"No, no, that won't do. Sober. Sober..."

Mirk knew he wasn't just thinking the words. Which wasn't a very sober act, in and of itself. But it helped to keep the world from spinning, and that kept him from stumbling across the street from gutter to gutter and making a fool of himself. He tried to draw up his chin instead of staying hunched and hidden under the hood of his cloak.

"A little fresh air and it'll be just fine. The same as Niv always says."

He hadn't meant to get drunk. Mirk had only stopped in at the tavern all the foreign members of the Seventh frequented to have a drink to settle his nerves. Nothing strong, maybe watered down whiskey, or, if nothing else was available, a tiny glass of that pungent liquor some of the members of the Seventh made themselves in one of the dormitory baths.

But K'aekniv and Mordecai had been there, slumped over the bar and looking miserable because neither of them could drink as much as they wanted, owing to their present romantic pursuits. Mirk had felt bad for them, so he'd bought them both a drink. And then another, because K'aekniv started telling some story about the last wedding he'd been to back where he was from, and it would have been rude of them all to sit at the bar with nothing. And then Mordecai had started in, and Mirk had obliged them all with another...

"Focus. Just have to focus..."

K'aekniv's silly plans were hard to say no to once Mirk had a few drinks in him. Which was why he'd agreed to let K'aekniv put him in that night's drinking bout, and why he'd given Mordecai money to bet on him, and, at that point, it would have been wasteful not to win. K'aekniv could never compete himself, of course -- everyone knew him there, so as soon as he threw his name in, the rest of the contenders quit while they were ahead.

Mirk had been lucky that none of the really experienced drunks were there that night. It was a rowdy crowd, and the sort of tired men who had more gin than blood in them tended to retreat to less hectic climes when things started getting loud. Mirk had only just begun to get dizzy by the time the final contestant, a mountain of a man, a Bavarian from the First who Mirk couldn't understand even with a translation charm, had fallen backwards off his chair. Mirk had been cheered by all the members of the Seventh, keeping his cloak drawn tightly about himself so that his gray three piece wouldn't attract even more undue attention.

"Ah...there it is. It's not so bad. Ben, allons-y, allons à la maison, alors..."

But it hadn't quite done the trick. Though the Seventh and the First were usually on good terms, the First had a certain pride in their drinking skills. They insisted K'aekniv had to have cheated, somehow. Which he had. No one who didn't know Mirk well would have suspected he had angelic blood.

The fighting had started soon after. At which point Mirk had decided it'd be better to duck out before he ended up staying at the tavern all night to heal everyone involved. It didn't seem too serious; the nighttime healers at the infirmary would be able to handle things if the fight got out of hand. Though, things had gotten nasty in the infirmary over the last week or so. Some big contract was ending, though the Seventh wasn't involved yet. Mirk needed to go back to his quarters and sleep if he was going to be any use at all in the morning.

And as for the journal that was tugging the breast pocket of his justacorps out of line underneath his cloak, he'd deal with that in the morning too.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mirk forced himself to stop watching the road and look up at the facade of the healers dormitory. Not many lights were on. That was for the best. Though the fighters at the bar had been either too drunk or too distracted by the ladies to take note of his odd dress, Mirk had no doubt that his fellow healers would notice it instantly. He'd be hearing about it if one of them spotted him. Summoning the least tipsy smile he could muster, Mirk went inside.

The front vestibule was empty. So were the stairs, all the way up to the fourth floor. Mirk thought he caught a glimpse of something at the end of his hall, but when he shook his head and looked more closely, it was empty again. Trying to ignore the way his mind and senses were fizzing, Mirk hurried down the hall to his door. He fumbled a bit with his key, but didn't drop it. And he got it in the lock on the first try. Perhaps the walk out in the cold from the tavern to the dormitory had sobered him up a little, at least physically. As Mirk opened the door and stepped inside, he let out a sigh of relief, elbowing at the rune for the magelights.

"I see...you have been occupied this evening."

Mirk yelped, stumbling backward into the doorframe. Genesis was standing at the far end of the room, a thick reddish grimoire in hand, in the process of adding another line of symbols to the long strip of parchment that he'd tacked to the wall with a bit of magic. Laughing to himself, Mirk edged back inside and shut the door. "Oh, you surprised me, messire. I wasn't expecting you to be here in the dark."

