - who guards alongside a startled Lament stared at his sudden intrusion. Scowling a little, Stare propped herself up on one arm as Vitruvion paused, then stepped around them to continue on his way.

“I can walk,” she muttered quietly. She could feel her feet dangling and slightly swinging, as well as her wings were being crushed. But this seemed a temporary solution - Vitruvion apparently angered that someone had dared to suggest she could be brought to him like she had once been in the early months.

He shoved open the door to the other half of his apartments, not replying. More guards, but this time his employees, appeared and gawped for a moment before glancing away. Vitruvion kept moving, his temper calming according to the slow in his stride, but still he did not loosen his hold. He waited until they were in the antechamber, and even then took his time to walk over to her sofa and deposited her by the pile of cushions.

Raising her brow she looked at him, remaining where she was and pulling her hands to cup them on her lap. Slowly she blinked as her wings adjusted themselves into a more comfortable position and she waited for him to begin. He strode to the other side of the room, where his armchair was, alongside the large leather pouch containing the paper, and grabbed something from the top. It was a thin, white envelope that fit neatly into his long-fingered hand.

Coming back over he thrust the letter at her. “This came. For you.”

Stare paused, but slowly extended a hand, “a letter? This is worth waking me up for?”

He lifted his chin slightly before moving to the side. Then he twisted, and sat elegantly down into the seat to the side - the one not obscured by cushions. He leant back into the sofa, slumping but still keeping his genteel demeanor.

“So?”

It was rare she got her own letters, that was true. And clearly he was making it his intention to have her open it in front of me. For a moment she considered asking for privacy, but then with him in her head he would likely find out soon anyway. Mind, body and effing soul.

Turning the letter over she looked at the address, seeing that it had been scribed in a somewhat practised hand. It was one she recognised but was not sure where to pin it. It was addressed:

‘Miss Stare Tsukaka,
Elssmith Manor,
Beinost,
Raiaera.’

Carefully she used a claw to begin slicing down the edge of the paper. Vitruvion watched, intrigued, his brow slightly creasing.
Two pieces of paper fell out, one written in the same hand, and one with a capitalised scrawl, tucked behind it. Stare paused, before taking out the second page and was surprised to read:

‘NO MEAN GOD PLZ.’

Her beak parted in surprise. There was a stir beside her as Vitruvion leant forwards and held out his hand. Quite eagerly she passed him the page with less writing, trying not to begin to laugh.

“No … mean god pl-” he frowned, “what is that last word? Pulls?”

“I think it is meant to be 'please,’ my lord,” her eyes grinned as she settled to read the rest.

'"Dear Stare:
I am pleased to inform you that you are cordially invited to the wedding between myself, Nevin Aaimaparapatois and one Eteri Yoko. The celebration will be held in two weeks time, in the Crimson Church located in Radasanth.

Now that that formal bother is out of the way. We'd both appreciate it if you could make it, Stare. But I know things are not going well on your end so if you're too busy I understand. Raevin is recuperating well, and taking to his new leg with aplomb - he is invited as well, so I can keep an eye on him just in case. Try to keep the grumbler from weighing you down too much here if you want to come.’

Her brow lifted and her beak fell open in wide astonishment.

“Holy Ansaldo's balls,” she whispered. “They're getting married.”

“'Mean god,’ and … 'grumbler.’ I am assuming both of them refer to myself,” Vitruvion muttered, unappreciative and not amused.

“Two weeks,” Stare paused, and anxiously looked to him. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked, his expression fully sour. “Can you go? That is out of the question.”

Blinking a couple of times she was taken aback by his absolute rejection. “It's a wedding,” she stressed, “there are no assassins hiding in dark corners, especially not in Nevin's own church. They almost literally worship him there.”

Vitruvion shifted uncomfortably and Stare found herself wincing. Mentioning worship was not a kind subject in front of him. Alongside the act of being forcefully placed into a mortal shell, the Raiaeran gods had also forbidden Vitruvion from receiving any form of worship. To do so would provide him with power, as gods were prone to gather, and thus make him a liable threat.

“I apologise,” she said quietly, eyes dropping down. “... But I will be safe. Raevin is invited, and you can be in my head the entire time.”

“Stare,” he looked at her quite seriously, “they describe me in vulgar manners.”

“Yes, and I understand that infuriates you,” she inclined her head. “However, this is one of those situations that does concern myself, and hence, should be permitted to be open for negotiation.” She thought, then quickly added, “please, Vitruvion.”

“This matter concerns your safety,” he growled, crushing the paper in his hand into a ball. He curled his fingers around it and gestured at her roughly.

“Yes it does,” she accepted. “So what conditions would I be under, if I were to go.”

He narrowed his eyes at her partly, jawline stern. His hand dropped to rest on his knee as he fell silent for a moment. She waited, knowing now was not a time to interrupt.

“You do not stray from Raevin’s side. If I decide it is time for you to leave, you leave. No arguments. Also, you're getting a new weapon.”

“I need a new weapon?” she asked, frowning.

“Stare,” he growled impatiently.

She huffed, but nodded. “I accept. And you'll be in the city also, I imagine.”

“Ready to summon if it is the last resort, yes,” he nodded, thumbing the ring on his finger with the deep blue marble in it. She eyed it, agitated slightly at what it could do - namely, summon her to his side without prior warning. The act of doing so always irritated her, especially as he was in the habit of doing so without her knowledge. As such he limited the use of the power, yet still held it as an option.

“Fine,” she nodded. “I accept that also. But I would like to hear the vows.”