“Snitch.” Thomas blinked through bleary eyes at Madelaine as he stepped through the door to rejoin their group; they had rented out several floors of a tower that served as a strange kind of cramped, vertical inn. Norris had woken him some time earlier, and told Thomas to clean up and join everyone in his own room; after Thomas had tried to reason through a headache where the water for his bath had come from, and then went to when he was done, and failed, he had given up and joined them.

He looked around the crescent-shaped room; Madelaine sat cross-legged on the bed, hands moving behind her head, fingers deftly forming a half-complete braid out of glistening wet hair faster than his eyes could follow. Arias was laying next to Madelaine, staring up at the ceiling with hands behind her head, looking almost like she was laying in a pool of her ridiculously long hair. He blinked at … they were wearing identical pink pajamas? Wooly pink pants and shirt, anyways, with bare feet.

Norris himself was sitting sideways in a cushioned armchair, a hand-written tome laying open across his knees, already dressed in his travel browns, although his hat was sitting on a table next to him. His eyes drifted up to Thomas, and he gave a brief nod, before his attention fell back to the oversized book. Anne wasn't in yet, and Thomas moved into the room, settling for leaning against a wall when he failed to spot any additional seating.

A rug filled most of the floor of the room – he was vaguely aware that the stone floors were cold, but it had been some time since small discomforts had been able to reach him. Thomas wasn't certain whether this was a product of damage reduction, or whether it was just that he had entirely new benchmarks for what 'uncomfortable' could even mean.

Madelaine finished braiding her after after a few more minutes, and began … he blinked. Lotion? She was putting lotion on her arms and legs. Well, a waxy, oily substance, from a copper tin she procured from a pink-tinted leather bag he hadn't noticed sitting on the bed next to her. He shifted his attention to a low bookshelf along one of the tapestry-covered walls; the books looked worn, the leather covers scuffed and scratched in places.

His room hadn't had a bookshelf. Why did Norris' room have one? Books were expensive, right? How did you even make paper, when there weren't any trees? Thomas thought back to the night before; flashes came through, of Anne and Norris helping guide him between the towers. He didn't remember stripping or getting into bed. He could kind of remember Norris negotiating the rates. Maybe he'd specifically asked for a room with books? Thomas couldn't quite remember.

They waited in silence for a little while, the noise of the rustling of pages as Norris periodically turned them the loudest sound by far. Madelaine finished with the oil, shortly after disappearing through the doorway into the small adjoining room that led into the bathroom, carrying the bag with her. Arias sat up a second later, tying her hair with three lengths of twine in quick efficient motions, and stood. Thomas watched them, then hastily looked away again when her next motion was to pull her pajama top off over her head. His attention settled on Norris, who in turn glanced up, looked Arias up and down, snorted in amusement, and just looked back down at his book.

Thomas hesitated, at the amused snort. And slowly looked back to Arias. Who was standing where she had been, turned directly towards him, her arms folded so as to emphasize her bare chest … and back to Norris, feeling his cheeks flush hot. Norris was Not Looking At Him, mouth pressed into a hard flat line, shoulders shaking. It took another half second before Norris cracked, and then the were both laughing, Arias in short snorting exhalations. Thomas just continued staring at Norris, although motion in the corner of his eye suggested Arias had started moving again.

He felt annoyed that Norris was laughing at him over this after their conversation the night before – he felt weird and exposed, now, about having said things out loud – but it drained away before it really got going, as he remembered the other times they had laughed at him over similar things. Norris wasn't treating him any differently than he ever had, and as he considered that, it actually did make him feel a little bit better. Given that the man had told Anne, though, Arias probably knew as well; was she doing this … that was a hopeless line of thought. He had no idea what went through Arias' mind at all.

Madelaine came back out of the bathroom, and Thomas' mouth dropped a quarter inch, hastily retracted. She was now wearing a scaled-down version of the brown adventuring gear – no, it had some kind of cultural significance to people from the … plane he didn't know the name of. Complete with the hat. She gave him a scowl.

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“Still angry at you, meatwall. Even if it was because you helped Princess Arias out. Hey, Admiral Norris, where's Lady Anne?” Admiral? Lady? Thomas looked at Norris, whose expression … nope. Norris was now The Admiral. He'd have to remember that.

“Anne will be here before too long, she went to see Gand.” A pause, then Admiral Norris himself blushed a little. “Er. Sage Eslan.”