The commander didn't turn to look at him -- he was intent on finishing whatever he was working on. "The magelight beneath the desk...generates adequate light to work by."

He was still confused by Genesis's presence. The commander's condition had improved over the three days since Mirk had found him lying out in the street. When Mirk had checked his temperature that morning, it'd been more or less normal again, for him. He'd told Genesis he should keep being gentle with himself, but that there was no longer any need for him to stay in bed. Genesis had been up and out, a fresh set of clothes and his potions and tinctures in hand, before Mirk could even sort out where he'd put his own work bag down the night before. And Genesis hadn't been there that afternoon when he'd come in to change. Though the bloodied robes he'd thrown distractedly over one shoulder as he tried to decide which suit to wear to Madame Beaumont's were now gone, Mirk noticed.

"Euh...are you working on something important?" Mirk asked, as he made his way to the bed and sat down. He'd have an easier time hiding that he was tipsy if he wasn't standing and swaying from side to side.

"A minor issue," Genesis said, closing his book. He finally turned to look at Mirk again, scanning his attire with a slight frown. "Why are you wearing your...royalist finery again?"

Mirk smoothed the front of his justacorps, sighing. There was no point in not telling him. He'd need Genesis's help if he was going to ever make sense of his grandfather's journal. But Mirk had been hoping they could have a more pleasant conversation first, so that Mirk could ease his way into things instead of immediately banishing the good cheer he'd built up over the course of the night. "Do you remember Madame Beaumont?"

"No."

"My godmother." When Genesis still showed no signs of recognition, Mirk continued. "Elderly, the head of her own house, fond of large hats? You and her met at that ball in Lyon..."

The hats did it. Genesis set the book down on Mirk's desk, folding his arms. "Ah. Her."

"I thought that since she never wrote that she might have been...anyway, she sent her djinn to the infirmary this morning with a letter. I went and had tea with her this afternoon."

"And?"

It was difficult to tell what Genesis was feeling. He'd shifted back to his usual blankness, his arms still folded, looking over at the spell pinned to the wall rather than down at him. The question had been nagging at Mirk ever since he'd received word from Madame Beaumont. He supposed he might as well ask it and get the worst part of things over with. "Did you know, Genesis? That she was looking for me? That my uncle Henri and my cousins are alive?"

Genesis didn't seem surprised by this revelation. Mirk's heart sank. But after a moment, Genesis shook his head. "No. I had thought the matter was…concluded. Your grandfather gave no indication of the...extent of the situation to me personally. If he had, perhaps things would have...resolved differently."

There was a certain note of bitterness in Genesis's tone that made Mirk believe him. He knew Genesis. He had trouble enough conveying his genuine feelings to the rest of them, not to even think of creating false ones to cover them. That aside, Mirk didn't think, knowing what he did of the commander, that Genesis would have let what had happened to Mirk and his family come to pass without getting himself killed in the process, had someone told him what was brewing.

Slowly, Mirk nodded. "I think I might have a way for us to find out why he did that." He drew the journal out of the breast pocket of his justacorps and held it out to Genesis.

The commander took the book, turning it over delicately in his hands and studying it from every angle before finally opening it. Mirk had no idea how Genesis could read it in such dim light. Mirk had barely been able to follow the lines of age-worn script in the full light of Madame Beaumont's parlor. "This language is...strange," Genesis said, as he turned a page.

"Madame Beaumont thought it might be in code."

"Not...precisely. A code retains, in certain aspects, traces of the original in its structure. Unless one is particularly cautious. Your grandfather does not seem the type, despite his...secrets. One must be very methodical."

Mirk wasn't sure whether the statement was meant as an insult or not. Either way, Mirk did agree with Genesis. Jean-Luc had been many things, but methodical wasn't one of them. The number of times his grandfather had walked halfway down the drive on his morning constitutional without remembering to put his wig on before stepping out spoke to that. "Then what is it?"

Genesis was silent for a long time, turning page after page. The shadows were deepening behind the commander, Mirk noticed. Maybe they were as intrigued as Genesis was. "A question. Where was your grandfather born?"

"Euh...hmm. Well, he never said exactly where. It was in the mountains. Near Bayonne, methinks. Why?"

"Every search must begin somewhere. It is best...to start at the beginning. That way, no detail is overlooked."

