Ignes tugs at the collar of the uniform. The black is inoffensive enough—that is what she usually wears anyway—but it is the single large stripe of radioactive waste-green across the shoulders that bothers her. At least the fabric is soft.

"Ignes Kravei to station seven," says the bored voice on the speakers.

Ignes swallows, consciously uncurling her fists. She takes a seat, her hands stiffly folded in front of her, her eyes burning, as if she can will for the glass before her to melt. "Father," she says. How long has it been since she last uttered that word out loud? Five, six centuries?

Roctis clears his throat, then awkwardly scratcher the back of his head as he glances to the floor then back at her. "Ah, Ignes," he says.

"What do you want?"

Disbelief crosses Roctis' face for a moment, but he straightens himself. "535 years is not…terrible." He takes a steadying breath. "We can make it work, Ignes. Once you're out, we can try again." Roctis' rather intimidating stature and deep voice almost don't suit his soft tone.

Ignes looks distantly to the side. "Try again? You had your chance, Father, and you left me." She looks back at him, and quietly, she wishes for the man in front of her to boil. "I asked you to help me. You didn't."

Roctis leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his fingers interlaced, his lips pressed to them, as if in prayer. "I did, I did Ignes."

"How, exactly, did you help?"

"Cetus would not have done you well." Roctis speaks slowly. "I wanted to guide you down the right path."

Ignes smiles, baring her fangs. "Oh, and tell me, wise one, how well that went." Ignes stands up, slamming a hand down onto the counter. "You speak as if you know what's best when you hardly know anything at all." She lowers her head and speaks a bit softer. "I waited for you, Father…"

Roctis looks up at her, tenderly, futilely. "Ignes…"

She looks into his eyes. "You, are dead to me." She turns around. "We're done here."

"Ignes!" Roctis stands up as well, but that does not stop her from leaving. He watches her be led and disappear down the hallway.

Seira sips her sweet milk tea then swirls the glass to hear the ice clink as she places it down on the table.

Rozaria has a taste of her water. She looks around at the delicate interior: pastel wallpaper and small decorations and ornaments and carved detailings, like warm, vintage New Orleans architecture before it became ashes with the rest of the world. "I didn't expect this place to be her style."

"She says the sundaes are well received." Apparently, all of the dairy in this chain is lab made, not that Seira can tell a difference. She looks up when the bell by the door rings to signal someone's grand entrance.

Mari walks in, her two tall, sleek hounds by her side, ears pointed, alert. She spots them, comes over, and pulls a chair from a nearby table to join them. The dogs sit on either side of her, tails gently swaying from side to side. "Seira, Rozaria," she greets, her voice characteristically flat and cold, but they know her better by now.

"How are you? And…" Seira holds out a hand to one of the dogs to sniff and then lick with a cute pink tongue. She blushes a little. "…how are your companions?"

Mari sighs, long and low. "Lily has been upset at me for not letting Gin accompany her when she goes out on her own." She glances down at Gin to her right and pats him, causing him to relax his ears. "He's still recovering. I don't want to risk further injuries." They may be Union modified dogs, but they still need to be taken care of. Mari looks up. "Have you gotten anything yet?"

"We were waiting for you," Rozaria says, her smile gentle.

"Wouldn't you agree? Look at her, isn't she a killer?" Rozaria has another spoonful of her sundae: arru berries, small pink fruits that resemble a cross between a peach and a strawberry in taste, and of course chocolate syrup on top. "Don't be afraid to show off a bit more, Seira."

Mari nods once in agreement.

Seira blushes but composes herself. "I do not need to rely on appearances to show off." She smiles. "They already know what I am capable of."

Mari raises her eyebrows, seemingly impressed. "No one dares cross 'Miss Seira,'" she says, letting Lily lick a bit of ice cream off her spoon.

Seira almost giggles at the statement, but it is partially true, or at least she hopes it is. She remembers how the homeowner—how Frankenstein—handled himself as both chairman and ruthless caretaker. He was—is—a presence, a force, a character. And perhaps some of him has rubbed off on her over the years. She had only been a student before, and now she has an office, a school, a responsibility and responsibilities.

"Oh yes, I've been meaning ask, Seira…" Rozaria quickly swallows another spoonful. "Do you know anything of the person from the coffin? Urokai seemed to know him, but I didn't get anything else from his reaction. He seemed important."

Seira looks into the distance as if her memories could be found on the horizon. "On Earth, Urokai and Frankenstein often spoke of looking for someone of a description fitting that noble; it could be him."

Mari nods. "I've only heard a little of their conversations in passing," as she had spent most of her time on spy missions for them.

Seira knits her eyebrows. "The true Noblesse," was what Gejutel had eventually told her. "Frankenstein's bonded, a true contract."

Rozaria's eyes widen. She has finished her sundae. "The Noblesse…The Lord abolished that position, yes?" before she had abolished her own position; there simply wasn't anything stopping her. The Noblesse, from what Rozaria learned, was the protector of the nobles and a check on the Lord's power, but they have done well enough and survived without him. He is obsolete, unnecessary, and so he is no more. "And to have a contract with someone that powerful…"

"I do not recall his name, but"—Seira looks down at her bowl of ice cream that she shares with Mari, considering—"I believe he and Urokai loved him."

Mari scoffs a little jokingly. "Love? I didn't know Frankenstein was capable of that." She can very well remember how vicious he can be: a monster, a devil. He tore people apart, ate them up, as if the more he ate—or 'they' would perhaps be more accurate—the more ravenous they became. At times, his power seems endless, like a disaster.

Seira shakes her head softly, sagely. "No." She smiles slightly, endearingly. "He simply loves too much."