“So we're just waiting?” Madelaine moved to reseat herself on her vacated spot on the bed, glancing over at Arias, then Norris. “What was so funny?”

“Oh, Thomas farted, we were laughing at him.” Norris – no, The Admiral – didn't even hesitate there, and Thomas found his mouth opening again. He shut it again; the two looked like they wanted to laugh at him again. What could he even say? Madelaine shot a dismayed frown at Arias, who didn't seem to notice, too busy trying not to start laughing again.

They settled back in to wait. Arias was decent, at least, now occupied with cleaning her boots. Madelaine noticed this once she was down frowning at everyone over their crude senses of humor. It didn't take long before she took off her brand new and quite clean boots to imitate the action.

Anne appeared after an amount of time that was almost certainly less than it felt had passed; it had reached the point where Thomas' attention was devoted to trying to calculate how long it had last been since he'd shifted his weight to the other foot so as not to do so too quickly. His eyes was immediately drawn to a pair of new pouches at her waist, bright near-orange coloration and smooth texture standing out against the dark and weathered grain of the older pouches. Were they replacements, or entirely new? He couldn't recall how many she had had.

The sound of the door closing was followed closely by the snap of a closing book, Norris swiveling to stand and replace the heavy tome into an empty space on the bookshelf that was clean of dust. His hat was on his head a moment later, Arias and Madelaine rising as well. Anne took this in quickly and nodded.

“Alright, everyone. We have a job. A paying job, even. There's a cave not too far away where Sage Eslan believes it likely some people may have shown up; records indicate there's an underwater lake there, and it's the nearest body of water that somebody could conceivably sail on. We're to investigate and help any survivors get back here.” Thomas took this in. Or tried to.

“They're … we're … why are we being paid?” That hadn't quite what he had meant to ask, but halfway through asking why Eslan wanted the survivors here, the question had spilled out. Everyone looked at him. “Uh. Why does anyone want the survivors, and why here, and why badly enough to pay?” Norris started to open his mouth, but Anne was already talking.

“Arias, hit the market and meet me at the Dancing Goat.” An orange streak flashed past his face; Thomas had barely registered Anne's hand reaching, and then one of the pouches landed in Arias' hand with a metallic crinkling. “Don't attract attention this time, but move quickly. We need as many provision tokens as you can scrounge up; we may be feeding a crowd. Other teams are heading out, so the price may as much as double as they start purchasing. Don't go higher than that if you can help it.” Arias nodded, the pouch vanishing … somewhere, and then her boots were on and tied, and she was darting out the door with hat in hand.

“Now, for your question, Thomas. Partly, I think, because the Sages are trying to verify their predictions about patterns – others are being sent out to investigate other locations – and, I suspect, partly for reasons relating to Pantheon.”

“Lady Anne, what exactly is Pantheon?” From the grimace at Madelaine's honorific, Thomas decided Anne would stay Anne. She could be a little frightening.

“It's those who have reached another stage of ascension. That's all.” A pause. “Some people will insist on calling the inhabitants of Pantheon gods. I think that's a dangerous way of thinking about them. They're people, not inconceivable forces, with all the strengths and weaknesses that implies. All of them were children once, suckling on their mother's breast for sustenance, and depending on others for survival.” Another pause. “Well. Maybe not Artra. That's complicated, it doesn't matter. They don't listen to prayers – I doubt most of them even have the ability if they wanted to – and they certainly don't grant wishes. This entire plane, hell, Confluence itself, would ordinarily be beneath their notice.

“Which may answer Thomas' question as well. We're in their notice, now. Ambitious people are looking to try to get some of that attention, perhaps some favor. They're fools, but they're paying fools, so we'll do what they pay us to do.” Anne looked at Thomas. “You want to help people. Now we're getting paid to do it. Smile at our fortune, particularly since you couldn't afford what they're willing to pay.” Thomas slowly nodded at this.

“Okay. Norris, you good? Good.” She hadn't waited, and was already turning to go again. “Thomas, Madelaine, stay with Norris, he'll get you out of Anchor. Norris, I'll meet you … hm. I'll meet you on the hill just outside the Umbral Gate. I have a couple more people to meet before we go.” And she was gone again. Norris, still standing by the bookcase, looked between Thomas and Madelaine.

“Well. You heard her. Let's go pay for our rooms, and whatever Anne drank last night, and get going.” Then, more quietly, in tones Thomas thought Norris – The Admiral – probably didn't intend for him to hear, the man began muttering. “She must have a dedication in drinking, because my head is still killing me.”