Though Mirk didn't feel much better about the whole situation, he found himself smiling. Maybe it was the liquor. Or maybe it was just that it always made him feel warm, for some reason, to see Genesis so interested in something. So often it seemed like Genesis treated most parts of life as a chore, as an obligation to be suffered through. Even when he was reading, half the time the commander seemed to be just forcing himself through things. But the way Genesis was staring so intently down at the journal, as if nothing else in the world existed at that moment, made him seem more vibrant. More alive instead of only existing.

Mirk regretted having to interrupt. But he thought Genesis should hear everything, even if it was obvious that the journal had captured most of his attention. "Madame Beaumont said Henri and the children have been trapped in his workshop in Bordeaux all this time. But you don't need to worry about that. She has a nephew in Black Banner who's bringing them up to London at the end of the month."

Genesis tore himself away from the book, blinking a few times. "Trapped how?"

"Euh...they don't know, really. House Rose demons like the rest, though. Maybe a pocket realm? I don't know much about that kind of magic. One of Henri's children, my cousin Armel, managed to escape with a letter. That's how Madame Beaumont found out about them."

Stolen novel; please report.

"And how did she know your location?"

Again, Mirk couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Grandpère arranged to have a letter sent to her when someone drew on the family ledger. Her djinn, Monsieur Am-Hazek, came up with what to do after that. What was it...finding the strange Englishman I'd employed and starting there...the Englishman with the reputation among the booksellers..."

Sighing, Genesis shut the book. For the time being. "That kinship line is known for their...strategic ability."

"I'm lucky you're so distinctive, messire. Otherwise I wouldn't know a thing about all this."

Ignoring this, Genesis put the book down on Mirk's desk, precisely atop the center of the book he'd been working from earlier. "The ledger. I should have...anticipated this. The wealthy are always concerned with their gold."

Mirk shrugged. "Methinks I may have forgotten all about it if you hadn't reminded me of it."

"You are not...typical of your rank," Genesis said slowly, as if the discrepancy puzzled him.

Mirk laughed. "Thank you?"

"Nevertheless. It resulted in lost time. Though it was...inadvisable for you to leave the City before that point. I had not yet determined the best course of action regarding Aeli."

"Aeli..." The name sounded familiar, but Mirk couldn't quite place it.

"The assassin."

The one who'd Genesis nearly killed himself beheading. Mirk sighed. "What did he want with me? You never said. The name doesn't sound familiar at all. And no one hated my father that much. Not that I knew about."

"He wished to...return to the Empire's service. Doubtlessly, the elimination of anyone who...may have been of some benefit to me would raise his esteem with Imanael."

"I don't know who that is either, messire." All Mirk knew about the Empire of Heaven was that it called his father away from home at least once a fortnight. He couldn't even recall the name of the Emperor, despite both his father and the messengers who summoned him always exchanging some salute invoking the Emperor's name and the Light Eternal each time they parted. He'd always been too distracted by the worry that his father might not return from whatever mission he was being sent on to pay close attention. It was something with an ae, but nearly every angelic name had at least one of those. Mirk had no chance of ever even visiting Heaven, so none of his tutors had thought it worthwhile to teach him anything about it. Teleportation spells alone always made Mirk so ill he could barely stand once he reached the other side. No one thought it was a good idea to test things further by trying to send him off-realm.

"It is irrelevant. For the time being." Genesis moved on quickly, picking an invisible speck of lint or dirt off his shirtsleeve. "What are you intending to do with your relations once they are here? Provided Black Banner is not so...incompetent they fail to retrieve them."

Mirk shrugged. "I'm not certain. Madame Beaumont...well. We're trying to think of a way to manage Serge. No one suspects that he's done anything. We have to put the evidence in front of the Circle. If they decide to do something, then methinks maybe Henri can go back home with the children once it's over."

Genesis shot Mirk an incredulous look, as if he was fumbling around searching for a grimoire or a bottle that was right in front of him. Before the commander could open his mouth to speak, Mirk managed to put things together and cut him off. He really had drank too much that evening, overlooking something so obvious.

"I'm not having him killed, Genesis. It's not my place to judge. The Circle will know better what to do with him. Methinks they might put some kind of restraint on his magic, or at least replace him in the Firestarters and the Circle."

Genesis's expression hardened a little. "Better to...die free than be bound."

"Well, either way, it's not up to me. And not up to you either, I hope. Think of all the trouble it will cause." Genesis didn't reply, but Mirk hoped he'd gotten his point across. Mirk continued, undoing the clasp at the front of his cloak and letting it fall from his shoulders. Now that everything was out in the open, all the worst parts of the truth laid bare, Mirk found the urge to curl up in bed fully dressed almost overwhelming. "We'll just have to wait and see, methinks. Madame Beaumont is hosting the first ball of the season on the last Saturday of the month. I'm sure if we all work together, we can sort out what to do by then. Even if it doesn't go well, it'll be nice to see Henri and my cousins again. I hope all this hasn't made any of them ill...it must be terrible, trapped in such a small place for so long..."

"Being...inebriated is not conducive to productive thought," Genesis said, as he picked up Jean-Luc's journal again.

Mirk sighed. He thought he'd done a good job of hiding that he was a little drunk yet. What had given him away? Some change in his speech, probably, or maybe the smell of the tavern had clung to his clothes. A small thing, something only someone like Genesis would notice. "I'm sorry, messire. It was a long afternoon. Niv says hello, by the way. He hopes you're feeling better. And he said something about being called out on contract soon."

Genesis made a dismissive gesture, opening the journal once again as he made for the door. The commander was instantly engrossed in it. So much so that rather than opening the door and leaving properly, he continued walking on through the shadows in the corner and vanished without raising his head.

It took Mirk every ounce of strength he had not to let himself tumble backward and pass out. But he only had so many good suits left. They really needed to be hung rather than folded, but, considering how small the rooms were in the healers dormitory, a proper armoire was out of the question.

Mirk forced himself to his feet and got undressed, doing his best to fold all the pieces of the suit neatly, along with all the small trappings of proper attire that went along with it. It really was exhausting. How he'd managed to do it every day before was beyond him. Perhaps that was why all the guild masters Mirk had ever met had at least a dozen servants constantly hovering around them to tend to their every need. Though, the fact that most of them didn't also end up chasing mad patients all over the infirmary day in and day out before getting all dressed up also probably had something to do with how tiring Mirk all found it compared to all the others.

Once he was in his nightshirt, Mirk dove into bed, wrapping himself in the unnecessary amount of quilts still piled on it and closing his eyes. There was more room to stretch out, now that he was alone again. Mirk had been expecting to pass immediately into unconsciousness. Yet, sleep wasn't coming, despite the combined effects of the liquor and his fatigue. Mirk rolled over onto his other side, facing away from the wall and fussing with the pillow under his head.

Just in time to see Genesis walk back into the room through the shadows, still studying the journal. "Did you forget something?" Mirk asked, voice muffled by the quilts.

"...no."

Mirk took a second look at the commander. He hadn't noticed it right away because all of Genesis's clothes were oversized and black, but he wasn't dressed in his uniform. He was wearing his sleeping clothes, the odd high-cut black shirt with the tied-back sleeves and the trousers that were as voluminous as the ones the more martially inclined K'maneda ladies wore to hide that they weren't wearing a dress. And he was barefoot. "Euh...you're...staying here?"

"Would you prefer I leave?" Genesis asked, his tone flat.

"No! No, of course you can stay, messire," Mirk said, quickly, before Genesis could get the wrong idea. Mirk shoved off half the blankets and scooted over close to the wall. "I'm only a little surprised. Niv said that you don't like sleeping every night. And...well, I thought you would have wanted to go somewhere else. An inn, maybe. There are some nice ones over by the East Gate."

Genesis shook his head, drawing over to the side of the bed, considering it. Mirk must have lost track of time while trying to fall asleep. Even though Mirk hadn't seen Genesis take anything with him other than Jean-Luc's journal, it was obvious that the commander had just washed. The faint smell of lilies hanging about him was more pronounced than usual. "A waste of resources," Genesis eventually concluded.

Mirk sighed, throwing off more of the blankets and shuffling further away from the edge, until his back was pressed against the stone wall beside the other side of the bed. "I don't mind you staying, Genesis, not at all, but if you're going to lie down, methinks it would be better if you did it right away. Unless you want to work at the desk. I don't mind."

Genesis's expression took on a puzzled cast. He looked back at the tiny chair tucked under Mirk's desk, then turned his consideration back toward the bed.

In his tipsy, tired state, Mirk had forgotten who he was dealing with. Not to mention how easily he'd shifted back into the usual layers of politeness and indirectness that was common among the noble French mages, though he'd stumbled a little at first because of the emotions involved. It was ten times easier to retreat back into that indirect way of speaking, all nuance and suggestion, than it was to put himself back into the literal K'maneda frame of mind. "I'm very tired, messire. I'd like to go to sleep. You don't have to go to sleep even if you want to stay, but methinks I'd have an easier time getting to sleep if you decided where you're going to work for the night. You know once I'm asleep nothing will wake me up."

"An angelic trait. I am...familiar with it," Genesis said, though it was obvious to Mirk the commander's mind was elsewhere. He could practically see the gears turning in Genesis's head. Like the issue of whether or not to get in bed necessitated as much careful consideration and delicacy as the journal still dangling from his hand did. Mirk didn't know why Genesis was being so indecisive. It wasn't like him to hesitate or reconsider once he'd settled on a course of action. Just as Mirk was about to speak up again, Genesis made his decision. Gingerly, he got into bed beside Mirk.

It wasn't a terribly graceful maneuver. The bed was low, and there really wasn't any dignified way to mess about with bedclothes, especially ones in such a rumpled and tangled state as the pile of quilts Mirk had buried himself in. But somehow, Genesis managed to accomplish it without too much flailing or accidentally smacking Mirk in his efforts to rearrange the quilts.

The commander refused to settle until they were all perfectly in line again, with one or two positioned lower on the bed, to make up for the fact that most of them were too short to reach from Genesis's chest to his feet. Mirk should have asked K'aekniv if Genesis had his own blanket somewhere in the room they’d shared, something that was sewn to his scale. But Mirk hadn't anticipated that Genesis would be staying. He thought, like usual, the commander would vanish the instant he was feeling better.

Mirk was glad that Genesis had decided to stay. There was a certain comfort in not being all alone in his room, but also not having to worry over being able to sleep due to another person's emotions. Before Mirk had come to the K'maneda, there'd always been his hellhound, Tournesol, to keep him company while he drifted off, either sleeping at the foot end of his bed or curled up beside him. Tournesol had been soft. Warm, no matter the weather. And only a little smaller than a pony. Mirk had ridden him around the family estate like one when he was a child, much to the chagrin of his father and his guardsmen. Tournesol, like the rest of his closest family, hadn't survived the flames that had swallowed the Lis de la Rivière.

But some had survived. And he wasn't alone. Though, rather than staring motionlessly up at the ceiling as usual -- whether or not the commander ever actually slept aside from when he was terribly ill was still a mystery to Mirk -- Genesis still had the open journal in hand, though he hadn't returned to reading, not yet. He was waiting for something.

With a deep sigh, Genesis glanced toward Mirk. "As I said previously. Do...as you will."

Laughing, Mirk settled in on his side again, pulling the stack of quilts up to his own chin and making sure they were tucked in around his back, to ward off the chill from the stone wall. Which still meant that Genesis wasn't completely covered, but, apparently, he was no longer so cold that the commander felt it was required. It was probably back to the usual way he slept in the infirmary: on his back, with the bedclothes at the level of the middle of his chest, both arms outside of them. Ready to respond in an instant to any threat.

The drink got the better of him; Mirk let himself tease Genesis a little rather than keeping quiet. "You know, messire, if I need to be so direct to get you to listen, methinks it's only fair that you be a little more direct yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Do as you will is a little vague, non? You could just ask for help keeping warm."

Frowning, Genesis lifted the journal and began to scan its pages. "I don't require that."

"But do you want it?"

Genesis was silent for a long time. "I would prefer it if you...went to sleep. As I said, being inebriated is not conducive to…productive thought."

Mirk laughed again, harder. "Well, it's a start, I suppose." Closing his eyes, Mirk leaned his head against the commander's arm. "Good night, Genesis. Don't stay up too late. I'd prefer it if you don't make yourself sick again."

"On that...we are agreed."

It wasn't exactly the same as Tournesol. Genesis wasn't warm. Or soft. And he didn't shed on the bedclothes, or purr in his sleep, or lick his face when he wouldn't wake up. But Mirk appreciated the feeling of safety and comfort Genesis's presence beside him brought nevertheless.